Hidden City: The Shades of Silence (Book 2)

by Kyra Wheatley

  “Ah!” Lilith breathed. “They say that Disciples are the vibrations of the Master, his astral copies that he creates for different purposes and then destroys. I wish I had a power like that!”

  She laughed hoarsely and poked Mike in the side with a sharp fingernail. She was impossible to read—she could just be saying that, or she could be checking to see how Mike would react and then report to Master. So he answered in an official tone, “Who told you that, Inquisitor? I don’t have any such information.”

  She snorted and hurried on.

  They soon reached Weapon Maker’s quarters. An iron door that was always carefully locked led to his space. Lilith stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. Mike knocked. A soft scraping noise could be heard from behind the door, accompanied by a rattling, as if someone were walking on rusty prosthetic legs. The noises intensified and then quieted under the door, and then the door slowly opened.

  Chapter Two

  Gumshoe led Nicole to the broken fountain that stood on a small, empty square. The fountain’s gently sloping stone basin was cracked all over, and when she looked into it, Nicole saw only dust, bird feathers, and dried leaves. Among the debris was a curly marble head from a statue.

  Compared to the square where City Hall stood, this one seemed neglected and dirty. Near the fountain, a broken-down car with deflated tires was rusting, and the walls of the surrounding buildings were overgrown with ivy. Garbage lay everywhere: a basin with holes in it, torn slippers, remnants of furniture, crushed boxes, someone’s broken glasses. In the broad stone basin, the frame of an armless, headless statue draped in a chlamys protruded from a pedestal. Nicole listened closely to the silence that reigned . . . in fact, silence reigned in all the other parts of the City that she had seen so far. This City was a very strange place. It made her think of a huge room in which someone had carefully arranged decorations imitating houses and streets. Secret activities occurred behind these decorations, while some sort of powers attentively observed the people who lived in the room. She hugged herself and asked, “Have you noticed how in the City, there are a lot of shades of silence?”

  “Shades of silence?” Gumshoe asked.

  “Uh-huh. It’s very quiet here in general, but the quiet is different depending on the place and time. Last night on the square, the quiet was sinister and frightening. This morning, in the store and the cafe, it was relaxed, sort of sunny. But here, on this square, it’s not like that. Here, the quiet is empty. Something’s lost. What’s that?” She nodded at the marble head in the fountain. Her voice bounced off the walls, and the square filled with a ghostly whisper.

  “The remnants of the Angel statue. There’s its pedestal, a little to the side of the fountain,” Gumshoe explained. “It was already broken when I arrived in the City.”

  “So the Angel is the Child of Light? You’ve decided that my grandmother was referring to this statue in her message?”

  “Exactly. It will point you in the right direction. The statue was pointing somewhere with either its right or left hand.”

  Whoever had shattered the unfortunate Angel had for some reason scattered the marble pieces around the square. Or maybe they had flung them around later, but in any case, it was now impossible to determine where the statue was pointing.

  “Maybe Train Attendant or Martha can tell us?” Nicole asked hopefully.

  “I doubt that either of them would remember. So much time has passed.”

  Gumshoe stood next to the pedestal and turned roughly in the direction where the statue’s face must have been looking. He scowled, lost in thought.

  Nicole was distracted—she thought she saw something moving on the other side of the square, in the shadows between the buildings. It was as if something flickered there for a moment but then instantly disappeared. Not so that she felt any danger, but rather, someone’s attention—sticky, like a flycatcher. She shrugged, looking closely. Meanwhile, Gumshoe had sat down on the ledge of the fountain and was groping around on the bottom. He pulled out a dull coin with a hole in the middle and tossed it on his palm.

  “Okay, let’s recap. Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes.” She turned back to him.

  “Your grandmother lived in the City. At least, she was here—we know that for sure. But she also lived in the real world. You knew her there. She had a daughter, your mother. One day, your grandmother disappeared, leaving you a pendant. It’s unusual—it reacts to danger. Is all of that correct?”

  “So far, yes.”

  “Good. For your whole life, you’ve been tortured by a dream with the House of Crimson Windows. This is what I think: maybe the dream came from the fact that the pendant was close, an artifact of the City? You’ve been wearing it on your chest, and it’s affected you and appeared in your dreams. You should give it to Martha so she can study it.”

  “No!” Nicole mechanically clasped her hand over the pendant.

  Gumshoe looked at her closely. The coin flew into the air and dropped onto his palm, flew and dropped.

  “Why not? Of course, that’s your business. So, to continue: you ended up in the City when you were trying to get a job as a waitress in a cafe called the Quarter Past Two. There, you met the strange Mr. Chuck and—”

  “In the cosmetics store, there’s a mannequin—a copy of Mr. Chuck!” Nicole blurted out.

  “What did you say?” Gumshoe asked carefully.

  “I swear! It was so much like him that, at first, I even thought it was him standing there—I mean, the manager from that office. But the manager was alive. In the store, it was a mannequin. But if you looked at them, they were one and the same. Actually, Mr. Chuck, the manager, was also like that—it was like his face was varnished.”

  They were silent for a moment.

  “I don’t know what to say about that,” Gumshoe admitted. “It’s too strange. Okay, let’s continue. So, in the office, you saw the door from your dream. Mr. Chuck asked you to go through it. You did, and you landed in the square next to City Hall. There, people in robes were waiting for you, along with a dark Inquisitor, who kissed you.”

  “Inquisitor?”

  “That’s what they call, um, individuals like that. Apparently, there are only a few of them. They work for”—Gumshoe vaguely waved his hand—“They work for someone who lives deep in the City, perhaps in one of the areas that’s cut off with mist. The Inquisitors are in command of the people in dark robes. That’s all that’s known about them. City Hall is a place of strength, as Martha says. That’s probably why the portal opened near it, on the square, where those dark ones usually don’t go. I think I’ve told you all that we know at this point. Do you have anything to say now?”

  “Yes. I don’t understand at all what Grandma was trying to say in her message. The Heart of Chaos—what is that?”

  Gumshoe tossed the coin one last time, caught it in his palm, squeezed it in his fist, and spread his arms.

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Are there a lot of people in the City?”

  “Well.” He thought for a moment. “There’s Train Attendant, Cardsharp, Mayor, Martha, Valerie, and Juliette. There’s someone who goes by the name Estate, and sometimes, other people show up. They either stay or disappear.”

  “So what did your grandmother want from you?” Gumshoe wondered. “The pendant that she left you is the key. After all, you used it to discover the secret in the base of the statue in City Hall. So the pendant is the key to the place or, more likely, places, where she hid parts of her message to you, anticipating that many years later, you would end up here and follow the trail. Who was she, and what role did she play in the City? And why, specifically, did she leave the message, and what are you supposed to do when you decipher it completely? When we decipher it,” Gumshoe corrected himself. “Yes, and we also have the photo that shows your grandmother with a man. You need to show it to Martha. Maybe she’ll remember.”

  “The photo!” Nicole shouted, slapping herself on th
e forehead. She smiled broadly, proud of her cleverness. “I just thought of something. There are photos hanging in your cafe, the Red Rose. All the walls are covered with them.”

  “And so?” He didn’t understand.

  “They’re old photos of the City. Big, formal photos in frames. Black and white.” Nicole gained confidence as she spoke. She suddenly felt full of strength and enthusiasm. “They could help make everything clear—they could untangle this ball of riddles and help us understand everything. When do you think the Warp happened?”

  “At the beginning of the twentieth century, I think.”

  “There you go! Cameras had already been invented, right? I’m sure that the photos in the cafe were taken before the Warp. One of them shows City Hall. There’s a big carriage—I think they were called stagecoaches—driving along the square in front of it. I also remember a photo of the cafe. There are people inside wearing clothes that people wore a hundred years ago. I also remember that there’s a photo with the statue. At the time, I didn’t realize that it was the Angel—the photos are old and scratched—but now, it’s dawned on me.”

  “Do you propose going into the cafe and looking to see where the statue in the photo is pointing, and then coming back and going in that direction?”

  She nodded happily.

  “Let’s go then,” said Gumshoe, and he started marching toward the Red Rose.

  Feeling like an agitated child next to a calm, levelheaded grown-up, Nicole hustled behind him. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a movement between the buildings on the right. She turned around as she walked.

  In the space between the ivy-covered buildings, a mist was gathering. It wasn’t like the previous night’s mist—it wasn’t thick, but rather gray and semitransparent, like a light smoke. Someone was hiding inside it and watching Nicole and Gumshoe from the depths of the side street. She suddenly felt this clearly and sharply—someone was watching them from there. She gulped and mechanically reached for the pendant.

  The pendant was neither warm nor cold. It was just like it always was. There were no signs of danger. Who was watching them? She wanted to call out to Gumshoe, but he was walking with such determination that she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “You saw a photo of the Red Rose when you were in the cafe?” he asked. “From the inside?”

  “Yes. It was hanging next to the window.”

  “Was there a bartender in it?”

  Nicole tried to remember the details of the photo.

  “I don’t think so. There were a few people, but I don’t remember seeing a bartender.”

  “When you’re inside, please look.”

  “Aren’t you going in with me?”

  “I can’t.” Gumshoe shook his head.

  “How can that be? I’ll just open the door. Valerie just didn’t dare to, but you’ll go in with me, that’s all there is to it.”

  He looked at her doubtfully and replied, “Okay, we’ll see. Don’t loiter.”

  On the way, Nicole looked back, and again, she thought she saw a vague movement in the narrow alley between the buildings. Someone was watching them from there while trying to stay hidden.

  The door to Weapon Maker’s workshop was opened by a broken mannequin—the latest Mr. Chuck. The partially destroyed mannequin moved jumpily, his head shook, and whistling plumes of steam rhythmically issued from his body.

  Lilith harrumphed and stepped forward first. Mr. Chuck started to turn around. In the open chest cavity, cogs were slowly turning with a soft scrape, and there was a reel with purls and orifices along which a needle was crawling. The mannequin’s plastic head was punctured, one ear was missing, and the grating of a speaker was visible in the gap.

  When they stepped in, the mannequin closed the door behind them. The Inquisitors found themselves in the entrance to a large cave with offshoots and passages, stone columns, and arches. Carelessly arranged candelabra created a patchwork of shadows, making the cave seem like a tangled maze.

  Mr. Chuck jerked a hand, as if he were inviting the Inquisitors to follow him, and clumsily walked into the depths of the cave. He sputtered steam and swayed jerkily, barely keeping his balance. Lilith quickly licked her lips again—that meant that she had gotten an idea—caught up to Mr. Chuck, and poked him in the shoulder. The mannequin teetered and fell heavily onto his side. Lilith grinned, baring her small, sharp teeth. He fell with a crack and a clang, and then cowered and thrashed on the floor. He tried to stand, scraping his feet on the floor.

  “What a klutz!” Lilith crowed.

  A short, stout man with a large forehead, sideburns, and a receding hairline emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a leather work outfit and an apron that was stained with machine oil.

  “What are you doing?” he bellowed at Lilith. “That’s my last Mr. Chuck!”

  The master of the cave wore on his head a whimsical contraption made of brackets and lenses. A convex magnifying glass covered his right eye, making it look huge and bulging. Weapon Maker leapt toward the mannequin, grabbed him, and laboriously put him back on his feet. The mannequin completely lost it—he shuddered in spasms, and in short jerks, began to spin in place. Weapon Maker grabbed him by the shoulder and reached through the opening in the chest toward Mr. Chuck’s clanging insides. He turned something, and the mannequin fell silent. Something in the chest began to rattle softly and painfully.

  Lilith waved Weapon Maker aside and walked on, saying, “There’s a pile of them left in the basement of the store. We’ll bring you new ones.”

  “Those are only the shells. They need to be filled with the insides. Don’t you dare touch my Mr. Chucks, you nasty girl! I’ll report everything to Master. Everything!” After this tirade, Weapon Maker hurried after the Inquisitors.

  “Nasty girl?” Lilith cocked a dark eyebrow. “Inquisitor Mike, why have you never paid me such elegant compliments? That’s so . . . chivalrous. I’m almost ready to give myself to him.”

  Mike had long settled on a simple line of conduct that he tried to adhere to in Lilith’s presence: keep quiet and answer only when absolutely necessary. So he just kept going, not reacting to her amused look or grimaces.

  They passed tables piled with cogs, curved pipes, split keys, and gadgets. The hands of pressure gauges were twitching, strange-looking instruments were buzzing, and a dark blue liquid was bubbling and foaming in a flask that was sitting on a burner. Under a large glass cover, a strange, porcelain being with huge, bright eyes was frozen.

  Weapon Maker quickened his pace and caught up to his guests—now, the Inquisitors struggled to keep up with him. Mike rarely had occasion to come here, and he looked around the workshop with restrained curiosity. He could only guess what some of the instruments and items were used for. For instance, what was the purpose of this cluster of black balls that looked soft, as if made out of jelly, and that were stuck to the ceiling? They smelled kind of bitter and odd. On a wide table under the cluster, Weapon Maker had constructed a model of the City out of small boards and cardboard. City Hall, the Station, and the square with the broken fountain were easy to pick out. The model, which had a high barrier around it, also called to mind a rat’s maze. Gray creatures with pink tails scurried along the streets, looking in the windows of the cardboard buildings. They collided, fell on one another with a squeak, and scattered at a run.

  At the other end of the cave stood three immobile Mr. Chucks with open chests. Parts of mechanisms shone inside them.

  “And here it is!”

  Lilith and Mike exchanged looks.

  The thing to which Weapon Maker was leading them was next to the mannequins. It was a large loom: high, curved legs, a massive cast-iron support, and a square frame that raised on a slant. Two rollers slid along it, shrilly whirring and letting out dark threads that could have been woven from darkness. Back and forth, back and forth, along the perimeter of the frame, weaving threads into a stiff, oblong canvas that shone with polished darkness.

  �
��Don’t move and don’t touch anything!” Weapon Maker opened a cabinet next to the wall and started to rummage around in it. His voice was muffled. “I’m giving you protection.”

  “Okay, we’ve got it,” Lilith answered with a laugh.

  Mike put his hands behind his back, trying to look indifferent. Emerging from the cabinet, Weapon Maker held out two dark cloaks. They looked like a pair of shadows—they seemed to soak up the light. Lilith immediately grabbed hers, turned it over, and shook it on her outstretched hands.

  Weapon Maker jumped away with a shout. “Be careful!”

  Small black drops flew out of the cloaks, like sprays of darkness, and instantaneously dissolved in the air. Ignoring them, Lilith examined the cloak with satisfaction and then quickly wrapped herself in it. She looked as though she had sunk into a small cloud of darkness. Her silhouette faded, losing its sharp outlines, and her face became a blurry, pale spot.

  “Camouflage?” Lilith asked disparagingly.

  “Not camouflage, Inquisitor, not camouflage! It’s a special protection that I devoted precious time to creating.”

  “I thought you were giving us protective robes,” Mike said.

  “The idea of robes got old. You’re not some kind of vampires who are tormented by daylight. The City’s strength is concentrated in City Hall and affects the mind, not the body. And this will protect you. Put it on! You also need to take the Cloth.”

  Darting toward the loom, Weapon Maker moved a large master switch. A knocking started under the frame, the rollers started to slow, and then they stopped completely. The rollers’ loud chirping was silenced. Weapon Maker pulled on a pair of thin gloves and took a long, silver knife out of a case that was hanging on the side of the frame. He carefully cut the thread that was stretched over the frame into three parts and pulled it out of the frame, touching its side gingerly and explaining as he worked.