by V M Jones
But I was convinced I was on the right track. I scanned the room for something — anything — that might fit. As it always did when I was thinking hard, my hand moved to the rough outline of the ring under my shirt … and still, it was a long moment before the thought consciously registered in my mind. My ring! I was so used to wearing it that I barely thought about it — it was as much part of me as my hands and feet. But it was the right shape, and about the right size …
I felt for the knot in the bootlace and tugged it round so I could untie it. It took forever — it had pulled tight, and my fingers were clumsy with excitement. But at last it was undone, and I slid the ring off. It lay in my palm, its silver sheen soft in the dusty sunlight. Out of long habit I ran my fingers over its familiar contours, smooth at the back, heavier and deeply ridged at the front; then, without thinking, I slid it on. All my life it had been way too big for me, but it had been a long time since I’d last worn it, and now it fitted almost perfectly.
I slipped it off and held it up to the wall. For a moment I thought it was going to be too big, and the metal too wide to fit the narrow groove. But then I tried again, tilting it slightly to adjust the angle … and it slotted in like it was made to measure, with just enough protruding for me to grip between my finger and thumb. I twisted gently clockwise. Nothing. The other way … the ring turned as smoothly as a key in a lock, and I felt the panelling move beneath my hand.
And at the same moment, I heard the soft scuff of a footstep on the stairs.
No place to hide
The ring dropped back into my hand as I spun to face the door, staring wildly round for a place to hide, my mind racing. They’d seen the open gate … they were hunting us down, and the clatter of the falling rod had led them here, to the turret room. I was trapped.
In three long strides I was over at the vestibule, shoving the ring and bootlace into my pocket. It was a tiny alcove — barely more than a metre square — but I flattened myself into the corner behind the archway, praying the narrow architrave would shield me from view. If they stopped at the door, there was a chance I’d be safe … but if they came into the room, I’d be seen for sure.
Every sense sharpened by the adrenaline pumping through me, I could hear them clearly over the hollow thudding of my own heart: several sets of soft footfalls sneaking stealthily up the staircase.
There was the faintest creak as the door opened, and the ragged, panting breaths of hunters on the scent. Then came two soft sniffs, as if something was tasting the air … then a longer one, a phlegmy snuffle that turned my blood to ice. The Faceless wouldn’t need eyes to find me, no matter how well I was hidden …
Then the silence was broken by a whisper: a voice I recognised, that turned my knees to jelly with relief. ‘Jamie, do you need a tissue?’
‘Sorry —’ an apologetic mumble — ‘it’s the dust …’
The sound of someone blowing their nose — not Jamie’s usual honking blast, but a much more subdued version — was followed by a furious ‘Shhhh!’ from Rich.
Then came Gen’s voice, a desperate undertone on the edge of tears. ‘He isn’t here! I could have sworn I heard a noise … what are we going to do?’
I stepped out from my hiding place with a sheepish grin. ‘Hi, guys,’ I began, realising that for some reason, like them, I was whispering. ‘I thought —’
I was interrupted by a thunderous sneeze. It was the kind of sneeze that sneaks up on you from behind and practically takes the top of your head off, flattening everything in its path and rupturing the eardrums of people nearby with a sonic blast of sound. If a sneeze like that happens at school, you know right off it’ll be a good five minutes before everyone picks themselves up off the floor and stops laughing.
But no one was laughing now. Jamie clapped his hand over his mouth as if he was trying to somehow stuff the sneeze back in. Gen turned white as a sheet. And from outside came hoarse shouts, the hiss of steel blades being drawn from scabbards, and the thud of booted feet approaching at a run.
‘We saw them coming — guards, and one of them …’ Gen’s face crumpled. ‘We tried to find you —’
We had seconds at best.
There was no time to think; no time to do anything except act — fast. I hadn’t given the slight shift of the panelling under my hand another thought — but now I knew it was our only hope. ‘Quick,’ I breathed, ‘this way!’
At the slightest pressure from my hand, a section of wall the size of a low door moved inwards into blackness, opening as smoothly and silently as if on oiled hinges. The others didn’t need telling: without a word they ducked inside and disappeared. I followed them, easing the door closed again behind us. With a sliver of light still visible I hesitated, the memory of that long-ago dream surfacing in a suffocating rush … what if we couldn’t open it again?
Then I felt the chill presence of the Faceless in the room beyond — not nightmare, but reality. I pushed the door closed and we huddled in the blackness, waiting.
The sounds on the far side of the door were muffled and indistinct. I could feel the vibrations of heavy footsteps, hear broken fragments of words and the grinding squeal of furniture being dragged out of place and crashing to the floor. There was no doubt — they knew we were here.
We cowered in the pitch dark, hardly daring to breathe. Please, I thought numbly; please don’t let them see it …
I felt a coldness seep through the door. In my mind’s eye I saw a hooded head, and smelt the sickening stench of decay. Behind me, I heard the tiniest catch of a sob. I reached back and felt for Gen’s hand, squeezing it in warning. A sound reached us faintly through the wood: a soft, exploratory scrabbling.
Then a man’s voice spoke from what seemed right beside me, harsh and commanding. ‘Behind the wall — a chamber? A keyhole … why was this not found before? You: fetch axes — now! And give me your sword!’
A second’s pause, and then a blow like a sledgehammer smashed into the wood beside my head with a force that sent me reeling backwards, hands to my face. But the door was heavy and solid; it hadn’t broken through — yet.
I groped in the darkness for the others, shepherding them backwards, as far from the door as I could. Blindly, drawing them after me, I stumbled back … back … back into the utter blackness, expecting at any moment to come up against the solid resistance of a wall. And gradually, with each shuffling step, it dawned on me: It wasn’t a room, it was a passage …
Rich’s voice huffed in my ear: ‘You go on ahead, Adam; I’ll make sure no one’s left behind. Hurry!’
As quickly as I dared, testing the ground ahead of me, feeling my way along the cold stone walls with my hands, I led the others back into the tunnel. One step … two … three … then, on the left, the wall disappeared under my groping hand. I stumbled to a halt, disoriented. Was it a bend in the tunnel? Or …
The rhythmic crashes from behind us had changed. They were heavier now: axe-blows, massive and crippling, sending shock waves through the tunnel after us. I could barely hear Jamie’s trembling whisper: ‘Adam? Shall I get out my torch?’ or Gen, close to panic: ‘No — they might see the light!’
I fumbled at the wall like a blind man, trying to build up a picture in my mind. No — it wasn’t a bend, or a tunnel. It was a recess in the wall … a niche, as deep as my forearm, with an arched top and a flat base like a shelf …‘Come on, Adam — hurry up!’ There was another shuddering crash from behind us.
‘Wait …’ My fingers had found something on the shelf … some things …
A dense, flat object … a floppy block that released a familiar, dusky scent when I picked it up. And something else: a smooth, cool cylinder … I slipped them both into my pocket, then turned away, trailing my fingers over the bare surface … They brushed against something small and soft as a cobweb. I closed my fingers, feeling — or imagining — something between them … and shoved it deep into my pocket with the rest.
‘Hurry!’
Rich was right
— there was no time to waste. I headed into the blackness at a shuffling run — and then without warning the ground disappeared under my feet and I was falling, tumbling over and over, invisible walls cracking my elbows and knees, stone steps connecting with my kidneys like steel-toed boots. At last the floor met the back of my head with a dizzying smack and I lay dazed, my legs in a tangle, a galaxy of blue stars spinning in the blackness.
From somewhere way above, punctuated by the rhythmic double kerTHWACK-kerTHUNK of the axe-blows, a trembling thread of a whisper wound its way down to me: ‘Adam … Adam … are you OK?’
I struggled to hands and knees, trying to figure out which way was up and whether my legs and arms were still attached. I’d curled into a ball when I fell, instinctively wrapping my arms round my head for protection, so my back had taken the brunt of the impact when I’d somersaulted down the steps; as far as I could tell nothing was broken. ‘I … I’m fine — I think,’ I croaked, finding the wall with an unsteady hand and levering myself to my feet. Quickly I checked my pockets: my ring was still there; so were the rectangular package and the cylinder, miraculously intact. ‘It’s a stairway — a steep one,’ I called softly. ‘Come down carefully!’
Turning, I tried to get my bearings again. The stairway was behind me, and once again there were solid walls on either side. I moved forward, more cautiously this time, feeling my way … but then — impossibly — my searching hands found stone. It couldn’t be. The stairway wouldn’t lead nowhere! I groped sideways, then upwards, my fingers — suddenly slick and greasy with sweat — probing desperately for a passage, a gap, an opening just large enough for us to squeeze through …
There was nothing. We were caught like rats in a trap.
Something or nothing
From behind us came a splintering smash and a hoarse, triumphant yell. The faintest suggestion of grey light seeped into the passage, carried on a breath of fetid air.
They had broken through.
‘It’s a dead end,’ I said flatly, turning to face the others. ‘We can’t go on.’
Kenta’s voice came fiercely out of the darkness. ‘No! There was a way to get in — there must be a way to get out! We can’t give up! We won’t!’
A way to get in … at last my mind stopped running in circles and logic took over. Kenta was right — I was certain of it. We could get out — the same way we got in.
There was no time to explain. The shouts and crashes were growing louder and more urgent. I could almost see the gaping hole widening with every blow …
I forced myself to be calm. Turned back to the wall, closed my eyes and concentrated, exploring the granular surface of the rock with my fingertips like a blind person reading Braille. It would be at eye level, like before … and then I felt it. My finger traced it, light as a feather: the outline of a circle, indented in the stone. My hands were shaking as I fumbled for my ring.
Once, twice the ring slipped out of the groove; then it caught and held. I twisted; felt it turn. Pushed it back into my pocket, then set my shoulder to the wall and heaved, my feet slipping on the smooth floor. The rock grated, then gave, a massive shoulder-high section of stone inching reluctantly outward. I heard Rich’s grunt as he threw his weight beside mine … one last catch, and white light exploded in my face as the huge door swung open, as slow and heavy as the steel door of a vault.
First Gen, then Jamie squeezed through the gap; Kenta was next, then Rich, helped along by a shove from me. I ducked after him, then spun and threw myself against the rock to close it again. Rich was beside me, and Jamie, his face purple with effort … the girls were heaving from behind. But the door wouldn’t budge.
Through the crack we heard the guards break through the last defences of the inner door: a roar of triumph rolled down the tunnel like a wave of dark water, booted feet echoing like drums as they charged towards us.
I gathered all my strength into one last, desperate effort, my chest bursting, every muscle on fire … my eyes were fixed on the ground, and that’s how I saw it. A flint — a small, wedge-shaped stone — jammed under the base of the door. One of us must have kicked it there in our rush to get out. ‘Wait!’ I panted; grasped the heavy doorjamb with both hands and flung my weight backwards, heaving with all my might. The door moved back — the merest touch, but enough. I bent, snatched up the stone and flung myself against the door one last time, the others with me … and now there was no resistance. As if on invisible hinges, the huge slab of stone slid silently back into place.
We stood, sweaty and panting, staring at the bare wall. It was as if the door had never been there at all. And on the other side — who knew? There wasn’t the faintest whisper of sound; not the slightest vibration.
We were outside the city wall, to the north. A short distance away was the edge of the forest. Birds fluttered and twittered in the trees; cotton-wool clouds floated above us in a blue sky.
Rich gave us a slightly shaky grin. ‘Now run!’ he said; and we ran.
Into the shelter of the trees, deeper and deeper into the forest we ran. Leaping over fallen treetrunks, ducking under branches, slithering down banks and scrambling up the other side, pushing through dense undergrowth, splashing for what seemed like hours along a shallow creek to hide our scent, our feet slipping and sliding on the pebbled river bed.
Even knee-deep in water Rich barely slowed his pace, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to check we were managing to keep up. I stayed at the back of the group, ready to offer help or encouragement if anyone needed it — Jamie especially. But he slogged on through the icy water, puffing like a steam train, pop-eyed with determination. Sensing me watching him he turned and gave me a thumbs-up, then almost lost his footing and frantically windmilled his arms to keep his balance, practically taking my head off. Closer to the bank the girls struggled on grimly, holding hands to keep their balance, murmuring the occasional word to each other for comfort.
At long last we left the river behind, clambering up the mossy, overgrown bank and up through lacy ferns and leafy saplings that gave off a pungent, peppery scent when we brushed past. The ground rose steadily for a while and then levelled out, the forest stretching endlessly away ahead of us.
Finally Rich slowed to a walk, then stopped and waited for us, wiping his sweaty face on his sleeve. Jamie came up level with him and collapsed like a popped balloon; my legs turned to putty and I flopped down next to him, digging in my pack for water.
We were in deep shade. There was no way of telling what time it was, and though occasional golden glimmers of sunlight caught the edges of leaves high overhead, it was impossible to guess its direction. But one thing was for sure: it would be hard for anyone, even the Faceless, to follow our trail.
‘Before any of you ask,’ said Rich, taking a long pull at his canteen, ‘I don’t have a clue where we are. We’re totally lost — and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m in no hurry to be found again.’
‘Well,’ said Gen ruefully, pushing her tangle of hair back from her flushed face, ‘so much for finding anything useful in the Summer Palace.’
Believe it or not, it was only then that I remembered. ‘Hang on — I did find something.’ I heaved myself to my feet and dug in my pocket. ‘In the tunnel, when I stopped: there was a kind of shelf …’
I brought out my hand and opened it slowly. There in the palm lay a cylinder of gleaming bluish-grey metal. It was about as thick as my thumb and twice as long, rounded at both ends. I turned it, peering at it in the leafy gloom, trying to figure out what the heck it could be. It didn’t seem heavy enough to be solid … though in Karazan, who knew? Shrugging, I passed it on to Gen.
Another dig, and out came the flat package — and here at least there was no doubt what it was. A book. A pocket-sized book that reminded me with a pang of my Bible; but while that had been brown, this was a rich crimson — almost maroon — embossed with faded letters in gold.
I held it up the light, and read slowly aloud:
/> Book of Days
‘Open it!’ ordered Jamie excitedly. ‘It must be a clue!’
My pulse quickening, I thumbed open the cover. The parchment inside was far more delicate than any we’d seen before, cream-coloured — I squinted at it in the gloom — with a faintly marbled finish. I raised it to my face and breathed in. Underlying the warm animal fragrance of leather I thought I could detect a hint of a different, more subtle perfume, as if the paper itself had been scented once, long ago …
‘Come on, Adam — read it, don’t eat it!’ said Rich impatiently.
I turned over the first page. It was blank. So was the next, and the next. I flipped to the end and riffled through the pages from back to front, scanning them for any sign of writing.
There was nothing. The book was completely empty. I looked up and saw the others staring at me with hopeful, expectant faces. ‘Sorry, guys,’ I said flatly. ‘It’s a dud. Whatever a Book of Days is, this one hasn’t been written in. It isn’t going to tell us a thing.’
‘Hang on, let me see …’ Jamie reached out a grubby hand and I passed it over. He was welcome to look, but I knew he’d see exactly what I had: nothing.
Rich spoke up, his voice hollow. ‘Was that all?’
‘Yeah, I’m afraid so. Though I did find these in the bedroom …’ My fingers felt the chink of metal. I fished out the two coins and the piece of mosaic, along with the rest of the crud you find at the bottom of pockets, and dropped the whole lot in the palm of my hand. ‘The coins could come in useful, I guess,’ I said hopefully, passing them round for the others to see. ‘But other than that, it’s just bits and pieces I’ve picked up along the way — and fluff and stuff.’
