by Sarah Dalton
“Oh, nothing,” he says, still staring out into the distance. His voice is vague, distracted. “Go on. The queen’s chambers. Yes, I believe I designed the lock. She wanted something different to the king. I wondered whether it was to keep out certain members of the court. She was quite adamant…” His voice grows fainter and I wonder if he is lost in some long lost memory. “Oh, and there was the… yes, that’s right… the… Don’t you hear that demon thing scraping and clanking?”
“The engines?”
“No, you fool,” Beardsley snaps. “You stupid little fool, what were you thinking? What made you think you could get away with it? Imposter!”
I step back, alarmed by this strange change in Beardsley. The man I met before seemed genial, so calm and gentle. Yet he stands before me with his mouth twisted into a tight grimace.
But as quickly as the grimace appeared, it fades and his eyes soften, replaced by the slack-jawed look of shock. “I’m sorry. I don’t know… I’m not myself, it would seem.”
“Maybe you should go and have a lie down,” I suggest. “Or have the kitchen staff make you a nice pot of tea. I can arrange it for you if you like. I’ll go to them now.”
When I turn to leave, Beardsley’s bony fingers grip hold of my arm. His grasp is strong and tenacious in that way old peoples’ fingers always are, as though clinging to the last moments of life. His eyes plead with mine, large dark circles of fear, black orbs within a shrunken face. The world seems to slow around us. The engines quiet. The chugging stops. In its place comes a strange breeze twisting through the room. Stray hairs are caught and pulled away from my face. Even the bowl of dirt disappears, and my stomach does a flip, confused by the sudden changes in atmosphere.
“What’s happening?” I whisper.
Beardsley’s fingernails dig into my skin. His mouth opens and closes but not a peep emerges. I’m about to speak when I hear the strangest noise. Around us the landscape has changed, but we are still in the palace. I can tell from the red brick of the walls, and the grandiose tapestries hanging from ceiling to floor. We are in a corridor on the East Wing. I recognise a red and gold tapestry.
“You’re starting to hurt my arm,” I say. His fingers are pressed so deeply into my flesh that I imagine bruises and little half-moon marks forming on my wrist. “You need to let me go. Beardsley, can you hear me?”
There’s another scrape and a loud clank. Beardsley’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes are widened, frightened. His dark blue robes hang to the floor, rippling from his trembling body.
“It’s coming,” he croaks. “I told you it was coming.”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s coming’? I don’t understand…”
There is no point in me talking any longer, because the clanking and scraping noise drowns out my voice with its crashing crescendo.
“What is it?” I shout.
“It’s coming for me.” Beardsley releases my arm at last, and turns to face the sound. “I knew it would.
There’s a grinding of stone as though the ground is being crunched beneath giant feet. The hallway shakes and mortar dust trickles down the walls. Beardsley backs away, bumping into me as he staggers. He stops and stands behind me.
It seems to happen in slow motion. I know I should run, yet my legs don’t want to work. My muscles tighten until they are ready to spring into action. But for some reason I cannot move. My heart thuds against my ribs, and when the hallway shakes again, I have to hold onto the wall to stop myself from falling. There’s another scrape and a clank… then it emerges from the end of the hall.
A long, thin, copper coloured stick peeks from around the corner. It’s swiftly followed by another one the same shape and size, then another, and another. At one point I begin to think I have double vision, because there are so many of these strange, leg-like things appearing from the bottom of the hallway. Each one scrapes and screeches against the stones.
The floor shakes as a large, metal sculpted body follows those spindly legs. That’s when it faces me, and my stomach seems to leave my body. My knees are trembling, and I’m aware of the blood draining from my face.
“Mae it isn’t safe. We need to…” Beardsley grabs the back of my tunic and attempts to drag me away.
The enormous mechanical spider runs towards us.
Chapter Five – The Inventor’s Fear
The scrape of its legs against the stone makes my stomach lurch. Every moment brings it closer and the clack clack clack of its pincers nip at my heels. My palms are slick with sweat. A desperate fear creeps up from the bottom of my bowels as it dawns on me how easily the spider could take hold of my very breakable leg with its sharp, metal pincers.
Even though I know this is one of the Nix’s visions, I can’t stop that primal fear from forcing me forwards. I can’t stop to see if the spider will just go away on its own. I can’t take that risk.
Beardsley has his robes bundled up in one hand as he shuffles along, his old legs stiff and slow. I have his other hand, almost dragging him down the corridor. The weight of the spider shakes the walls. Old shields and decorative weapons clatter against the flagstones. The tapestries fall from their hooks.
Bile rises in my throat as I think of it behind us, taller than the taverns in Cyne, wider than the farmer’s cart back in Halts-Walden. Five times the size of the hut I lived in with my father, filling the great hallway of the Red Palace, and moving its many legs closer and closer to us. Those pincers…
We need to find a room to hide in, somewhere with a strong doorway that it won’t be able to break through. But where?
My ankle is caught by a long, sharp leg and I cry out in pain. Beardsley manages to accelerate, his old body shuffling along the stone slabs. I push forward, determined to survive. We turn to the left, ducking down a set of spiral stairs, hoping the change in direction will slow the spider at least a little bit. I’m breathless and Beardsley is weak, but we hurry down the stairs as fast as we can. I glance back and see the spider struggling to negotiate the steps. Its eight legs tangled and squashed into the smaller space. The change in direction helps us put some distance between us, and it is distance that may save our lives.
On the floor below, Beardsley points one bony finger towards a door on the right, protected by the interlocking brass rings. I nod, and together we work the rings. Beardsley knows the combination immediately. I wonder how many secrets he keeps for the royal family, and importantly, from each other.
Inside, I realise from the large four poster bed and ornate dressing table that we are in the chambers of the queen. I’m back here again, but this time there is no Allerton. Somehow the vision has led me here. There must be a reason for that.
“What is that thing?” I ask.
Beardsley wipes sweat from his forehead and half collapses on the bed. “I… I designed it. The king wanted me to design a weapon more fearsome than any other in Aegunlund. That’s what I made for him.”
“For the love of the Gods, Beardsley, did you have to make it so big?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve made worse for the king. I help him do worse.”
I don’t like the haunted expression in the lines of Beardsley’s eyes. I move towards him with the intention of saying something comforting, or putting a hand on his arm to calm him, when there’s a sickening crunch. A high-pitched screech, like the sound of a pig in pain, comes from outside the room and a shudder ripples through my body.
“Is that the… the thing? Can it screech like that?” I say, backing away from the door. Beardsley comes to my side.
“I designed it to be controlled by a master. But… but I fear it has a mind of its own. That’s what I’ve always feared.” His voice shakes.
There’s a great screeching noise as the spider attempts to make its way through the brass door. The metal against metal is deafening, forcing me to clamp my hands over my ears. But then there is a crunch and a scrape. The pointed leg of the spider slices through the door. The
spider attempts to retract its leg, but becomes stuck against the metal, screeching in panic.
“We need to get out of here!” I yell.
Beardsley rushes towards the washroom. “There’s a way out, I built it. But the combination is on the door.”
I falter for a moment. “I… I… need to know the combination. That’s it! That’s why I’m here.”
The spider manages to release its leg, but now it moves to the door, forcing its pincers through the gap left by its leg. The pincers gnash and clank, eating at the metal.
“We need to be quick. Beardsley, what’s the combination?” I wrench an ornate sword down from the wall of the queen’s bed chamber and inch towards the spider, jabbing the sword in its direction. I’m no master of swordsmanship, and find myself wishing that Cas was by my side. At least he can swing the damn thing.
“Oh, now, let me think.” The old man rubs his chin with trembling fingers. “It was a long time ago. There are many, many doors.”
The spider forces more of its leg through the gap. It thrashes around, flopping up and down until it breaks an ornate dressing table in two. I watch in horror.
“You knew the combination outside right away. You can do this,” I encourage.
“Go to the door. I’ll remember as I see it.”
I make my way towards the door, ducking and dodging the great brass leg of the spider. Its pincers clack and grind through the door, and I jab my sword at it, trying to force it back. There are great glassy expanses where its eyes should be. Perhaps if I can jab through one of those sockets… I force my way forwards, swinging the sword. I connect with the metal leg of the spider and sparks fly. It does no damage to the spider, but the vibrations pulse down my wrist, jolting my arm.
When I’m in front of the door, the spider reaches for me with its pincers, but the door holds. I arc the sword and deliver a blow on top of the pincers. It manages to dent the metal very slightly, but my wrist sustains a worse blow. I yelp and almost drop the sword.
“Beardsley, you need to tell me, now!”
“Oh dear. Oh the Gods. I’m not sure I… hold on. Are there three brass rings?”
“Yes!” I shout. My heart surges with fresh energy. I duck and swivel to the right, narrowly avoiding another attack from the spider leg. It crashes down on a chest and fine dresses spill out onto the floor.
“Let me think. The left one works the door, the middle section is for the connecting doors to Prince Casimir, oh yes… it’s the right ring, Mae. But I can’t remember… the notches are supposed to match up.”
“Beardsley! You need… wait.” A memory pops into my mind, one where I run my fingers down the grooves of a mirror. Yes, there were notches on the mirror and they were designed to match up with those on this ring. Of course!
I steel myself and turn to the brass rings. We don’t have long. The spider has managed to force two front legs through the door, and both of them are aimed towards me. I’m able to swing the sword around to stop those powerful legs coming down on me, but I can’t stop them forever.
My fingers trace the notches on the outer ring. They need to be turned to match the inner ring, I remember now. I remember the pattern. In order to move the rings I have to lean most of my weight against them.
I let out a frustrated growl at how stiff the rings are. It takes all my strength to move them the smallest amount. With the continuous crunch of the door as the spider forces its way in bit by bit, I can only put my head down and work as hard as I can.
“Mae. Watch out!”
Beardsley’s cry comes too late. One of the spider legs hits me on the side of the head, knocking me to the floor. As I try to stand, it grasps me with both of its legs, lifting me high in the air. I wave my sword around, trying to find a place to hit the spider, but the metal appears impervious. I feel helpless. I can only jab and jab at the legs, sparks flying; metal clashing against metal.
“Mae!” Beardsley calls out. “Hit the eyes. They are the weakest spot.”
But I am too far from its eyes to land a blow. I have to wait, suspended in the air, for it to decide to either drop me or bring me closer, all the time, those pointed legs dig into my sides, bruising my ribs.
“I can’t… I can’t reach…”
Beardsley comes charging forwards, moving with speed and determination. He shuffles quickly across the stone floor with his eyes set. Gone is his haunted expression. This new Beardsley seems younger. His energy gives me a new hope.
The bony fingers that had not long ago gripped my arm, now take hold of a large, heavy looking candle stick. He climbs onto the bed, gaining height on the mechanical beast. With one swing of his arm, he lands a hit right in the centre of the spider’s eye.
The sudden blow shocks the spider, causing it to drop me. I land with a thud, hitting my shoulder with some force. I cry out, but do not waste any time on the floor. Instead, I am up and limping to the door. We have managed to prise a little time out of the jaws of defeat, and now I need to open the trap door so we can escape.
Another notch falls into place. This time Beardsley helps me move the ring, but with my limp arm, it is still tricky. The spider has backed away, dazed by Beardsley’s destruction of one of its eyes.
“Just one more notch,” he says, his voice strained and tired.
We put both of our weight behind the push, forcing the stiff brass rings into action. Sweat forms by my temples and my body is hot with the effort. Beardsley wheezes, clutching his chest.
We are almost there, with the last notches lined up perfectly, when the spider charges at the door, hitting it with full force and pushing its pincers back through the hole. This time, it connects with my side, ripping open a wound that gushes with blood. I stagger back, my eyes wide and fearful.
“Mae!” Beardsley stares at me in shock.
“Don’t,” I say. “Just open the door.”
He nods. There’s a sad look in his eye, but I have to ignore it. With one last shove, the ring is in place. I hear the sucking sound of another door opening.
But the spider is not long behind. Beardsley hurries towards me, pulling me away, but not before I see the spider burst through the broken pieces of the door. Within seconds, its enormous body fills the chamber. It screeches, and steam pours through the pincers. Beardsley’s grip on my tunic is strong as he forces me into the tiny washroom and, finally, into the open tunnel. Once inside he pulls a stiff brass lever and the heavy stone door closes behind us.
The screeching and scraping of the spider seems far away now. Instead, our laboured breaths are the loudest sound in the dark, damp tunnel. We are safe, but the blood still pours from the wound at my side.
*
The lantern casts long shadows against the dark walls of the tunnel. It winds down, following the path of the stairs. But there are tunnels that lead off in alternate directions. This is more than an escape route, it is a maze of hidden rooms and walkways. My heart soars as I wonder if there is a way out that has not been cut off by the curse. Deep down I know it is unlikely, but there must be a fleeting chance that the Nix forgot something. Perhaps I can find help. Can I do that when I’m inside Beardsley’s fear? I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot.
“So your worst fear is the thought of being attacked by one of your own inventions,” I say.
Beardsley sighs. “I wish it was that simple. I have many fears. When you get to my age they build up like belongings. Some revolve around my inventions and what they will do to me. Some focus on what my inventions will do to others. They have already caused so much trouble. If I hadn’t let the king convince me to run the castle with coal, the city of Cyne would not have perished. The farmers pray to the Gods for my great demise. I swear sometimes at night I can feel them. I sense their loathing.”
I swallow thickly and press the strip of Beardsley’s robe against my wound. It is painful, but the dizziness is worse; as though at any moment I will slip off into sleep and never come back.
/>
“I feel like I can’t leave you yet. I feel as though there is more I need to know, something in regards to the Red Palace. You have a secret, don’t you? Something you won’t tell anyone?”
Beardsley’s back stiffens. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t understand why you’re scared of your inventions hurting people, and yet stubborn regarding your secrets. Have you ever thought that maybe I can help?” I say.
He shakes his head. “The things I have done…”
“Beardsley, focus. You need to tell me what you’ve done.”
But his eyes are lost in the depths of the shadows. I’m not convinced that I will be able to obtain anything of any use from him now.
“At least start with the tunnels. Why are they here? What do they lead to?”
“The queen,” he says. “She always knew what her husband was. She always suspected he was rotten inside, a brute. She wanted a fail-safe for her family. She wanted to be able to escape the Red Palace. They are secret, very secret. The king never comes to her chambers, always sends for her instead… it was safe there.”
“What was?”
“The passageway, of course. And the watching area. You see all the secrets there.” He sighs again. “He never knew about her secret door. I built one for him, too. But he never knew about hers.”
“What?” I ask, frustrated now. “What do you mean? What secrets?”
“All the secrets…”
Beardsley’s voice begins to fade away. My ears are foggy. The world begins to blur.
“No,” I shout. “No, I need to know more first.”
The sucking sensation takes me over, pulling me down into the ground. It’s like I’m falling and I’m helpless. Another voice: Mae?
In one instant, I see a shape, a very sharp, very clear shape that I recognise immediately. It is the Nix.
I don’t see it in the castle corridors or even in the Waerg Woods. I see it surrounded by light, but I can make out every part of its features. From the deep black shells on its body, to the lumpy long neck and fat thorax, to the long legs that scuttle when it moves and the mouth filled with pointed triangle teeth. It is waiting for me. I can feel it.
