“Enough,” he growled, so loud that the piles of junk shivered and rattled at the word. “No more doorways. No more hide-and-seek. No more games.”
He stalked forward. Alice slid off to the side, hoping to find room to make a dash past him to continue her flight, but her chest went tight when she looked at the opposite wall. The doorway was gone. She was trapped in a room with no exits, alone with the great black wolf. She reached for the labyrinth-fabric, but Torment’s grip was all around her, pressing down hard, and she didn’t have the strength to fight it.
“This is my place,” Torment said. “My sanctum. My private stash.” He looked around, through the billows of dust. “I suppose I should clean up more often. But it has the advantage that, whatever happens, we will not be interrupted.” His tongue flicked across his teeth. “I want to savor this.”
Alice backed up, looking desperately around in the junk. There has to be something here, something I can use— But she didn’t think Torment would be foolish enough to bring her somewhere with any kind of a weapon. Think, think, think—
The huge wolf pounced, and all other thoughts were forced from her mind. Alice threw herself to one side, dodging the snap of his jaws but ending up on her back in the dust. Before she could get to her feet, he stepped on her chest, pinning her to the ground. He put only a fraction of his weight on it, but the pressure was still enough to make her cry out in pain.
Torment’s muzzle slid into view, topped by his cold, blue eyes.
“You led me on quite a chase, girl,” the labyrinthine said. “If that offers you any comfort.”
Think, think, think. Never give up. Not ever. But there was nothing left. Torment had already demonstrated how easily he could deal with Spike, and there was no tree here to batter him with. She could split into the Swarm and try to hide amidst the detritus, but that would only delay the inevitable, and he could get his jaws on some of the swarmers before she could get them to cover. She had the devilfish, but neither a greenish glow nor a transformation into a gasping, flopping sea creature seemed like they would provide any advantages. That only leaves—
Her mental grip tightened on the black thread. The one she’d never been able to move. The Dragon.
As usual, it didn’t respond when she tugged on it. This time, she bore down, tightening her mental grip, and pulled harder. Then harder still, as hard as she had ever exerted herself in the strange world of magic, and then harder still.
If she’d been pulling with her hands, they would have been scraped raw, or sliced to the bone by the taut, humming thread. But she was pulling with her self, all her energy and spirit, and the feeling was much worse than that. She felt as though the thread had gone into her chest and tied itself around her breastbone, with a boulder at the other end. Every tug produced sparks of pain, shooting from her fingers to her toes, like electric shocks running over her body. It felt as though she was on the verge of tearing herself to pieces, turning herself inside out, that whatever was doing the pulling would tear free from the fragile prison of her flesh like a rotten tooth ripped out of its socket.
Stop. The Dragon’s voice echoed down the thread. You must stop.
I can’t.
You will die.
If this doesn’t work, I’ll die anyway.
You don’t understand.
I don’t have time to understand. Distantly, in the real world, she could feel Torment’s breath on her face. Her body was falling away, a numb and distant shadow. This is all I have left.
I— There was a hint of something in the Dragon’s voice, an emotion she’d never heard before. Alice—
I won’t give up. Alice gathered her strength for one last pull. I won’t.
She felt something give way. All the air rushed out of her lungs in a gasp, and darkness crashed down on her.
She never lost consciousness, exactly. It was as though she really had torn herself away from her body, and now she floated alone in an endless black void.
Am I dead? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure what it felt like to be dead.
Then she heard something. Just a distant buzz at first, like a fly tapping at a window, but it strengthened and resolved into words.
“—you.” Torment’s voice.
“Me.” The Dragon. But not echoing around her own skull. It was real sound, out in the real world.
“That’s not possible,” Torment said. “You can’t be here.”
“Nevertheless,” said the Dragon.
“You swore you would not oppose us.”
“I know,” said the Dragon. It sounded resigned. “Nevertheless.”
“You’re helping her?” Torment seemed nearly hysterical. “You have kept your oath for two thousand years, and now you throw it away for this girl?”
“Yes,” the Dragon rumbled. “You would not understand.”
“But she is our sister’s plaything! Have you changed your convictions after so many centuries in limbo?”
“I have changed nothing.”
“Then you ought to kill her and be done with it,” Torment snarled. “What good can she be to you?”
“As I said,” the Dragon repeated, “you would not understand.”
Feeling was starting to return to Alice, making her aware that she still had a body after all. Every muscle ached, and her breath came in short gasps. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might explode. But the bright, silver pain, the feeling of the thread tearing her to pieces, was gone.
She opened her eyes. Vague blurs in front of her started to resolve.
“Alice,” the Dragon said. “Can you hear me?”
Alice found that she was still lying on her back, but the weight of Torment’s paw was gone. She forced herself to breathe deep, tasting the ancient dust.
“I can hear you,” she said. It came out as a croak. “What happened?”
“You called for me,” the Dragon said. “And I came.”
Alice sat up. The movement made the world whirl around her for a few moments, and she thought she might pass out. She focused on deep breaths, eyes closed, and bit by bit she settled down. When she opened her eyes again, she could see clearly, and she had to stifle a gasp.
As big as Torment was, he was tiny beside the Dragon. The huge six-legged creature nearly filled the room, curled protectively around Alice in a wall of flat white scales the size of dinner plates. Torment was sprawled in front of her, on his back as Alice had been, with one of the Dragon’s feet on his stomach and its claw pressed against his throat. The Dragon’s diamond-shaped head, itself almost bigger than Torment, hovered menacingly over the black wolf. A row of three hemispherical, insectoid eyes regarded Alice, and the tip of the Dragon’s tail twitched gently on the flagstones beside her.
“You told me to stop,” Alice said. “I thought . . .”
“We will speak of it later,” the Dragon said. “First, I believe you wanted to ask my brother a question.”
Alice climbed shakily to her feet. Her legs wobbled, threatening to give way beneath her, and she staggered sideways into something firm and warm that bore her weight. She looked down to find herself propped on the end of the Dragon’s tail.
“I understand,” Torment said. “Now I understand. He’s been helping you all along. I don’t know why, or how you’ve bound him, but it’s no wonder Ending thinks you’ll be useful—”
“Enough,” the Dragon said. “Alice. Ask.”
Alice stepped forward, satisfied herself that she could remain upright this time, and walked over to Torment. The black wolf looked up at her, blue eyes full of hatred and frustration.
“What happened to my father?”
“What?” Torment gave a pained chuckle. “How should I know—”
“You cannot lie,” the Dragon rumbled. “Not to me. I have known you too long.”
“Esau sent Vespidian to m
y house to make my father some kind of an offer,” Alice said. “What did he want?”
“He wanted you, of course,” Torment said.
“Why?” Alice asked.
“One of Esau’s agents caught the scent of you. A powerful talent, bound to no master. But someone was protecting you, so he sent that idiot sprite to try to make a deal with your father.”
Alice nodded slowly. That jibed with what she already knew—that Geryon had shielded her and her father from the eyes of other Readers since she’d been born. But—
“And then what? My father left me behind. He took a ship to South America, and it disappeared. What happened?”
“How should I know?”
The Dragon rumbled, a deep, menacing sound, and pressed its claw fractionally deeper into the black wolf’s throat.
“You spied on Esau, of course,” it said. “All of you spy on your masters. You saw what happened that night. You will show her.” The Dragon’s tail curved around to point at the giant mirror in its gaudy frame. “This is a seeing-glass, is it not?”
“A what?” Alice said, looking at it curiously.
“A device for looking at distant places, through the eyes of invisible spirits. It can recall anything its spirits have seen for its master.” The Dragon cocked its head at Torment. “And you said this was your place.”
“All right. All right!” Torment laughed, a nasty damp sound, like a retching cough. “But you may not like what you see.”
“Show me,” Alice said.
Torment’s paw waved, feebly. The surface of the mirror went black except for tiny speckles of light that sparkled like diamond dust. The stars, Alice realized. Patches of deeper darkness resolved into clouds, drifting slowly across the sky. Toward the bottom of the mirror, the darkness was absolute, until a small patch of bright, steady lights drifted into view.
It was a ship, under way at night in a calm sea, cheery navigation lights ablaze. They were too far away to read the name painted on the bow, but Alice could make a pretty good guess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE GIDEON, REPRISE
ONCE SHE GOT THE hang of the mirror’s perspective, Alice realized that the point of view—presumably Esau’s—was flying through the air, well above the Gideon and moving at a terrific speed. Now and then other creatures came into view alongside for a few moments before dropping back. Alice recognized some of them, the flying fish-like things the apprentices had battled at the broken bridge, and some of the huge bat-moths. There were others as well, strange monsters glimpsed too briefly to get an idea of their form, momentary flashes of brilliantly colored wings, taloned limbs, or writhing, squid-like tentacles. The mirror’s view remained locked frustratingly forward, where the ship was growing larger.
The Gideon was a handsome single-funnel steamer, smartly painted in gray, blue, and red, with cheerful yellow stripes on the hull. Electric lights burned on its rails and from the top of the funnel, rocking only slightly in the calm sea. As Esau approached, more lights came on, all along the boxy superstructure. The crew had sighted the approaching Reader and his accompanying minions, but they had no idea what to do—the ship’s wake kicked up higher as it increased speed, and the white-jacketed crewmen on deck lined the rail, staring in disbelief at the monsters approaching from the sky.
They were soon joined by the passengers, alerted by the shouting that something was amiss. A couple of dozen men and women in their sleepwear stumbled up from belowdecks, and started shouting—Alice was surprised to find she could hear them through the mirror—demanding to know what was going on. Then a young woman caught sight of what was coming, and her scream cut through the babble. Everyone looked up and was immediately transfixed, eyes wide in wonder or terror. One woman fainted dead away into the arms of the man beside her, and a little girl, younger than Alice, began to cry.
Only one man didn’t seem surprised. A lump formed in Alice’s throat as she recognized her father, pushing his way through the crowd to the rail. Even in his nightshirt, he looked calmer and more in control than the uniformed crewmen. The wind of the ship’s passage tugged at his hair, and his sleeves flapped wildly.
Esau descended until he was level with the rail, hovering over the ocean a few yards from the ship. Above him, his escorting creatures spread out, flapping over the deck of the ship, mostly invisible except as silhouettes against the stars or the funnel lights.
“Hello, Mr. Creighton,” he said. His voice sounded cracked and ancient, but at the same time shot through with power. It was the voice of an Old Testament prophet laying down the Law. “You should have considered my offer.”
“Damn your offer,” Alice’s father said. “It doesn’t matter how many monsters you bring with you, the answer’s still the same.”
“Fortunately,” Esau said, “your cooperation is no longer required. I will simply take this ship apart until I find what I’m looking for.”
“No!” Alice’s father hesitated. None of the other people on deck seemed to understand the Reader’s words, but they saw the conversation, and a wide, empty circle had formed around him. Some of the passengers were fleeing back belowdecks, or to the other side of the ship. More children were wailing in terror.
“These people have nothing to do with this,” Alice’s father said. “Listen! Alice—she’s not here! I swear it!”
“I find that unlikely,” Esau said. “After protecting her so carefully, I doubt you would simply leave her behind. But in either case, best to make certain.”
“She is not here!” Alice’s father looked around wildly. “Take me, if that’s what you’ve come to do. Kill me if you have to. No one else here deserves to suffer!”
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that, Mr. Creighton,” Esau said. “You might have given that a thought before you got on board.”
At a gesture from the Reader, huge black tentacles shot out of the water, rising straight up like rubbery pillars. They curled downward, fastening around the ship, crushing the railing with a shriek of twisting metal. The decks groaned and popped, and glass shattered in the windows. Alice heard the crack of gunshots, as some brave crewman fired a pistol into the thing, with as little effect as a slingshot on an elephant.
“Damn you,” Alice’s father said. “Damn you!”
“Now, now, Mr. Creighton,” Esau said. “I tried to do this politely.”
There was another crack, louder than the pistol, and a simultaneous explosion of light. One of the moth-bats was outlined for an instant in the brilliant white glow of a lightning bolt. It burst into flame, folding up and falling into the sea.
The point of view shifted as Esau looked up. The sky, which had been clear moments before, was now a mass of dark thunderheads, illuminated from within by a continuous, flickering barrage of lightning. At the forefront of the storm hung a single dark figure, outlined by the wild bolts of electricity.
“I ought to have known!” Esau shouted, above the roar of the wind.
He rose, hovering above the ship. The dark figure came closer.
“You can never keep your nose out of my business!” Esau said.
“The opportunity was too good to miss,” the dark figure said. “It’s not often I can lure you out of hiding.”
“And I, in turn, appreciate the opportunity to destroy you once and for all.”
A bolt of lightning slashed between them. In that brief moment, as bright light illuminated the shadowed figure, its face was burned into Alice’s retina. It was a face she knew well.
Geryon.
Esau gestured sharply, and the flock of creatures around him soared upward toward the other Reader. More lightning flashed out to intercept them. Behind the cage of brilliant white bolts, Geryon raised his hands, and the storm cloud beside him formed itself into an enormous fanged maw, with crackling slivers of liquid electricity for teeth. It opened wide, as though taking a deep
breath, and then exhaled a plume of silver-white flame that reached out toward Esau.
Esau fought back. More creatures popped into being, stranger and stranger things, winging or crawling or stalking their way through the air toward Geryon. Bolts of lightning answered them, blasts of fire, gusts of wind as sharp as razors, beams of utter darkness that disintegrated everything they touched.
It was like a battle between gods from an ancient legend, magic on a scale beyond Alice’s comprehension.
But her eyes were drawn to something else.
Down below, ignored by both combatants, the Gideon was burning.
“My master was forced to withdraw,” Torment said. “A temporary setback, he called it. Afterward, Geryon claimed you. To the victors go the spoils, I suppose.” The labyrinthine gave another wet chuckle. “Esau was angry. He sent Vespidian to try to—”
“I know that part,” Alice snapped.
She understood, suddenly, why so many people—Ending, Ashes, Mr. Black, even Torment himself—were so bitter toward the Readers. They’re like . . . like children, scuffling on top of an anthill. They don’t care who gets crushed underfoot. They don’t even think about it!
He is a Reader, Ending had told her. His magic is based on cruelty and death.
“Enough.” The Dragon’s voice, almost gentle, in spite of its depth and power. “Good-bye, brother.”
“Wait!” Alice shouted as Torment squirmed helplessly under the Dragon’s claw. “You can’t—”
There was a crunch of breaking bone, and the point of the Dragon’s talon drove itself through the wolf’s throat, releasing a gush of thick black blood. After a moment, Torment began to evaporate, blood and all, into a pall of noxious smoke. Within a few seconds, he was gone.
Long seconds passed as Alice strove to master herself. Finally, she said, “You killed him? Your own brother?”
“No,” the Dragon said. “It takes more than that to destroy a labyrinthine for good. But let us say . . . we will not see him for some time.”
The Mad Apprentice Page 18
