by Seth Fishman
In front of us, Straoc slows, his body lumbering a step or two more before it can be fully controlled. He tilts his head and I see the pupils in his huge eyes opening and closing, as if he were zooming in and out. There’s a dismissive curl to his lip. A tightening of the jaw. “You do not understand yourself, or the world you have stepped into, young Jo.” He speaks with a heavy weight, a threat rumbling in his throat. Straoc suddenly embodies the full seven-foot frame he possesses, his pale skin and eyes and voice so starkly unfamiliar and daunting that I try to take a step backward, only I can’t move because he’s gripping the rope too tight. “We are not sitting idly waiting for your arrival. We are our own people, and one of our leaders, one of the Three, has been killed just this past night. The minds of the Keepers tremble in anger and you walk in. Never has a life been taken so, her heart cut out from her chest, and at the exact same moment as the gates open and the water flows and you arrive. Do you not see? My sisters and brothers believe you are connected to the death of a Keeper!”
Jo shakes her head. “But that means that you holding us here is putting us in danger. You can still let us go!”
Straoc tsks. “Maybe if I had gotten to you first, I could have let you go. I want to know the Topside. Maybe this cycle I will get to see your sun. Yes, I am a friend. The source only told Arcos and Randt that Topsiders had come, not how many, and now that you have been seen by my brethren, all has changed. If I do not present you to Keeper Randt, as I promised, I will myself be taken. They believe you were connected with the assassination of our sister. They will believe I helped you escape.”
“But we didn’t kill anyone,” Rob complains. “We didn’t cut out some Keeper’s heart. We just got here.”
“No,” Straoc agrees, the corners of his lips twitching upward into a smile. “No, you did not kill one of the Three. This I know. I know for many reasons. How could you? But the others will ask how it is that one of our most cherished leaders was assassinated on the very day Topsiders appear for the first time ever. Dead by no weapon a Keeper would use. The others will believe you know.”
My mind’s running through the facts. We’re in this crazy secret underground world, with a clearly intelligent society, standing beyond a lake filled with magic healing water and looking out over the most beautiful city I have ever seen and instead of being able to marvel, we’re being set up like scapegoats for the offing of some Keeper woman we know nothing about. Rob’s dazed, but Jo looks like she’s about to make a run for it, rope be damned. I wonder if we could make it if Rob weren’t here. Jo and I are fit; swimming and diving might be different sports, but we both have trained nonstop. An image flashes through my mind of Rob tripping immediately, sending us bounding down the steps, one over the other and back to Straoc’s feet. We don’t seem to have many options.
Straoc gives a gentle tug on the rope, pulling my arms forward. “Come now, do not be afraid. You may be safe yet. Let us see what Keeper Randt says. He is also of the Three, a very powerful Keeper. The source will show him the truth in your mind.”
Jo’s tensing, but I can’t help thinking of Dad, of how he’s down there and alone. I don’t know the politics of this place, but what Straoc claims about protecting us seems to ring true enough. He did save us from those guards, who already know about my dad and had him imprisoned. I don’t get how he knew we had arrived, but it’s good he did. If this Randt guy is one of the two most important Keepers in Capian, then maybe he’s our only hope of getting out of here with Dad. Maybe it’s my only chance. I begin to walk, the rope tightening around my wrists, tightening around Jo’s too, forcing both my friends to follow, and we trudge reluctantly into the outskirts of the city.
• • •
Quickly, something becomes apparent: no one’s around. The stairs exit right into the same wide boulevard we saw above that cuts Capian in two, a street lined with high buildings running straight through the city to the mountain on the far side. A mini-aqueduct stands about chest-high in the center, made of stone and filled with running water that sounds like a forest stream. Straoc moves us fast—but there’s so much to see, so much to wonder about, that it’s hard not to want to yank on the rope and ask for a moment. There are lilies and tall mossy trees that hang over the boulevard. I swear I see a white cat sitting in an alley, but it doesn’t move and soon we’re past it. Glowflowers are everywhere, placed on the walls to provide a hazy light, but spaced evenly along the boulevard are also these enormous torches flickering on tall iron rods.
“How do they keep those going?” Jo asks about the rods, despite herself.
“Gas,” Rob responds quickly, and looks to Straoc for support, who nods, apparently impressed. Rob sniffs the air. I do too, but don’t smell anything. “See how the flame burns clean? How it doesn’t end in black puffs of smoke? That probably means natural gas, and refined too.”
“What do you mean, ‘refined’?” I say. “We harvest the water from them, they sneak up and steal natural gas from us?”
“We do not steal anything from you. Not at all. We have all the resources we need. The water and the earth provide. Do you not have these?” Straoc says, pointing at the lamps.
“We do,” Rob replies, “but not much anymore. We have electricity now.”
“Ah, yes,” Straoc says, spreading his arms wide. “The Three have long decreed a ban. The water is connected, and we are to the water. Electricity is dangerous.” His voice turns defensive, prideful. “Still, Keeper Randt tells us that we have many other things that you find Topside, like gastrains and gardens and medicine and stores to cut hair.” He wipes his hand on his bald head proudly. I look around; there’s no sign of any of this stuff.
“Why don’t you come up top?” I imagine this uneasily—thousands of Straoc-like men and women streaming through Fenton, buying Slurpees at 7-Eleven, skiing on the weekend.
“It is forbidden,” Straoc says, his voice soft. “And we are here, behind these walls, keeping ourselves forever. But as I said, that might change soon.” We stay quiet, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t, and keeps us moving at a steady pace through the city. He turns, from time to time, down other roads; Straoc always unerring, the roads always empty.
“This place feels fake,” Rob says. “Where’s the wind? Why isn’t anyone in the streets?”
“Maybe they’re Morlocks,” Jo suggests.
“That’s a me joke,” Rob says.
As we keep walking, a few other details become clear. The gas lamps are everywhere, and on most buildings we can see glowflowers set into the walls like shining tattoos layered into the skin of the stone. Balconies and windows are extremely high up, and with none of the usual signs of life you might see, like curtains or chairs or laundry. Only buildings with two stories or fewer have noticeable entrances. The big ones, the towers, have no doors or windows or any other means of access below thirty or forty feet.
There are side streets, and along each street is what might be a drainage ditch, maybe three feet wide, filled with flowing water.
“Straoc,” I call out, but he doesn’t stop. “Is this the same water that’s in the lake?”
He looks over his shoulder. “What other type of water is there?”
“What about the source?” I ask, unable to help myself. If Dad’s here for it, he’d want to know.
“I have not seen the source. Only Randt and Arcos, now, have drunk of it.” He pauses, hesitant, as if he’s about to speak blasphemy. “I do not know what the difference is.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, wondering again what Dad thinks he’s getting into here. What does he know that he hasn’t told us already?
“Keeper Randt, Keeper Arcos, they can do things we cannot.” He’s reverent now, speaking of his leader.
I try to go through a list of what I already know: it helps you see things, maybe the future, it helps with languages. What else?
“Check this
out,” Jo says, pointing up ahead. We’re reaching an intersection that reminds me of a roundabout, except that in the center of the circle there’s a stairway down. A fountain is positioned over the stairwell, a single round structure that rises about fifteen feet in the air, and the water drips over its edge into three pools that fill the roundabout.
“That is where we are going,” Straoc says, moving ahead.
“There’s an underground to the underground?” Rob asks.
“I do not understand why there is a difference,” Straoc says, pointing down the dark entranceway and past the cool air that’s siphoning up off the stairs. “We are underground both ways.”
As we descend, I think back to the Cave, which my father built and the other Westbrook alums funded. All of those tunnels, created entirely to research the water, constructed in the hope that the water would come back again. It’s crazy that they poured millions of dollars and years of their lives into speculation about the water that’s just lying around in this world. This tunnel would put my Dad & Co. to shame; compared to down here, the Cave seems like it was built by a toddler in a sandpit. This tunnel’s wide, maybe twenty feet across, and has something like track lighting made of small gas flames on both the floor and ceiling. The walls are polished and look like travertine, Dad’s favorite, alternating, like the road, between white and black, and the floor is tiled in onyx inlaid with long, looping designs of gold and silver. I see Rob scuff his boot at the gold in curiosity, then glance up at me with an oops after he leaves a mark.
The walkway splits. Down one of the hallways I can make out some Keepers strolling along a series of stalls that run the length of my view, like a grand bazaar. It’s grandly illuminated and full of voices and sounds. It’s the first sign of real life here. As if aboveground were just for show.
I see clothing on display, dangling on lines, in the brightest of colors. There are several dozen pale men and women here, hawking or scrutinizing merchandise, and when we pass, they stop and stare. The women are almost as tall as the men, thinner, willowy. Their eyes are smaller, but similarly strange. Both men and women wear dresses or pants or sleeveless toga-like garb. They have sandals and shoes that remind me of Sperrys—trendy boater shoes lots of the richies at Westbrook wore. Everyone has different hair, braided or dyed, short or long. There are necklaces and earrings and once, I swear, I see a nose ring. I might as well be walking down a street in Turkey or India or Germany or East Timor. It’s oddly comforting to feel the familiarity, even if I’ve only seen those places on TV.
“This is all part of the Exchange,” Straoc says, motioning toward that pathway. It’s hard to ignore the frowns and the palpable tension of our presence. “And that was the garment district. You will find food and engineering and plants and game and medicine and all things in other districts farther along the Exchange.”
A couple Keepers break off from the crowd, and I realize that I don’t know how to gauge their age. Everyone seems to look the same. These two might as well be twins: both female, both with high cheekbones and black hair parted in the middle, both in pearly white tops with black skirts that splay wide around them. Their eyes are sharp and angry. I take an instinctive step back.
One of them pulls a long piece of red silk from out of a pouch she carries and waves it languidly back and forth before me. The same sort of ribbon that Straoc whipped out earlier. The other spits on the ground and says something to Rob in their native tongue, something quick and nasty.
Straoc snaps right back at them, then points to the ribbon. The Keeper reluctantly puts it away but then gets right up in Rob’s face, her smile wide and vicious.
“Hey, hey,” he says, putting his hands up. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Word of your descent spreads quickly. You are here, and Keeper Feileen is gone.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
The woman’s slender hands shake and her lip trembles. It takes me a second to realize she’s crying, her eyes filling with tears. “We spend cycles dreaming of meeting our first Topsider,” she says in a harsh whisper, breathing raggedly through a stuffed nose. “And Keeper Feileen warned us. She said you were nothing but rot. That we should never go Topside. That we exist to stop you from coming here. We are Keepers.” She wipes her tears from her face and her friend pulls her back by the arm. “You come, she dies. You come, and my clan leader’s heart is ripped from her chest.”
Rob opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. What is there to say?
“And you,” she wheels on Straoc, who doesn’t bat an eye. “Tell your Keeper Randt that we will maintain our place at the Three.”
“Yes,” says the twin, “Randt and Arcos cannot divide Capian in two. Clan Feileen will not have it.”
“Please,” Straoc says reassuringly. “Your clan cannot but be a member of the Three, yes? But to expect me to share your message after you threaten my charges? Absurd.”
“We know you, Straoc. We speak and Randt hears.”
She controls herself, runs her hands over her face and through her hair. Her cheeks are flushed and I can see how painful it is for her, thinking of her dead leader. Death here hits hard. If they really think we had something to do with it, for sure they must hate us.
The twins loop arms and leave, looking back over their shoulders, their faces full of hate. I realize that no one is moving. All of the other Keepers in sight are watching, faces set in stone. Word did travel fast. I wonder if Feileen told her followers we’d come. Could the source tell her that?
“What just happened?” Jo asks. “And that ribbon she had?”
Straoc doesn’t speak until they’re gone, and it’s only then that I see one of his hands tight on the hilt of a dagger at his belt. He looks at Jo and smiles reassuringly. “Nothing at all, friend. But do not touch those ‘ribbons,’ as you call them. They are very sharp. Remember, not everyone is happy you are here. Please, hurry with me. We must be on time.”
He keeps quiet after that and so do we. It just feels safer. The Keepers around us continue to stare and those enormous eyes bore into us with every step. I lower my head and follow Straoc’s feet, and we go for a while until we hit a platform that curves gently around a corner.
“A subway?” Rob asks.
“A gastrain,” Straoc replies. “And we only barely arrived for it.” In front of us is a silver pod shaped like a football with a gaping door that opens as we near. Inside, things get tight, but there’s a bench that’s just big enough for all of us. I realize, as Straoc slides the door into place, that I’ve never ridden a subway before. I wonder how close this will feel to New York. I bet Brayden knows. We sit and stare and Straoc closes his enormous eyes and leans his head back. Resting, he seems gigantic, and I’m struck with a sense of helplessness. I want to say something, I want to be in control, but that’s not possible and a growing sense of claustrophobia finally locks in. I try to control my breathing, but even the exercises I’ve learned over the years swimming don’t help. Straoc’s relaxed pose is in such contradiction to my fear, exhilaration and exhaustion that I finally get how reliant we are on him; if he wanted, we’d never leave this city, or even this little box again. He’s got our lives completely in his hands.
We begin to move, but there are no bounces, no jolts, just momentum. Maybe two minutes later, even that fades. Jo takes my hand and I close my eyes but am still here, stuck. “What is this thing?” Rob asks, rapping his knuckles on the wall. There’s no clang, it’s too thick.
Straoc smiles, pleased again to show off. “It’s a wheel, built flat underneath the city. This gastrain is one of many around Capian, all attached to the wheel at different junctions, all sitting on top of it.”
“So what, it spins in a circle and every gastrain in the city has to move at the same time because they are all attached to the same wheel?” Rob asks. “I guess if they have a strict schedule . . .”
“They do,” Straoc assures us. “There is no need to wait as we know when the wheel turns.”
“Like a record player,” I find myself saying, the idea somehow helping me feel better. “This is like having a record player underneath the city and little cars glued to the record and they all go around when the player’s turned on.”
“It’s also a clock, too,” Rob adds. “No sun, regular intervals.”
“I do not know exactly what you mean, but I am eager to find your gastrain record player Topside when I can.” I feel a tug, and we’ve stopped. Straoc opens the door, his thick muscles bulging, and looks back at us. “This is the tower of Randt of the Three, a ruler here in Capian. Behave, and we will all see Topside soon enough.”
5
BEYOND THE GASTRAIN, DOWN A FEW STEPS, I SEE A door, circular and sparkling, covered in jewels the size of tennis balls. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires are the easy ones to pick out. Opals and amethyst, and more and more, each one big enough to adorn Queen Elizabeth’s crown. It feels like there’s a pattern here, and I wonder if this is like those Magic Eye tricks in books, where if you cross your eyes you can suddenly see in 3-D.
Before I have a chance to step closer, though, the door lifts like a portcullis. No scrape or rumble. Quieter by far than our garage door. But I don’t linger on the mechanics because beyond the door, in a bright profusion of scent and color, is an enormous garden. We’re in the middle of one of the towers we saw from the higher level and I’m reminded immediately of concept art for gardens in outer space. Around me is the perfectly manicured greenery cultivated to support life in an alien environment. It feels like we’re in one of those space stations right now. I’m not sure I can prove that we aren’t.
“Impressive,” Rob says, craning his neck in awe, his mouth hanging open. He takes a distracted step forward, almost bumping into Jo. I have to suppress the childish urge to knock him off balance. I can’t help it. A small part of my mind hasn’t changed after all I’ve been through.
