The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1)

by Jennifer Cipri

  The book slams shut and falls to the floor.

  Smyrna rushes over to it and picks it up, cradling it to her bosom.

  My hand flashes to my hip. Is now the time to strike? Something stays my hand. A voice inside tells me no, so I wait.

  Then I see the mayor. He slides off the four post bed and saunters over.

  “Well. Isn’t this quite the surprise,” he muses as he saunters our way, adjusting his briefs as he takes a seat on a nearby chaise. “I was just dreaming of how I was going to deal with you. And had lots of delicious theories on just how I would get the truth out of you, but this is all the better. You’ve come to me.”

  “She’s the one.” Smyrna utters with venom. “She’s the one in the prophecy. She knows where the crown is!” “Settle down my turtle dove. Or you’ll wake the whole mansion.”

  “Don’t let her out of your sight,” she snaps before she slips into the shadows, taking the book with her.

  I’ve been waiting days for this—to finally get the chance to stand face to face with the mayor and confront him with what I know. Staring down badmen is what I do best, and when I do it I am fearless. Nothing has changed. “I know all about you,” I tell him. “Your plans to enslave all these girls here, and I will never let that happen.”

  “And I know all about you. How you found the undercity. How you know too much for Valley slum. And now it appears you know about the crown. And that’s not looking too good for you.”

  His eyes go to my bare places and he gives a look that makes my skin crawl.

  “Come now, Stori, you don’t have to be shy with me. I’m going to make you one of my glorious girls before I get the truth from you and then get rid of you.” He gets up and instinctively I fly forward to attack, but a white light flashes and I’m hit with a searing pain that radiates my entire body.

  I can hear the witch laughing. “Got her. She won’t move.”

  I’m locked where I stand and suddenly freezing. I try to move my arms. I try and try with all my might but I’m frozen. Paralyzed. I’m panting now. I can only think of my breath. I have to get a deep one and soon. He’s walking over to me, grinning, taking pleasure in my struggle.

  “Stay over there,” I say.

  He sucks his teeth. “Oh Stori. I’ve heard about your freakish strength and quite frankly it turned me on. But I can’t have you putting up a fight on your first night here. I would then have to kill you sooner than I planned and we all know what kind of mess is involved in killing someone. First there’s the blood of course, and then the mere weight of your body as I have to stuff you in my trunk. Then there’s the smell if I have to leave you in there too long.”

  He sucks his teeth again. He’s right up on me now.

  I’m all adrenaline, yet it has nowhere to go. Luckily my breath has returned.

  He’s not touching me but my skin crawls. I shudder and try to pull my arms closer to my body, but I still have no strength.

  “Then there’s getting your dumb uncle to dispose of the body without letting one of his painted whores see. Your uncle is a little bit of a stray bullet with his addiction and that pesky guilt he carries around from giving away his own brother. I do feel sorry for him. But not enough to not kill him too, if he doesn’t do every single thing I tell him.” He grabs me by my shoulders with angry fingers.

  “But anyways, nobody put a gun to his head, Stori, when he came and told me about your father. Yes. Your father found the undercity. And he told his brother Joe. Bad move. Very bad move on your father’s part. Sadly, cash is king in this world, not family. Even in the Valley it seems. But apparently there’s not enough cash for you. Joe Putz has a soft spot for you Stori. If he knew what you were up to we didn’t get the information from him.” Mayor Vaughn laughs.

  “I don’t care about my Uncle Joe,” I say. “He’s not family to me.”

  “Yes. This is true. Now I am.” He slides a finger down the side of my cheek and brushes his thumb over my lips. “Now I’m in charge here Stori. And I have to say. I like it. I like it a lot.”

  “Start the torture,” comes the witches voice from the shadows.

  “Go get the other girl!” he barks back.

  It’s not my time to die. I want to live. There has to be a way to get out of this. Without my strength, I’m nothing. I’m nothing. The only thing I can think of is to stall him with questions. “What are you going to do with me?” I ask.

  Mayor Vaughn must love the sound of his own voice because he won’t shut up. “Well I’m actually glad you asked that question. You see with the other girls it didn’t take much to get them to surrender. Even your friend, Ernestine. Oh yes, she cried the first few nights, but she came around. Just like the rest of them.”

  I want to tell him that she never came around; she just escaped, let go of her mind to get through it. But now is not the time to be winning arguments. Now is the time to get out of these invisible chains.

  He must sense my thoughts, for he stops and narrows his eyes a little. “I know what you’re thinking. The loyal and honorable friend that you are. You want to break my face for doing such a thing to your bestie. But let’s consider something, shall we. Have you ever asked yourself, if your true-blue would do the same were the shoe on the other foot?

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well haven’t you wondered who put us onto you?”

  “The prophecy. It’s in that book.”

  “But it doesn’t say a name. So we couldn’t be sure. Even though your father confessed to being a Brave you seemed to have taken a different path, so we had already dismissed you. But do you remember the night you went poking your nose in Soda Can Alley?”

  “I went to go see my uncle.”

  “There was a girl with him.”

  I think back. Yes. There was a woman. One of the whores from the cathouse. Although I never really saw her, but who else would it be?

  “Did you ever wonder who it was?”

  “I’m not nosey like that.”

  “Well. You should have inquired. For the girl I sent him that evening to appease his beastly pleasures was none other than Ernestine. It was her first night here. I broke her in.”

  Rage overtakes me. I’ll claw his face before I bash it in. I wish again with all my might for release. I push and pull but still there is nothing. “You lie. You are a dirty filthy liar.”

  “Oh really?”

  He goes to the door and opens it and Ernestine is standing there in tears.

  “Come in my little birdie with all the information. Come in.”

  She’s shoved forward by the Mistress. She stands there, crying hysterically, with her arms hanging by her sides.

  “Ern,” I tell her. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe him. I never would! You’ve got to wake up and fight. Right now. Wake up and fight. Don’t let them take everything from you!”

  “I’m sorry, Stori,” she says. “I’m sorry. They made me do it. They made me go to your uncles and get stuff out of him. They thought because I was from the Valley that he would trust me. I didn’t get much from him. But I had to do stuff with him. I had to…” she breaks down into sobs and crumbles to the floor. She weeps, and I wait, not knowing what to believe, while she gathers enough breath to speak again. She looks up at me and says, “I hated myself. Ever since Richie. I didn’t want to live anymore. I tried to tell you in the bathroom. Because I knew they had their eye on you. I knew if you kept snooping around for your dad they would get you too. But you didn’t listen!”

  “You could have told me. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you.”

  “I was mad at you. For being free. For not being me. For being so strong all the time. So when you came and told me you were looking for the crown, I hid it for a while, but I finally told. Yesterday before you got here. I knew it would keep them from sending me to your uncle too. I had to tell them, Stori. I had to. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Ern. No. No. You didn’t.”

  “I did. So no
w you know. I did.”

  Mayor Vaughn is happier than a pig in shit. He goes to the bureau where a carafe sits and a glass. He pours something yellow, like Mountain Dew, into the glass and he comes back to me. “This…,” he says waving the glass in front of me. “...is a special cocktail made by Mistress Smyrna. You are going to drink it now.”

  “I will not.”

  He’s mildly displeased. He makes little clucks of disapproval. Then he goes over to Ernestine and in a flash he’s behind her with a knife to her throat. “This one is almost no use anymore. I was going to keep her, but I think I’ll kill her instead.”

  “Don’t,” I tell him. I’m surprised at myself. I hate Ernestine. Don’t I? Don’t I?

  “You have two choices. You either drink the drink. Or Ernestine dies.”

  More time. I need more time. Stall him, Stori. Stall him. “I can’t move. Let my arms go free.”

  “Oh, but I’ll help you.” He takes a break from terrorizing Ernestine and brings the glass back over to me. He lifts it to my nose and says, “Smell it. Go ahead. Smell.”

  I take a small whiff, trying to be as careful as I can. It’s stronger than turpentine and I have to hold myself back from gagging. It smells like bile.

  He laughs. “I felt the same way when I first took a whiff. But trust me, Stori. You will never taste anything more sweet than the Cocktail of Forgotten.”

  “What does it do?” I ask, trying to calm my stomach heaves, trying to muster my magic, so I can use it on him the way I did with the sweeper. But the magic isn’t coming this time.

  “It makes you die. The old you of course. But a new you will be born. A you like me. I luckily, never had the need for even a drop of the potion because I always knew the kind of man I wanted to be. But people like you, the trouble rousers, always need a little persuasion. Drink it. And you will no longer feel the need to go running around Redemption causing your little troubles. Because you will be on our side.”

  I look at the drink. Who knows what’s really in here.

  “Free her arms,” he says into the blackness.

  I reach for it and find that my arms are now free.

  Mayor Vaughn is pleased. “Yes. Yes,” he says. “Go ahead and drink it.”

  I hold it there. I look at Ernestine. “Ern,” I say. “Even though you hurt me, I won’t let him kill you. You’re my friend. You’re my family.”

  “Don’t drink it,” she pleads. “Just let him kill me. I just want to die.”

  I don’t know why but I think of Cristina Dexter, the last girl I defeated in the cage. I realize what a monster I had been for wanted to hurt someone unprovoked. “I’m sorry, Cristina,” I whimper.

  I’m free to reach for the knife now. I can draw it out and dart it at him. I’ve practiced that before on targets like trees and stuff. I’m a pretty good shot. My hand falls nervously to my side, my fingers brushing against the hard place as they descend. But when I reach under my skirt and take it out I do something unexpected. I fling the knife out over the balcony. My only hope for survival eaten up by the blanket of a winter night.

  “I don’t want to hurt anymore,” I say. “I’m done hurting. I’m done.”

  I never thought it would end this way. I always imagined the day I died I would go out fighting. I’ve always prided myself on my warrior spirit, but to die like this is strange. There is nothing left in me now but forgiveness. “It’s okay. I forgive you, Ern. I forgive you. Do you hear me? No matter what, I’ll always be your friend.”

  I can see Cristina Dexter bloodied beneath me. “I’m sorry Cristina. I’m sorry. I was wrong to hurt you. I’m sorry!”

  And then it appears.

  A blue light; suspended above our heads like one of the chandeliers in the dining room. It is that stunning blue in the stones of the Crown. Round and perfect like the sun, it beats out its flawless color with a magnificence too great to behold. “Jesus!” I exclaim.

  Mayor Vaughn staggers back and stutters. “What…what…what the hell is that?”

  It spins. A great white wind swirls around it and the room is overtaken by a loud ringing, like the sound your ear makes when you get water in there. And alongside it is the woosh of gushing air. The chair to the Mistress’ vanity topples over and a lamp crashes to the floor, shattering to pieces.

  Mayor Vaughn covers his ears against the sound. His briefs are whipping about his thighs furiously. “Make it stop!” he hollers. “Make it stop!”

  But I can’t hear him all that well because my every sense is fixed on the blue up there. It is the one and only blue that born itself from the Father’s hands. The blue of creation. The blue of His endless love. His pouring out of adoration. His weeping weeping joy that sang as He made this place we call earth. It crushes down upon me and the agony I feel is euphoric.

  A great love which came at a great cost. A stretching of the arms open wide and a beating heart that bled for all to see.

  My sights are also on the girl inside that spinning ball of blue sky. It is the girl who led me through the sandstorm in the desert. She is dancing. Yes dancing. A man in a turban watches her, wiping away tears.

  Now I am dancing too because I have been made free by the sight of her glorious joy and innocence. I will go back to this girl, whoever she is. Wherever she lives, I need to find her. I swear I will not rest until I get to where she dances. Until her dancing and mine mingle into one.

  Hands up, hips wild and free, my face turned up to the sky. I dance. And I sing as well. And not in the language I am used to speaking. It is in the ancient tongue.

  Hands up. Heart ablaze. Ready to find you

  Ready to fall at your feet, my Lord

  Ready to be your child.

  Hands up

  Hands up

  Hands up

  Mayor Vaughn is in some kind of seizure state as I step right over him. Mistress Smyrna is cowering in the corner, hissing like a snake.

  Even though she doesn’t deserve it, I can’t forget Ernestine.

  I pick up her tear streaked face and I kiss her widow’s peak. Then I leave her back to her sorrow, for something even stronger is calling me. Joy is calling me. And a voice. A voice. I can hear it. It is calling out to me. It is calling my name.

  They watch me as I go. All of them. The girls peeking out of their rooms, pointing in alarm and confusion. The maids and the other servants. I am surrounded now in the blue light and nothing can stop me. Not Mistress Smyrna, not the mayor, not the Black Boots.

  Not the butler, Tyler, who is no longer looking at the floor but staring at me in amazement.

  He opens the door for me, still with the dishtowel draped over his arm and just like that I walk out of that place knowing I will never return.

  Stepping down the gravel driveway I see a lantern in the distance.

  My stride falls into a trot and then I begin to run. And when I make it to the end of the drawbridge I see a small speed boat. It belongs to Arty Arm.

  Arty is holding up the lantern and by his side is Tony. “Get in.”

  31: Bilhah

  The Mathematician wears his many cloaks and his tall turban that looks like a golden beehive sitting on the top of his head. His beard is white and full and his back is perpetually hunched from all his poring over his studies.

  My mother met him once, for she requested a short meeting with the one who often summons me to Babel. His back was the first thing she noticed about him. “For a man who studies the stars he bears the mark of one who does not look to the heavens enough. But he is a good man. He studies for the justice and the betterment of man. I only fear those who employ him. Their motives are not yet known to us. And this crown they are forging—they could have ulterior motives other than the coronation of the Father.”

  It is said that when the tower is finished and the portal to heaven is accessed, the crown will be placed on the great Ancient of Days. Once the great Father is crowned he will come down and walk with man again. The false idols will be cast aside and man
will be atoned for the sins of Adam. It is said, once the crown is placed on the Father, heaven and earth will be as one and man will be immortal again.

  My presence is announced and the Mathematician has me ushered in. He is happy to see me, as he always is. His wooden sandals make funny little clicks on the marble floor. He is always funny to me. The way his hair coils out unruly, even the hair of his beard. The way his eyes sparkle when he smiles. The way he speaks like a child. “My dear Bilhah. Our graceful dancer of the hills. Tell me how your journey was this day?”

  “It was quite fine. I stopped and saw the lilies.”

  “Very well. Very well.”

  There are many windows and terraces in the mathematician’s study. There is a bed for when he needs rest, a harp for music, and a table where his parchments are laid out. He is trying to solve many mysteries of the earth and heavens. He is trying to figure out how the capstone of the tower should be built and how the crown should be forged.

  He leads me to the table and I look over his strange drawings and calculations. The table is messy and cluttered and I tell him. “How do you work with such a mess?”

  He laughs. “Ahh. If only you knew my madness. This is only but a hint of what goes on inside my head.”

  There is a parchment with a picture of the tower and notes are scribbled on all sides. I brush my hand over it. “I like to watch the tower at night when the fires are lit. It is quite beautiful from the Caverns.”

  “Is your mother well?” he asks me.

  “She is.”

  “And your father?”

  “He is.”

  “Good. Very good. That the heavens will protect them and keep you from knowing the loneliness of motherlessness, of fatherlessness, as I have known.” He looks sad now. He misses his parents, I can tell. I hope to cheer him. “Maybe when the portal is reached, you will see them again.”

  He smiles. “Yes, maybe. Maybe.”

  The woman who plays the harp comes in and she sits at her stool and waits. The mathematician looks at me and says. “Today I will have you dance to the melody of the creation.”