Jane Doe and the Cradle of All Worlds

by Jeremy Lachlan

  ‘Second hideout of mine used to be over there a ways.’ Hickory points at a bunch of arches further along the cliff. ‘Small place, nothing fancy. Way before the river came through. Figured if I was here I could keep watch on all the bridges. Better chance of spotting someone. Then Roth and his army came. Knew they were no good. Avoided them for ages. Gate rotted. Water flowed.’ He gets a good grip on the wall with one hand, lifts up his shirt with the other, revealing a particularly nasty scar on his side. ‘Then they found me.’

  ‘They shot you?’ I ask.

  Hickory nods. ‘Led ’em on a merry chase. Couldn’t run forever, though. They dragged me down there. Tortured me. Kept me a while before carting me off to Roth’s lair.’

  ‘And your life as a bounty hunter began.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t choose –’ he starts to say, but then the rope lashed around his platform snaps. He only just manages to get a decent hold on the cliff before the planks slip away and plummet down to the river, crashing through other platforms as they fall.

  We freeze, eyes sweeping over the distant station. Every black window, every open door. The cages and coils of barbed wire. Still, not a Leatherhead in sight.

  ‘They would’ve heard that,’ I say. ‘Surely.’

  ‘Keep climbing,’ Violet says. ‘And no more talking. Something isn’t right here.’

  By the time we reach the bottom my arms and legs feel like jelly. My hands and toes like mangled crab claws. We’re about fifty metres downriver from the station on a wider, sturdier platform that’s only inches above the river. The others breathe a sigh of relief. Me, not so much. The water’s black as ink, gurgling under the boardwalk.

  We duck behind a couple of barrels on the boardwalk, and Violet starts flapping all these hand signals. Fingers pointing, twirling, walking on air. When she’s finished she waits for a pointy, twirly response, but me and Hickory have no idea what she means.

  ‘Come again?’

  Violet screws up her face, holds a finger to her lips. It’s pointless, really, because even if there were Leatherheads here they’d never hear our voices over the raining gateway, especially from this distance. She starts the signal all over again, gives up three moves in.

  ‘Forget it. You two stay here. Don’t move till I give you the all-clear.’ She creeps along the boardwalk, edging closer and closer to the empty cages beside the compound, into the cloud of mist. I ask Hickory if he thinks it’s an ambush.

  ‘Not really their style,’ he says. ‘But I’ve been wrong before.’

  Violet steps inside the main two-storey shack, disappears.

  We wait, and we wait, the river gurgling away beneath us. Hickory taps his fingers on the barrel, sucks at his teeth and sighs.

  I can’t take it anymore.

  ‘Come on. I’m going to help her, and if you want to make sure the key doesn’t fall into the wrong hands you’d better come too.’

  Hickory tries to grab me, but I give him the ol’ slippery fish routine and duck around the barrels. He swears at me, but follows. I squish myself into the wall, stay as far from the water as I can. We step into the mist, past the empty cages, our skin damp and beady from the spray. All’s dark and deserted inside the main shack. Barrels, crates, upturned benches. Half a broken stepladder’s hanging from a hole in the ceiling, leading to the upper floor. There are half-a-dozen or so dead Leatherheads in here, too.

  Slashed bags of bones, the lot of them.

  ‘What happened here?’ I almost-shout over the gush of the weeping gateway.

  ‘No idea,’ Hickory says. ‘But it must’ve happened a long time ago.’ He picks up a gas mask by its trunk. A manky skull clatters to the floor. He barely glances at it, runs his fingers round the neck of the mask instead. ‘Ripped clean off.’

  ‘By what?’ I spot a severed hand in the corner. An inch of bone poking from a leather glove. I take a step closer to Hickory. ‘Spectres can’t do this, right?’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘So what did it, then?’

  He tosses the mask aside. ‘Best if we don’t find out.’

  Violet’s in the next room, crouched over a pile of clothes or something in the corner. Claw marks scar the walls. Water drips from the ceiling. She spins around, rifle first.

  My hands shoot up. ‘Whoa, whoa, it’s us.’

  ‘You were supposed to wait for a signal.’

  ‘Felt wrong sending you in here alone,’ Hickory says. ‘Had to drag Jane along.’

  ‘What? That isn’t true, you lying sack of –’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Violet says. ‘Come take a look at this.’

  They aren’t clothes in the corner. It’s a mound of sodden –

  ‘Skin,’ Violet says. She snags a bit on the end of her rifle, holds it up. The stuff ’s pinkish, translucent. ‘Something shed this. A creature, what, five feet long? Six? I think these bits,’ she jiggles one of the dripping sleeves, ‘are arms or legs.’

  ‘Do you reckon it killed all the Leatherheads?’ I ask.

  ‘Maybe,’ Hickory says. ‘Or killed some and drove the others away.’

  ‘These frilly bits here might be gills,’ Violet says.

  ‘You mean it came from the water?’ I say. ‘Through the gateway?’

  ‘The holes are big enough for a fish egg,’ Violet says. ‘Or a tadpole.’

  A noise outside gives me goose bumps. A bird-like chirrup and a froggy croak gargled into one, followed by a tiny splash.

  ‘Right-ee-o,’ I say. ‘I guess it did us a favour, clearing this place out and all, but let’s not hang around to thank it. Violet, did – please put that thing down, it’s disgusting.’ The skin makes a wet, slappy sound when it hits the floor. ‘Did you check out the boats?’

  Violet nods at the door leading to the dock. ‘Through there. We’re good. First, I think we need disguises. Could buy us a few precious seconds if we’re spotted.’

  We head back into the first room, pick the Leatherhead suits clean. It doesn’t take us long to clad ourselves in the foul-smelling strips, ill-fitting as they are. We wrap them over our clothes and bare skin, help each other tear and tie them off. We forget about the gloves because they’re way too big, with too few fingers anyway, but we grab a gas mask each. I make sure there’s a gap in the leather round my waist so I can get at the key in my pocket.

  ‘Brilliant,’ I say once we’ve finished. ‘We look nothing like them.’

  ‘Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve tried this,’ Hickory says. ‘Long story. Didn’t end well.’ He shakes his head. ‘We’re way too short, for starters.’

  ‘There must be Leatherhead children out there somewhere,’ Violet says. ‘Maybe they’ll just think we’re kids.’

  ‘Technically, we are kids,’ I say.

  Hickory flexes his arms. ‘Speak for yourself.’

  We step outside onto the dock, into the downpour. Scan the river. The coast is clear. No bad guys. No pink-skinned creatures. Nothing but the churning black water.

  Hickory and Violet figure the boat on the far side of the dock’s best, where the water’s slightly calmer. The motor’s all smashed up like the others but the sides aren’t as dented. They go on about it like it’s a real find, but as far as I’m concerned the thing looks like a metal coffin. We can only find one oar so Hickory rips up a plank from the dock to use instead.

  Violet unties the boat, holds it steady. I take a step back. Creepy as the shack may be, leaving this place by boat suddenly seems like a really bad idea.

  ‘What if I fall in?’

  ‘I’ll jump in and get you,’ Violet says.

  ‘What if we all fall in? And get sucked down one of those whirlpool thingies.’

  ‘Then we hold our breath and hope for the best.’

  ‘But what if we get sucked down a really long stairwell or a hallway and –’

  ‘Comes down to this,’ Hickory says. ‘Do you want to find your mum or not?’

  Bloody hell. He’s right
. I hate that he’s right, but he’s right.

  There are three seats in the floating coffin. Benches front, middle and back. I plant myself in the middle, hands gripping either side, gas mask in my lap. Hickory holds the boat as Violet takes the front, facing forward. The boat lurches and sways. I clench my eyes shut and pretend I’m sitting on a rocking chair. Back in the Hollows’ basement. Anywhere on dry land.

  ‘Tell me when we’re about to cast off,’ I say, eyes still shut tight.

  ‘Jane,’ Violet says after a while. ‘Look at me.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  A sheet of icy water drenches my back. I yell and spin around, ready to punch Hickory – and see the Leatherhead station shrinking into the distance behind him. The current’s already spiriting us gently through the chasm, beneath the bridges and the corridors and the coloured dots of crystals glowing like stars high above. Hickory smiles at me.

  ‘Now,’ he says, ‘let’s go find that key.’

  DRIFTING

  The chasm branched off into three corridors a while back. I chose the middle one, a gut feeling more than anything. We cruise in silence under a vaulted ceiling, weaving between the chandeliers hanging just above the surface. Pools of reflected candlelight ripple as we pass. Drips and drops echo from the surrounding archways, all of them black. Violet steers when we need it, but the current does most of the work, a swift and steady thing.

  Hickory’s sleeping now, curled up beneath the broken motor. I’m beginning to think he made the river sound extra dangerous just so we’d be sure to bring him along for the ride. Apparently we have a good few hours before we reach the next Leatherhead station.

  I keep my eyes peeled for anything that looks familiar, something I might’ve seen in my dream. Nothing stands out. I make adjustments to my suit, which is tight and clingy in all the wrong places. Try on my gas mask. Unsurprisingly, it smells terrible.

  We drift on down the river, and I decide to start another conversation with Violet. Partly to stay calm, but also because she catches me staring at her twice and you can only compliment someone’s rowing skills so many times. I quiz her about Bluehaven, and she seems happy to answer. No, she hasn’t worn red boots in years. No, there hasn’t been another Manor Lament since I left, but Atlas probably holds his own to mark the occasion. Yes, all the fisherfolk still hate me, and Eric Junior’s probably most definitely still a jerk.

  Speaking of jerks, I also ask her about Roth, because I’ve been thinking.

  ‘There’s gotta be a way to kill him, right? Everyone says he’s immortal, but something hurt him. Or someone. He isn’t exactly a picture of health, you know?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jane,’ Violet says, stifling a yawn.

  ‘I bet my mum’s worked it out. All that time in here? She’ll be able to help us for sure. You wanna hear the questions I’m gonna ask her? I’ve culled it down to ten.’

  I only make it to five before Violet interrupts me.

  ‘Do you really think she’ll be there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I really think she’ll be there.’

  Violet dips her oar into the water. We skirt round another chandelier. ‘I’m really sorry to say it, Jane, but – but I don’t. And I’m not convinced the key will be there either.’

  ‘Why? All this everything-happens-for-a-reason talk and you reckon the Manor just – what – took me on a mental scenic tour of the river for the fun of it?’

  ‘I didn’t say I don’t believe there’s a reason for this. I just don’t want you to pin your hopes on Elsa being there, that’s all. She split a long time ago, and this is a dangerous place.’

  ‘She didn’t split. Besides, Hickory managed to survive in here.’

  ‘By joining the bad guys.’ Violet shrugs. ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Oh, so you think my mum’s a bounty hunter now?’

  ‘No, Jane.’ She rests the oar across her lap, twists around to face me. ‘Okay, you said you saw a couple of statues, and then you went shooting down the river over rapids and across lakes and down a big waterfall and then everything went black.’

  ‘Yeah. So?’

  ‘So you’re terrified of water. What if everything went black because you got scared and – and woke up before it showed you exactly what you were supposed to see? What if you only saw the beginning of the path? And don’t forget about the Spectre. Elsa was caught. Gripped. You need to prepare yourself in case – well, in case –’

  ‘She isn’t dead, Violet,’ I say. ‘I know it. She’ll be there, and the key will be too.’

  Violet turns her back on me again. I figure that’s it, game over, we’ll never talk again, but then she tilts her head and says, ‘We never used to argue this much, did we?’

  ‘Not really,’ I say. ‘I mean, there was that time you set fire to my bedsheets. That was a fun way to wake up.’

  Violet laughs. ‘I’d forgotten about that. Well, you’ll be glad to know I have those impulses quite under control now, thanks to Winifred.’

  ‘Oh no. What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on, tell me. What happened? Let me guess. You set fire to her study? That nice weapon case she has in there. Or – wait – you didn’t set fire to the Great Library, did you?’

  ‘No,’ Violet almost-shouts, as if that’s the most offensive thing I could’ve said. Then she clears her throat and says, ‘Okay, yes, but it was only a small fire.’

  ‘Why the hell would you set fire to the library?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to do it. Okay, I did, but – so it was about a year after you left. We were doing some research, and it’s always so dark down there, so I figured I’d lash a few torches together and make a really big light – just so we could read better, of course –’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And then the torches kind of –’

  ‘Exploded?’

  ‘Right. Because I guess I poured a little too much oil over them.’

  ‘Accidentally.’

  ‘Yes. Accidentally. Absolutely accidentally. I didn’t burn myself, but the books around me weren’t so lucky. Winifred came running down the aisle, put the fire out with her cloak, and it was fine. Well, not fine. She punished me. Fifty laps jogging around the library. It’s a big place, remember, and I was only nine at the time. I wasn’t allowed to touch anything with an open flame for a whole year.’

  ‘Wow. So all the candles and torches in here must be doing your head in, huh? Lighting up and snuffing out all around you. Magic fire. A pyro’s dream, right?’

  ‘I’m not a pyromaniac,’ she says, a little too forcefully. ‘I’m fine. Completely cured. Nothing to worry about at all.’ She twists around again, dumps the oar in my lap. ‘Here.’

  Oh crap. ‘You want me to row?’

  ‘It’s easy, Jane. We drift too far to the right, you paddle on the right. We drift too far to the left, you paddle on the left. The current will take care of the rest. You can do it.’

  ‘Yeah, no probs.’ Big probs. Many probs. I wouldn’t trust me with a toy boat in a bathtub. ‘I’ll just row the boat. Down the creepy black river. And not drown us.’

  ‘Yell out if there’s any trouble. I haven’t slept in days. Need a rest.’

  Violet tucks herself into the space at the front of the boat, curls up like a cat. I grip the oar and straighten up. I can do this. I have to do this. She watched over me after I got knocked out on the train.

  ‘Okay,’ I whisper. Eyes forward. Be at one with the oar. Little dips, left and right. Let the current do the work. ‘Jane Doe. Captain Doe. Row, row, row your boat, gently down –’

  ‘You okay there, Captain?’ Hickory says behind me, and I almost pee my pants.

  ‘Damn it, Hickory. I’m good. Fine. Everything’s – crap, what was that?’

  ‘Calm down. I just moved back to my seat.’

  ‘I am calm. Completely calm.’

  Hickory sighs. Dips his makeshift oar
into the water. ‘If you say so.’

  The river flows, the Manor rolls on by. All those empty archways leading who-knows-where, hiding who-knows-what. Violet doesn’t stir. Poor girl’s fast asleep already.

  ‘I think it’s sweet, by the way,’ Hickory almost-whispers after a while.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘You and Violet.’

  ‘Me and – wait, you were eavesdropping?’

  ‘We’re in a tiny boat. Hard not to. But I think it’s great. You’re a girl, she’s a girl –’

  ‘You’re an idiot.’

  ‘Hey, don’t take your frustration out on me. If you like her, just –’

  ‘I don’t like her.’ I check to make sure Violet’s still sleeping. Praise the Makers, she is. ‘Not like that. It’s Violet, for cripes’ sake. I don’t think about her that way.’

  ‘Then why’d you tell her she was pretty?’

  ‘What? I never told her –’ Oh no. I did tell her she was pretty. In the bounty hunter’s cage. I’d forgotten all about it. ‘But. But she had that scarf. I didn’t know –’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Hickory says. ‘Best to get these things out in the open.’

  ‘Just’ – I clench my fists, lower my voice – ‘shut up and row.’

  We pass another chandelier and I briefly consider stabbing my face with a candle. I can’t believe I told her she was pretty. I mean, it’s Violet. But wait. No. Maybe she didn’t hear me. It was noisy in the cage, right? Squeaky wheels and all? Maybe she thought I said pity. As in, Gee, it’s a pity you got captured. Yep. That’s what I’ll tell her if she ever brings it up.

  ‘I think you’re right, by the way,’ Hickory says. ‘About your mum. She’ll be there.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’re not going anywhere near her. New rule. You have to stay five metres away from her at all times. Actually, you’re not even allowed to look at her. Or the second key. And as soon as we find her, you’re out of here, pal. Banned from the group.’

  ‘Banned from the group?’

  ‘Yep. Banished. We won’t need you anymore. My mum can lead us to the Cradle entrance. She can help us open it. She can help us cross the Sea to the foundation stone in the centre, and when we get there, the third key will be ours, not yours. You’ve lost already.’