Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City

by James Bow

  Faith stared at Rosemary in disbelief. Rosemary stared back. Her mouth quirked. Faith snorted, and then chuckled. Rosemary joined her.

  Then the two were bursting with laughter, clutching each other, knee deep in the stream. The laughter lasted for several minutes before ebbing. Faith’s chuckle ended with a sob. They clasped each other a moment longer. Finally, Faith looked up, her cheeks dry. “We have to leave this place. Now.”

  “I know.” Rosemary waded carefully out of the boat. Her feet slipped on the brick, but she caught herself and helped Faith over. “Take a lantern. We’ll walk downstream.” She grabbed her own lantern off the bow. It was a storm lantern, ideal for ships at sea. The wick burned fiercely behind glass and the shutters were well-oiled and ready to click into place. The metal was hot to the touch, but the handle was cool.

  “What if we find other boats?” said Faith. “Think, Rosemary: the jetty? The boat was waiting for us. This is not just a sewer, it’s an underground canal.”

  “I know.” Rosemary clasped Faith’s wet hand. “But with those thugs behind us, we’re stuck on this route, at least until we can find a way to the surface. We should have some time before word gets back that we’ve escaped and everybody comes looking for us. Come on.”

  They sloshed downstream, sticking as close to the wall as possible, where the water was shallowest. The lights from their lantern gleamed off the brick. The flowing water covered all other sound.

  “Rosemary?” said Faith after a long while.

  “What?”

  “Why did ...,” Faith began. Then she faltered. “How could ... How could Edmund have fallen in with those men?”

  “You saw the ledgers,” said Rosemary. “He was losing the shop.”

  “Yes, but ... Why did he not tell me?”

  Rosemary shrugged. “He was too proud?” She scanned the ceiling for manholes, but found none. “He wanted so much to keep you in school.”

  “So this is my fault,” Faith muttered.

  “No.” Rosemary turned on her. “It’s not your fault that Edmund is the proud idiot he is.”

  Faith frowned. “How dare you speak of my brother like that!”

  “How would you speak of your brother, then?” Rosemary shot back. She softened. “I know you love your brother. I like him too, even after he locked me in the basement. But for all that, he’s still in over his head.”

  Faith bit her lip and stared at the water.

  Rosemary squeezed her shoulder. “He’s still a good man. He wanted me out of the house for my own sake as much as his. And when thugs try to kidnap somebody’s sister, it’s because the brother is having second thoughts about the whole thing.”

  Faith looked up. “Really?”

  Rosemary smiled. “I bet you he’s being held captive for his ‘treachery,’ and it’s up to us to get the police and rescue him.”

  Faith gave her a small smile. Then she looked downstream and brightened. “I see light! I see the end of the tunnel!”

  Rosemary turned. The tunnel flickered in the distance. A gleam of light pulled into view. Her heart leapt and she clicked the shutter closed on her lantern. “The light at the end of the tunnel’s a boat.”

  “They’ve come for us!” Faith squeaked. “Run!”

  “Wait!” Rosemary grabbed her wrist. The distant light set the bricks aglow, but there was a black gap, forward and to their right. The bricks on either side shone. “A branch tunnel! Come on! Quietly!”

  They sloshed forward. Rosemary kept Faith’s lantern light on the wall. Then they found themselves looking into a narrow drain emptying into the stream with a small waterfall. It was barely four feet wide and six feet high.

  “Come on!” Rosemary tugged Faith toward the drain, but Faith held back.

  “Rosemary, no.” She drew a shaky breath. “I cannot go in there. This tunnel is bad enough, but that small hole —”

  Rosemary pulled. “Come on, Faith! They’ll be here in a minute!”

  “Rosemary, please! I cannot!” Hysteria edged her voice higher. “I cannot take much more of this. The walls are closing in on me. I ... I cannot breathe!”

  Rosemary shook her by the shoulders. “Faith!” She waited until Faith focused into her eyes, then continued calmly. “I know how you feel. I feel it, too. It’s called claustrophobia. But you’ve got to keep calm. I can’t be level-headed for the both of us.”

  “I cannot!” Faith sobbed.

  “Yes, you can,” said Rosemary firmly. “Come on. You’re the one who’s going to be a doctor. Think of all those men who laugh at you every time you enter the building. Are you going to cry in front of them? Would a doctor cry?”

  “What about you?”

  “Me?” said Rosemary lightly. “I’m going into biochemistry. We’ll both be doctors, so we’re both getting out of this!”

  The light drew ever closer. They could see it bobbing on the surface of the water now. Rosemary tightened her grip on Faith’s shoulder. “Faith, please!”

  Holding each other’s hand, they stepped over the small waterfall and into the hungry shadows. The small stream sloshed over their boots and swept at their sodden shirts. The slimy brick brushed their shoulders. They went as deep as they dared. Then, with a final glance behind, Faith slammed the shutter over her lantern. They pressed close and stared out at the main tunnel.

  The bricks began to flicker with reflected light. Voices echoed through the tunnel, slowly becoming loud enough to make out.

  “I’m sure I heard voices,” said someone. There was a splash of an oar on water.

  “Our company, probably,” said another. “We’re near the Watson jetty. You can ask them yourself what took them so long.”

  The long gondola and its three-man crew eased into view. The man at the bow peered ahead. “Didn’t sound like men. Sounded more like women.”

  The man at the rudder chuckled. “Another one of Michael’s sirens, perhaps?”

  “Enough of that!” snapped the oarsman. “There are strange things in this sewer. I can hear them on the water. We shouldn’t be down here, I tell you.”

  “You’d rather we try to sneak behind the constabulary’s backs instead of beneath their feet?” said the bowman.

  The oarsman muttered something surly.

  The gondola slipped out of view. The watery light faded.

  Rosemary heaved a sigh of relief. “They haven’t started looking for us down here yet.”

  Faith said nothing. Rosemary could see her in the rising shadows of the departing lamplight, standing stock still, arms clenched around her chest.

  Rosemary touched her arm. “Faith?”

  She took a deep, shaky breath as the last of the light vanished. “We must leave this place. Now.”

  “We will.” Rosemary gave her arm a squeeze. “We will, I promise. We’ll find a manhole and we’ll get ourselves out of here. Think of the open sky, the fresh air, our feet on muddy streets.”

  Faith chuckled. “I might take my boots off for that.”

  Rosemary eased Faith toward the river tunnel. In the dark, she reached out to use the brick wall as a guide. Then her fingers met open air and she toppled sideways with a shriek.

  “Rosemary!” gasped Faith in a hoarse whisper. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Rosemary rolled onto her back, rubbing her bruised elbows. In a faint phosphor glow, she could see the bricks sweeping up around her in a small, thin tunnel. She patted the stone beneath her. “I’m on dry land. This branch has a branch and it’s dry.” Her fingers ran over a riser. She could barely make out the shapes ahead of her. “I think I’m at the base of a flight of stairs!”

  “Stairs!” Faith rushed forward.

  “Faith! Careful! There’s a step —,” but before she could finish, Faith tripped on the step, pitching forward and landing on top of Rosemary in a tangle of skirts and a clatter of lanterns.

  When they disentangled themselves, Faith asked, “Are you hurt?”

  “Just a little winded.” Rose
mary rubbed her stomach. “Can you give me some light?”

  Faith eased open the shutter on the lantern. The shaft of light blinded them. They brought it round and shone it up a flight of cement stairs, topping out six steps above them before a battered wooden door.

  “Freedom!” Faith clambered up the steps. Rosemary was hot on her heels. They tried the knob. It was stiff, but it was not locked. After a minute of rattling, Rosemary put her shoulder to the door and shoved it open.

  Sunlight blinded them. Not waiting to see where they were, they stumbled through, catching themselves on a low wall topped by a metal railing. Rosemary had just the presence of mind not to let the door slam. She eased it shut behind her. She noticed that, on this side, it looked new, with a fresh coat of green paint. They leaned on the wall, blinking until their eyes adjusted to the light.

  They were at the base of a small pit in the corner of a warehouse. Steps led up to a scuffed and dusty concrete floor that stretched to the distant brick walls. Near the ceiling, cracked windows — covered with green tarpaulin that glowed and snapped in the breeze like garbage bags — ran the length of the wall.

  The floor was strewn with crates, some pristine, the rest broken into kindling. Footprints clambered throughout the dust, but the place echoed with emptiness. Somewhere a machine rumbled, shaking the floor and resonating in the women’s chests. Somewhere closer outside, a hammer hacked away at echoing stone. The air was musty, touched with sulphur, but after the stench of the sewer it smelled as fresh as a mountain breeze.

  Faith set down the lantern and leaned her forehead against the railing surrounding the pit. “Thank God we are free of that horrible place.”

  Rosemary stared around her at the wires that hung from the ceiling, ending in metal cowls: light sockets, empty and gaping. Machinery rumbled again. “Where are we?”

  Faith looked up and around. “A warehouse. We may be in the factory district, south of Queen Street.” She pointed at the light growing behind the windows. “’Tis morning. The factories have begun to work.” To prove her point, machinery rumbled again. The hammer hacked away, louder than ever.

  “Morning.” Rosemary stared at the tarpaulin-covered windows. The sunlight shot brilliant beams through the swirling dust. “Were we really in there all night?”

  Faith mounted the steps and strode onto the concrete floor. “We must not dally. We must fetch the constabulary and rescue Peter and Edmund.” She spotted the exit across the floor and started for it.

  Rosemary climbed up the stairs more slowly. She looked at the windows again. “Something’s not right.”

  “Rosemary! Come on!” Faith was halfway across the floor.

  Rosemary started after her, then froze. She looked back, her frown deepening. Then her gaze rose to the ceiling. The wires. The metal cowls. With gaping light sockets.

  Electric light sockets.

  “Oh my God, Faith!”

  Faith had crossed the warehouse floor. She reached for the door handle. Rosemary ran for her. “Faith! Wait!”

  Faith opened the door.

  Sound hit her like sunlight. Cars screamed. Dump trucks rumbled. A passing tractor-trailer sounded its horn. There were jackhammers, power shovels, a piledriver in the distance. Faith clapped her hands over her ears and staggered down the building steps. The door slammed behind her.

  Rosemary burst out after her and saw Faith standing on asphalt, staring about, stunned. An oncoming cement truck blared at her to move. “Faith!”

  Rosemary ran onto the road, grabbed Faith, and hauled her back onto the sidewalk. The cement truck rumbled past.

  “What —,” Faith shouted like a man newly deaf. “What is this madness? What —”

  “It’s okay!” Rosemary held her. “It’s all right.”

  “All right? All right?” Faith stared at her. “How can this be all right? Where are we?”

  Rosemary stared across the street at a forest of rising buildings. The CN Tower speared up beyond them. She took a deep breath. “I’m home.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  BETWEEN THE PRESENT AND THE PAST

  “Phone, phone, come on, I know the phone’s been invented by now.” Rosemary charged along the sidewalk, ignoring the stares of passersby, who stepped off the sidewalk to let her pass.

  Faith ran after her, darting around the people, stumbling amongst the sights and sounds. “Rosemary please, slow down! How can this be your home? What is this place?”

  “Toronto!”

  They reached an intersection. Faith caught Rosemary’s arm and pointed at the horseless carriages and the massive, rumbling streetcar. “This is not the city I live in!”

  “I know.” Rosemary bounced on the balls of her feet, drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of the city. She wrinkled her nose at the exhaust fumes. The smells she could do without. “I mean, this is where I came from, before I met you. We’re in your future, and I have to call my parents.”

  “Rosemary ....” There was a rising edge to Faith’s voice.

  “Look,” Rosemary snapped. “How hard is it, really, to believe? Why do you think we talk so funny? Why did our clothes look so strange when you found us? Why else did we have so much trouble understanding the value of your money? Isn’t that the only explanation that makes sense?”

  “But this is the stuff of Lewis Carroll!” Faith yelled. “Time travel? You cannot be serious!”

  Rosemary gestured at a passing car. Across the street, passing youths whistled and jeered. Rosemary ignored them. Faith stared about, going pale.

  Rosemary threw up her hands. “Think what you like. I have to phone home.” The light turned and she started across the intersection.

  Faith ran after her. “A telephone? Why?”

  Rosemary closed her eyes. “Because it’s been three months since I talked to my family. I don’t even know how long it’s been on this side of the portal. I have to tell them I’m all right. Now, either you help me find a phone, or stop asking me stupid questions!”

  “Why would there be a phone out here?”

  Rosemary growled in frustration.

  “Well, I see a sign for one over there!” Faith squinted into the rising sun and pointed to a row of booths at the side of a building. Rosemary strode for it, but Faith held back. “They do not look like telephones.”

  Rosemary brushed past two businessmen who gaped at her and at Faith as they passed. One turned to the other with a shrug. “Carollers? Little early for Christmas.”

  She squeezed her skirts inside the battered and scratched booth, not the least bothered by the smell. She closed the door on the chilly wind and took a deep breath in the sudden, relative silence. Then she picked up the receiver.

  She stared at the coin slot a long moment, shocked at the high price of phone calls. Then she remembered she wasn’t dealing with 1880 quarters. Not that this meant much; she didn’t have any quarters, and she didn’t remember Theo’s phone number.

  That meant her parents, whom she could call collect.

  She flicked the cradle and jabbed at the numbers. Then she stopped, pressed the cradle, and stared at the LED screen as the time and date came up.

  WELCOME TO BELL 08:35:15 11/15/08

  November fifteenth. It had been late August when they’d helped Theo into his new apartment.

  She hung up the phone and stood, her hand frozen halfway to her side. Then she reached for the phone, hesitated again, and plucked it from its cradle. Another hesitation. Then she started to dial.

  “Thank you for choosing Bell Canada,” chirped the automated attendant. “If this is a collect call, please press ‘1’ now.”

  Rosemary pressed “1”. The tone blared in her ear.

  “At the sound of the tone, please state your name.” Beep!

  “R-Rosemary,” she croaked. “Rosemary Watson!”

  “Thank you,” said the computer voice. “Please stay on the line while I see if your party accepts the charges.”

  A phone rang at the other end of t
he line. Rosemary clenched the cord. Finally, someone picked up. “Kate Watson.”

  Rosemary gasped. “Mom!”

  The automated attendant cut between them. “This is Bell Canada. You have a collect call from —”

  Rosemary’s recorded voice said, “R-Rosemary. Rosemary Watson!”

  “To accept the charges, please press —”

  There was an emphatic beep. The attendant disappeared.

  “Rosemary?” Her mother’s gasp was almost a scream. “Rosemary, is that you? Oh, thank God! Where are you?”

  “Mom!” Rosemary gasped. Her eyes ran with tears and she cleared her nose with a sniff. “Mom, I’m in Toronto. I’ve missed you so much! I couldn’t call. I —” “It’s okay.” Her mother’s voice shook with the effort to stay calm. “It’s okay, my darling one. It’s okay. But where did you go?”

  “1884.”

  “What?”

  “We fell through a hole in Theo’s floor,” Rosemary sobbed. “We wandered through these tunnels and came out back in time!” She gulped. “We had no money, no food. A family took us in, but then we got in trouble. Some smugglers chased us into the sewers, and we came through this door and here we are, nearly three months later. I’ve been gone so long, and Peter’s in trouble and I’m scared. I’ve missed school, and you don’t believe a word I’m saying because it’s just too fantastic!”

  “Shh, Rosemary, it’s okay. Shh.” Rosemary rocked to her mother’s words. “It’s okay, Rosemary, I believe you.”

  Rosemary sniffed. “You do?”

  “Of course I do. A mom knows these things. And it’s not like this is the first weird thing that’s happened to us.” Then her bravado cracked. “Oh, my darling, we searched those tunnels for weeks. The police said you were swept out to the lake. Theo was beside himself ....” She took a deep breath.

  Tears welled up again. “I’m sorry, Mom! I’m so sorry!”

  “Don’t you go blaming yourself!” her mother snapped. “You’re home now, and that’s all that matters. Get yourself to the nearest police station, right now, and call me. Theo can pick you up; I’ll tell him everything. I’ll call Peter’s uncle, too. We’ll drive down immediately. We’ll have you both back in Clarksbury before you know it!”