by Sara Hanover
He rolled it between his palms, waiting a long moment, and then gave me a shrug. He lifted it as if to point, and we all jumped as the cane gave a visible jab in the air, almost lunging out of his hold. He tightened his grip on the cane to hold it back, and it gave a bronco buck of defiance.
I stepped out of the way, sorry I’d said anything.
CHAPTER TEN
MORTY PUT HIS HAND out to steady the cane, moving his sturdy frame to obscure the action. “Don’t be drawing attention, lad,” he said lowly. To me, he added, “Good idea, that one.”
I couldn’t tell if that was sarcastic or not. We both looked at the entrance. “We should walk it,” he grumbled, “inspect it step by step, though it goes up a fair piece.” Brian let out a shiver at the thought.
I shook my head. “You can’t. Elevator takes you up, then you go down one floor to see the museum, and then you walk the rest of the way down. Because it’s narrow, it’s sort of one-way. About eight hundred and ninety steps.” I pointed at the cane. “And we’ll be locating every step of the way, from the looks of it. That will draw attention, even if there is any room to swing it around.”
Morty’s bushy eyebrows knotted. “A bit too many people to my way of thinking.”
“I don’t think they give private tours, if that’s your idea. Money can’t buy you one of those. Not unless you’re the President or something.”
“Mayhap not. From the looks of that thing’s reaction, whatever we’re looking for seems awfully near. It’s homed in on a signal of some sort. We need to clear the sheep away if we can, so we can tend to business.” His gaze raked the doorway ahead of him. He held a hand out in front of him, not conspicuously but as if he thought perhaps of shaking mine or Brian’s. His fingers curved genially, but I could see his knuckles going white and the tendons of his wrists tighten. What was he up to? And just what did he mean by sheep? Although I was pretty sure I knew, I couldn’t help listening for baaing.
I could see the concentration spread across him, into the tightness of his shoulders and then the cords of his neck. His square body grew denser and more rigid, as if he might become stone altogether as Morty evidently worked at some making from his talent. Brian reacted with a slight gasp. I could feel it, like an irritating buzz that left me uneasy, but no more than that.
I shifted from one foot to another. “What’s going on?”
“The structure,” Morty said quietly. “It’s got good bones, it does, but the shaft has problems and it’s not been fixed properly, not as it should be, not quite yet.”
“You mean the elevator? They shut it down for over six months and rebuilt it. And now you’re tinkering with it.”
“Needs to be pulled out and replaced entirely, I would say. The stone and metal have a stress to them that cannot be fixed unless done that way. Repair alone cannot fix what is wrong with it. It needs a rebuild.”
“You’re talking millions of dollars, if the inspectors could even tell what might still be wrong with it and decide to replace it. Believe it or not, Washington doesn’t have that kind of money. They relied on donations to help with the stonework after the earthquake and hurricane. For the capitol dome, too, I think.”
Morty’s jaw worked. “I know a foundation that would fund it.” He cleared his throat. “And a company well-regarded to do the work.”
My jaw dropped slightly as I followed his circular thought. “Out of one pocket and back into another. You wouldn’t really make money on a project like that.”
He answered me slowly, his concentration growing even more intense. “More or less, but you forget that it will build reputation and that’s as valuable as dollars. But it’s what needs to be done. I think they need a bit of convincing.” As if arm-wrestling some unseen elemental, Morty suddenly twisted his hands about and then dropped them. A heavy thrum vibrated through my eardrums. Deep in my bones, I could feel the agony of the stonework and a groaning twist of the steel and cables that comprised the elevator and its shaft. I rubbed away the disconcerting feeling on my forearms as soon as I felt it, whatever it was, that Morty had wrought. He rocked back on his heels, folding his arms over his chest, finished.
“What did you do?”
“What needed to be done.”
“Great. I love a meaningless answer to an important question.” I wrinkled my nose at him.
Brian looked at me. “Wait for it.”
I had no choice, unsure of what I was waiting for, and gave a silent prayer that it wouldn’t be the sudden plunge of the elevator from 800-plus feet above us.
Nothing happened for a while, except for the restless movement of those of us in line, tired of waiting. I could hear the shuffle of feet from beyond the doorway, where those inside waited for their turn to go up. Someone said, “Finally!” and we could hear the power drone as the machinery powered on, with a chug and a ratcheting noise. The elevator car descended with an ever-louder clattering that ended with a loud thump as it hit bottom and its doors whined open. Rangers rushed inward to the distress call of the machinery. A thin smoke veiled the entranceway.
The stream of people who’d been going into the monument suddenly turned on itself, with cries of disappointment. Bodies going every which direction blocked the threshold in chaos.
“Elevator broken again. The landmark is closed.”
“. . . Thought they fixed that.”
“Nine months they took it down, but they’re still having trouble. You’d think fixed was fixed. What a waste.”
“Can we get our money back?”
Behind them, at the doorway to the vast tower, I could see the park rangers herding visitors out. Whatever Morty had done seemed successful but not too traumatic to tourists. The sheep, as he’d evidently meant, thinned out appropriately, but we couldn’t just march in. Not yet. I watched the crowd and spotted what might best be called a distraction. Actually, it seemed a tantrum had just started to wind up for one young lady.
“Come on!”
The two of them followed me closer, behind those who’d been sent out and who began to encircle the rangers with questions and comments (rude even) as the young lady in question finally reached maximum peak in her expression and began to wail.
“Bu-ut it’s for schoooool!” Her voice grew higher into the supernatural range until I expected Remy’s hounds to appear and join in with their own pitched howls. Two park rangers stepped closer to her elbows. They paid no attention to us as we circled about to the befogged entrance.
“We’re sorry, miss, but the monument is closed for repair. We may or may not have it reopened later today.”
“I can’t come baaaack!” Her voice climbed until human ears could barely detect it without pain.
I felt her dismay even as I waved Morty and Brian into the smoke. “The rangers will give you a note. And trust me. Google will save your life on this one.” I smiled optimistically into the glistening red face of the distressed girl, years younger than me and definitely more spoiled, and even surpassing me in the ugly-crier contest. Some adult figures loomed up behind her to lead her away and her voice rose again to ear-bleeding heights.
The crowd, however, had thinned enough that I knew I’d be noticed if I darted into the monument, clearly going in the wrong direction. Hoping the guys were already inside, the rangers pretty certain they’d already gotten everyone out, I slipped my hands into my jeans’ pockets, thinking.
My fingers ran into small round objects I’d forgotten I carried. Steptoe’s flash-bangs. Were they anywhere near as potent as ones the SWAT teams used? Hopefully not. I just needed a little bit of noise and another curtain of smoke. I fished one out and, while everyone was still watching the debacle with the howling young lady, I pitched it inside the open elevator where it rattled solidly up against the back wall. It erupted with a loud crack-bang and a delightful puff of foul-smelling smoke that quickly filled the interior base of the m
onument once more. I dove inside, while everyone nearby screamed and darted the other way. Because I could see very little of anything, I fetched up against a solid body that could have been the wall of the monument or an Iron Dwarf. I squinted my eyes to verify it was Morty.
“Well done.” He fanned his huge hands as he bent over, clearing the delightful stink and mist away from our corner. Brian let go of the cane and it shot forward like a spear to sink into a single stone in the northwest corner.
I stared before offering, “That’s the cornerstone, but it’s underground, underneath that block.”
Morty barely shook his head. “We’ll not be touching that. What the cane seeks is here,” and he squatted lower, putting his palm to the crowning marble, his fingers splayed about the tip of the cane. “Hold it steady,” he instructed Brian.
Brian’s mouth thinned and his jawline tightened as he wrapped both hands about the wood again. I could feel him tensing up, bracing himself against a force that seemed to radiate throughout the walking cane. He groaned. I moved into position behind him, bringing my arms up to embrace his, my hands clasping just ahead of his elbows, spooning his body, feet spread and steady. His coldness surprised me, but he began to warm a little as I wrapped myself around him. I could feel the shivers running through his body. I couldn’t see over his shoulder to know what they were doing, but Morty let out a deep “Now!” and then Brian lurched forward as if the marble had given way. A blue bolt lanced the air, and that was about all I saw. He went to his knees with a short and muffled cry. I saw the great piece of marble, hollowed out, laid open as if split in two, and put my hand over my mouth. That shocking blue I’d seen misted for another second and then faded away, sinking into the cane and disappearing. I stared at the cracked marble block. What had they done? Had they corrupted the very foundation of the monument? How could it stand, so weakened? Did we have to run for it and hope for the best?
Morty dropped his hand like an anchor on my shoulder. “It will hold. It has all these years.”
“It’s been hollow?”
“Aye, but not empty.” He pointed.
Brian, still holding the perdition rod in one hand, leaned forward on his knees and thrust his hand into the massive marble brick, sweeping out a small velvet pouch, two tightly wound scrolls, a candlestick holder, and a half dozen agate marbles that looked like they might be flash-bangs on their own. He swept his fingers over them and made a joyous noise, like a kid in a pack of puppies.
“Success.” Morty sounded satisfied.
I stood on one foot and then the other, nervous, pointing. “Can you fix that?”
“Of a certainty. Soon as he’s done claiming his goods.”
“How nice,” another voice put in softly, elegantly. “I so love it when I can get a man to do the dirty work.” A low humming sang through the air. Both Morty and Brian froze in place. I managed a half-turn but it was an extremely slow one as the atmosphere tugged at me like quicksand.
Remy glided forward, her motions quick and efficient as she scooped up Brian’s treasures and stowed them away in that traitorous leather bag that had once belonged to me. She stuffed a train ticket in my pocket. “Won’t be needing the return trip. Thank you, my dear, for all your help and consideration.”
I wanted to speak. I wanted to put my foot out and trip her as she turned about. I wanted to grab my purse by the strap and sling her to the ground on her pretentious elbows and butt, to shatter that elegant image, to shock and surprise the unbreakable confidence. Nothing worked the way I wanted, my voice stayed stuck in my throat and my body stayed glued in some very heavy gravity. She’d frozen me as if I’d lost a game of tag. Memory of what Steptoe had said to me bobbed up in my brain like a cork and I grabbed for it, hoping to stop Remy if I could if she did owe me a debt of any kind. I managed a faint gurgle.
Remy looked in my eyes a long moment. “Interesting,” she noted. “And commendable. I must remember this. I wonder if the professor had an inkling about you.” And then she was gone. A single, clear, ringing note sounded as if something had fallen in her wake.
Paralysis fled. I blinked at the air. “Damnit.”
Morty uncoiled slowly and Brian fell over on his side, his face gone pale again and dotted in perspiration. He curled up, staring in disbelief at his empty hands. “What happened?”
“Remy happened.” I bent over to help him to his feet, but he didn’t want to stand up. He stayed bent over, combing the ground ineffectively with his nails.
His voice cracked. “Gone! It’s all gone!”
“She got everything.”
“What?” Morty staggered forward a step and shook himself.
“Lost.” He put his face in his hand a moment. “Not only my relics but whatever clues I might have left to lead us on. We’re lost.”
“Not quite.” I went to the corner where I heard the noise, something metallic falling to the floor, and I picked up a thick bronze or gold ring lying among the shards of marble. If it was gold, it was 20 or 24 karat, heavily weighted and dark in color. I dropped it in his palm. “I don’t know if she dropped this or if it fell as she was shoving everything into her purse, but there’s this.”
Brian’s eyes lit up and he clenched his fingers tightly over the ring as he threw me a joyous look. “And if anything had to be saved, it would be this. You did this.”
“No way. It happened on its own.”
He waved his closed fist at me. “No. No, everything of mine that I’ve needed has come my way because you’ve been there. Yes, there were items in the stone which would have been nice—very nice—to have, but this,” and he opened his hand, palm up, and the heavy gold ring glinted in the low light. “This was the only necessity.” With those words, he slipped the ring onto his thumb, the only finger it would have fit, and immediately seemed to stand a bit taller. “You have the luck, Tessa Andrews.”
“If we don’t get out of here in about five seconds, luck or not, we’re going to have the park rangers and possibly the Feds as well.” I backed up a step or two as Brian retrieved his cane and Morty knelt by the hollow stone and repaired it as though he held mortar in one hand and sculpted it with the other. When he’d finished, the block of marble looked as if it had never been blasted open or hollow. He grabbed both of us by the crook of our elbows as we stood in openmouthed silence and guided us to the outside.
Rangers frowned at us. “Anyone else in there?”
We shook our heads. “We couldn’t see our way out of the smoke. We kept thinking someone would come in and rescue us.”
The ranger nearest me started to open his mouth and shut it abruptly, as if realizing we could charge them with neglect. Instead, he muttered, “Stay clear now. It’s dangerous.”
Coughing and fanning ourselves, we made our way through the onlookers and the federal workers beginning to congregate, arguing about what to do with the elevator system. Brian faked a precarious wobble as we did, and the crowds parted to let us through, more curious about the monument itself. Morty paused long enough to extract a business card and slip it into a suit coat pocket of what appeared to be a supervisor, his deep voice slipping down a notch lower to where it seemed subliminal, saying, “Contact them. You need a total replacement.”
With a half-smile mostly hidden by his neat beard, he rejoined us, hurrying Brian to match his massive strides while I loped alongside. We didn’t stop until we reached our private shuttle and piled inside as quickly as we could. Brian put his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a moment, his energy spent. I looked at him, saw the faint bruises under his eyes, the too-sharp edges of his cheekbones, and realized that every day he lived incomplete took a terrible toll on him. He looked markedly weaker.
“What was that lightning bolt of blue about?”
Morty shifted in the front seat as the driver negotiated the back road of the mall slowly and carefully. “What bolt? Wha
t blue?”
“When the cane struck the marble, the air went blue—at least, our side.”
Brian just shrugged, his eyes still closed, rubbing his fingers over the thumb ring on his other hand. “I didn’t see anything.”
Morty shook his head.
“It was right in front of the two of you. How could you have missed it?”
“Perhaps we were busy?” Morty suggested with a bit of a grumble. “Mayhap the smoke from the diversion affected you.”
“No, seriously, it looked like a lightning bolt and it lit up the whole base of the monument and then the cane absorbed whatever it was. A charge or something.” I nudged Brian.
Brian half-opened one eye. “What?”
“You had to have seen it. Or felt it. One of you. Don’t tell me you didn’t.” No way did I want to think my senses unreliable.
“I am no liar.” Morty looked around this time, his big square face glaring.
I put my hand up. “Didn’t say you were. Just wondering what I saw.” I reached for the cane where Brian had set it on the floor, and put it across our laps to inspect it. “Doesn’t look like it got singed or anything.” I rotated it. “Whoa.”
Both of Brian’s eyes flew open. “What?”
“This.” I pointed to words burned into the cane and read them aloud: “Pass through the eye of the needle.” Brian’s face went dead white.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I SHOVED MY hand up to his shoulder, thinking Brian would face-plant any second, but he took three big gulps and rubbed his fingers over the words instead. “You’re right.” The gesture brought a tiny bit of color back to his cheeks.
“What do you mean, ‘you’re right’? How and why could I lie about something like that?” I huffed a little.
