Uncle Marco’s head was now three-quarters turned. I stretched farther out over the roof so that maybe he could see me. I stuck out my hand and waved it frantically. “Uncle Marco!” I said. “Uncle Marco! It’s me, Annie!”
Then I remembered with a horrible pang: Uncle Marco had forbidden me to open the boxes. I was in this mess because I had disobeyed him. I had never disobeyed him before. He had every reason to be angry at me—very, very angry. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t find me here.
But what choice did I have? It was either Uncle Marco or the men from Crutchley.
“Uncle Marco!” I said again, speaking loudly out in the cold winter air where the men wouldn’t hear on the floors below. “Can’t you hear me?”
Then I realized what I was doing wrong. I was talking too fast. He was only gradually coming out of stasis. To him, I would be a blur, and my voice would be high-pitched, unintelligible babble.
“Uncle ... Marco,” I said very, very slowly and deeply, stretching out all the consonants. I sounded like a ghostly voice in a bad horror movie, and I felt foolish, but I kept on going, pitching my voice as low as possible. “It’s... me ... Annie.... Can ... you ... hear ... me?”
His head still wasn’t facing me directly—he couldn’t move that fast yet. Gradually the mouth began to open. Then a voice came out, deeper, more spectral and creepy than mine. “Youououooah,” Uncle Marco groaned.
My mind, full of guilt, was rushing crazily. Was he saying “You”? Was he accusing me of something—like opening the boxes and making a slowdown?
The footsteps ran from room to room on the floor below.
Could Uncle Marco know about the slowdown? Was that why he was coming out of this? I tried to think rationally.
If Uncle Marco was in his own slowdown, the rest of the world would be a speedy blur to him—under normal conditions. Then, last Tuesday, he would easily have noticed that everything was going a lot slower.
But if he was coming out of this because of the slowdown, then why had he waited three days?
“Oh, Uncle Marco, you don’t know just how sony—” I started to say in a normal voice. I caught myself. He wouldn’t be able to hear that. I started again. “I’m... sorry... about ... slowdown.” I made myself pause for a long time so the meaning would sink in. “Why... you ... wait ... three ... days?”
He had turned his head enough so that our eyes finally met—his wonderful ice blue eyes, now so slow-moving. His mouth was thawing; his voice was a little faster and higher-pitched now. “Didn’t... wait.... Takes ... time.”
He must have been incredibly slowed down if it took him three whole days to come out of the stasis. I realized then that the box next to him had to be his personal clock. He seemed to have the ability to work it on his own, without needing any basement creatures the way I did.
The footsteps were now pounding loudly on the attic stairs. How long would it take them to find us?
Uncle Marco was speeding up more quickly now. His hand was completely out of the box, and his head was facing me directly. Like a slow-moving night creature, he oozed smoothly toward the window on his hands and knees, his coat dragging, crawling over the box, leaving it there on the roof. I moved my body back into the room. He crouched on the roof facing the window. “Caaaaarrrrr?” he asked me in that deep voice.
“Crutchley Development,” I said, not as slowly now. And Uncle Marco—his head stretched forward, poised and listening hard—was close enough that I could speak softly and hope not to be heard by the men clomping around in the attic. “They found out about the slowdown. They want to do it themselves, for fast construction. They stole the clock. They offered a million for our house and this one. Aunt Ruth and these people will sell.”
He was moving fast enough now so that I could see his face twist into a grimace of pain. He shook his head. “Can’t sell. Can never sell,” he said, sounding like the Frankenstein monster.
“They’re here to take me. They figured out they need me to make a slowdown for them—they want me to show them how to do it.” I grabbed his hand, on the windowsill now. It was cold as ice. “Help me, Uncle Marco! What can we do?”
His face melted back to normal. He was thinking, staring at me. Was he furious? Was there anything we could do to stop Crutchley? And it was all my fault!
“I’m sorry, Uncle Marco!” I whispered. “You don’t know how sorry I—”
“Go with them,” he said, without expression, his voice at almost normal speed now. “Go with them and make a slowdown.”
“Huh?” That was the last thing in the world I expected to hear.
“Ask the clock to make the deepest, longest slowdown possible. Go with them. Do it. Don’t let them in here.”
“But that’s ... that’s crazy, Uncle Marco! You don’t understand! If they can make a slowdown, then they can—”
“Do it.” There was still no expression on his face or in his voice. He must really be furious! “Do it! Make a slowdown. Don’t let them in.”
He turned and crawled away from the window.
“But...”
“Do it!” Uncle Marco said and moved out of sight.
He wasn’t going to save me. He wasn’t even going to help me! He was sending me off to Crutchley on my own, to do exactly what they wanted me to do. He must be more furious at me than I could even imagine. Was he punishing me? Was he giving up? I didn’t understand.
Then I remembered he had said, “Can’t sell. Can never sell.” That must mean he wasn’t giving up.
But then why did he want me to show Crutchley how to make a slowdown? It was incomprehensible.
But Uncle Marco was telling me to do it. He was very clear. And that meant I had no choice. I had to go to Crutchley by myself. He was saying, “You got us into this mess on your own. Now you get us out on your own.”
The door began to shake. They were banging on it. “Hellooo! We’re here to help!” a man shouted outside the door.
I pulled the window shut. I turned. Suddenly, because of the unreality of everything, I was more numb than frightened. I looked at my watch. Henry and his mother should have been back before now. What had happened to them?
I had to do what Uncle Marco told me, even though it went against common sense. Following his orders now was the only way to make up for the trouble I had caused by disobeying him before.
And he didn’t want them coming into this room.
“Wait,” I called out. “I’ll be right out.” I unlatched the door and pulled it open.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The two men hovered around me.
“Lucky we found you!”
“You okay? They were worried about you.”
They were wonderful liars, these young men from Crutchley in their dark suits.
They peered over my shoulder into the tower room. Uncle Marco didn’t want them in there. If they went in, they might see him—and his box—on the roof. “Who were you talking to?” they asked me.
“I talk to myself when I’m scared.” I shut the door behind me.
“We better check out that room.”
“I’m going now.” I pushed past them down the curving flight of stairs into the main attic, walking fast. They stayed with me, leaving the door to the tower room closed.
“Are you taking me to the office, or what?” I said on the way downstairs. I had the same feeling now as I had when standing up to Aunt Ruth yesterday—I didn’t care how they would react, and it felt good. Sure, I was scared. But I wasn’t scared of these guys. They were just underlings. I knew I was smarter than they were.
“Mr. Crutchley and them are real concerned. They just need to talk to you to be sure everything’s okay.”
Everything was going okay now—for them.
“Take me home first, please,” I said. “You know how close it is. I can’t do what they want unless I bring something from my house.”
“Sorry. Our orders are—”
But I knew they had to be careful with me; if they used force,
it could kill the deal. I stopped on the stairs and crossed my arms. “Then I’m not going without a fight. It’ll slow things down. Henry and his parents might get back. If you’ll let me talk to somebody at the office—any one of those people—they’ll tell you to let me stop off at home first.”
They didn’t like it, but one of them got out a cellular phone. Korngold answered. “Oh, hello, sweetie!” she gushed. “We’re so relieved to hear your voice. We were so worried when you didn’t get home and—”
“I can’t do what you want unless I get some of the creatures from my basement,” I said to her. “I have to have them and the clock or it won’t work. Do you remember that from your tape? Play it again if you don’t believe me. Then tell these guys to let me stop at home for five minutes.”
She told them.
“One of you come in with me and be polite to Aunt Ruth,” I said in the car. “That way she’ll think what you’re doing is legit.”
They looked at each other. They clearly hadn’t been expecting me to behave like this. “Who says this isn’t legit?” one of them asked me. “We’re just helping to—”
“Whatever,” I interrupted. “It’ll be faster and easier if one of you comes in with me.”
Aunt Ruth was just switching on the TV. She turned when she heard the door open and said automatically, “Anne, you ungrateful brat! Where have you been? You’re not allowed to just disappear without—”
Then she saw the man from Crutchley and her mouth snapped shut.
“Uh, evening,” he said. “We just gotta take her to the office—Crutchley Development. They have to talk a little more—then you’ll be able to close the deal.”
“Huh? What?” Aunt Ruth said, not pleased. “Why do they need to talk to her so much? Why aren’t you telling me what’s going on?”
“I’ll be back in a minute. You two can entertain each other,” I said.
The creatures in the basement were still going at their ritual, though I could now detect a weariness and hopeless-ness in the impulses I was getting. I’m going to see the Lord now, I thought, hoping they would listen.
The chanting went on.
I’m going to the Lord! I projected more intensely. The Lord needs your help now!
The dancing stopped. There was a confused babble. Their heads swung back and forth. Finally one of the sleek ones stepped forward and bowed. I bowed back.
You say you are going to the Lord? But that is not your duty now, nervous system. Your duty is to bring the Lord here.
It was so obstinate I wanted to kick it. But at least it was straightforward—which was a lot better than most of the human beings I was dealing with. I am not in control of the situation. Others, more powerful than I am, have stolen the Lord. But now they will take me to It. If you want to communicate with It—and make a sacrifice—this is your only chance. I must make a slowdown now. I need your help. It is the only way to get the Lord back here.
This request was so unusual that I had to spell it out several times before it began to sink in. Then they conferred with each other. And finally, once again, four creatures from the top level were chosen by battle and presented themselves to me. I found a small cardboard carton and put them inside it and rushed upstairs.
I had sworn I would never do this again. But I sensed that the creatures—and the clock—wanted it. And I was part of them now.
Aunt Ruth and the driver had given up trying to talk to each other. He was tapping his foot and she was glowering. I was sure he didn’t know what they really wanted with me—the slowdown had to be top secret. He turned and looked at me with great relief when I came in.
“Let’s go,” I said.
“Anne! What is going on?” Aunt Ruth demanded furiously.
“They want to talk to me. I’ll tell you all about it when I come back.” I hurried out the door.
It was 5:45. We drove against traffic on the highway —the lanes going out of town were full, and ours was almost empty. Wind rattled against the car. Clouds had quickly covered the moon; it was beginning to snow. We got to their offices more quickly than I wanted. And even though it was after five, the big purple-and-silver room was full of Crutchley wage slaves crouched over terminals in their cubicles—there was no way they could even tell it was snowing outside.
We didn’t go to the fancy conference room this time. We went past that door, through another door that had to have a security code punched into a small device on it. Whelpley, who had not been at dinner last night, was waiting on the other side of the door in a small, unadorned cement anteroom. He didn’t smile or wink at me this time; his expression was stony. Henry and I had successfully eluded him the day before, and he didn’t like that.
“Good evening,” was all he said. He nodded at the driver, who left me there and went back through the same door we had entered. Where we were going must be too high security for him.
The next door was metal, a double door, with a curved, U-shaped metal handle on each side. It required another, longer security code. Whelpley pressed buttons for a while, then pulled the door open and waved me through.
This room was bigger than the conference room. The floor space was taken up by two trestle tables, and drafting equipment, and blueprints on big easels. Several mainframe computer terminals reposed on large metal desks, and rows of filing cabinets lined the walls, as well as lots of shelves and cubbyholes. The secretary, Ms. MacElberg, sat at another desk typing on a typewriter. Through two normal-sized windows on one wall, you could see the lights of the city and the wind wildly whipping the snowflakes around.
Crutchley was standing at the head of one of the tables. Korngold and Junior rose to their feet. The clock sat, heavy and silent, on the table in front of them. I wanted to run over and touch it.
Beside the table was an industrial dolly, a low metal cart with four big wheels. That was what they must have used to get the box in here.
Crutchley smiled at me and came over and squeezed my shoulder. “Well, young lady, I’m glad you’ve made the right decision,” he complimented me. “You made no problems on the way over here, and you insisted on bringing what you needed from home. We checked the tape, like you said. Good for you!” He rubbed his hands together, his grin widening. “Now let’s get to work and see exactly how to make this thing do what we want.” He looked at his watch. “I’m catching a flight to Tokyo tonight and if I want to make the right kind of scheduling bids, I’ll need to know—” He paused, still smiling. “Well, I won’t bore you with all that.”
He wasn’t even trying to hide his excitement. The others, I now realized, were tense with anticipation, too. And why shouldn’t they be? Once Crutchley had the ability to slow down the rest of the world, they’d be the richest development company in the world.
And I was about to show them how to do it.
Why had Uncle Marco told me to do this? I couldn’t figure it out. But he had said it in so many words.
I walked toward the table with the metal box on it, the numbness gone now, replaced by a miserable, sick churning in my stomach. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to do it because I was going to throw up. But that would be only a short delay. I was locked in here with them and with everything necessary. There was no way out anymore.
I approached the clock. They hadn’t busted it; it looked exactly the same, sinister and implacable and necessary to me now. I bowed, with real feeling. We need another slowdown. The deepest, longest slowdown you can possibly make.
I set the cardboard carton on the table, opened it, and took out the four creatures, which scrabbled around on my hands. Korngold put her hand to her mouth and took a step back. Junior gulped, looking pale. Whelpley and Crutchley leaned forward, fascinated.
I had told the creatures this was the only way to get the clock back where they wanted it. Like before, they staunchly waited on each of the four propellers.
The clock clicked once. The tendrils didn’t move.
We were all bending over it now. “Well? Why isn’t anyth
ing happening?” Crutchley said impatiently.
I remembered what the clock had done to Henry. “You have to think at it, ask it to make a slowdown. It can’t be rushed,” I said. And I thought, Please. The deepest slowdown you can make. And a long one, too. It’s the only way we can get you back home with the basement creatures, where they say you belong.
A tendril shot out and grabbed Crutchley’s cheek. Korngold shrieked, the men shouted, Crutchley wailed. Whelpley grabbed the tendril, trying to pull it away.
Right on! I thought.
They managed to get the tendril away from Crutchley, who was now whimpering, “Oh, oh, oh!” with his hand on his face.
“Did you make it do that?” Whelpley accused me.
Maybe I had; I had imagined it, and the clock might have been doing my bidding. “I’m just doing the same thing I did last time; that’s all I know,” I told him. “And last time it started after I—”
“Wait! Look! Something’s happening!” Korngold cried.
We all bent over it again, even Crutchley. It was clicking like crazy, the propellers moving. Four tendrils, all at once, reached out and crushed the poor little creatures—it wasn’t taking its time like before. The propellers moved faster and faster.
I turned to the window. The car lights on the streets and bridges stopped abruptly, not gradually like last time; snow stabilized in midair. “Look!” I said, scared but also excited at what was happening in spite of myself. “Look out there and watch the world stop!”
There was no answer. I turned back.
Crutchley and the others didn’t seem to have heard me. They were all bent over the clock, staring down at it without moving.
Frozen.
“Hey,” I said. “Can’t you ... Don’t you...”
And then—finally—it hit me.
I whooped with joy. I backed away from them. And then I was dancing around the room, clapping my hands.
Of course this was the right thing to do—why had I ever doubted Uncle Marco? And why hadn’t I realized this before?
I was the nervous system, the only one who could make the clock work. And whenever I did make a slowdown, Crutchley and Company would be caught in it, too. And so would all their machinery and all their workmen. Knowing about the clock didn’t keep you out of the slowdown. Crutchley would never be able to use the clock, no matter what. We were safe from that. We had always been safe. We just hadn’t been smart enough to know it.
The Boxes Page 11
