by Scott Mebus
“What did you see?” Hex’s voice in his ear asked.
“Something horrible,” he replied, trying not to cry. Why wasn’t he dead yet?
“It isn’t real, Rory,” Fritz was saying by his feet. “There’s nothing there.”
Rory didn’t move, refusing to open his eyes. He could still see the ancient faces hungrily attacking him.
“Rory, none of it is real,” Hex said, helping him up. Rory opened one eye—the tunnel was clear.
“What was that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Hex answered. “But it must only affect mortals. Which means you’re not the only one who is going to have to endure apparitions.”
As if in response, Bridget squealed, pointing. “The dolls! They’re marching toward me! You won’t get me!” She began to punch at the air and kick with her steel-tipped boots at nothing at all. “Stay back, Beanie Babies!”
“We need to keep moving,” Hex said. “How long did Adriaen say they were in the tunnel?”
“A long time,” Rory replied miserably.
“Then the sooner we start moving again, the better,” Fritz said, before gasping. “Empty armor! Stalking me!”
“Come on,” Hex said, and walked on ahead. Rory grabbed his sister, who was still shadowboxing the air, and moved on down the tunnel.
He lost track of the number of apparitions that assaulted him. Everything from creatures out of his nightmares, to the kids from school, ghoulishly undead, threatening to eat him alive, to the Rattle Watch, overwhelming him with tales of despair about their losing battle against Kieft. Rory could barely take it, but he walked on.
From the sound of it, Bridget and Fritz were having trouble as well. Even Clarence had to be restrained from running headlong into the wall to escape some imagined predator. With every new ghostly attack, Rory’s resolve weakened.
“How can anyone survive this?” he wondered aloud.
“You’re being tested,” Hex replied.
“I don’t know how much more I can take.” Rory averted his eyes from the sight of his second-grade teacher laughing at him as she chewed on a severed hand. She threw it at him and he shut his eyes, certain he’d feel the dead, clammy thing hit him square in the face—which it never did, of course.
“It looks like you won’t have to,” Hex said suddenly. “Look.”
Rory opened his eyes and gasped. The tunnel had collapsed, sealing off the way forward. “No!”
“This looks new,” Fritz said, swatting at something invisible as he rode up to the cave-in. “Yeah, it definitely happened recently.”
“Did Kieft do this?” Rory asked.
“No,” Hex replied, inspecting the rubble. “I think it was probably the earthquake.”
“But Kieft didn’t bring his treasure down here until after the Trap fell, so this cave-in must have been waiting for him, too,” Rory said. “Where did he go from here? Did he dig through?”
Before anyone could answer, Bridget let out a yell. She ran past Rory and hurtled herself, full speed, into the rubble. Unsurprisingly, she bounced right off, landing hard on the ground as some stones crumbled away to reveal . . . more stones.
“Worth a shot,” she mumbled.
“It was, actually.” Fritz pointed to the side wall, whose stones had loosened at the impact of Bridget’s collision to reveal a hole. Rory stepped forward and pulled the stones free, uncovering a second tunnel.
“I guess Kieft decided to make his own tunnel,” Hex said, peering down the new passage. “It looks like he just blasted his way through with magic. Now, that is power.”
“Do you think he left any traps?” Rory asked, gazing down the new tunnel.
“Only one way to find out,” Hex said, climbing through the hole. “Coming?” No one had a better idea, so they all climbed through the hole, leaving the apparitions behind.
The going was much easier now that they weren’t being constantly attacked by apparitions, but Rory was worried about traps, keeping his eye out for anything in the floor or ceiling. But it seemed as if Kieft thought no one could follow him, for it wasn’t long before they arrived safely at another pile of rocks blocking their way. Pulling a few aside, they peered through a jagged hole into what looked like a storeroom. The room was old and dusty, with nothing but an old broom in the corner. A door sat in the wall opposite them. Bridget immediately climbed into the room, reaching for the door.
“Wait!” Rory called as they climbed in after her. “We don’t know what’s on the other side.”
“Do you have any better ideas?” she asked him, and turned the knob to throw open the door. Light fell on their faces as they stepped through, coming face-to-face with something they never thought they’d see down here.
“What is this place?” Rory breathed, gazing around in wonder.
“I couldn’t even begin to guess,” Fritz replied.
The room they’d discovered did not belong underground. It stretched out in both directions like a long, opulent ballroom. Paintings lined the walls, flanked by lush red curtains. A grand piano sat slightly elevated at one end, its black finish covered in dust. Nearby stood a large, ornate fountain, light playing off the water inside to send shifting patterns dancing across the walls. Peering closer, Rory could make out small goldfish. How they remained alive down here, he had no idea. Gaslight torches lined the walls, flickering slightly; a few were crooked and one of them no longer burned at all. Above it all, glittering like a falling star halted only yards from hitting the earth, floated a magnificent glass chandelier. Three times as large as the piano, it presided over the room like a frozen sun.
They cautiously creeped into the ballroom, peering around in disbelief. Every step seemed to echo as they ventured farther into the opulent room. Richly upholstered chairs surrounded them, dusty and ancient, but Rory had no desire to sit down. Whatever this place was, he didn’t want to be delayed in it while his time ticked away into nothing.
They reached a flight of stairs, which led down to a landing. The landing led to a large circular opening cut into the wall, flanked by two bronze statues Rory recognized as Mercury, messenger of the Roman gods (the winged hat gave it away). Etched into the stone above the opening were the words PNEUMATIC (1870) TRANSIT.
“So you’re back, you miscreants!” a voice yelled at them, making them jump. “You’ll find it hard to do your thieving with a bullet in your chest!”
Rory spun around to see a figure holding a long silver gun at them. He immediately put up his hands.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he told the figure.
“I’ll have you know I’m a powerful magician,” Hex said, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t want to mess with my powers!”
“You don’t want to mess with my bullets!” the figure answered. “You did enough when you stole my train!”
“We didn’t steal anything!” Bridget cried. “We just got here!”
“What kind of fool do you think I am?” The figure stepped closer and the light fell on his face. Rory’s jaw dropped as he recognized who it was.
“Mr. Beach!” he said. The man holding a gun on them was none other than Alfred Beach, God of Subways, who had picked up Rory when he was lost in the subway tunnels after the earthquake. “It’s me, Rory Hennessy!”
Alfred squinted, peering closely at Rory. “Why, so it is! Why did you steal my train?”
“We didn’t steal anything, I promise,” Rory answered. “We just stumbled across your place, here, completely by accident.”
“Then who’s been stealing my train?” Alfred asked, looking peeved as he lowered his gun. “I’d really thought I’d caught the culprit. Oh well, I’m glad it wasn’t you. You seemed like a nice enough fellow.”
Rory introduced his companions to the tall, thin god with the delicate mustache. Alfred shook all their hands, apologizing for his rude welcome.
“What is this place?” Bridget asked. Alfred smiled at the wonder in her voice.
“This was the very f
irst subway station in New York,” he said, throwing his arms open wide. “I built it back in 1870, in secret, since Boss Tweed wasn’t too keen on a subway he didn’t control. This was the waiting room, where people could await their train in comfort.”
Rory glanced around the opulent room. “Not bad.”
“That’s what I thought. But Tweed shut me down. It’d be thirty years before the city got its subway, and my invention lay hidden here, underground, forgotten.”
“Is your train on the other side?” Hex asked, pointing to the circular opening.
Alfred nodded. “Or at least it had better be,” he said, frowning. “Last week, I stopped by to check on her after I dropped Verrazano off at the surface, and the train was gone! Someone had stolen her! I went ballistic, searching everywhere for it, but by the time I returned to the station, the train was back in its place. Though I could tell someone had used her. A joyride, I guessed. Though who would want to take a joyride in the place where that train goes is beyond me.”
Rory turned to Fritz and mouthed, “Kieft stole it!” Fritz nodded—the same thought had obviously occurred to him.
“What does pneumatic mean?” Bridget asked, reading the sign above the entrance.
“Let me show you,” Alfred replied, smiling at the girl’s interest.
He led them down the steps to what proved to be the entrance to a tunnel. A short subway car sat on rails in the middle of the tunnel; it was the same circular shape as the tunnel, its sides barely clearing the walls and ceiling. It was much smaller than a normal subway car, and the light from its headlamps barely pierced the gloomy dark ahead of it.
“Is that a fan?” Fritz asked, looking behind them. Indeed, a huge fan sat across from them, pointed down the tunnel.
“Of course,” Alfred said. “Pneumatic means ‘air’ after all. Didn’t I tell you, Rory, that I would show you the first subway car I built? Well, here she is! Ain’t she a beaut?”
“She is,” Bridget agreed, running up to stare in the windows. “All the seats have cushions!”
‘Of course.” Alfred smiled. “This ride was meant to be a luxury, after all.”
“Where does it go?” Hex added, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Alfred said, shrugging. “It really doesn’t go anywhere. This was my first exploration project. I’ve gone deeper down with this girl than with any of my other cars. I’d probably still be digging if I hadn’t reached a dead end. Now I explore with my other subway trains, trying to find other ways down.”
“So whoever stole this train rode it down to a dead end and then drove it back?” Hex asked, clearly believing there was more to the story.
“Well,dead end is a strong term,” Alfred admitted. “I actually hit an underground stream. I tried to follow it, but it went too deep, even for me. I sometimes ride this old girl down there, to sit by its shore and think about where it goes, but I can’t bring myself to follow it to its end. Some secrets are meant to be kept, I believe.”
“Can you take us there?” Rory asked Alfred.
“Are you sure you didn’t steal this train?” The inventor narrowed his eyes.
“That place you can’t bring yourself to go?” Rory asked. “That’s where I need to be. Please?”
Alfred gave Rory a piercing look then nodded. “Why don’t you climb aboard?” he said. “You’re in for a treat.”
“Good work,” Hex mumbled to Rory as they climbed into the train. The car was small but comfortable, with cushioned seats lining each side. Small windows interrupted the curved wall, looking out onto the black tunnel. “So Kieft took the train in order to bring his treasure to the cavern.”
“I’m just glad we won’t have to walk with those horrible illusions,” Rory muttered back. Hex laughed and Rory started, realizing he’d been dropping his guard with the traitorous exgod. He’d have to be cautious or Hex would take advantage of him.
They took their seats as Alfred climbed into a chair at the head. “Hold on!” he said brightly. “This is a ride like no other!” He pushed a button and a large door began to close off one end of the tunnel, creating an airtight seal. There was a whirring sound as the fan began to spin, blowing air fiercely at the car. Finally, with a wrench, the car gave way under the onslaught and rolled down the tunnel with increasing speed. The light of the station soon disappeared and they were shooting forward through the dark, propelled faster and faster by the fierce gale behind them.
It was eerie to be traveling without engines; the only sound was of the wind propelling them forward. At first Rory couldn’t speak; the roaring in his ears was too great. On and on they rode, until the roaring faded and they were simply rolling along, shooting through the tunnel like a bullet. The end was somewhere up ahead, but Rory had no idea when they’d reach it.
Rory tried looking out the window, and initially he couldn’t see a thing. But then they burst out of the narrow tunnel into a huge open space, and the light from the train bounced off the walls to illuminate the whole area. The rails ran through the middle of the cavern, carrying the train over a deep, seemingly bottomless drop. Rory didn’t know how Alfred could have built these rails hanging over nothing, and he didn’t want to know. He just wanted to get to the other side without tipping over.
They reached the far wall, diving into another tunnel. This time, Rory could see some space on either side. And then he realized why. Something was coming up alongside, a light, and he leaned forward to see more clearly. At last he realized that a train was overtaking them on the tracks that ran alongside.
“There’s another train there!” he told Alfred. “I thought no one else traveled this deep underground!”
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Alfred admitted. By now, the train had reached them, and gradually, it began to pass by. The metal-and-glass skin of this more modern train couldn’t have been more than two feet away, so Rory peered across the short distance into the windows as they slid by. He heard Bridget gasp and he drew back in shock; Alfred’s voice, suddenly dead serious, came from behind.
“Don’t worry, kids. It will be gone in a moment. That train is not for you.”
The train roared alongside slowly but inexorably, on its way to who knows where. Inside the weakly lit train, every inch of space overflowed with people. Hundreds of them. They filled each car like commuters at rush hour, thrust into one another, stacked like dead fish. But it was the faces that scared Rory. Those horrible, horrible faces. The cars passed by like a hellish amusement-park ride, allowing Rory a good long look at every nasty expression, every ghoulish head. Human faces, at least at one time, but changed. Sallow, sickly, festering, yellow-eyed, disintegrating, and most of all, dead faces still dripping dirt from the grave.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the last car passed out of sight, returning the tunnel to black, and Rory could breathe again. It never crossed his mind to ask Alfred about the story behind that train, and Bridget never asked, either. He had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer. He prayed he’d never have to ride it.
Finally, the car they were in rolled to a stop. The silence was deafening as Rory looked around at his companions.
“I guess we get out,” he said. Alfred shrugged, looking a bit spooked.
“You can if you want. There’s nothing there but the river. I don’t think I’ll go with you, actually. Is that all right?”
Rory nodded. He walked to the door, opening it and climbing down to the tunnel floor. He spied a smaller, much older tunnel entrance lit up by the train’s headlights. There was a roaring in the distance that sounded like a river. Bridget dropped to his side, giving an elaborate shudder.
“That was a freaky ride,” she said. “I hope we don’t have to go back that way.”
Rory didn’t answer. He just hoped they got to go back at all. Hex climbed down beside them and Clarence leaped to the ground at their feet, Fritz upon his back. Rory took a deep breath.
“Let’s go take a look,�
�� he said, and walked into the tunnel.
The tunnel itself was very short, and the lights from the train behind them illuminated the entire way. Familiar sigils lined the walls—this must be the end of that long-destroyed passage Adriaen had walked down so many centuries earlier. Thankfully, they soon reached the end and were standing on the shore of the river, watching the water rush by.
“This looks familiar,” Fritz said, and Rory agreed. The arching rocks overhead, the swiftly moving water dimly lit by glowing plants below . . . the feeling of déjà vu was overwhelming.
“This was the river we floated down on that dead alligator when we escaped from the bank!” Rory realized. He avoided looking at Hex—it had been the magician’s fault they were on the run in the first place. Instead, he remembered what lay ahead. “This ends in that horrible waterfall. That must be the place where Adriaen said he plunged in his journal!”
And to think, Rory had been there, unknowing, and he’d almost taken that same fall. He shuddered to think about it.
“So what now?” Bridget asked. “We jump in?”
“I’m not jumping in there,” Fritz said firmly. “I’ll drown in a second.”
“We can take the canoe,” Hex offered. Rory turned in surprise, but it was true. An old canoe, just like the Munsees used, was leaning against the side of the tunnel. It was free of dust, so it couldn’t have been there long.
“Kieft must have left this here,” Fritz mused. “Maybe he planned to come back.”
“Or maybe he had more stuff he wanted to send down,” Bridget guessed.
“Either way, it’s a boon for us,” Hex said. “We can ride that to the waterfall. I can put protection around it so, if we’re lucky, we’ll all survive the fall.”
“Are you really going to try to protect all of us?” Rory asked, willing the truth from the fallen god. Hex smiled wearily.
“Of course. I promise.” He bent over the canoe, muttering to himself, as Rory watched. He knew in his heart he couldn’t trust the man, but everything seemed okay so far.
“Rory, I’m a little scared,” Bridget confided, speaking softly so Hex couldn’t hear. “How far do you think we’ll fall, anyway? How dark will it be?”
