either side of the alley. She peered over one of the fences at
the houses, plain structures of wood and brick. The windows
were dark; a dead silence lay over all. The neighborhood
looked deserted. Keeping her pistol close, she proceeded along
the lane, leaving the light farther and farther behind.
“Hello, Lizbeth,” a voice said.
She leapt to the side, her pistol aimed. A face looked over
the fence.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Now let’s not shoot anyone, young lady. I’m a friend,
here to help. Come on in through the gate.”
He vanished behind the fence and a gate was flung wide. A
porch light burned at the stranger’s back, leaving his face in
shadow.
“Come along,” he said, in an unfamiliar accent.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned toward the house.
She followed, staying a safe distance behind. They passed over
the threshold and through a narrow hallway into a small
drawing room. By the light of two lamps on end-tables, she
saw he was dressed in some sort of uniform: dark blue trousers
and a sky-blue shirt with a circular shoulder patch displaying
the words Post Office Dept. above a horse and rider, with an
unfamiliar word below. He was well past sixty, with thin
strands of hair atop his balding head.
“Who are you?” she demanded again.
“Andrew Carter,” he said. “I’m the postman.”
“Andrew Carter?” she repeated.
“I know what you’re thinking: Carter Anderson, Andrew
Carter. Funny coincidence, huh? You can call me Andy. Would
you like some tea? They say everyone in Evenmere is crazy
about it. I drink coffee myself.”
“If we’re not in Evenmere, where are we?”
“You should sit down. I’ll bring the tea.”
She took a seat on the green couch. As Mr. Carter bent
down to hand her the teacup, she touched his sleeve.
“What material is this? It’s so soft and thin.”
“A polyester blend, I suppose. One lump or two?”
“One, please.”
Clutching a coffee mug, Mr. Carter took a seat in a floral
chair across from the couch. “We’ve got a few minutes, so I’ll
try to explain some things before you have to go. You already
know that Evenmere is the mechanism that runs the universe,
but it isn’t the whole machine. More like the tip of the iceberg.
That alley out there is a kind of crossroads, full of possibilities.
You call it the Eye Gate. It can lead to the most incredible
places and times. It’s led you down a level, a little deeper into
reality.”
“So you’re saying that this,” she waved her hand to
indicate the drawing room, “is somehow more real than where
I live?”
He grimaced. “Real isn’t the right word. But you’re deeper
in, closer to the center.”
“How many levels are there?”
“Seven, a thousand, an infinite number—I really couldn’t
say. You’ll never actually reach the center, of course. No one
can. But before the night is over, you’ll have to go even farther
down. You’re at the outskirts of the Deep Machine, you see,
the mechanism behind Evenmere—the machine behind the
machine. I know that comes as a surprise. It’s a natural
mistake—everybody makes it, thinking whatever level they’re
on is the fundamental one.”
“It makes us rather small, doesn’t it?” Lizbeth asked. “I
mean, Carter is lord of Evenmere, and it’s the last rung.”
“Next to the last, but that’s looking at it wrong. Every
position is important. We each have our part to play.”
“You make it sound as if it were a story, like a novel.”
“Well, it is a kind of story,” Mr. Carter said, “though I’m
no literary man myself. A wonderful story and a terrible one,
full of high drama and heavy with suspense. There’s no point
in having a story without drama, is there?”
Lizbeth took a sip of tea to cover her confusion. “Who are
you and how do you know all this? Are you in charge of this
level?”
Mr. Carter smiled. “I’m just the neighborhood postman.
You can learn a lot delivering the mail. I lend a helping hand
here and there. There are servants and servants and servants,
you know. We’re all about service.”
“I see,” Lizbeth said, though she really didn’t understand
at all. “When I first entered the alley, I met … someone from
the past who I know to be dead. Was that real?”
“The alley entrance is guarded and the guardian takes
many forms. Time is fluid there. What you saw was from your
past, not the present. You were very brave.” He smiled
reassuringly.
Mr. Carter glanced at his watch, which was tied to a leather
band on his wrist. “I wish we could talk longer, but I think you
better finish your tea. Lord Anderson may need your help right
about now.”
Lizbeth set her teacup down with a jar. “Where is he? Why
didn’t you tell me sooner?”
The postman smiled again. “I thought you needed a minute
before you went on. It’s pretty scary, entering the alley, and
there’s a lot of danger ahead of you. Carter made it past the
guardian and was here just before you came. If I had known
when you would arrive, I would have made him wait, but it
can’t be helped. Oh, I almost forgot.”
He walked over to a narrow bookcase and withdrew a
volume. “You better take this. I think it might help.”
He held a leather copy of Wuthering Heights .
She recoiled from it. “Why that? I never intend to read it
again. Besides, I have most of it memorized.”
“I don’t know why, but you best take it.”
She reluctantly put it in her pack.
He crossed the room and opened a door. Nothing but
darkness could be seen within. The loud throbbing of engines,
previously unheard, rose from its vacancy.
“Carter is in there,” the man said. “I can’t go myself. You
have to find him.”
She studied his face. He seemed kind, but she was terrible
at judging appearances. She had been tricked before and it had
led to years of imprisonment.
He gave her a smile. “This isn’t easy for you, but
sometimes it’s all a nod, a wink, and a leap into the dark. This
is one of those times.”
She hesitated. “Why is it necessary for me to do this? If the
Poetry Men are interfering with this Deep Machine, don’t you
have bobbies or constables, someone who can stop them?”
“That’s a good question, and I’m afraid I don’t know the
answer. I think it’s because the trouble started on your level. In
a way, that makes it a little outside our jurisdiction. Not that
we won’t help if we can. Then again, there are rules to be
followed. I know it’s a heavy burden, but the fate of your
plane of existence depends on you and Carter. Finding Erin
Shoemate is the key, I believe.”
“Do we have any chance? Can we stop the poets?”
> “Again, I don’t know, but you have to try. You were
chosen for this place and this hour, to succeed or fail. But only
you can decide to take the plunge.”
Lizbeth nodded her head. She was not one to hesitate
forever. She drew a deep breath, raised herself to her full
height, and stepped over the threshold.
The light from the room vanished, plummeting her into a
darkness lit only by distant, winking flames. The hammering
engines were louder; the whole room resonated with the low
throbbing. Judging by the heavy echoes, she was in a vast
chamber. As her eyes gradually adjusted, she could make out
the silhouettes of equipment—tanks and cylinders, great
valves, pipes snaking here and there before vanishing in the
overhead gloom. The floor was concrete patched with oil-
stains. The air smelled of steam, gas, and sulphur. Glancing
up, she saw lights overhead, distant as stars and equally as
dim.
What now? she wondered, as she stepped forward, pistol
ready. There was no clear lane through the mechanical jungle,
so she set off at random, making her way through the dimness
past rows of equipment adorned with tiny blue gas flames.
Fearing to draw attention to herself, she left her lantern unlit.
The noise of the machinery frightened her. The engines of
the earth , she thought.
After several minutes’ travel she paused, realizing she
might search such a maze for hours without finding Carter. If
she could climb one of the machines, she might get an idea of
which way to go.
She picked a relatively quiescent mass, a rectangular block
thirty feet tall, consisting of wires, wheels, belts, and levers,
whose only motion was a slowly rotating cam-shaft and a
flickering gas-jet attached to its side. The thought of climbing
it made her uneasy. Without knowing its purpose, she could
not guess if it might suddenly come on, crushing her between
its moving parts.
She picked what she thought a safe path and ascended.
Climbing was easy with so many protrusions, though she had
to be careful not to cut herself. Halfway up, she grasped a pipe
covered in grease. She wiped it off against the side of the hulk,
but it left her fingers slippery.
She saw, by the light of the sparse gas-jets, the concrete
floor below, farther down than she expected. She vowed to
avoid looking that way again.
At last she crawled onto the top, which was not smooth as
she had hoped, but replete with pipes and gauges. An iron
dome covered part of its surface. Holding onto the curve of the
dome with one hand, she surveyed the cavern. Her altitude
seemed to have gained her nothing. It was like looking over
the rooftops of Evenmere, a sea of structures without end,
lights dotting the ragged hulks.
She turned a slow circle and saw, far in the distance, more
lights outlining a long thoroughfare extending out of sight.
Much of the noise emanated from that direction. She pursed
her lips. The avenue might mean something or it might not;
she could find herself going the wrong way. But every other
direction looked uniformly gloomy. She had to hope that
Carter, repeating her climb, had sought the lighted way.
With a deep breath, she turned to go. She had taken her
first step downward, when two apertures fluttered open in the
dome, revealing a pair of enormous eyes.
In her attempt to get back and away, she lost her grip and
tumbled, scraping her legs and shoulders against the
protruding pipes. She caught herself halfway down, a jarring
stop. Before she had time to recover, a tremendous cacophony
rose. The whole structure twisted and shook, as if coming
apart.
She jumped to the ground, landing hard and falling to her
knees, but regained her feet and sprinted to the shelter of
another mass of machinery. From behind a cylindrical tank she
turned to see her former perch unfolding, raising itself upward.
Its long, tapering snout and head extended like a turtle from its
shell; it stretched itself on four, clawed legs, a horrid, living
contraption. Its eyes were golden lights, with a row of smaller,
red ones outlining its jaws. Its mouth opened and closed in
huffing breaths. Steam rose from the top of its head. Iron teeth
glistened in its angular mouth.
It turned from side to side to the screech of metal on metal.
Lizbeth pressed close against the tank, but in vain. With a
barking chuff , the Horrid Contraption moved toward her.
She bolted even as it leapt, and heard its iron paws slam to
the floor where she had been. Avoiding a straight path, she
wove her way through the machinery, a perilous course in the
gloom. Protrusions on every side forced her to dodge and
duck. She dared not look behind her, but could hear the
Contraption clanking in pursuit.
Other hulks began to stir, stretching lazily, awakened by
the noise. On every side she saw lifting heads, opening eyes. A
metal paw shot out to grasp her. She darted to one side,
avoided it, and ran on.
At last she scurried through a wide opening into a maze of
heavy concrete walls. She threw herself behind one of a series
of small stone structures, gasping for breath, her side aching.
She had nearly recovered when she heard the rattling of
the Contraption echoing through the gloom. She crouched
lower. A scuttling, like mice on loose boards, reverberated
around the walls, accompanied by the wheezing breath of the
monster sniffing its way along. Her first impulse was to flee,
but she kept her place.
With practiced silence, she crept along behind the stone
structures, all the while picturing metallic teeth reaching
between them to snatch her. The snuffling drew closer.
She moved into a peculiar shuffle, pivoting on her hands
and swinging her legs forward, then turning a circle and
repeating the maneuver, which allowed her to stay low to the
ground while covering a greater distance than going on hands
and knees. Having perfected this technique during her
imprisonment, she could take two such turns and crawl eight
paces before turning again, thus preventing herself from
growing dizzy.
But Duskin would laugh to see me do it , she thought.
In this way, she drew ahead of the noise of her pursuer,
who had slowed to scent her trail. When openings appeared in
the rows of structures to her right, she took a path at an angle
from the Contraption. This soon brought her to a long line of
cylindrical steel tanks, laid on their sides on concrete bases,
leaving a gap between the ground and the curve of their steel
sides—too narrow a squeeze for the Contraption, though the
spaces between each tank left room for the monster’s jaws.
She rested a few minutes to regain her strength. Growing more
calm, she realized she had not eaten for hours, and swallowed
a hurried meal of bread and cheese, sitting on the concrete
/> floor beneath the curve of a tank.
Like a mouse , Lizbeth thought. I could scurry for leagues
without it catching me. But is this the way I need to go?
She hesitated. In her flight, she had lost the direction of the
lighted avenue. She needed to look about again. She noticed a
ladder, leading twenty feet to the top of the tank. After her last
climbing experience, she dreaded using it. She lightly tapped
one of the tanks, which gave off a hollow ring.
It doesn’t appear to be alive, but neither did the
Contraption. And the mechanized beast might see me if I get
too high. Where is it, I wonder? Has it given up, or will it
follow my trail forever through this wasteland?
When she had remained there about half an hour without
hearing her pursuer, she placed her hand on the first rung of
the ladder and pulled herself up, ascending in a rush. The steps
made a soft ringing under her feet. She looked warily from
side to side.
When she reached the top, she discovered that most of the
hulks that might have blocked her view were fortunately at her
back. The rows of tanks stretched before her, with the avenue
of lights beyond. Either by accident or unconscious design, she
had run the right way.
She returned to the ground and made her way under the
tanks, forced to duck every few feet to slip beneath the lowest
portions. Bending and rising made her back ache, and she
resigned herself to traveling in a permanent crouch. Whenever
she inadvertently struck one of the tanks, it gave off an
echoing zing .
After over an hour she passed onto open ground. With a
grimace, she rose to her full height and stretched her back. A
wire-mesh fence stood across her path, a lamp atop every
fourth post casting an eerie, twilight glow. Beyond the fence
lay more machinery, a desert of mechanization. Following the
barricade to a gate, she froze at the sight of a man, standing on
her side of the fence staring through the wire, his fingers
grasping the mesh. She thought she recognized him at once,
but kept her pistol ready.
“Carter,” she called softly.
He whirled, his Lightning Sword suddenly in his hand.
“Lizbeth! How in the world did you get here?”
“I don’t believe we are in the world at all,” she said,
springing forward to hug him. “I came from the Inner
Chambers.”
“The Inner—but they’re gone, vanished. Sarah and Jason
Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3) Page 36
