Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3)

by Stoddard, James

  secretly watched from the corner of his eye and threw himself

  down, jerking the key from the creature’s path.

  The dragon could not halt its momentum. Meeting no

  resistance, it grasped not the key, but the web itself. It roared

  and roared and roared, the roars of the frustrated, the cheated,

  the robbed, the ruined, the defeated.

  From the midst of the web a Face appeared, and time

  seemed to cease.

  Erin fell to her knees. She had thought she had seen living

  Poetry. She had never thought to see a Master Poet.

  Carter Anderson found himself suddenly conscious, staring

  into the Face of Eternity.

  Lizbeth forgot her wounds, forgot her pain. It was like

  stepping out of prison again; it was like being free.

  Doctor Benjamin Armilus, Supreme Head of the Anarchist

  Council, fell backward, wanting to bury his face in his hands,

  wanting that awful visage to vanish, wanting to never see it

  again, wanting his eyes forever wide through the eons so he

  could look only upon it.

  A hand, armored in jade, reached out and seized the

  dragon. Roaring in fury, the lizard vainly struggled against the

  irresistible grip. Just before it was snatched away, vanishing

  into a hole in the air, it changed, revealing its true form—a

  different sort of reptile, a massive hulk of chaos and power, a

  dinosaur from the lost ages of time.

  “Jormungand,” Carter whispered.

  The Face was gone and the Poetry with it, leaving four

  mortals standing before the web.

  Carter turned, eyes wild. “Jason! My boy! Where is he?”

  Erin Shoemate hurried to his side. “It isn’t your son, only a

  semblance. Your child was never here. It was a last desperate

  ruse.”

  Lord Anderson rushed to the body and dropped to his

  knees. He touched its face, its hands, ran his fingers over its

  hair. He gave a strangled sob of relief.

  “It must have been a deception,” Armilus said, rising, one

  hand clutching his wounded shoulder. “If the beast could have

  reached so easily from this world to ours, it wouldn’t have

  needed me. I underestimated you, Lord Anderson. After all

  our struggles, in the end you were willing to sacrifice the

  child.”

  Carter put his hand over his eyes. Blood from his broken

  nose dripped down his palm. He shook his head. “I did what I

  had to.”

  “The Master usually does,” Armilus said. “Right now, for

  instance, your wounded sister-in-law needs your help. And if

  your victory has put you in a beneficent state of mind, I would

  very much like someone to bind my shoulder. The bullet only

  grazed me, but I am losing a large quantity of blood.”

  “First, the key,” Carter said.

  The doctor looked at his hand, as if remembering for the

  first time that he still clutched the object of his quest. He

  stared at it for a long moment, and with an almost casual

  gesture tossed it into the void. He exchanged glances with

  Lord Anderson. “Best none of us be tempted.”

  Companions now, made so by what they had seen, the four

  bandaged their wounds and struggled together along the steep

  slope. Halfway down, one of them found voice to speak again,

  but did not dare mention the Face. That would be for another

  time.

  “Why didn’t you do it, Benjamin?” Erin asked the doctor.

  “You had the opportunity. You could have placed the key

  where you wanted. You could have changed the world as you

  wished.”

  Doctor Armilus looked surprisingly embarrassed. “I

  suppose the question will haunt me the rest of my life. There

  was little time for thought. I knew the dragon feared touching

  the web. I suspected doing so would either cause its

  destruction or alert a … guardian. Why didn’t I do it? Even if I

  inserted the key, the beast might have destroyed me, making

  my changes for naught and giving it the chance to force

  someone else to alter reality. But in the end, my old colleague,

  I was prevented by your transforming us into Living Poetry.

  So awful, so beautiful. What if the changes I made had taken

  Verse out of the world?”

  And on that subject, Doctor Benjamin Armilus would say

  no more.

  The Return

  Soreness and injury forced the travelers to go slowly, but

  descending from Deep Machine was quicker than the ascent,

  and they were soon making their way through the strange,

  twilight world of the Place of Machines. They went cautiously,

  slipping among the masses of equipment to avoid

  encountering the Horrid Contraption. Their concern about

  finding the door back to Evenmere proved groundless, for they

  soon sighted a figure standing beneath a tall mechanism,

  waving a tube-shaped light to catch their attention.

  “Here you are,” came the familiar voice of the postman. “I

  heard you were in the neighborhood. Right this way. Let’s be

  quick.”

  Within moments they were once more in Mr. Carter’s

  homey living room.

  “I’m mighty glad you made it back.” The postman beamed

  as he poured tea into China cups. “Mighty glad. This is an

  excellent camomile. Very healing.”

  “I should have followed your advice,” the professor said.

  She glanced at the others. “When I came through the first time,

  he warned me to go back. If I had heeded him, I would never

  have caused so much damage.”

  “The trouble is, we can’t listen to advice we’re unprepared

  to hear,” Mr. Carter said. “It wasn’t your fault, Erin. Honest

  people are the easiest to fool because they haven’t any guile.”

  “Jormungand deceived every one of us,” Lord Anderson

  said, gingerly touching his broken nose. “I’m still trying to put

  it all together. If he is imprisoned in his attic, how could he

  appear as the beast?”

  “I’m ignorant of the various ins and outs,” the postman

  said, “but I’ve read some reports about that dinosaur of yours.

  I can assure you, he couldn’t come here in any form unless he

  first escaped the attic.”

  “How could he have?” Lizbeth asked.

  “Now that I know it was he, I can supply an answer,”

  Armilus said. “My fellow anarchists and I abducted

  Jormungand from his attic when we were trying to build a

  counterfeit house in the Outer Darkness. When our plan failed,

  Jormungand escaped. We assumed he was forced to return to

  his old prison. Apparently, we were wrong.”

  “But he did return,” Carter said. “I saw him there

  immediately afterward.”

  “Probably pretending to still be bound,” Armilus said,

  “unwilling to tip his hand. Biding his time. Being far-seeing, at

  some point he must have gotten a glimpse into the next level,

  seen The Book of Verse and realized what a terrible weapon it

  would make.”

  “But he couldn’t cross the Eye Gate to reach it,” Carter

  said. “He needed a pawn.”

  “Someone like me,�
� Professor Shoemate said.

  “In that case,” Armilus said, “the Histian scroll that led us

  to The Book of Verse and The Book of Lore was probably a

  forgery; and the stories we were told about The Book of Lore

  must have been fabrications. Jormungand may have even

  written it himself. That’s why it felt so foul.”

  “Think of the various reptiles we encountered,” Lord

  Anderson said, “the lizards who accompanied the poets. Why,

  even the talking serpent I battled when I first found The Book

  of Lore in the Mere was part of the deception, perhaps

  Jormungand himself in another form. How he must have

  enjoyed the sport of that, having a sham battle, making me

  think I was winning the book while gloating all the while!”

  “But why were there always lizards around the poets?”

  Lizbeth asked.

  “Jormungand must have convinced them he had some part

  in the poetry,” Lord Anderson said, “and used the lizards as his

  surrogates to direct the poets to attack Evenmere’s centers of

  power.”

  “That would be like him,” the postman said. “He loves

  destruction for its own sake. That’s what he is, you know:

  Tiamat, Cyclops, Dragon—a representation of every unruly

  force in the universe.”

  “But he was also trying to cover up Erin’s trail to prevent

  anyone from finding her,” Lord Anderson said.

  “Are you saying the poets were merely a diversion?”

  Lizbeth asked. “To keep us from concentrating on the real

  danger?”

  “There was probably more to it,” Doctor Armilus said.

  “For one, Erin wasn’t given directions to find Deep Machine,

  only clues.”

  “More than once I despaired of locating it,” Professor

  Shoemate said.

  “Of course!” Carter exclaimed, gripping the arm of the

  chair. “Jormungand didn’t know how to get there! He needed

  someone to find it for him—a scholar who could interpret the

  signs.”

  “And once he knew where it was, he needed me to help

  slip the Black Beast past the alley guardian,” Armilus said.

  “I knew there was going to be trouble when I noticed the

  Beast hiding in the doctor’s ring,” the postman said.

  “You knew it was there?” Armilus said.

  “I can spot that sort of thing. It’s a gift. That’s one of the

  reasons I tried to talk you out of going. Other than passing the

  information on to my superiors, I couldn’t do much else once

  you were past the guardian in the alley.”

  “To what superiors do you refer?” Armilus asked.

  “Why, my bosses at the post office, though this probably

  went much higher up. I’m a route man, myself—don’t do any

  of the administrative work. I leave that to those with an

  aptitude for it. There are servants and servants and servants,

  you know. My supervisor would have passed the information

  on.”

  “Yet no one did anything to help us,” Lord Anderson said.

  “You may have gotten more help than you know,” Mr.

  Carter said, “but in the end the job was your responsibility as

  Evenmere’s guardian.”

  “It seems an untidy way to run Existence,” Armilus said.

  The postman laughed. “It might, but would you really want

  to live in a reality where everything is easily explained?

  Wouldn’t be much of a world, would it? I did receive word

  that because of your victory the Balance has been restored, and

  both the Inner Chambers and Shadow Valley have returned to

  their places. Unfortunately, poor Queen Moethus is gone; but

  her replacement will soon be on the job.”

  “I should very much like to visit your post office,” Lord

  Anderson said.

  Mr. Carter gave a friendly shrug. “They’re awfully busy up

  there, but I’ll let them know you’re interested. Now if you’re

  thinking of becoming a mail carrier, that would be different—

  it’s a nice job. Everybody likes getting mail, except for bills,

  of course, and you do have to watch out for dogs, but you get

  lots of sunshine and exercise.”

  The postman glanced at the timepiece on his wrist. “Oh

  say, it’s getting really late. I hate to rush you, but you’d better

  be going.”

  “There are so many questions,” Carter Anderson said.

  “And not enough books or time in the world to answer

  ‘em,” Andy Carter replied. “You’ve still got a job to do,

  Carter. Jormungand remains free and something has to be

  done.”

  The Master grew pale. “I had hoped he was either

  destroyed or re-imprisoned. I should have known he couldn’t

  die.”

  “You’ve never seen Jormungand in his true, terrible form,”

  Mr. Carter said. “You wouldn’t survive it if you did. No

  human mind could bear it. The Black Beast was only the

  smallest fragment of him, like a spy sent into enemy country.

  When he broke the rules by touching the web, he was

  immediately expelled back to Evenmere.”

  “Do you have any suggestions for containing him?” Carter

  asked.

  “I’m afraid not, but you’ll figure something out.”

  The postman led the company to the backyard and let them

  out the wooden gate, Lord Anderson trailing thoughtfully

  behind.

  “Ben, Liz, Erin, Carter,” Andy said their names in turn as

  he shook their hands. “Just go straight down the alley. You

  won’t have any trouble. The guardian doesn’t bother anyone

  leaving. Goodbye.”

  They trudged along the lane. Doctor Armilus reached up

  and rubbed his shoulder. “My bullet wound is healed.”

  “So is my nose,” Carter said, running his hand along the

  bridge.

  Lizbeth touched the bandages on her left hand, then

  unwrapped them and said sadly, “Even the scars are gone, but

  whatever performed the miracle doesn’t grow new fingers.

  What will Duskin think of me?” Her eyes filled with tears. She

  glanced at the Master. “Oh, Carter, what do you make of it?”

  “He did say the tea was healing. I think I should consider

  his job offer. The position of postman would surely be a

  promotion from my current circumstance.”

  As soon as they were once more within the High House,

  Doctor Armilus fell a few yards behind the others and slipped

  down a side-passage. When Carter realized the anarchist was

  gone, he hurried back to survey the last intersecting corridors,

  but soon returned to the others, shaking his head. “Completely

  vanished. How can anyone that massive move so quickly?”

  “I’m glad he’s gone,” Lizbeth said. “I could never have

  slept tonight knowing he might murder us in our slumber.

  None of us has the strength to keep watch.”

  “Benjamin and I are friends and colleagues,” the professor

  insisted. “I refuse to believe he would ever harm me. I’m sorry

  he left. I had many questions I wished to ask him.”

  “Erin is right,” Carter said, grimacing. “The doctor is

  many things, but he would never kill without go
od reason, so

  both of you were safe. Slaying the Master of the house,

  however, might be a different matter. I should have guarded

  him more carefully. He may have helped us in the end, but he

  has much to answer for.”

  They traveled that day through the Opo. That night after

  supper, Carter spoke the Word Which Masters Dreams and

  hurried to the Inner Chambers. Standing in the transverse

  corridor, he used the Word Which Brings Aid. To his surprise,

  it did not summon Sarah or William Hope as he had expected,

  but Jason. He wondered, not for the first time, if the Words of

  Power actually knew who he most wanted to see.

  “Hello, Daddy,” his son called, nonchalant as children

  sometimes are. But Carter scooped the boy into his arms,

  hugging him fiercely.

  “Everything outside was gone,” Jason said, “but it came

  back. Mama said it does that sometimes. She says that’s why

  we call it Fall and Spring, because its falls away and springs

  back.”

  “Your mother is a wise woman.”

  “Why are you crying, Daddy?”

  “Because I love you so very much.”

  “Aunt Lizbeth came to stay with us, but she left. We have

  not seen her. Have you seen her?”

  “I have.”

  “Can we go see Mama?”

  “Let’s just talk here awhile.”

  So Lord Anderson and his son spent a happy hour,

  laughing and playing in the land of slumber. When at last

  Carter knew he must go, he asked, “Have you had fun?”

  “It’s been lots and lots.”

  “I want you to do something for me. Something very

  important. You see, this is another of those funny dreams you

  have sometimes. When you wake up, I want you to run as fast

  as you can to your mother, and tell her I am well and your

  Aunt Lizbeth is well, and I am coming home as soon as I can.

  Can you remember to do that?”

  Jason looked very serious. “Yes.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “Never hope to die. A simple ‘I promise’ is sufficient. A

  man’s word is his bond.”

  “I promise.”

  Even as Carter walked the dream dimension, Lizbeth

  started from a deep sleep and sat upright on her bedroll,

  awakened by an unexpected noise. With a shock, she saw a

  lantern in the corridor outside the small room. She fumbled for

  the gun in her pack, and had it cocked and ready when a