Darwen Arkwright and the School of Shadows (28 page)

The Awakening

“O
kay, this is
weird,” said Alex.

Owen gave her a look. It was clear from his face that he thought he had been having a very strange day for some time now, and the prospect that there was some
new
weirdness seemed to alarm him.

“What is weird?” Rich returned.

Rich, Alex, and Owen had moved away from Darwen, who was squatting on the stone floor beside Mr. Peregrine, as if by silent agreement that they needed a little space. The flittercrake was perched on Darwen's shoulder, holding on with its tiny bat-like claws, silently watching Mr. Peregrine. Alex was considering a curious piece of equipment.

“Looks like a conveyor belt,” she said. “Runs all the way down the hall to that massive machine down there.”

“Shouldn't we be leaving?” asked Owen. “You got what you came for.”

“If Darwen's right,” said Rich, “and this is some kind of scrobbler factory, then we need to free the people if we can . . .”

“And destroy the equipment,” added Alex. “Greyling won't be taking over the world with this army. Not if I've got something to say about it.”

“Do you ever
not
have something to say about, you know,
anything
?” asked Rich.

Alex just shrugged, unoffended.

“Come on, farm boy,” she said. “Let's put those muscles of yours to good use.”

The two of them strode purposefully off down the cavern, and Owen, apparently unsure what to do, followed them apprehensively. Darwen stayed where he was beside Mr. Peregrine with the flittercrake. The old man was sitting up now, breathing carefully as if afraid he might lapse into some painful coughing fit. From time to time, he would consider his hands, as if puzzled by the memory of their greenish hue only a few minutes before. There was so much Darwen wanted to say, questions, challenges about why Mr. Peregrine hadn't told him of Greyling's mirroculist past, but for now he would keep them to himself. The old man looked far too fragile.

Darwen plucked the compact mirror from his pocket and pushed the button on the side. Eileen's face faded into view. Her hair was unusually disheveled and she looked tense. “What's going on?” she said.

“We have him,” said Darwen, grinning. “Mr. Peregrine. He's alive. But he was being changed.”

“Changed?” said Eileen, her momentary relief sputtering to a halt. “Into what?”

“A scrobbler,” said Darwen.

“What?” Eileen exclaimed, her face pale. “How is that possible? I thought scrobblers were native to Silbrica.”

“I'm not sure,” said Darwen, “but as far as we can tell, scrobblers aren't born; they're made. They're just regular people until Greyling transforms them.”

“But . . . why?”

“I don't know, but I think his plans are larger than a few conversions here. He's moved most of the operation out, but I don't know where he's taken it.”

“You need to get back,” said Eileen.

“Not till we've smashed this lab up,” said Darwen. “We need to make it so Greyling can't build any reinforcements. Not here, anyway. I'll let you know when we're done.”

He snapped the mirror shut and returned his attention to Mr. Peregrine. The old man looked tired and sick, but he was alive, and that seemed beyond anything Darwen had a right to expect. Darwen smiled again, wider this time, laughing with sudden relief.

“Enjoy the moment,” said Alex as she marched back toward them. “'Cause our news? Not so much fun.”

“What did you find?” asked Darwen.

“This,” said Rich, holding out an iron helmet with a plate of heavy glass in the visor. To the back was fastened a box with a small green lightbulb and what looked like a coiled antenna. “The machinery back there produces these.”

“Lots of 'em,” said Alex. “Mass production.”

“How many?”

“Impossible to say,” said Rich. “There's a pile of them that were broken or misshaped. If those are the ones Greyling discarded, but we assume the rest worked . . .”

“Hundreds,” said Alex. “Thousands.”

“And they're not here,” said Rich. “Which means they've been taken somewhere to be used.”

“What do you think they do?” asked Alex, considering the helmet warily.

“Pretty much the same as these, I'd say,” said Owen, nodding toward the pods.

“But faster and more efficiently,” Darwen agreed. “He's refined the technology. I think,” he said, finally committing to the idea, “that he's been testing some new version of the system at Hillside. Think about those weird moments at school when the lights dimmed and the teachers started acting all . . .” He sought for the word.

“Argh
,”
said Alex, pulling a monster face. “Scrobblerish.”

“Right,” said Darwen. “Take the machine that did that, add in the helmets, and you've got yourself an instant scrobbler army.”

“Thousands of odd bods?” said Owen with a shudder.

“He's planning global conquest,” said Rich. “Of both worlds.”

“The man needs a new set of interests,” said Alex. “Gardening, maybe.”

“And we know where he's going to start,” said Rich, his voice laden with dread.

“The Hillside gala,” said Darwen.

“Our families will be there,” said Alex, her face ashen.

“I know,” said Darwen, rubbing his face with his hands as if trying to massage some focus into his mind. “We need to disconnect all the pods in this cavern from their power source and get the people out. Quickly. Owen, how much more of that stuff you injected into Mr. Peregrine do you have?”

“There's only one more shot,” said Owen. “Looks like only the recently occupied pods are equipped with it.”

“Okay,” said Darwen, balling his fists. “So if we get the people disconnected from the pods but can't wake them, will they turn back into people?”

“Perhaps,” said Owen. “If it's like what we did with the tanks, then the process has to be maintained through electrical impulse and a kind of chemical cocktail that they get daily. Without those, it will reverse, but it could take days, weeks.”

“And I'd guess that if the transformation is complete,” added Rich, “they might not change back at all.”

“Better get to work, then,” said Darwen. “Give the last dose to Blodwyn: that woman there. Alex, you're on that side with Owen. He'll show you what to do. Rich, you're with me.”

“What about me?” wheezed Mr. Peregrine with difficulty.

“Stay where you are,” said Darwen. “Rest. You're going to need your strength soon enough.”

“Why do I not like the sound of that?” asked Alex.

“Disconnect the power and get them out,” said Darwen, adding with a glance at the flittercrake, “Stay with him.” The creature nodded fractionally and crept closer to the old man. Darwen got to work.

It wasn't easy. Some of the pods seemed to have been there for ages and decades of rust had built up around their controls, ports, and locking mechanisms. Twice Darwen and Rich had to smash the fastening clasps off with a hunk of stone to get the pod open. One had, apparently, been damaged already, and the body inside was shrunken and lifeless, bone showing beneath the scrobbler goggles.

Darwen cursed under his breath. “Check the window at the top to make sure they are still alive before you start working to open the pod,” he said. To Rich he added quietly, “We'll never get them all out. It's taking too long. And we need to make sure the pods can't be used again. Think you can wire them up so it would blow their circuitry or something?”

“I can give it a try,” said Rich. “If we could cross the live wires with . . .” he mumbled to himself as he examined the machinery.

They worked for ten anxious minutes and in that time released eight people, all but one of whom was still alive, but immobile, as if in a heavy, drugged sleep. One of them was Blodwyn Evans, and though Owen had injected her, she still looked greenish and comatose, tusklike teeth protruding from her lips.

“You think we could take her back with us?” Darwen muttered.

Rich gave the prone woman a look and frowned.

“Wouldn't be easy,” he said. “We're going to have to practically carry Mr. P between us as it is.”

He was right. Mr. Peregrine looked fully human now, but he also looked impossibly weary. He could barely stand, let alone walk unassisted, and he wasn't speaking, as if every breath was still too precious to waste on words. As Darwen watched, he saw the old man's eyes fall on the watchful flittercrake, and his thin lips crinkled into a dreamy half smile, as if he had been reunited with a favorite pet.

“I'd hate to leave Blodwyn down here,” said Darwen. “She tried to help us.”

Rich gave him a quick look and the two boys' eyes met.

“Will do what I can,” said Rich. “But right now, Darwen, it's not her. She has the strength and instincts of a scrobbler. You need to give her some time to recover before we can start treating her like a person again.”

Darwen nodded.

“Guys,” called Alex. “We don't have time for this. We've got to get back to Hillside.”

“Right,” sighed Darwen. There was no way they could get everyone out of the pods before they left. “This is starting to feel like a diversion Greyling left to keep us from interfering with his plans.”

Rich nodded seriously. “You know where the portal is?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Darwen.

“You can just . . . feel it?” asked Rich. He was looking watchful again, and that slightly wary look was back in his eyes.

“Yes,” said Darwen. “It's like a compass inside me. If I'm still and focused, I can almost see it.”

“Maybe it's like one of those animals that can sense heat, like a pit viper,” Rich mused.

“You're saying I'm a snake?” Darwen said, laughing in spite of himself. “Great.”

“When we came in,” said Rich. “I'm pretty sure those lights weren't on, but now . . .”

“How can you tell if they are scrobblers or people?” said Alex, snatching Rich's flashlight and shining it through the windows of the pods.

“I told you,” said Darwen, craning over her shoulder to see in. “Scrobblers have red eyes. See? These have . . .”

But as he said it, the blue eyes of the person in the pod closed briefly. When they opened again, they were a deep, burning crimson. At the same instant, there was a burst of steam from the edges of the pod, a slow hiss like a basket of snakes, and the metal case began to open. It wasn't the only one.

“How do we get out?” yelled Alex.

All along the chamber wall, pods were starting to open. The conversion process was, apparently, complete.

Even the flittercrake looked scared.

As Darwen made it out into the stone corridor, he could see why. It wasn't just the pods in that one chamber that were opening. It was all of them. Darwen felt the vague pull of the portal, but between him and it were dozens of waking scrobblers.

“Come on!” he called. He and Rich hoisted Mr. Peregrine to his feet. The man still felt like he was half asleep, and as his full weight landed on their shoulders, Darwen and Rich exchanged an anxious look. They couldn't go far like this, and no distance at all at any speed. Alex was pulling Owen along. He looked dazed and stricken with terror.

The flittercrake sped ahead and the others followed. They were already halfway along the chamber when Darwen realized they had left Blodwyn Evans behind. “We have to go back!” he sputtered, turning awkwardly to where the woman lay on her back, her mouth opening and closing like a fish strangling in air. “Owen! Come and help us carry her. . . .”

“We can't!” said Rich. “Even if we could carry her, look!”

Dazed scrobblers were spilling out all around her. She looked completely helpless.

“When they see she's not one of them,” Darwen gasped, “they'll kill her.”

“But she still
is
one of them, Darwen,” Rich reminded him. “If we go to her now, she's likely to turn on us, but the scrobblers will probably leave her be. With luck she'll change back gradually and be able to get away from the others before they notice.”

Darwen glanced back into the room they had left. Over half the pods were open and their occupants were shambling out, looking dazed and angry. One of them roared, flexing its great jaws so that the lips pulled back from the tusklike teeth, all trace of humanity gone.

They just didn't have a choice.

He gave one last pained look at the scrobbler that had been Blodwyn Evans, and then he began to run, catching Mr. Peregrine's arm and dragging him along. Ahead, more scrobblers were emerging, some of them picking up rocks or tearing pieces of twisted metal from the pods from which they had emerged. It seemed that the first thing the scrobblers did on waking was search for a weapon and someone on which to use it.