Labyrinth Gate (18 page)

“Bloody damned heaven and hell,” swore Kate in an undertone. In the hush of the room, the oath startled Chryse. She turned.

Kate was white, her expression appalled. “I heard rumors, but I never believed—”

She rushed forward suddenly and swept the cards out from in front of the nearest child. They rained in a spattering fall to the floor. The child shuddered and slumped forward into a faint. An ominous rumbling sounded, far away.

“Kate!”

“Don’t you see what they’re doing?” cried Kate, circling the block to the next child. “They’re using the Gates to suck the life from these children in order to power the factory!” She cleared the cards from in front of the child with a single, violent stroke of one arm. This child, too, fainted.

The third child, the youngest, faltered and paused, its eyes lifting to stare at Kate. The great block of metal, a deep, reddish-copper color, faded abruptly several shades darker, and an obvious pulse began to run through the tubes that lanced out from it. The fourth child labored on, oblivious. Chryse stared. The rumbling increased.

Kate went to the third child and pulled it from its stool. It grasped her tightly and began to whimper. She pulled a small knife from her pocket and hacked at the manacle.

“There are keys on the wall,” said Chryse abruptly, and she started forward.

“Stop the last one,” said Kate.

“Let’s undo the others first.” But she paused by the fourth child. It was working feverishly now, eyes sunk in, face far too pale, attention focussed utterly on the wheel of the cards: the slight
tick
of each card as it was placed corresponding exactly to the strained breathing.

And above it, almost inaudible, a whisper.

“Help me.”

Chryse looked around.

“Help me.”

She looked up.

Directly above the center of the block a grate had been set into the ceiling. Two slender hands gripped the metal lacing. A face, a youth, a boy with a visage that might have been that of an angel peering down from on high, stared down at her.

“Where are those keys?” demanded Kate from the floor.

The tubes pulsed more strongly now, in time to the fourth child’s gasping breath. The rumbling sounded louder. In the distance, muffled by doors and length of hallway, Chryse heard voices, shouting alarm.

“I’m being held prisoner,” whispered the boy. “Please help me.”

T
HE HEART OF THE
factory shuddered and beat to the labored rhythm of a small child’s breathing as Chryse stared up at the face above her.

“The keys!” Kate’s hiss, full of an anger that was not directed at her, shocked Chryse into action.

She ran to the wall where the heavy ring of keys dangled from a hook, far out of the reach of the children bolted to the metal block in the center of the room. Grabbing them off their hook, she hurried back to Kate and knelt beside her.

“There’s so many.” Chryse chose one at random. It didn’t fit.

“By direction,” said the youth from behind the grate. “They’re each set to a compass point.”

“Kate?” asked Chryse.

“Of course!” said Kate. “Give me the keys. There are runes.” She took them, studied each one. The child still clung to her. “Do you remember the layout here?” she asked. “Ah, here’s one.”

“Haven’t a clue.” Chryse glanced at the four doors. “But they’ll be here any moment.”

“You’re east,” said the youth from above. “I remember that much.”

“Yes.” With a deft twist, Kate unlocked the manacle. It dropped away and struck the floor with a high, hollow sound. The child stopped weeping, and when Kate extricated herself from its grasp and stood, it simply sat and stared about with a bewildered expression.

Kate quickly unlocked the two children who had fainted. As soon as the manacles separated from their ankles, they began to stir weakly.

“Here.” Chryse reached for the keys. “I’m taller. I’ll unlock the grate.”

“Above,” said Kate. “Heaven’s rune.” She paused and stared up, getting her first good look at the youth. “Good Lady,” she swore. “A vision. Heaven, indeed. Here.”

Chryse climbed up on the block. Touching it, she felt a humming throb course through her, as though the metal were indeed alive. The fourth child labored on, but its breathing grew more ragged.

The grate unlocked at four spots, lowered off. Kate had climbed up beside Chryse, and together they helped the youth get down. He was slender, in their hands, but unlike the others’ it was a natural slimness, not emaciation. He stood just a hair shorter than Kate. His eyes, this close, had the brilliancy of the midday sky.

“Bloody hell.” Kate stared at him.

One of the doors opened. A man and a woman, burly, broad-faced people, stepped into the room.

“Back the way we came,” cried Kate, jumping down to face them.

“But which door—” Chryse shook her head and scrambled over to the last child. She kicked the cards into disarray as she climbed down beside it. “Damn! I don’t know which key—”

A hand touched hers. “Let me,” said the boy.

“—and I’ll have you know,” Kate was saying in a loud, bluff voice that echoed strong and ringing in the chamber. There was no other sound; the metal block had ceased to beat the instant the last cards were scattered, and a thick hush shuttered them. “—that we are protected by a peer of the realm. Lay hands on me, and you’ll hang for it.”

The man and woman hesitated, whispering, and the woman backed up and ran out the door they had entered.

A bell began to ring, a harsh, insistent clamor.

The fourth child, freed from the manacle by the youth, still sat on its stool, its hands, empty of cards, continuing to deal them out in a circle of air as though it were unable to stop. Chryse grasped it by the shoulders and jerked it to its feet. It stood, limp, blank-faced, hands still moving.

The youngest of the children was now standing and ran quickly to the snout-faced child.

“Come on, Pin,” its tiny voice cried. “Got to gets up.”

Kate was backing up slowly.

“Can you carry this one?” asked Chryse of the youth. The sound of shouting came suddenly nearer, too fast. She did not wait for the youth’s assent but hurried to the last child, picking it up. It was shockingly, horrifyingly light.

“Not that door,” said the youth from behind her as she gathered up the child called Pin as well. “Here, take my hand,” he added, a strange aside until she realized that he spoke to the smallest child. “This door.” Carrying her two burdens with precious little effort, Chryse followed him. “I think,” he finished, but they were at the door.

It opened easily and a long hallway, lit with torches, stretched out before them—empty, silent.

“Kate!” cried Chryse.

Kate turned and bolted for the door. The man dashed after her and, in the instant Kate passed through the opening and they threw the door shut, more people entered the room, an amorphous group surrounding a huge, broad-shouldered figure. His roar reverberated, shuddering through them, until the slam of the door cut its volume in half.

“It’s got a lock! Chryse, help me hold it shut.” Kate flung herself against the door, bracing. The youth let go of the child’s hand and fumbled at the keys. Chryse set down her two children and stationed herself next to Kate, gripping the door handle.

They felt the impact of many people. The handle clicked and began to turn. Chryse strained against it.

“Kate!” she gasped.

The youth fumbled with the keys, trying one after the next. Kate grasped the handle, but it continued to turn, inexorable.

“The one with the sign of the road,” said the smallest child, suddenly. “That’s what you wants.” A snuffling sounded on the floor. “Here, Pin,” the tiny voice continued, seemingly oblivious to Kate and Chryse struggling to keep the door closed and the youth examining each key with urgent keenness. “Don’t cry, mittens. We’ll be right fine now.”

“Got it!” The youth’s cry was triumphant. The key turned with a satisfying click in the lock, and with it a second roar shook the door.

“Lord.” Chryse gathered up Pin and another child. “What was that?”

“That’ll be Crudebelch,” piped the small child, trotting alongside the youth and Chryse. Kate brought up the rear, dislodging each torch as they passed so that the lights guttered out on the floor to leave the length of hall behind in darkness. Shouts and pounding faded as they moved forward.

“But what an awful sound,” said Chryse, puffing a little.

“Well, yes,” replied the child, quite matter-of-fact. “But he’s an ogre.”

“Clearly.” Chryse nodded. “Any man would be, imprisoning you here like that. Lord!”

“Now where?” The youth had reached the end of the hall. Three doors offered exit.

“Bloody hell.” Kate came up with the last two torches, one in each hand. The hall lay in blackness behind, the darkness like a cloak muffling sound.

“Where do you wants to go?” asked the child in its tiny voice.

“Out,” said Chryse. “Out of this place.”

“Oh,” said the child, as if this possibility had never occurred to it. “Out!” It glanced up, awe-struck, at the blonde woman. Dark eyes examined Chryse as if she were a saint made flesh. “Out! Hear that, Pin!” The snout-faced child stirred in Chryse’s arms with a weak reply that sounded more like a squeak than words. “Bless Her lady.” The child pointed to the middle door. “Then we wants that way.”

Kate breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Good girl,” she said as the youth started forward to open the designated door.

“Boy,” retorted the child. “I’m a boy. Name’s Mog. Pin here’s a girl, though.”

“Come on,” hissed the youth, impatient.

They entered a vast storeroom. Piles of rough fabric lay heaped in long rows that stretched out to the ends of the room. The tones of the bell, still insistent, clamored around them; otherwise the place was silent.

“You’re our scout, Mog,” said Kate. She still held the two torches. “Get us out of here.”

He skipped on ahead of them. Chryse attempted a jog behind him, but the two children, however thin, weighed more and more heavily in her arms. The youth panted along beside her, Kate in the rear.

Mog led them into a second storeroom, this one lined with row upon row of mattresses, each neatly stacked atop the next. “Along here.” He pointed to a row of double doors at the far end, clearly enjoying himself.

They had not reached the doors when the sounds of many people in pursuit burst into the room behind them. The bell’s loud ringing tolled above, accompanying the cries and a low, rushing sound that grew louder as they neared the end of the room.

“Damn,” swore Kate as two people rounded a corner of mattresses and, spying them, began to shout for reinforcements. She looked abruptly at the torches in her hands and stopped.

“Kate!” Chryse and the others had reached the first set of double doors and Chryse set down the now-struggling Pin to help Mog and the youth tug one open. Kate had moved away from them, back toward the pursuers, but she halted by the closest stack of mattresses and thrust the torches into it. One faded, smoldering, but the flames of the second began to lick at the coarse fabric.

A party of some ten people appeared, running towards them.

“Kate!”

Now Kate responded to Chryse’s cry, turning to dash for the doors.

“Lady!” she gasped as she came into the space.

They stood on a long wooden platform that sided a small canal. Water rippled alongside, jostling boats. At one end a waterwheel pushed around and around, drowning out the noise of alarm behind. At the other:

Light, and a door open to the outside; the stream burbled out beside it through a great culvert in one wall.

“Run!” cried Kate.

They ran. Kate paused to grab a pair of long poles with boathooks attached to the ends, but caught up easily with the others. Chryse waved the youth through the outside door first, followed him, herding the two conscious children before her. But Kate, coming up behind, collided with her as she pulled up short. The youth cried out in fear and surprise.

“’Cor,” said Mog, more resigned than afraid. “We’re in for it now.”

About a dozen sour-faced persons, armed with thick staffs and knobbly cudgels, advanced slowly towards them on their left, along the fence perimeter.

“Hell,” Kate muttered under her breath, the more vehement for its softness.

“No, wait!” cried Chryse. “They’re not going for us. Look!”

“’Cor,” said the imperturbable Mog. “Nobs.”

“Sanjay!” Chryse yelled. She waved one hand wildly.

“Bless that woman,” said Kate, and she too began to shout. “Julian! Julian, you deaf idiot, look over here.”

And he did. He and Sanjay and Thomas Southern stood just inside the fence some ways down and to their right. Julian had a pistol and Southern a shovel. Sanjay was unarmed. The factory party on the left hesitated, unsure now of what action to take. The three men quickly ran toward the factory, avoiding the larger group. “Thank God,” said Chryse as Sanjay stopped beside her. “Don’t ask. We’ve got to get these kids out of here.”

“Now see here.” Julian’s voice was loud and commanding. “You had better get the owner here before you attempt anything violent. I am Lord Vole, and I assure you I will have you prosecuted—”

“Not bloody likely if you’re bloody well dead,” growled one of the burly men. He lifted his cudgel in a hairy hand. “We’ve our orders, from the top—beating first, talk later—if there’s any left.”

Julian shot him. The crack of the report shattered through the air, and with a cry the man fell, writhing, to the ground.

“Kate,” added Julian companionably, keeping his pistol raised as he drew a new slug and a small powder flask from the pocket of his spotless jacket. “What
have
you gotten into this time? I suggest we all retreat inside.”

“Julian,” began Kate.

“The boats,” said Chryse.

Thomas Southern picked up Pin, balancing the shovel in his other hand.

“Boats?” asked Julian, pressing the others back through the door onto the dock.

“Of course.” Kate caught Sanjay’s eye. “Here.” She handed him a boathook. “You’ll need it. Pursuit behind as well.”