Lumière (The Illumination Paradox) (18 page)

“Oh no, not now.
Please
not now.” I hold my breath and fight against the all-too-familiar tinge. It’s the silver, not Charcoalreous that creeps through my veins, determined to pull me under.

I tuck my head and will it away, but it’s no use, it’s not listening. I have no time for this. I need to get on with my journey. If I don’t uncover my father’s machine tonight, I may never have another chance.

The silver shivers up my spine and the world around me starts to fade. I clutch the ground, trying to hold on. Please, no, I beg you, not here,
please
let go. I can’t be found in this room, alone!

The silver ignores me, biting its way slowly up the back of my neck. I cringe at the thought of losing control. Slowly, the room turns to shadow, variations of grey and black. My body begins to quake.

If you must take me, please have mercy.

Let this be a small episode. I beg.

I fall back, writhing against the wall, my hands flailing out at my sides. My fingers grope at the leaves around me, shredding them from their stalks, in a pointless effort to steady me. Their aroma floods my nose: a sharp, yet musky smell, like the vinegar-mustard poultices my mother used to mix—only this one’s gone rancid. It permeates my nostrils and worms its way to my brain.

I long to shake my head to stave off the smell, but I can’t; the silver controls me now. The scent is so piercing it sends daggers to my head and stings my lungs. I must get away from it. Somehow.

With my last surge of energy, I throw my hands to my face and draw in a desperate breath, forgetting the leaves still gnarled in my fingers. Their scent bolts through me like a strike of bitter lightning. I nearly collapse.

My hands drop to my sides and I fight for air, but all I can smell is the leaves. I’m hot and cold all over; my throat begins to swell. It’s as though I’ve been poisoned.

My heart gallops in my chest.

Just as the smell heightens to a point where I fear my brain will explode, the sensation suddenly lets go. I gasp as it drains from my senses, dragging the silver away with it, smoothing away every sharp nerve. My heart slows. Every cell in my body tingles. Slowly, color pushes back into my world. The murky blacks and greys dissolve. The room comes alive with more vibrancy than it had before. All the sights and smells have been sharpened.

I drink in its beauty as, slowly, my body quakes to a halt. It’s a few moments before I can catch my breath. My muscles lengthen and relax. My fingers stretch and let go. My jaw becomes unclenched.

I stand, prepared to leave, to rush from this strange garden—then pause, and pocket a sample of the mysterious leaves before I go. I don’t quite understand what’s just happened, but whatever it was, I’m thankful.

Urlick’s laboratory feels like I’ve stepped into a cave, its skylights swathed in trolling Vapourous brume. I move about the room quickly, igniting the gaslight sconces on the walls, trying to make myself feel better. They hiss to life in a trail behind me, making my skin crawl.

The hydrocycle chortles from under its tarp, causing my heart to skip. I stop what I’m doing and move across the room, approaching it cautiously. “It’s okay,” I whisper, pulling back the corner of its cover. “It’s only me.”

The cycle rattles.

“What’s the matter, not exactly what you were expecting?”

It groans.

“I guess that makes us even, doesn’t it? Kind of like the first time I saw you. I was expecting the Illuminator. Not some bat-winged bicycle creature.”

The cycle whimpers.

“No offense, but you’re not exactly a cyclist’s dream.”

It sighs.

“Can I count on you not to give me away?” I bend a little closer.

The cycle shudders, ducking aside.

“I’ll tell you what,” I whisper. “If you agree to not give me away, I promise to fix your wings before I leave here tonight.”

The hydrocycle straightens.

“I knew you’d like that.” I pat it on the handlebars. “Consider it done. But you must never ever tell Urlick I was down here, do you understand?” I wag my finger in front of its bony face.

The hydrocycle shimmies.

“Good.” I reach out, running a hand over its head. “I have a feeling you and I are going to become great friends before all this is through.”

The cycle shudders, then exhales.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a machine to unveil.”

The cycle whimpers as I weave my way through the center of the room, dodging this gadget and that, feeling rather stupid at just having had a conversation with a machine. I look back over my shoulder at it resting peacefully, wings rising and falling again to the floor. I still wonder how that’s happening.

Turning, I dash at the square of curtains at the back of the room. Time is of the essence, after all. Excited to reach it, I throw aside the heavy velvet screen.“ Aha!” I shout, then drown in disappointment.

Behind the curtain stands nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Just a vast expanse of stone floor. A large square has been cut into the surface of it, as if marking where something once stood.

“It’s gone.” I step inside the square, staring in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. He must have moved it. This afternoon, after he noticed my interest in the curtain.” I run to the wall, testing to see if it opens, pounding my fists on the quarry stones. “Where is it?” I whirl around. “Where can it be? He can’t have moved it far! The thing weighs a bloody ton!”

I race around the room, checking behind every partition, flipping over every box, every crate, pushing aside every bin. “It has to be here! Somewhere! It must be!”

The hydrocycle whimpers.

“You,” I turn. “You know where it is, don’t you?”

The cycle shudders, wincing away from me.

“Please,” I race toward it, falling to my knees. “Please, tell me. I need to know, where is it? The machine he stole from the market in Gears. Where has he hidden it? Show me,
please!”

The cycle cowers at the tone of my voice, and I realize how frightening I must seem.

“Very well, then,” I say, picking up a wrench. “Perhaps if I help you first?”

The hydrocycle brightens, then sighs.

T
wenty one

Eyelet

A scream trumpets from the ceiling, startling both the cycle and me.

My head shoots up, my heart drumming in my chest. “For the love of God, what was that?”

The cycle shivers as the scream goes off again.

I’m up and across the room in a flash. My eyes scan the ceiling, searching for the source of the noise, stopping under the apartment on the second floor.

Iris!

The scream rises again. A high-pitched, tortured howl. I drop the wrench. “Something’s happening to Iris!” I snatch up my skirts and bolt for the stairs, activating them as I grab for a torch on the wall.

“Hold on, Iris!” I shout as I lunge out into the corridors. “I’m coming!”

I fly through the corridor and burst up the stairs, throwing open the back kitchen door. Racing up the main stairs, I cross the narrow passageway that separates the main house from the turret, and I throw my back up against the wall. The scream sounds again, raising the hairs on my neck. Whatever is happening to her must be horrible.

I suck in a breath and head for the stairs leading to the second floor, gasping when I reach the landing. The scream is so intense now I can barely stand it. Tears come to my eyes. The mournful sound travels up my spine and bites at the back of my neck.

My heart lurches hard in my chest as I try to decide what to do next. Where is Urlick? Why has he not come to rescue her?

I blink in the darkness, fighting off the tears, torchlight hissing in my hand. Another scream rattles the bones beneath my skin. Fear sloshes inside my stomach. I swallow hard, trying to muster the courage to charge up the stairs. What monstrous thing could be happening up there for her to scream so chillingly?

The scream rises again and I long to flee, but I can’t. Iris needs me. Jittery-legged, I force myself around, gather up my skirts and swallow hard, before bounding up the flight, two steps at a time. I’m only halfway when I’m stopped cold in my tracks by the sight of something truly gruesome.

In the shower of aether light that shines down on the landing above stands a man the same height and build as Urlick—but it’s not Urlick. Dressed in a gentleman’s suit, top hat and tails, his skin looks as though it’s made of wax. His eyes are those of a nightmarish goon. They stare at me, transfixed, like the eyes in a painting. I gasp, pulling a hand to my mouth, as my breath falls away.

In his arms he holds a child. A girl of ten, maybe eleven years. Her eyes are dull, lifeless, glaring at the ceiling as if she were dead. Her long hair falls over his arms, her legs dangle at his hips. In the shadows beyond, the feet from the basement appear, scurrying up the chimney behind the two figures.

I can’t help myself: I scream.

Clutching my heart, I race from the stairs, around the corner, up the hallway to my room. My hands fall to the lock, trembling too much to activate it. “Oh, please, just let me in!”

“Eyelet?” Urlick appears, quite strangely out of nowhere, his white hand landing hard on my shoulder.

“Urlick!” I turn, falling into his arms. “Where have you been?” I tremble.

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

“It’s your father! He’s torturing a child!”

“He’s what?”

“Upstairs, just outside of Iris’s room. You must have heard her screaming?” I furrow my brow at his lifeless expression.

He says nothing, just triggers the lock and whisks me over the threshold into the room. His hands feel tight as a vice on my skin. Why is he acting like this? What’s the matter with him?

“There were feet—” I tell him. “They raced up the chimney behind him. And I saw them before, down in the—” I stop myself before I give myself away.

Urlick ignores me, dragging me across the floor of the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Please,” I struggle. “You have to listen to me. I saw your father on the landing with his victim in his arms.”

“That’s enough,” he says through clenched teeth. He shakes me.

Another scream swells in the air above us.

“You see?” I shudder under the weight of it. “I’m not lying. He’s hurting her.” I twist, trying to break free of his grasp, bolting up on my toes, but he hauls me back. “Please, Urlick, you have to do something.” I fall against his chest. “He may be killing her!”

He says nothing, just stares at me hard.

“What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you listen to me?” I try to pull away again, but he pulls me back.

“Because it’s not what you think!” he says.

“What are you talking about? How can it not be? I saw her with my own eyes!”

He snaps me around by the shoulders to face him. His eyes are intense. “What you’re hearing are the cries of the criminals and the Infirmed dying in the woods. That’s it. Those sounds are not coming from this house—”