Nightfall (12 page)

“Hide?” said Marin. She was incredulous. “Hide where?”

Line stepped closer and removed the note from the door. He turned it over in his hands. Apart from the one scrawled word, it was blank. “Hide from what?”

Marin snatched the note from Line and crumpled it, then let it fall to the ground. “Where can we possibly hide?” she said, looking at Line and Kana. “This is a joke—it has to be.”

Kana picked up the note and smoothed it out. After examining it for several seconds, he shook his head. “It's not a joke,” he said. “We're stuck here, and that's a fact. Maybe there's a place to hide in town, but I don't know where that is.”

On the boats,
Marin thought bitterly.
That would be an excellent place to hide.
She grimaced.
What we really need now—what we have
to have—is rest.
“We're tired,” she said slowly, feeling the fatigue on her tongue. “Let's stay here—in the mayor's house—at least for a bit.”

Line shook his head firmly. “No—the tide is going to keep rolling out.” His forehead bristled with sweat, and to Kana, he
looked disturbingly pale. “And it's only going to get darker—and colder. We need to make a plan—
right now
.”

“I know,” Marin replied. “But there's no quick fix. We already tried pushing the boat, and I can't think of anything else we can do. We can come up with a plan while we rest.”

Line nodded.

Kana opened the door, and they ventured into Deep Well House. The cavernous main hall was pitch-black but for a murky shaft of moonlight that filtered from the glass-enclosed cupola overhead. As the various shades of black began to take on subtle hues, Kana discerned a narrow set of stairs at the far end of the room. These led to the mayor's quarters.

“This way,” said Kana.

Kana led the way up the stairs until he came to a closed door. He jiggled the doorknob. It was unlocked—of course. He pushed it open and entered an opulent room with wood paneling, velvet curtains, leather couches, and fur rugs—all illuminated in the dim glow of the rising moon, which cascaded in through several bay windows.
Did the mayor live this lavishly—or was this just how the house was supposed to be arranged after the envelopes arrived?
In the center of the room sat the biggest bathtub that Kana had ever seen. It resembled an indoor pool, only it was shallow, no more than four feet deep. Steam rose from the water.

Marin shook her head. “He left it this way?”

“I always thought he was strange,” said Kana, as if this explained everything. He moved to the shadows of the room and began looking through cupboards.

Marin turned to Line. “I can't believe the mayor has a heated pool.”

“I can,” said Line, leaning over to get a better look. “It was probably a rule he had to follow for this house.” In a quivering old-man voice, he said,
“You shall leave the pool heated.”

Marin chortled and dipped a hand experimentally into the water. It was warm—bordering on hot. She placed her hand against her cold cheeks and neck. Seconds later, Marin realized that Line was disrobing—first his shirt, and then his pants. Embarrassed, she turned away.

“I'm going in,” said Line. “I'm freezing; this island has become an icebox. And after being stuck in the bottom of that pit . . .” His voice trailed off as he began to climb in. Marin couldn't help but stare as Line slowly entered the pool.

“This water isn't boiled,” he said. “You can smell the minerals. It must come from a hot spring that someone managed to divert.” He sat down and groaned with satisfaction.

“You should wash your arm,” said Marin. “That cut doesn't look so good.”

Line nodded slightly, but his eyes were closed and he looked half asleep as he lay in the pool with his head resting against the edge.

“I found some matches and candles,” Kana called out. From across the room, a lone flame sparked to life. “I don't need them, but you two might.”

Marin turned away from the pool as Kana approached. His nearby presence set her mind churning again. “What about the signal lamp?”

Kana frowned. “What about it?”

“I think we should light it before we get too comfortable.”

“Really?” he said. He looked around, then sank into a leather couch. “Why should we do that?”

“Because,” said Marin. “If the signal lamp is on, they'll see it and know to come back for us.”

“Marin—be serious,” said Line, his voice rising from the darkness of the bathtub. “You really think that's a possibility?”

“Probably not,” admitted Marin. “But we should keep it lit even if there's the
tiniest
possibility that someone could see it.”

“No one's coming back for us,” groaned Line, who was now almost fully submerged in the water.

“What about the note?” asked Kana. “It said to
hide
. Lighting the signal lamp isn't exactly hiding.”

“Look,” said Marin. She was getting impatient now. “There's probably a very narrow window for them to notice that we're missing and turn around. Maybe just a few hours. It would be stupid not to send a distress signal.”

“We're not getting rescued,” muttered Line.

Tired from the back-and-forth, Kana sank deeper into the couch and closed his eyes. He needed to shut all of this out for a moment.

Meanwhile, Marin approached the pool and sat down on the floor next to Line's head. She raised her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Why do you keep saying that they're not coming back for us?”

Line raised a hand slightly, then let it splash back into the water. “My guess is that they don't even know we're missing,”
he replied. “You saw how the luggage was left—people probably got separated, shoved onto different boats.” Line opened his eyes and shifted position to look at her. His wet arms glistened in the candlelight. “Eventually they'll realize, but by then, the tide will be too far out for them to come back—even if they wanted to.”

“Maybe,” said Marin. “But they might realize sooner, so I'm lighting the signal lamp anyway.” She got up and walked over to Kana. “Come on,” she said, poking his shoulder. “I need your help.”

“Maaaarin,” Kana moaned, pushing his head deeper into the pillows.

She poked him again.

Arguing with her was fruitless. “We'll light the lamp,” he agreed, peeling himself from the couch. “And look for a hammer and nails. If we're staying here, even for a little while, we need to lock the door.”

Marin nodded somberly. She grabbed a candle and followed her brother. As they walked downstairs, she placed a hand on Kana's shoulder. The way she looked—so serious and sad—softened Kana's edginess.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed. “I feel terrible about all this.”

Kana shook his head. “It's not your fault,” he said as they headed down the stairs. “It just happened—that's all.”

Marin and Kana searched the main hall for a staircase that led to the tower. Neither of them had ever actually been in the tower or seen the signal lamp up close, so they had to try every door. They hoped to find tools along the way, but nothing turned up. Eventually they entered the kitchen, a large room with a vaulted ceiling stained from years of cooking oil and smoke. There were several wood-burning stoves here, a large granite washing basin, and countless wooden cabinets—empty except for a few candles, matches in a waterproof box, and an oilskin jacket. They took everything.

Between the kitchen and the main hall, they passed through a narrow pantry lined with closets whose shelves were usually filled with linens. The linens had been replaced with dozens of giant cast-iron bowls. The metal rims were intricately carved, but the basic form was brutally simple and very, very heavy. They were a lot like the dinner plates they'd set their table with before leaving for the boats.

Kana continued searching the closets, then stopped in front of the middle one, which was big enough to walk into.
The interior smelled oddly pungent, like rotting plants. Kana stuck his head inside and then, not entirely satisfied, stepped into the closet.

“What's in there?” asked Marin.

“More bowls.”

“Just what we need,” said Marin with a half smile. “Right?”

There was no response. Several seconds later, Marin tried again.

“Kana? Hey—Kana?”

Marin peered inside the closet. It was as if Kana had disappeared. Then she heard wood creaking above her. Marin stuck her hand deep inside the closet and felt nothing but empty space. Finally, her hand closed on the handle to an open door. She called out to Kana. When he didn't answer, Marin stepped into the closet and through the door. It was a tight fit, and she had to bend over to avoid hitting her head. The light from the candle illuminated a tight spiral staircase that continued up into the darkness. Marin began to climb.

She stopped counting the steps at thirty and continued on. A minute or so later, she arrived at an open area, like the attic in her house. It was dusty and so dark that the candlelight didn't reach very far. Marin pictured the mayor's house from the outside and tried to guess where they were.

“Kana?”

“Right here.” Kana's voice sounded as if it was only inches away.

Marin gasped. “You scared me. Do you see anything?”

“At this level, just a lot of boxes,” said Kana. “But the signal lamp is at the top.”

Moonlight coming through the glass dome high above them illuminated a brass-plated receptacle with an oil lamp and several large glass lenses. Marin raised the candle high and began to take in her immediate surroundings. The room itself was narrow and cylindrical, its walls lined with deep wooden shelves that spiraled to the ceiling. The lower shelves were stacked with wooden boxes that appeared to be placed haphazardly, but the shelves above were more organized. Boxes and cloth sacks sat neatly on well-polished shelves, which were sealed off by screen doors. Nothing looked familiar.

The shelves themselves were beautiful works of carpentry, carved to resemble the branches and trunks of trees in the forest. An inset ladder to access the storage rows ran all the way up.

“Can you light the lamp?” Kana asked Marin. “If I'm too close when it lights, I won't be able to see for hours.”

Marin nodded and ascended the ladder quickly. When she reached the top, she examined the lamp. “We're in luck,” she called down. “There's oil in the reservoir. It looks like it just drips down into the burner, so it should stay lit for a while. Turn away—I'm lighting it now.”

Seconds later, there was a flash. The signal lamp shone a powerful beam out toward the sea. It gave Marin a burst of hope; anyone who looked back would know immediately that someone was still in town. The signal lamp also lit up a narrow portion of Bliss—starting with the path leading away from Deep Well and continuing on past the carved gables and cornices of houses closer to the town center. The light dimmed farther away, and Marin could see only a hint of the fishmonger's stall on the edge of town. She looked on silently until
the acrid smell of vaporized oil became too much, then she started down.

Near the bottom of the ladder, Marin paused to examine a forest scene carved into one of the screen doors. The trees in this forest were imposingly tall, with gnarled limbs that extended out like fingers. To Marin, the trees appeared solemn, mutely witnessing what no living being should see. She lifted the door, dislodging a thin spray of dust, and revealing the large wooden box emblazoned with brass filigree that sat inside.

“What did you find?” Kana asked.

Marin's voice was muffled. She held the ladder and the candle in the same hand, freeing up her other hand to pull the box forward. It was clearly built to contain something heavy; every few inches, the wooden slats were reinforced with metal strips.

“What is it?” called Kana.

“It looks like a toolbox,” Marin shouted. “Father has a similar one.”

Seconds later, Marin paused her efforts and glanced back down at Kana.

“Help me with this—I can't open it up here, and it's too heavy to lower by myself.”

The box weighed at least ten stones, probably more, and took several difficult minutes to bring down. Its metal clasps were stiff with age, and Kana had to hold it in place while Marin worked at the clasps. At last, the lid sprang open.

Kana frowned. The box held an ax, one unlike any he'd seen before. The cutting edge was razor thin and two feet long, and its wooden shaft was thick and well-worn. The head had a vicious-looking spike on the end, so it could also
be used as a pike. It was so heavy that Kana could barely lift it out of its carrying case.

“This does
not
belong to the mayor,” he said, picturing the slight old man.

Marin felt uneasy just looking at it. It wasn't just the spike or the cutting edge; it was the wooden handle, too, with its deeply grooved whorls and gouges. The wood was perfectly smooth, proof that it had been used often. She looked at Kana. “Maybe it's just a lumberjack's tool,” she ventured hopefully.

Kana laid the ax back inside its carrying case and closed the lid. “No—this is for killing. And the person who can wield this ax . . .” His voice tapered off. “We should get back to Line.”