Noir (2 page)

The Brigsmen whirl around. “Ghoul!” one shouts.

I turn, then turn back, realizing he means me. In the meantime, he’s raised his steamrifle and squeezed off a round. A hot ball of metal slices through the air. It drives a hole clean through my chest. I gasp, falling back, choking, bringing a slow hand to the hole. No blood trickles through my fingers. No guts fall to the ground. Instead a gentle wisp of steam curls from the bullet hole’s rim, quickly sewn over by pulses of gentle vapour.

I raise my chin and narrow my eyes at the Brigsman.

He gulps and scrambles for the wagon, stuffing Urlick into the back. The other slams the door shut, locks it, then rushes to his seat at the mount. Both Brigsmen vault up.

“No!”
I shout as one gathers up the reins and brings them down hard over the gas-masked horse’s back. The horse whinnies and leaps forward, and the paddy wagon bolts up the road.

“Wait!” I propel myself after them. “Wait! Don’t leave me!” I reach for the wagon, but my hand drags through. “But I need him more than you do!”

I fly after the coach, but my awkward undulation is no match for the speed of horse and wagon. “Blast it!” I swear and fall back.

I sag against the bark of a tree. “What’ll I do now?”

I sniff, surprised that my eyes produce tears, and wipe them away, looking out across the bleary forest.

Something’s glowing. An eerie green light pulses up from over the back edge of the Brink.

I jerk toward it, through the ruins of the Core to the crest of the belching black ravine I’ve come to fear so greatly over the years. Extending a mare’s tail of a hand down over the side, I grin, as what’s left of my fingers meets up with a cool length of chain.

It can’t be . . .

I gasp and fall back, yanking the treasure loose from the nasty, smoking mire. The black-and-emerald-beaded chain pops free of the root where it’s been ensnared, wrapping around my bluing palm. A glass-vial pendant dangles from its end. It pulses green with light. I stare at it, astonished.

“It is . . .”
I whisper.
“The vial with the antidote.”

Part One

One

Urlick

The old stone jug smells like a bad day at sea. But then again, this
is
a prison. I wince and roll over in bed, tracking the culprit with my nose: the overflowing chamber pot under my cellmate’s bed. The one he filled around midnight, and has managed to snore his way through the stench of, ever since.

I roll back, stuff straw into the flour bag that serves as my pillow, and bring it down over my head in a desperate attempt to blot out the fumes.

Good Lord, what has that brute eaten?

A sharp clank of keys against the iron lock has me surfacing. The guard with the bent nose and the yeasty breath peers in through the bars. “You there.” He points a plump finger at me. “Time to move.”

“Move?” My spittle forms a ball in my throat. Fear jags through my blood. I throw back the covers. “I was told I’d have five days in here before—” I stop short of stating the obvious, the fact that I’m to be dipped in a vat of boiling wax for the murder of Smrt, possibly even drawn and quartered and hung on display—without trial or a jury of my peers.

Justice at its finest.

“Yeah, well, tell it to the warden,” the guard says. “I was just told to come get’chu. Not my business what for.” He shows his teeth. Most of which are missing. Boozy breath seeps in through the rusty bars.

Turbines clank, gears grind, the lock rolls slowly open. Chains rattle like tin snakes through the bars as he drops them to the floor. “Let’s go.” The guard jerks his head to one side.

My stink-dumping cellmate wakes. He pops an eye open and laughs at me. “I say yuh make ’em come in an get’chu.” He twists a tight fist into his palm.

“No thanks.” I stand and tuck my flour-sack pillow under my arm. “I’ll go peacefully.” I’d rather not dance another round with Mr. Filed-His-Teeth-Into-Spikes over there, even if it does mean a chance to overthrow the guard. I’m still nursing black eyes from the last whupping the brute gave me. I don’t fancy going to the gallows a battered wreck.

Besides, I’m relieved to be leaving his chamber pot behind.

“Ah-ah-ah,” the guard tsks and signals for me to drop the pillow. “Won’t be needin’ that where yer goin’.”

I stare at him, confused.

Mr. Spike-Toothed throws his head back into a hearty laugh. “I know wheres that tis,” he sings.

“Move,” the guard says without expression.

I toss the pillow away and take a step. My eyes fall to my overcoat, lying rumpled on the floor. I swoop to pick it up, but the brute beats me to it.

“Won’t be needin’ this, either.” He rubs the sleeve against his filthy beard, sporting a sharp-toothed smile. My mind flashes back to the gadgets hidden in the seams of the lining. I’m going to need those if there’s any chance of me getting out of here.

I lunge for the coat, and the brute flings it back.

“Get movin’!” the guard barks.

I glare into my cellmate’s eyes. “I’ll be back for that,” I say, trying to sound a lot more confident than I really am. Truth be known, I doubt I’ll see it again.

Shuffling toward the door, my feet in chains, I glance back at the window where I last heard from Eyelet. I wonder where she is. It’s been two days since Pan brought me her Ladybird message and I returned one.

There’s been no word since.

My heart sears at the thought of having to tell her I’ve lost the vial, the one thing that was truly important in all this. I’ll just have to get it back. We’ve no other choice. But first I need to get out of here.

A smile comes to my lips, remembering Pan pecking on the noggin of my cellmate to keep him busy as I hurriedly contrived the message to send back to Eyelet, stamping out the words and rewrapping the foil around the cylinder as fast as I could. We both took equal beatings for that. But it was worth it.

Pan’s a tough old creature, she is.

I rather admire that bird.

“What are you smilin’ about?” The guard sneers. He grabs my arm and flings me out of the cell, cuffing me and slamming the cell door shut behind. The lock tumbles into place before my cellmate has had the chance to get his smelly arse out of bed.

“Better luck next time,” I say.

The guard pushes me down a long, narrow corridor. My heart picks up speed as we round the corner. “Where are we going? There are no cells past here.” He says nothing, just flings open a door to a set of stairs and shoves me down them in the dark. The soles of our boots echo noisily off the walls as we spiral down the steel-tread steps.

“Where are you taking me?” I glance back over my shoulder.

The guard won’t answer. It’s as if he’s made of stone.

With every step, I get further away from Eyelet ever being able to find me.

If she’s able to make it here at all.

I go cold at the thought of never seeing her again. Never being able to look into her eyes and tell her just how much I love her. Hot tears press at my lids. I flip my hair from my face and blink hard, trying to clear the sensation, as we reach the room at the bottom of the stairs.

It’s dark and smells of rotting worms and musky dirt. The floor is gritty beneath my feet. Cold water drops from the ceiling, down my neck. “What is this? Where are we?” My heart jumps when I realize where he could be leading me. This could be it. The end. My throat closes off, parched.

The guard flings open a heavy wooden door across from the stairs. It creaks back madly. The sound drums up my spine. I brace myself, expecting to be blinded by the shock of twilight. Instead, darkness consumes me like a blanket thrown over my head.

“In here.” The guard casts me through the door and down a short corridor, then shoves me into a hole. I smack my head on something hard and fall to the stone floor. I struggle to stand, hitting my head again on the room’s low ceiling, and end up on my backside. “What is this place? Where am I?”

“Purgatory.” The guard reaches up, and through the wisps of my shadowy vision I see him pull a chain. An iron gate falls to the ground in front of me, its poker-sharp ends driving deep into the stone floor. They would have impaled my feet had I not pulled them in.

“They say you ’ad a visitor up there.” The guard breathes through the bars. The smell of his breath makes me gag. “Brought you some sort of fancy message.” He loops chains around the metal gate and secures them with a lock. “We’ll see how yuh fare down ’ere in the ’ole. Ain’t nobody lasted more than three days in solitary. But then again, they tell me you’s
special
.” The guard triggers another lock. Turbines grind and shunt, and then there’s silence. “We’ll see ’ow special yuh are.”

My heart seizes, hearing him step away.

“Wait! You can’t just leave me here? Not like this!” I raise my arms behind my back, hands still in chains.

“Sorry, mate, orders.”

The guard’s boots turn, twisting on the grime-topped stones. He slams the thick wooden door behind him as he exits, and the room gets even darker, as if dunked in a well of ink.

I slide on my shoulder down the wall to the floor, listening to his footsteps fade with each loop of stairs he climbs until he reaches the top. A door groans open, then swings shut. A lock drops with a clank. The hole I’m in falls eerily silent. I rest my head against the cold stone wall, press my face between the rusty iron bars of my new fortress, and shiver.

“Oh, Eyelet, if you’re able, please come quick.”

Tw
o

Eyelet

I stumble through the weeds, struggling to take in enough air to keep me going. The mask I found in the wreckage at the Core is severely damaged and had less than half a tank of oxygen. I’ve been travelling long stints without wearing it, trying to conserve the air that’s left, but the Vapours are becoming too overwhelming, too thick to ignore, their stench too explicit, and I’ve had to resort to wearing the mask continuously.

“How much farther!” I shout to the sky, forgetting that I sent Pan on ahead. I thought it best, if I became delirious under the power of the Vapours—which I’m seriously starting to consider might happen—that at least Pan make it to the Compound to tell the others and hopefully send someone out to retrieve me.

I bend at the waist, gasping, trying to slow my breathing, reminding myself that air is scarce. I have to stop gulping the supply. I check the gauge: less than an eighth left. I need to make it to the Compound soon, or I’ll never make it.

My mind runs briefly over the idea of the Infirmed, and my heart jerks in my chest. Flashbacks of their previous attacks mingle with new fears of them materializing again, and my knees turn to syrup. I twist my head in both directions, thinking I see their swarthy bodies in the mist—imagining I hear their chants.

I suck in a deep breath. “I can’t let this get the better of me.” I bring my hands to my forehead, cradling it. The pungent odour of the Vapours has caused a migraine.

I’ve got to stop this worry
now
. I’ve got to think of Urlick. I’ve got to survive, so I can get to him. I look up into the swirling, darkening mist pouring out like a storm before me.
I cannot die.

I pull Urlick’s Dyechrometer from my pocket and check for heartbeats, pleased when it registers only my own. That’s enough to settle my mind for now and at least slow my chequered breathing, though my heart still gallops at victory pace. I dip my hand back into my pocket and pull out another of Urlick’s priceless inventions. His tie stud. I found it in the dirt, along the edge of the ridge of the Core, its tiny chain clinging to a weed. He must have lost it in his struggle with Smrt.

My mind shifts briefly to the scene.

My stomach aches at the thought of Urlick being dragged away.

Don’t worry, I’m coming.

As with everything of Urlick’s, I assumed that the tie stud was not simply what it seemed, but a clever disguise for something else—something far more foreboding. A bit of fiddling unlocked its hidden purpose.
I was right.
It’s a compass of sorts, where true north is, instead, the true direction of the Compound, as verified by Pan from above. It was only after this discovery that Pan agreed to leave me and go on ahead, content that I couldn’t get lost.
No matter where you are, you can find the way home
, I imagine Urlick saying as he shows it to me, wondering if he dropped it on purpose for me to find.

I shake off the idea, thinking it silly. He had no idea what was going to happen back there. No idea I’d be left alone in the woods. I think of him and wonder if he’s thinking of me. I wonder if he’s all right? If he’s warm. Hungry. If he’s still . . . I swallow down the word, not willing to give the thought life, and push on through the woods.

“It won’t be long now.” I wipe the face of the stud pin clean of mist and check my direction, hearing the hose on the oxygen tank slur and hiccup in search of air.

“It can’t be.”

I pick up my step, trudging on through tangled weeds, trusting in the compass, praying that this is one of Urlick’s gadgets that actually works. Breathing heavy, I reach for the oxygen mask, realizing it’s run out of air long ago. I lower my head and try to slow my heaving. I have to be getting close.

Lifting my gaze toward the horizon,
hopeful
, I spot something through a small tear in the fog. It’s stony and round. I rush toward it. The circular turret of my old bedroom at the Compound crests through wafting streams of broken cloud cover. Its window gapes
at me; its light beckons me home. I’m almost there! It’s not close by any means, but it’s not far away, either.

Exhausted, I start to run. My feet flop around beneath me like rubber. My woozy, oxygen-deprived head spins, wreaking havoc with my vision. Closing in on the last few metres, I stop and squint, focusing on the Guardian lock system next to the entrance. I’ve never been so elated to see a door in my life! Its activation button blinks red in the white glow of the day. “
At last.
I’ve made it!”

I hike up my skirts and race at the door, stumbling the final few steps to the back stoop. Collapsing, I bang wildly on the door’s smooth steel surface as I drain down the front of it, into a heap on the pallet porch, too weak to stand again. “Please.” I pound the heel of my hand into it weakly. “Please, someone, hear me . . .”

Pan appears in the sky, squawking and circling overhead. “Help me,” I mouth to her.

She swoops in, diving beak-first at the kitchen’s window, then the parlour’s, and back again, repeatedly. “Stop!” I shout at her. “It’s no use! You’re going to kill yourself!”

She ignores me and throws herself at the window again. A short alarm sounds. My eyes snap up. The Guardian system above my head deactivates. The lock on the door tumbles. It springs and the heavy door creaks open, drawn back by an iron lung. A curl of Vapour seeps through as I try to pull myself to my feet.

I crawl forward, the alarm pulsing, threshold beating red with light. I grab the handle and drag myself the rest of the way through.

Once inside, I push the door closed, sucking in deep breaths of filtered air as I fall back against the inside of the door, closing out the Vapours once and for all.

Cleansing steam coils up from the vents at my feet, filling the tiny alcove I sit in with its sharp Creolin scent. I take in deep breaths, feeling the steam’s healing powers restore strength to my muscles and lungs.

I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I’m so glad to be back at the Compound.

Flustered footsteps fill the adjacent corridor. I stand, collecting myself, when suddenly Iris is upon me, her arms round my neck, squeezing me as tight as she can. We fall back against the wall inside her hearty hug.

“What’s all this?” I cough and choke, my lungs still purging Vapours. But Iris doesn’t pull away—instead she squeezes me harder. “Iris,” I say, peeling her off me. “Oh, my goodness.” I catch my breath.

As I pull back, I see tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Iris.” I pull her to me. “Oh, my.” I pet her head and allow her to sob on my shoulder, tears starting in my own eyes.

“She was afraid you was never comin’ back, mum,” C.L. says, creeping out from the shadows of the stairway. He flashes me a welcoming toothless grin, and I smile, happy to see him in the shaky aether lamplight overhead.

“I must admit, I wasn’t sure I’d be back myself.” I squeeze Iris a little tighter.

“At any rate, you’re
’ere
now,” C.L. says. “And yer a merry sight, I must say.” He drops his head. He reaches up with a toe and guides a tear from his cheek, and a soggy lump forms in my throat. How little time I’ve spent with these people, and yet, how much room they’ve made for me in their hearts.

Outside of family, that’s never happened before.

“Any word from Urlick?” I say, on the off chance he’s been able to get them a message.

C.L.’s head droops. His smile erases, replaced with a wobbling lip of gloom. Iris pulls back from my shoulder, fear in her eyes.

“He will be back,” I say. “Don’t you worry.” I cup Iris’s cheeks, thumbing away her tears. “You have my word on that. Nothing’s going to happen to him. Not as long as I live and breathe
.
”

She half grins through her tear-filled eyes, as if she’d like to believe.

“I’m afraid it might be out of your power, mum.” C.L. raises his head, a look of defeat in his eyes.

“Why is that?”

His lip quivers as he folds his feet. “We’ve gotten word. They’ve shortened his sentence. He’s to be dipped in less than seventy-two hours.”

“That’s just three days.”

“Yes.”

“It’ll take a full day, maybe more, just to cross the woods.”

C.L.’s eyes grow watery as he stares at me.

“That’s a Sunday. They never perform dippings on the Sabbath.”

“Perhaps they’ve made an exception.” C.L. hangs his head.

His words gnaw through me like a dull arrowhead.

My thoughts shift to Urlick sitting there in the stone jug, facing his end, feeling helpless, not knowing if help is coming for him. Those piercing pink eyes of his brimming with tears as he stares out between the bars. I close my own eyes, imagining us in a kiss. The kiss we’ll share when he’s free. I long to taste his mouth on mine again, feel the dart of his soft peppermint tongue brush against my own. To feel the strength of his warm, muscled arms envelop me. I can’t imagine a world without that. I won’t imagine one.

“Well, then,” I say, sucking in a brave, jagged breath. “I guess we’d better get on with the plan, hadn’t we?” I release Iris from my grasp.

Something lands with a thud at my knees, knocking me slightly off balance. I fall back, seeing a pair of tiny white hands clutching the sides of my skirts. Fiery red curls cascade down the back of a ruffled emerald dress.

“Hello, Miss Cordelia,” I say, petting her head.

She looks up, her big brown eyes sparkling with tears.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers. Her voice is small and weak, as if saying the words louder might make them come true.

“A popular consensus round here,” I jest, floating my gaze around the circle. Iris and C.L. grin. I bend at the knees. “Go on, now,” I say, wiping the tears from her round pink cheeks. “Would I go and leave you alone in this world, after we’d only just met? What kind of a new friend would that make me?”

Cordelia looks up with a smile, and I take her tiny face in my hands. “I want you to promise me something. Can you do that?” She nods her curly head. I lean forward as if sharing a secret only with her. “I want you to promise me you’ll never think that way again. All right?”

She nods.

“Thoughts are power, you know. They control the universe.” I dart my eye up. “Whatever we dwell on, will come to be. So we must try
hard
never to think negative thoughts. Only positive ones. Do you understand me?”

She nods with a grin.

“Good.” I bounce the tip of my finger off the end of her nose. “Besides,” I bring her in for a quick hug. “Our loved ones never die as long as we keep them alive in our hearts.” I pull her back. “You know that, right?”

She shakes her crimson head and sucks in her quivering lip.

“Well, it’s true. It has to be. My father told me that, once.” I stare off at nothing for a brief moment then bend forward, planting a determined kiss on Cordelia’s worried forehead. “Now you know, don’t forget it.” I smile, and snap to a stand.

“Is Bertie with you?” she says in a soggy voice.

The look in her eyes shreds my heart. I hesitate before speaking. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” I run a hand through her hair. I shudder, recalling the vision of Bertie, the glorious winged hydrocycle, lying charred among the ashes of the Core. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”

Her brown eyes brim with tears.

“Now, now.” I bend and pull her in. “Remember what I just told you?”

She gulps her feelings back.

“As long as we keep Bertie alive in our hearts, he’ll always be with us.”

She sniffs.

“I’ll tell you what,” I whisper in her ear. “When Urlick gets home, we’ll build another Bertie, in his honour—Bertie Junior, we’ll call him. How does that sound? And we’ll start with these.” I pull back, digging Bertie’s scorched headlights from my pocket and laying them in her hand. She looks down and smiles.

“About that,” C.L. interrupts. “Not to throw a damper on the party, but ’ave you given any thought to
’ow
you’ll
get
back into Brethren without the
’elp
of Bertie?”

“I was rather hoping maybe you and Iris had a plan.” I stand, my voice lilting.

Iris chews her lip, looks away. C.L. diverts his eyes.

“Well, then.” I take in another laboured breath, rolling my hands. “We’ll need to find some other way into town, won’t we?” I turn away, my mind a flurry of thoughts—none of them viable. I pace, tapping my lips. “Some alternate form of transportation.” I think aloud. “Some way to breach the gates of Brethren without using the ground.” I turn and my eyes catch on something glinting on Cordelia’s chest, hanging on a chain round her neck.
Iris’s sister Ida’s locket.
That’s it.

I bend, hinging at the waist, and take it in my hand. I brush a thumb over the etching of an angel wing on the locket’s front, a wry smile warming on my lips.

“We’ll use Clementine,” I say.

“Clementine?” C.L. staggers. “But you’ll be spotted on
’orse
for sure.”

“On an ordinary horse, perhaps . . .” I swing around. “But not the kind I have in mind.”

“I beg your pardon, mum?”

“Do you have some parchment and some ink handy?” I roll up my sleeves.