Rise of the Darklings (33 page)

“How did they know we’d be here?” Corrigan whispered furiously.

A shrill, trumpeting sound exploded into life behind Emily. She jumped and whirled around to see Mr. Pemberton holding a small metal horn to his lips. No sooner had the notes faded then a stream of immaculately dressed gnomes filed into view from the side streets and formed a silent line behind Mr. Pemberton. Emily counted about fifty of them. Even Corrigan looked impressed.

Ravenhill chuckled. “And what are these creatures going to do? Poke us with their umbrellas?”

The scraping sound of metal on metal echoed around them. The gnomes had all pulled bronze swords from inside their walking sticks and umbrellas.

The sight of the weapons gave Ravenhill pause.

“We don’t want any trouble, Miss Snow,” he said. “Just come with us and your friends can go free. We’re on the same side, you know.”

“I’m not on your side,” she shouted. “You’re … you’re
evil.”
It wasn’t the best insult she had ever come up with, but it was the best she could do at the time.

“Evil? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I’ll have nothing to do with you, Ravenhill. Nothing at all.”

“So be it. Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” He put his top hat back on. “And it’s
Mr
. Ravenhill to you.”

Mr. Pemberton stepped past Emily. “Sir, I urge you to stand aside, lest this end in bloodshed.”

Ravenhill gazed down at the gnome, distaste plain across his features. “Oh, I think bloodshed is exactly where this is going to end.” He stepped back and withdrew his own sword from inside his walking stick. He held it up to the light. “I think you’ll find our iron bites harder than your bronze.”

“It’s the sharpness of the bite that counts, sir.” Mr. Pemberton held up his sword and turned slightly so he could address the gnomes. “Gentlemen? Today is the day the Landed Gentry earn their place in history!” He smiled at Emily and Jack. “Miss Snow. Sir. It’s been an honor and a pleasure.” He looked over at Corrigan. “Told you you’d need us, piskie.”

Before Corrigan could reply, he raised his sword high above his head and shouted,
“Charge!”

The gnomes let out a fierce cry and surged past Emily, Jack, and Corrigan. At the same time, the members of the Order raised their own weapons and rushed down to meet them. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Emily could see every detail as clear as if it were a frozen tableau. The angry
snarls on the human faces, the set looks of determination on the gnomes, the glint of excitement in Mr. Pemberton’s eyes.

Then the two sides came together with the fierce clash of metal and the solid smack of flesh meeting flesh.

Emily looked on in horror. Ravenhill was trying to fight his way in her direction, but Mr. Pemberton had gathered a small group of gnomes and blocked his way.

“Emily!” snapped Corrigan, pulling on her ear. “Get a move on.”

Emily jumped and she and Jack ran along the bottom of the stairs away from the fighting. She sprinted up the steps, trying desperately to ignore the screams and shouts that were coming from down below.

She skidded to a stop in front of the doors, yanking hard on the handles. They opened quietly and smoothly and Emily and Jack ducked inside, slamming them shut behind them.

Emily heaved in great gulps of air. The silence of the cathedral was a heavy presence after the chaotic sounds of battle. She turned around to get her bearings and stumbled to a stop, her eyes wide with awe.

Never in her wildest dreams had Emily imagined such magnificence. Candlelight shone all around her, soft halos glowing gently from burnished metal. Statues on pedestals lined the passage that led into the center of the church, where
hallways opened off from a huge circular space, its floor inlaid with a marble sun.

Corrigan hopped off her shoulder and padded across the black-and-white tiles. He looked back at her. “What are you waiting for?” he urged. “One of the priests to come and bless you?”

Emily shook herself from her daze. Corrigan was right. The longer they took, the more dangerous it was for Mr. Pemberton and his small army. She glanced at Jack. He had his back up against the door.

“You go and do your thing. I’ll make sure that door stays shut.”

Emily nodded, then she and Corrigan hurried along the passage and came to a stop in the center circle of the cathedral. Emily looked up to see the huge dome towering above her. She could just make out paintings on the underside of the dome, but the light was too dim to see what they were.

A railing encircled the wall about halfway between the floor and the distant ceiling. “That must be the gallery,” she said.

Emily scooped up Corrigan and they searched until they found a flight of stone stairs. Emily took them two at a time, and soon found herself at a low door that opened up into the Whispering Gallery.

A thin bench followed the wall all the way around the gallery. High arched windows showed the night sky outside, and
statues were carved into the wall. Corrigan leapt down to the floor.

“What now?” he asked.

Emily wasn’t so sure herself. “Maybe I whisper the rhyme and you hear the answer on the other side?” she suggested. “That was how Mr. Pemberton said it worked.”

“Worth a try,” said Corrigan. He turned and ran around the gallery. Emily glanced over the railing and saw Jack still standing with his back against the door. He gave her a thumbs-up sign.

“Ready,” called Corrigan.

Emily moved away from the balcony and took a deep, shaky breath. What if she was wrong? What if this wasn’t what Wren had meant in the riddle? Then all of this would have been for nothing.

Well, one way or the other, she had to find out.

Emily leaned on the small bench and put her mouth close to the wall. “Corrigan?” she whispered. “You are an ill-mannered, annoying little piskie.” Emily held her breath and waited.

A second later she heard the faintest of whispers. “And you are a stupid girl who thinks she’s more clever than she really is.”

Emily straightened up. She could see Corrigan standing on the bench on the other side of the gallery, grinning in her
direction. At least the basic concept worked. Now to test the clue.

Emily took out the poem. She leaned in to the wall and recited it in a whispered voice.

After she uttered the last words, she held her breath and waited. For a long time there was nothing, then Corrigan’s voice came to her around the gallery wall. “I heard the poem, but nothing’s happened,” he called.

Emily straightened up, her heart sinking. It hadn’t worked. She looked across at Corrigan. “What do we do?”

Corrigan shrugged his bony shoulders. Emily gritted her teeth in frustration and studied the piece of paper, searching for inspiration. Had she written it down wrong? She didn’t think so.

Then a thought struck her. The clue had said “a father’s favorite rhyme,” hadn’t it? As far as she knew, her father only liked the second verse, the one that was written in the book.

Emily quickly turned back to the wall and put her mouth close to the stone.

She felt an immediate change in the air. It grew tingly, like it did before a big storm. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Her teeth ached.

Then a dry, whispery voice spoke back to her.

The voice faded as if blown away on a wind. Emily straightened up and looked for Corrigan. The piskie was hurrying around the gallery.

“Did you hear?” she said excitedly.

“I heard,” Corrigan replied. He didn’t seem too happy. “More riddles. Why is it always riddles? Can’t they just say, ‘Here you go. Go here and pick up the key.’ How easy would that be? But no, they have to be all vague and mysterious. It’s very annoying.”

“What do you think it meant, though? ‘The first part of the key is found.’ We haven’t found any part of the key.”

No sooner had the words left Emily’s mouth than they heard a dull scraping sound. Emily looked up, wondering where it had come from.

“Look at that statue,” whispered Corrigan.

Emily shifted her attention to a statue a few paces away. It was a carving of a serious-looking man wearing a robe. The statue’s arm was moving.

As Emily watched, a hand emerged from behind the statue’s robe, holding something dark brown and crescent-shaped. The arm kept moving until it was fully extended, then the fingers started to open. Emily hurried over just as something fell from its outstretched fingers. Emily caught the object, and a moment later the arm retreated back under the cloak.

Emily looked down at the object nestling in her palm. It looked like a tree branch or root coaxed into a semicircle. There were strange runes carved into the wood.

“That’s the key,” said Corrigan. “At least, half of it.”

Emily didn’t know what to feel—excitement that they were one step closer, or disappointment that their search wasn’t complete. They still had the second half of the key to find.

There was a loud booming sound down below.

“Snow?” shouted Jack. “You’d better get a move on! Someone wants to come in, and I don’t think it’s for Sunday service.”

Emily hastily hid the key in her coat, and she and Corrigan hurried back to the stairs.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SIX

J
ack had his ear to the door when she and Corrigan rejoined him. He glanced over his shoulder.

“Whoever was trying to get in has stopped. Maybe Pemberton got him.”

Emily put her own ear to the door. She couldn’t hear anything, but she thought this was more likely due to the thickness of the wood than anything else. She carefully pulled the door ajar and put her eye to the crack. She was right. The sounds of fighting were still there but were coming from farther down the street. She wondered if Mr. Pemberton was purposely leading the Order away from the cathedral, to give them a chance to escape.

“We should find the back way out,” said Emily.

“I think we should definitely find out,” said Jack.

They ran across the checkerboard tiles and found another door at the far end of the cathedral. Emily carefully pulled it open a fraction and peered outside. A small veranda lay immediately beyond the door, with four pillars holding up a sheltering roof. She leaned farther out and saw stairs to either side of the platform.