The War for the Waking World (9 page)

Master Gabriel turned his back on Archer and stared through the
cell's bars. “There is one charge that troubles me,” he said quietly. “And I do not know how it will play out in the trial.”

“Wh—what is it?”

“Attempted murder,” Master Gabriel explained. “In your efforts to prevent the Rift, you went to Rigby's home, down to the basement, and threatened to kill a helpless human being.”

“Doctor Scoville?” Archer whispered. “But Rigby was threatening Kaylie. I didn't . . . I couldn't figure out a way—”

“I know, Archer, but the facts there are dangerous.” Master Gabriel turned to face Archer. “With premeditation, you went to Doctor Scoville when he was helpless, and you were willing to kill him.”

“But I didn't,” Archer said. “I didn't kill him.”

“I understand, Archer, I do. But that is the charge against you. And these are the charges we must defeat if you are ever to leave this place.”

“This is crazy,” Archer muttered.

“Nonetheless, we must prepare your defense,” Master Gabriel said. “Of course, I will be your defender. I have . . . some experience with this sort of thing. I am confident of—”

“No,” Archer said, his voice quiet, but the word weighted.

Hands on his hips, eyebrows and mustache bristling, Master Gabriel demanded, “What do you mean, no?”

“You can't defend me,” Archer explained. “The Waking World, my family and friends, they're all running blind. It was bad enough right after the Rift occurred. People were accidentally dreaming up all sorts of terrors. At least then, when a monster appeared, people could see it. But now everyone's been somehow brainwashed. They don't even see the tragedies occurring all around them.”

“What do you believe has caused this?” Master Gabriel asked.

“I don't know,” Archer admitted. “It might just be an unexpected result of the Rift, but I think Kara's behind it somehow. All along, Kara's always had a new trick up her sleeve. What better way to rule
the world than to brainwash everyone into believing everything is just perfect?”

“Hmm. I suspect you are right,” Master Gabriel replied. “The Wind Maiden rules without opposition so long as the world continues to drink her sweet-tasting poison.”

Archer nodded. “Kaylie's lost in it too. She thinks my mom is still alive. She needs to wake up. And . . . I have no idea where Nick is.” Archer thought about the newest Dreamtreader, Nick Bushman. The Australian had done well for having such a steep learning curve: playing his part at the dinner with Kara, Rigby, and Doc Scoville . . . and fighting valiantly. “My father told me Nick helped save him just before the Rift occurred, but I've lost him since. For all I know, Nick might be under the same spell I was under. He might be too inexperienced to wake himself up. He'll need help—the Waking World needs help, needs someone to fight for it. It can't be me; I can't leave here. So you'll have to.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Archer replied, trying to be firm but treading lightly at the same time. “Kaylie and Nick, well, they're your team. You trained them to be Dreamtreaders, but they can't do the job unless you help them now.”

Master Gabriel thought on this. He tapped his lips for a time. “I . . .”

Archer waited.

“Yes, you're right,” Master Gabriel explained. “I must see to Kaylie and Nick; I must see to the Waking World. But what of your defense?” “I'll defend myself,” Archer said. “If I can't do it with my will, I can do it with my mind.”

“Very well,” Master Gabriel said, putting a hand on Archer's shoulder. “This is our plan, and we will see it through.”

“One thing still bugs me though,” Archer said. “Who's bringing these charges against me? Kara? Rigby? Doc Scoville? I don't even know who could know all these things well enough to accuse me.”

“There is one,” Master Gabriel explained, “who has been a behind-the-curtain party to all of this. One who, for devious reasons of his own, would like to see your downfall.”

“But who?”

There came a soft shuffling from the hall outside the cell. And then, on the other side of the bars, a shadow appeared.

ELEVEN

T
HE
S
IXTH
D
OOR
S
INISTER

W
HEN
K
ARA HAD AT LAST LEFT
R
IGBY ALONE AND THE
door to the Karakurian Chamber shut, Rigby spun on his heels and practically leaped down into his prison. He hoped his act of pitifulness had convinced Kara he was done. He'd laid it on thick, projecting a wimpy, broken will that was sure to please
her highness
.

Truth was, Rigby Thames was far from done.

Rigby raced around the chamber's great stone pillars and ducked under arches. He blew by the massive—but now virtually empty—bookshelves, and darted down the hall of many doors. At the sixth door on the left—the
Sixth Door Sinister
he called it—he entered and found a grand desk strewn with parchments, quill pens, and a few squat bottles of ink.

Chains jangling like mad, Rigby flew to the desk. He crashed into the chair, grabbed up a quill, and stabbed it into a bottle of ink. “Okay, Scath!” he cried out. “Come to me!”

There came from behind a slithering and a whispering. The torchlight flickered. “We need not follow its command!” one Scath rasped.

“Disappointed us.”

“Weaker than she.”

“I am not weaker than Kara,” Rigby fired back. “Now, cut your nonsense. If you ever want to be set free . . . I mean, really free, get over 'ere.”

“Promised us once, you did.”

One of the Scath suddenly appeared at Rigby's shoulder. “Liar!” it hissed.

In one swift motion, Rigby dropped the quill pen and threw his arms up and over the Scath's shadowy head. He drew his fists together, tightening the chain around the creature's neck like a noose.

“Whatever Kara did to these shackles to cripple me,” Rigby growled, “might just be enough to unmake you, Scath.”

The chamber exploded into a swarm of shrieking, spitting-mad Scath, streaking around Rigby like they were hornets and he had just hit their hive with a bat. Their scowling faces passed within inches of Rigby's, but he did not yet relent.

“Let us go!”

“It betrays us!”

“Now it kills us!”

“We will tear the Walker apart!”

Rigby tightened his chains. “No,” he said bluntly. “No, you won't. If I feel so much as a pinprick from you, I'll pull these chains so tight his little Scath noggin will pop off.”

“It mustn't!”

“The Walker wouldn't dare!”

“I would,” Rigby said. “But I don't want to. I mean for us to work together to the betterment of us both. Now, stop flitting about and be civil. We have a plan to discuss.”

Slowly, the storm of Scath decelerated. When at last they formed a huddle around him, Rigby uncrossed his wrists and released his captive.

“Why should we listen to you?” the Scath asked.

“The Walker is not master.”

“No,” Rigby said, picking up the quill pen. “I'm not, but I plan to be again soon.”

“How does it?”

“It is trapped like we are.”

“
Trapped
is the key word,” Rigby said, beginning to sketch on the parchment. “You will recall that when I took the Shadow Key, I kept my end of the bargain. I set you free, and I wanted it to be permanent. I tossed the key into Xander's Fortune.”

“The cauldron of undoing?” a Scath asked.

“Impossible!”

“Nothing survives within that volcano. The Walker lies again!”

“Enough!” Rigby pounded his fist, splattering black ink across the parchment. “I did not lie to you, and I am not lying now. I threw the blasted key into Xander's Fortune and meant for it to be gone forever. 'ow was I to know it landed on a ledge, saving it from ultimate destruction by mere inches? It is a long story, but remember, when I 'ad the Shadow Key, my goal was to set you free. It's still my goal, but now that Kara 'as the key, I can't 'elp you. And if I'm stuck 'ere, I can't do anything for you. Do you see?”

“We sees. We sees.”

“So we need to 'elp each other,” Rigby said.

“But we cannot,” a Scath said.

“She holds the key now.”

“She is master.”

“We cannot defy her.”

“No,” Rigby agreed, “no, you can't. Not directly.” Rigby began to sketch once more on the parchment. He stopped and pointed. “Can you find this place?”

“Yes, yes, we knows it.”

“We have been there before.”

“Excellent,” Rigby said. “I thought as much. Now, to the plan.”

“What does it want?”

Rigby wondered if his expression managed to convey accurately the mischievousness he felt. With a knowing smirk, he said, “I want you to kill me.”

There was a hissing of Scath laughter. They said, as one, “Gladly.”

TWELVE

S
CATHING
L
OYALTY

L
ATER THAT EVENING
, K
ARA FLOUNCED ACROSS THE BED
in her penthouse suite. Even the grand twinkling view of Baltimore at night couldn't assuage the feelings that nagged her. Her plan—her meticulously orchestrated plan—had gone off without a hitch. She'd won. She'd beaten them all at their own game, forced the Rift, and figured out how to make the Harlequin Veil work.

But that night at the hospital, the look on Archer's face . . . haunted her. When she'd revealed that she was the Wind Maiden, he'd looked so utterly betrayed, so completely undone. And then, if that weren't bad enough, she'd even taunted him with her success.

“I gave the Shadow Key to the Wind Maiden,” Archer had said. “You . . . you're the Wind Maiden?”

“Poor Archer,” she'd replied cruelly. “You never had a clue, did you? Not even from my last name? Really? No? Well, now you know. It has been a good ride, Archer. A brilliant game of chess. But this is checkmate.”

Back in the present, Kara flopped over on her side and stared at the mirrored closet doors. Though she fought hard against the feeling, she couldn't shake the reality that she wasn't completely satisfied by her reflection. She couldn't fathom why she needed, not just to win, but to rub everyone else's faces in it. The Nightmare Lord used to taunt people like that. Rigby had made an art form of ridicule. But it wasn't like her.

Then, she thought about the vault behind those mirrored closet
doors. She thought about the Masters Bindings within. Perhaps the answer was there. Maybe she'd already found the answer in the Bindings, but it just hadn't yet fallen into context. Hadn't the Bindings spoken of the unique position granted the possessor of ultimate power? Was that it? Could it be that by her cunning and power—the Rift and the Veil—could grant everyone in the world a sense of ultimate peace and satisfaction . . . but not do the same for her? It was a maddening question.

Kara rolled off her bed and calmly opened her closet to reveal her massive vault: six feet tall, four feet wide, and eight feet deep. “Kara Windchil,” she said, activating the voice recognition on the display.

“Place palm here,” the automated voice told her. She did.

“Key combination.” Kara did. From top to bottom, the stainless steel bolts slid back, and the ten-inch-thick door swung open. When the fluorescent lights blinked to life overhead, she stepped inside and went straight to the set of shelves in the back. She selected volume four of the Masters Bindings, noted only by the crimson Roman numeral
IV
emblazoned upon its thick spine.

She didn't even bother to leave the vault. She knelt right there, found the place where she had left off last time, and began to read. Her eyes bulged. Tendrils of crimson lightning flickered on her fingertips.

Sometime later, Kara became aware of a bell ringing . . . and it was ringing rather incessantly. The bell seemed familiar. It was something she should know, but it was also absolutely irritating. “Please, shut up!” she cried from the vault.

Then, she heard voices, but there was something odd about them. They had a tinny sound, a kind of mechanical quality. Kara's mind cleared a little. There was no one in her penthouse apartment. She was certain of that. That meant the intercom, but who would dare interrupt her in the middle of the night?

At last, she recognized one of the voices. It was Frederick, and he sounded upset. Swiftly, but with great care, Kara replaced the fourth
volume on the shelf, exited the vault, eased the heavy door until it closed and locked, and then shut the mirrored closet doors.

“Open front door!” she called out, rounding the corner from her bedroom to the study. Near the kitchen archway, she nearly ran into Frederick and two technicians wearing white lab coats and frowns. “What on earth?” she asked.

“Ms. Windchil, what took you so long?” Frederick asked. “With all due respect, we've been waiting outside for several minutes.”

Kara frowned. “It is the middle of the night,” she said, holding her temper. “What's going on? It's not Doc Scoville, is it?”

“No,” Frederick said. “We may have a larger problem than Doc Scoville.”

“Go on,” she said. “Speak plainly.”

Frederick gestured to the two technicians. “Smith and Harvey here are from R&D. They've discovered a potential flaw in the Harlequin Veil. Gentlemen, please explain.”

Kara heard them out. It wasn't the all-fired disaster Frederick seemed to think it was, but it certainly warranted research. And, unfortunately, that research involved Rigby Thames.