The Emerald Atlas (20 page)

The children were silent, holding their still-steaming cups of tea, thinking of all Dr. Pym had said.

Michael asked if Dr. Pym had a key to get into the vault.

The old wizard smiled. “Of a sort. Yes. But I have talked too long for one night. You are tired and must sleep. Something tells me tomorrow will require all your strength.”

“But what about Emma?” Kate had listened to everything Dr. Pym had said, about the book’s journey, the vault, Hamish.… She had been patient. But enough was enough. “You said you were looking for her! Where is she? Is she safe? Is she even alive? Can you tell us that?”

“She was in great danger,” Dr. Pym said quietly. “But she is past that. She is now in Gabriel’s village, being treated by their wisewoman. I assure you, my dear, your sister is quite safe.”

For a moment, Kate and Michael were both too stunned to speak.

“Really?” Kate asked.

“Yes. Would you like to see for yourself?”

Kate nodded.

Dr. Pym smiled. “Very well.”

And suddenly, it was as if Kate’s entire body was filled with sand. Her arms and legs became impossibly heavy. Her eyelids drooped shut. Instinctively, she fought to stay awake. She felt Michael slump against her.

“But …,” she mumbled, “we …”

She was asleep before she hit the straw.

As she slept, she dreamed she was back in the maze, floating down one of the dark corridors. There was a light ahead, coming from a chamber. She moved toward it, out of the tunnel, and the scene that opened before her was worse than any nightmare. Emma lay unmoving on the ground. The lower half of her shirt was black with blood. Kate could see the dark nub of arrow sticking out of her back. Gabriel stood over her, his terrifying machete-like weapon grasped in both hands, its edge gleaming in the light from the lantern. And moving toward him across the floor of the chamber, the most horrible creature Kate had ever imagined.

Its skin was a translucent, gooey white and dotted with greenish sores. Its arms and legs were hideously long and thin, its back curved from generations of moving through low-ceilinged tunnels. Its claws tapped the floor as it advanced, and Kate saw the milky, sightless eyes and huge, bat-like ears. The
salmac-tar
made a gurgling hiss deep in its throat and threw itself at Gabriel, its long claws outstretched. Kate tried to scream, but no sound came out. Gabriel stepped forward, swinging his weapon over his head in a shining arc. Man and monster met in the center of the room, and Kate felt her chest tighten in fear, but then the monster’s head was flying away from its body, rebounding against the far wall and rolling over, once, twice, three times, before coming to rest, facedown.

For a long moment, nothing moved. Even the headless body stood where it was, as if not yet realizing what had happened. Then, slowly, it dropped to its knees, toppled forward, and lay still. Gabriel wiped the blood off his blade, started to turn toward Emma, then stopped, listening.

Then Kate heard it too.
Click-click … click-click …

The sound was coming from one of the dark doorways. Then another. And another. The clicking rose like the hum of insects, growing louder and thicker. Gabriel sheathed his blade, gathered Emma and the lamp, and ran.

Kate felt herself moving with him as he flew down the dark corridors. She could hear his breathing, smell his sweat. Behind him the clicking grew louder and louder. Emma never opened her eyes. Gabriel plunged from chamber to chamber, tunnel to tunnel. Looking back, Kate could see ghostly shapes in the darkness, scurrying toward them, climbing the walls, coming faster and faster.

Suddenly, they were no longer in the maze. They were running across a great empty cavern of natural rock, and Kate could see the white shapes pouring out of the mouth of the tunnel behind them, and Gabriel tripped and nearly fell and they would have been on him in an instant with their teeth and claws, but he caught himself and was splashing across a stream and stumbling down another short tunnel, and then they were outside, out of the tunnel, out of the mountain, and the night was cool against her face and the moon lit the darkness, and though it was a dream, she filled her lungs with gulps of clean, fresh air.

Gabriel paused and looked back. Though she could not see them, Kate could hear the fury of the creatures inside the mountain. For some reason, they seemed unable to come outside. Gabriel started down a trail along the ridge. Kate could see, in the valley below, a fluttering collection of fires she knew was Gabriel’s village; Emma was safe.

Kate woke, smelling Dr. Pym’s tobacco.

“Good morning,” said the wizard. “You’ve slept nearly nine hours. I believe you both were exhausted.”

Kate rubbed her eyes. The fire was crackling away. Michael was still passed out on the straw.

“I had the strangest dream.”

“Did you now? I can’t wait to hear all about it.” Dr. Pym was smiling at her with the same kindly smile, his face wreathed in smoke. “You know, I’ve been studying you and your brother. You say you don’t know your parents at all?”

“I have a few memories. But I don’t know their names or anything. Why?”

Dr. Pym knocked his pipe against the stone floor, emptying the ashes, and replaced it in his pocket. “Oh, we can talk about it later. You’d best wake Michael. They will be here any moment.”

“Who will?” Kate felt groggy, as if she was still half inside her dream. Had it even been a dream? It’d felt so real. And why was Dr. Pym asking about their parents?

There was the sound of a bolt being shot back; the door swung open, and Captain Robbie McLaur entered.

“Right, then, up and at ’em! The King wants to see you lot.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hamish

Four dwarf guards, led by Captain Robbie McLaur, guided Dr. Pym and the children along a series of passages and stairways to the throne room of King Hamish.

“Not that it’s any of my business, Wizard,” Robbie McLaur said as they marched along the torchlit corridor, “but for the sake of these children, I’ll warn you that my brother is not a dwarf to be trifled with.”

“We appreciate your concern, Captain,” said Dr. Pym. “But I think we can handle ourselves.”

“Fair enough; it’s your necks. Just don’t like seeing children chopped into bits and pieces when it can be avoided. Old-fashioned, I guess.”

Soon, they began to pass dwarves going the other way, carrying serving trays piled high with the greasy remains of a great feast. One trotted by with a dozen empty flagons rattling along a stick, and then, at an intersection, they had to stand aside as two dwarves rolled a wooden cask down the corridor, yelling, “The King demands more ale! More ale for the King!”

“Oh dear,” Dr. Pym said, “I do hope he is not too drunk.”

“I wouldn’t bet money on it,” Robbie McLaur muttered.

As they approached a set of enormous golden doors, the dwarf captain called out in a booming voice, “Captain Robbie McLaur escorting the prisoners requested by King Hamish!” and the two dwarves standing sentry pushed the doors open to admit them.

Kate reached for Michael’s hand.

“Stay close.”

Michael nodded, but said nothing. He was afraid if he spoke, his sister would hear how excited he was to be entering the throne room of a real dwarf king.

“And maybe don’t grin so much,” Kate suggested.

“Quiet!” Robbie McLaur barked, for they were just then stepping over the threshold. But he needn’t have said anything; the hall itself silenced the children.

It was the largest room the children had ever seen. It stretched on and on and on. The ceiling was so high that the great stone columns supporting it seemed to rise up and disappear into darkness. But beyond the size and scale, it was the wealth on display. Diamonds embedded in the ceiling sparkled like stars in the night sky. Precious gems were laid into the floor like flagstones. Murals painted in gold and silver covered the walls, depicting dwarf victories over trolls, goblins, dragons, hordes of
salmac-tar
. Everything about the hall was designed to impress the visitor with the majesty of the dwarfish throne.

Kate and Michael stood in the doorway, staring.

Then Kate said, “It’s a pigsty.”

All around them were stacks of dirty plates, rotting scraps of food, half-empty flagons of ale, and unconscious, filthy dwarves. Exhausted servers hustled back and forth along the sides of the great hall, exchanging empty plates and flagons for full ones. Robbie McLaur let out a low growl of displeasure.

“King Hamish is known for his appetites,” Dr. Pym whispered. “A feast might go on for days or weeks at a time.”

“This isn’t right,” Michael said. “Dwarves shouldn’t behave like this.”

“Aye, lad,” growled Robbie McLaur, “truer words were never spoke.”

“Well, lookee lookee!” called a voice from the other end of the hall. “If it ain’t the conjurer! And he’s got brats with ’im too! Bring ’em ’ere! Bring ’em ’ere!”

The guards marched their group forward. The children took care to step over snoring dwarves and puddles of fetid ale.

“Very ’appy you could trouble yourself to visit us, Magician! Ha! You prat!”

Hamish sat at the center of a long table of greasy-faced dwarves. A few were still eating and drinking listlessly, but most were unconscious, either slumped forward onto the table or propped sideways against a neighbor. Hamish was the only one still going strong.

He was by far the largest dwarf the children had yet seen. Though only the height of a small man, he possessed enormous mass. Kate thought he looked like a giant, bearded warthog.

“Hope you’ve been comfortable down in the dungeons. We like to keep our guests happy, we do. Wouldn’t want people speaking ill of us.” He laughed unpleasantly and took a long slurp of ale, most of which ended up on his beard. Kate thought that his beard, which spread down his chest fan-wise, resembled nothing so much as a hairy blond apron. She could even see things stuck in it: bits of cheese and pie, a crust of bread, a drumstick, a fork. He was a sharp contrast to Captain Robbie McLaur, standing at attention beside them, with his neatly trimmed beard and spotless uniform.

As Hamish drained the last of his ale, a serving dwarf quietly removed an empty platter and began to hurry away.

“Oi!” Hamish yelled, hurling his goblet so it bounced off the dwarf’s head. “I wasn’t done with that, you!”

Amid bows and mumbled apologies, the dwarf returned the platter, and Hamish scooped up the last crumbs of whatever it was and crammed them into his mouth.

“There!” he mumbled, tossing the platter over his shoulder so it clanged loudly against the floor. “Now you can take it.” Then he wiped his fingers on his beard—in the process dislodging several miniature sausages—and belched. The sound echoed the length of the hall and back and seemed to rouse the dwarves at the table, for they all suddenly sat up and began belching in unison, as if trying to cover for their king’s lapse in manners. Soon the great hall reverberated with the echoing symphony of burping dwarves.

Brrrraaaappht—

Errrapphth—

Grrappphhaaaa—

Blllluuupppgggg—

Ugggrrraapphhhh—

“E-NOUGH!” shouted Hamish, bringing a fist down on the table. The dwarves instantly fell silent, and in a few seconds the last
eerrrppptt
had died away.

“Honestly,” said Dr. Pym, “he does set a terrible example.”

“Dr. Pym”—Kate tugged on the old man’s sleeve—“what’re we going to do?”

But the wizard only shushed her and kept looking at the King.

Suddenly, Hamish clapped his hands. At first, nothing happened; then, in the distance, the children heard a rhythmic thundering. It grew louder and louder, and all at once the great doors flew open and two lines of armored dwarves marched into the hall. They separated, stamping their mail-bound feet as they came down the line of columns, and in what seemed like mere moments, the hall was filled with hundreds of dwarves, their helmets gleaming, the edges of their axes razor-sharp and shining in the torchlight.

“Right, then, Magician”—Hamish loaded the word with as much contempt as he could muster—“I believe I’m ready to receive you proper-like. But ’fore we get started on the whole thingamabob, what’re the names a’ these brats a’ yours who think they can just go walkin’ in my land when and where they please? Eh? Tell me that.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Kate began. “We—”

“Oi!” Hamish smacked the table. “Did I tell you to speak?! Huh? Did I say, ‘I want to hear from one of the brats’? Did I say, ‘I wish one a’ them brats would pipe up’?” The dwarves around him shook their heads vigorously. “No! I said, ‘Magician.’ That’s ’im!” He pointed a chicken wing at Dr. Pym. “So you, lassie, just keep your yapper shut. Bloody manners on this one.”

“May I present,” Dr. Pym said calmly, “Katherine and Michael. Surname P.”

Kate managed sort of a half curtsy, but Michael just continued staring glassy-eyed at Hamish. He seemed to be in a state approaching shock.

“And as I believe Katherine was about to tell you, their presence in your lands was entirely due to chance. You see, they had fled from the Countess—” At the mention of the Countess, there was a great deal of ill-tempered harrumphing. “And in running away, they stumbled into your lands.”

“A likely story,” Hamish said. “Very neat and pretty.”

“In fact, while in your maze, they became separated from their younger sister. If Your Majesty would give leave, they wish very much to be reunited with her.”

“Youngest sister, you say? How old’s she?”

“Eleven,” Kate said. “Her name’s Emma.”

“Little Emma out there all alone. That’s right terrible, that is. Brings a bloody tear to me eye. Don’t it bring a tear to your eye?” Hamish smacked the dwarf on his right, who nodded and wiped at some gravy dribbling down his cheek.

“Well, then,” said the King, “since you been so honest with me, about how it was you come here and your business and all, I guess I got no choice but to let you go, maybe send out a party to escort you to your sister, then. How’s that sound, hmm?”

Dr. Pym smiled genially. “That would be most kind, Your Highness.”

“Specially since”—Hamish dug his paw into the middle of a pie, scooping out a hunk of meat and cheese—“these ’ere children are just innocent and all, and not after the same bleedin’ magic book you and that witch’re after, the one buried in some bloomin’ secret vault under the Dead City and that by rights belongs to the dwarves! Ain’t that so?”

Hamish stuffed the mass of pie into his mouth and smiled through it at Dr. Pym. Kate felt her legs suddenly lose all strength. They were in deep trouble.

“Your Highness—” Dr. Pym began.

“Shut yer yap, you!” Hamish jumped up and swept his arm across the table, sending platters and goblets crashing to the floor. His face was bright red and bits of food flew from his mouth as he jabbed a short, thick finger at Dr. Pym. “Don’t go lying to me! Who the bloody ’ell you think you’re dealing with, eh?! You think Hamish’s some Simple Simon simple dwarf, that it? You think ’cause I’m a dwarf and my body’s smaller that my brain’s smaller than yours too, that it?! Think it’s so easy to fool me?! You think I don’t know every bloody word that’s spoke in my own bloody dungeons! That there weren’t bloody dwarf stenographers listening to your every snore and whisper?! That I don’t have a bloody complete and spell-corrected transcript of every prisoner’s midnight bloomin’ murmurings delivered every morning?” He reached under his beard, presumably into his shirt, and pulled out a sheaf of parchment, which he threw across the table. “And you come here and try to lie to me! To me! To take treasure that belongs to the dwarves! Bloody Books of bloody Beginning. I think not! I think not indeed!”

Dr. Pym kept his voice calm. “No, Your Highness, the book does not belong to the dwarves. They were merely guarding it.”

“It’s buried beneath a dwarf city! In a vault built by dwarves! It belongs to the dwarves! Period! Full stop! End of the bloody story!”

Dr. Pym looked at the children and smiled. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” Kate hissed back. “How are we not supposed to worry?”

“Well,” Dr. Pym said, “maybe worry just a little bit.”

Hamish was still ranting. “I’ll teach you to trifle with a dwarf, my good conjurer.”

“My King—”

Hamish waved his hand. “Nah nah nah, don’t you go ‘my king-ing’ me; we’re too late in the day for that.” Hamish stood and began pacing back and forth, running his hand down his beard and talking half to himself. “Now ’ere’s what’s gonna happen. We slip in quiet-like to this back door, find Mr. Magic Book all on ’is lonesome—What’s that? Why, yes, we will ’elp ourselves—book goes in the bag, we sneak out all rickey-tick, and the witch never has to know it was us that took it. She just finds the vault and thinks, Oh, ’ello, empty vault, what?”

“Yes, but as you no doubt read in your transcript, I cannot remember how—”

“The bleedin’ golden cavern; I know, I know,” and Hamish turned his head and screamed, “FERGUS!”

An extremely old dwarf, bent nearly double with age and with a long white beard that touched the floor, emerged from the shadows along the wall and tottered forward … slowly.

Hamish groaned. “Oh, for the love of—would you ’urry up there, Fergus? You’re gonna die before you get to the bleedin’ table!”

And, in fact, Kate could see dwarves exchanging money, presumably making bets whether or not Fergus would die before he got to the table. But then Captain Robbie stepped up and supported him the rest of the way.

“So, Fergus,” said Hamish, “you know this”—he snapped his fingers and a serving dwarf, bowing obsequiously, brought the transcript forward, and Hamish flattened it on the table and read—“this ‘golden cavern’ below the Dead City that Mr. I’m-Such-a-Bloody-Smart-Wizard was talking about.”

The old dwarf’s voice came out in a quiet, shaky rasp. “Oh yes, yes … golden cavern. Dead City … secret passage below the … the … the …” Kate thought he was going to be stuck on the word indefinitely, but then he managed to get it out: “… the throne room.”

“That’s right, Fergus, that’s right. In the Dead City. A secret passage below the throne room. You said you knew a way to that cavern, ain’t that right?”

Fergus didn’t respond.

“Fergus?”

For a second, Kate thought he might actually have expired. Clearly, a few of the dwarves agreed, for there was more exchanging of money.

“FERGUS!”

“Hmm? Wha …” The old dwarf had fallen asleep.

“You told me you know a way into this ’ere golden cavern?”

“Ah yes, there’s a way. Dangerous, though. Dark passage …”

“Right, then,” Hamish said, looking satisfied. “That’s settled. Now, you”—he looked at Dr. Pym—“are gonna hand over the key to this ’ere vault, and maybe, just maybe, I won’t chop off all your ’eads when I come back with me magic book. How’s that sound, then?”