As she looked from the girl to the old Styx and back again, Sarah caught herself thinking that they could be related in some way. If the hearsay was to be believed, the Styx didn't have traditional family units, the children instead being taken away at an early age and raised by designated guardians or headmasters in their private schools.
But Sarah felt that there was definitely a bond between the two of them as they sat there in the dark. She sensed some sort of connection that went beyond the Styx's allegiance to each other. Despite his advanced years and his inscrutable face, there was the vaguest hint of the avuncular about the old Styx's manner toward the young girl.
Sarah's thoughts were interrupted by a single knock on the door of the hansom cab. It flew open. A blindingly bright lantern shone rudely in, the glare making Sarah shade her eyes. Then came an exchange, in reedy clicks, between the younger Styx by her side and the lantern bearer. The light withdrew almost immediately, and Sarah heard the clanking of the portcullis as the Skull Gate was raised. She didn’t lean over to the window to watch, but instead pictured the pig-iron gate as it retreated into the huge carved effigy of a skull above it.
The gate's purpose was to keep the inhabitants of the huge caverns in place. Of course, Tam had found myriad ways around this main barrier. It had been like a game of Chutes and Ladders to him; each time one of his smuggling runs was discovered, he always managed to find an alternative route to get Topsoil.
Indeed, she herself had used a route he'd told her about to make good her escape, through an air-ventilation tunnel. With another pang of loss, Sarah smiled at the memory of the scene as the big man, with his bearlike hands, had painstakingly sketched her an intricate map in brown ink on a square of cloth the size of a small handkerchief. She knew that particular route was useless now — with typical Styx efficiency it would have been closed off in the hours after she'd fled to the surface.
The carriage surged forward, moving at an incredible rate, descending deeper and deeper. Then came a change in the air, and a burning smell filled her nostrils, and everything began to vibrate with a pervasive low rumble. The carriage was passing the main fan stations. Hidden from sight in a huge excavated space high above the Colony, massive fans churned away, day and night, drawing off the smog and stale air.
She sniffed, inhaling deeply. Down here, everything was more concentrated: the smoke and fumes from fires; the smell of cooking, of mildew and rot and decay; and the collective stench of the huge number of human beings segregated in several interlinking, albeit quite large, areas. A distilled essence of all life in the Colony.
The carriage made a sharp turn. Sarah gripped the edge of the wooden seat so she wouldn't slide along its worn surface and into the younger Styx at her side.
Closer.
She was getting closer.
As they continued down, she leaned expectantly forward to the window.
She looked out, no longer able to stop herself from gazing at the twilight world that had once been the only one she knew.
From this distance, the stone-built houses, workshops, storefronts, squat places of worship, and substantial official buildings which the South Cavern was composed looked very much the same as when she'd last seen them. She wasn't surprised. Life down here was as constant as the pale light of the orbs that burned twenty-four hours a day, week in, week out, for the last three centuries.
The hansom cab raced off the bottom of the incline and through the streets at breakneck speed, people stepping out of the way or pushing their handcarts quickly against the curbs so as not to be mown down.
Sarah saw Colonists regarding the speeding carriage with bewildered expressions. Children pointed, but their parents pulled them back as they realized that the hansom was carrying Styx. It wasn't done to stare at members of the ruling class.
"Here we are," Rebecca said gently. "Come with me."
She took Sarah's hand, guiding the quaking woman out into the dimness of the cavern. As she allowed herself to be led, Sarah lifted her head to look a the immense span of rock that stretched over the subterranean city. Smoke rose lazily from the stone canopy above, rippling slightly as the enormous vents around the walls fed fresh air into the cavern.
Rebecca kept Sarah's hand clasped in hers, drawing her on. There was a clattering and another hansom cab drew up behind the one from which they had just dismounted. Sarah stopped, resisting Rebecca and turning to look back at it. She could just make out Joe Waites through the carriage window.
She swung back to view the uniform row of houses stretching along the street. It was completely empty, which was unusual at this hour. Her unease grew again.
"I didn’t think you'd want people gaping at you," Rebecca said, as if she knew what was in Sarah's mind. "So I had the area cordoned off."
"Ah," Sarah said quietly, "and he's not here, is he?"
"We've done exactly as you requested."
Back in the cat's chamber in Highfield, Sarah had insisted on one condition: She couldn’t face seeing her husband, even after all this time. Whether it was because it would bring back memories of the dead baby or because she couldn’t cope with her own betrayal and abandonment of him, she didn’t know.
She still hated him and, when she allowed herself to be brutally honest, still loved him, in equal measures.
She walked as if she was in a dream. The appearance of her house was unchanged, as if she'd left it only yesterday and the last twelve years had never happened. After all that time on the run, living hand to mouth like some sort of animal, Sarah was home.
She touched the deep cut on her throat.
"It's all right, it doesn't look too bad," Rebecca said, squeezing Sarah's hand.
There it was again: a Styx child, spawn of the worst filth imaginable, trying to comfort her! Holding her hand and acting like she was her friend. Had the world gone mad?
"Ready?" Rebecca asked.
The last time Sarah had seen the house, her dead baby had been laid out — in that room there — her eyes flicked up to the master bedroom, where she'd sat by the cot on that dreadful night. And down there — she turned her attention to the living room window — flashes of her past life came back: mending her son's clothes; emptying the grate in the morning; bringing her husband tea as he read the paper; and smiling at her brother Tam's deep voice, as if heard from another room, his laughter soaring as glasses clinked together. Oh, if only he was still alive. Dear, dear, dear Tam.
"Ready?" Rebecca asked again.
"Yes," Sarah replied decisively. "I am."
They went slowly up the path, but as they reached the front door, Sarah shrank back.
"It's OK," Rebecca cooed soothingly. "Your mother's waiting." She pushed through the door and Sarah followed her into the hall. "She's through there. Go and see her. I'll be outside."
Sarah looked at the familiar green-striped wallpaper upon which hung the stern pictures of her husband's ancestors, generations of men and women who had never seen what she'd seen: the sun. Then she touched a smoky-blue shade on a lamp on the hall table, as if making sure that everything was real, that she wasn't in the throes of some bizarre hallucination.
"Take as long as you want." With that Rebecca whirled around and, in prim steps, exited the house, leaving Sarah standing alone.
She drew a deep breath and, walking stiffly as an automaton, made her way into the living room.
The fire was lit and the room looked as it ever did, maybe a little more worn and discolored by smoke, but still warm and welcoming. She padded quietly over to the Persian rug and the winged leather armchairs, edging slowly around until she could see who was sitting there. She still thought that at any moment she'd wake and all this would be over, dimming in memory like any dream.
"Ma?"
The old lady raised her head feebly, as if she'd been dozing, but Sarah knew she hadn't when she saw the tears on her wrinkled cheeks. Sarah felt her body go limp with all the emotions that were sweeping through her.
"Ma." Her voic
e gave out and all she could manage was a croak.
"Sarah," the old lady said, and stood up with some difficulty. She raised her arms to Sarah, who saw she was still crying and couldn't stop herself, either. "They said you were coming, but I didn't dare hope."
Her mother's arms were around her but the embrace felt frail, not the strong grip she remembered. They stood, holding each other, until her mother spoke.
"I need to sit," she gasped.
As she did so, Sarah kneeled down before her chair, still holding her mother's hands.
"You look well, my child," her mother said.
Sarah fumbled for something to say in response, but was too overwrought to speak.
"Life up there must suit you," the old lady went on. "Is it really as wicked as they tell us?"
Sarah started to answer, but once again words failed her. She couldn’t begin to explain and, at that moment, it really didn't matter to either of them, anyway. It was being together, being reunited, that counted.
"So much has happened, Sarah." The old woman hesitated. "The Styx have been good to me. They've been sending someone to help me to services every day so I can pray for Tam's soul." She lifted her eyes to the window as if it was too painful to look at her daughter. "They told me you would be coming home, but I didn't dare believe them. It was too much to hope that I might see you again… one last time… before I die."
"Don't talk like that, Ma, you've got a good few years in you yet," Sarah said ever so softly as she shook her mother's hands in a gentle reprimand. As her mother turned her head back toward her, Sarah looked deep into her eyes. It was heartrending to see the change, as if a light had gone out. There'd always been a vibrant sparkle to them, but now they seemed lackluster and vacant. Sarah knew that time alone had not been responsible. She know that she was partly to blame, and felt she had to account for her actions.
"I've been the cause of so much, haven't I? I split the family. I put my sons in danger…" Sarah said, her voice trembling. She took several rapid breaths. "And I have no idea how my husband… John… feels."
"He looks after me now," her mother said quickly. "Now that there's nobody else."
"Oh, Ma," Sarah croaked, her speech becoming broken. "I… I didn't mean for you to be left alone… when I went… I'm so sorry—"
"Sarah," the old lady interrupted, the tears flowing freely down her lined face as she squeezed her daughter's hands. "Don't torture yourself. You did what you thought you had to."
"But, Tam… Tam's dead… and I just can't believe it."
"No," the old lady said, so softly as to be barely audible against the crackle of the fire, and bowed her grief-stricken face. "Neither can I."
"Is it true…" Sarah hesitated in midsentence, then asked the question she had been dreading to ask. "Is it true that Seth had a hand in it?"
"Call him Will, not Seth!" her mother snapped, her head jerking toward Sarah, who jumped at the outburst. "He is not Seth, he is not your son anymore," her mother said, her swift anger tightening the sinews in her neck and making slits of her eyes. "Not after all the harm he's done."
"Do you know that for sure?"
Her mother became incoherent. "Joe… the Styx… the police… everyone knows it for sure!" she spluttered. "Don't you now what happened?"
Sarah was torn between needing to know more and not wanting to upset her mother any further. "The Styx told me Will led Tam into a trap," Sarah said, pressing her mother's hands consolingly. They were tensed and rigid.
"Just to save his own worthless hide!" the old woman spat. "But how could he?" Her head sagged, but her eyes remained fixed on Sarah. The anger seemed to desert her for that instant and was replaced with an expression of mute incomprehension. For a moment she was closer to the person Sarah remembered, the kindly old lady who had spent her whole life working so hard for her family.
"I don't know," Sarah whispered. "They say he forced Cal to go with him."
"He did!" In an instant, her mother had resumed the vengeful, ugly mask, hunching her already rounded shoulders in a show of anger and snatching her hands away from Sarah. "We welcomed Will back with open arms, but he'd become a foul, loathsome Topsoiler." She thumped the arm of the chair, her teeth clenched. "He fooled us… all of us, and Tam died because of him."
"I just don't understand how… why he did that to Tam. Why would any son of mine do that?"
"HE'S NOT YOUR SON!" her mother wailed, her small chest heaving.
Sarah recoiled — she'd never heard her mother yell before, not once in her whole life. And she feared for her mother's health. She was in such a state of distress, Sarah was worried that she might do herself harm.
Then, becoming quiet again, the old woman pleaded, "Whatever you do, you must save Cal." She leaned forward, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. "You'll get Cal back, won't you, Sarah?" her mother said, a hard, steely edge creeping into her voice. "You are going to save him — promise me that."
"If it's the last thing I do," Sarah whispered, and she turned to stare into the hearth.
This moment of meeting her mother again, of which she'd dreamed so many times for so long, had been desecrated by Will's duplicity. The depth of her mother's conviction that he was responsible banished any reservations she'd had. After a span of twelve long years, Sarah's strongest connection with her mother was their overwhelming need for vengeance.
They listened to the crackle of the fire. There was nothing to be said, and neither felt like talking anymore, consumed by the pure hatred they shared for Will.
* * * * *
Outside the house, Rebecca watched the horses champing impatiently and rattling their harnesses as they shook their heads. She was leaning against the door of the second carriage, in which Joe Waites sat nervously, hemmed in by several Styx. He stared at Rebecca through the small carriage window, his face taut and strained, a sheen of unhealthy sweat on his forehead.
A Styx appeared at the door of the Jerome house. It was the same Styx who'd been sitting next to Sarah for the coach journey to the Colony and, unbeknownst to her and her mother, had stolen in through the back of the house so he could monitor their conversation from the hallway.
He raised his head high to Rebecca. She nodded back once in acknowledgment.
"Is that good?" Joe Waites asked quickly, edging closer to the carriage window.
"Sit down!" Rebecca hissed with all the vehemence of a disturbed viper.
"But, my wife, my daughters?" he said hoarsely, his eyes pathetic in their desperation. "Do I get them back now?"
"Maybe. If you're a good little Colonist and continue to do as you're told," Rebecca sneered at him. Then, in the clicking, nasal language of the Styx, she addressed his escort in the carriage: "After we're finished here, put him in with his family. We'll deal with them all together when the job's done."
Joe Waites watched apprehensively as the Styx by his side acknowledged Rebecca, then gave her a sardonic grin.
Rebecca strolled back to the first coach, swaying her hips in a way that she'd seen precocious teenage girls do when she'd been Topsoil. It was her victory walk; she was reveling in her success. It was so close now, she could almost taste it, her mouth filling with a gush of sticky saliva. Her father would be so proud of her. She'd taken two problems, two strands, and was setting one against the other. The best outcome would be if they neutralized each other, but even if one remained at the end of the play, she could snuff it out so easily. Ah, the elegance!
She came alongside the first carriage, where the old Styx sat.
"Progress?" he asked.
"She's swallowing it, hook, line and sinker."
"Excellent," the old Styx said to her. "And what about the loose end?" he queried, tilting his head at the carriage behind.
Rebecca smiled that gentle smile she had used to such effect on Sarah.
"When Sarah's safely on the Miners' Train, we'll shred Waites and his family and spread them over the fields in the West Cavern. Compost for the pennybun crops
."
Sniffing, she made a face as if she'd smelled something distasteful. "And the same for that useless old crone in there," she added, jabbing her thumb toward the Jerome house.
She chuckled as the old Styx nodded approvingly.
17
"Food… no doubt about it… it's food," Cal said, tilting back his head and flaring his nostrils with a heavy inhalation.
"Food?" Chester reacted immediately.
"Nah, can't smell a thing." Will looked at his feet as they dawdled along, not really knowing where they were going, or why. All they knew was that they had been following the canal for miles and had not yet come across anything that even vaguely resembled a track.
"I got us fresh water, in the old Styx house, didn't I? Now I'm going to find us some fresh supplies," Cal declared with his usual cockiness.
"We've still got some left," Will replied. "Shouldn't we be heading for that light ahead or finding a road or something, not going where there might be Colonists? I say we should try and get down to the next level, where my dad's probably already gone."
"Exactly!" Chester agreed. "Especially if this wasted place is going to make us glow in the dark."
"Now," Will said, "that would be really useful."
"Don't be daft." Chester grinned at his friend.
"Sorry, I don't agree," Cal said, cutting across their banter. "If this is some sort of food store, we may be close to a Coprolite village."
"Yeah, and…?" Will challenged.
"Well, your so-called father… he's going to be on the lookout for food, too." Cal reasoned.
"True," Will agreed.
They walked a little farther, their feet kicking up dust, until Cal announced in a singsong voice: "It's getting stronger."