Dreamwalker

  Sebastian had discovered that labyrinth during his escape, and had painstakingly recorded as many details of it as he could remember. Assuming nothing had changed since then, we should to be able to make our way through the lower levels without being seen. And even if the recent expansions had altered things, once we reached the servants’ passageway we’d be able to move around without the Shadows seeing us and, hopefully, find another way to get to Tommy. The stealth fetter would help us deal with any servants who crossed our paths.

  That was the theory, anyway. Granted, it was a scary theory, with all sorts of things that might go wrong, but the alternative was heading back down through Mystic Caverns to the crystal gate and working our way up through all the Shadows’ security from there. None of us were crazy enough to think that was a good idea.

  Sebastian had found his way out through the servants’ labyrinth; we would find our way in by the same path.

  We headed toward the building where the abbies lived. Both of the servants’ outbuildings offered direct access to the manor house, but since abbies tended to avoid direct eye contact with their homo sapiens masters, we figured they might not look at us as closely as other servants would, making it easier for Sebastian’s fetter to protect us. The fact that we were planning to exploit the submissive habits of an enslaved race was something I tried hard not to think about.

  The abbie dormitory had fewer windows than the other outbuildings, and it looked deserted. We went around to the back of the building and found what appeared to be a kitchen entrance. Quietly, we slipped inside. We could hear movement coming from somewhere else in the building, but the source didn’t seem to be close by, so we kept going, picking our way carefully through shadowy rooms. The few lamps that were present offered just enough light for us to make out a rough-hewn table and chairs, a simple iron stove, and boxy cabinets made of unfinished wood. All of it was simple and functional, with not a cent wasted on design. Given how wealthy and powerful the Shadows were, it was an eloquent statement about how little they valued these people.

  As we neared the common room the sounds of movement grew louder. We pressed ourselves back against the wall, praying that whoever was ahead of us would move off in another direction. Any direction. I could hear some kind of communication going on, but it never resolved into actual speech. More like the sounds that animals would make, expressive but inarticulate. Were the abbies capable of true human speech? We hadn’t thought to ask.

  Then the voices faded, and we could hear bare feet padding away from us. Several pairs of them, from the sound of it. We needed to move quickly now, before they came back.

  I stepped into the common room, intending to cross it as expediently as I could, to get to the door at the far side. According to our map, that would lead to the service tunnel. But when I saw what was in the room, I stopped cold.

  “Jesse?” Rita’s voice was no louder than a breath. “What is it?”

  “It’s all right,” I breathed back. “Come on in.”

  I heard them enter the room behind me. Rita gasped.

  There was more light here, enough to see that the walls and the ceiling were covered with drawings. Not formal compositions, set within neatly defined borders, but wild scrawlings that flowed into one another without visible boundary. Some of them were of recognizable subjects while others were totally abstract. Fractal patterns morphed into a Van Gogh sunrise, which morphed into a waterfall, which morphed into a herd of galloping horses. Then back to abstract patterns again. Dozens of different artists had left their mark here, with no thought for unity of design, each one just scribbling whatever came into his head. The result was as chaotic as you’d expect. Looking down, I saw there was a row of handprints along the bottom of one wall, child-sized; evidently the youngest abbies had been encouraged to contribute to the project.

  Staring at the work, I could not help but feel a sense of awe. And fear. Not because of what the display was, but because of what it implied.

  These people were human.

  Really human.

  Yes, in a technical sense I’d already acknowledged their species. They were close enough to us in form that there was really no way to deny it. But they were also from a different world, and they seemed to lack many qualities that I expected from human beings. So thus far, I had managed to keep my emotional distance, framing my sympathy for them in terms applicable to any living creature. Because accepting that they were people just like myself meant I would have to ask myself some pretty uncomfortable questions: If I’d been born among them, and was treated like they are, would I have become equally spiritless? Could a soul that was like my own be beaten into this kind of submission?

  But though I might not recognize the subject matter of all the drawings, I recognized the artistic spirit behind them. It was the same spirit that had inspired the magnificent cave-paintings of Lascaux and drove mankind to decorate his environment wherever he went. Man’s hunger to express himself through art was a feature that defined our species.

  These abbies were my spiritual kin.

  A camera shutter went off behind my ear, startling me. I turned around and saw Devon putting his iPhone back in his pocket. “For later,” he said quietly. I realized that the revelation I’d just had was something he’d been struggling with all along. It was the presence of these creatures that had spared his own people from the nightmare of slavery in this version of America, and he could not look at the abbies without feeling the burden of their shackled humanity upon his shoulders.

  “You two done with the museum tour?” Rita snapped. Evidently she was immune to the solemn significance of the place.

  Without further word we headed to where the map indicated a service tunnel should begin, at the base of a narrow staircase. There wasn’t any kind of door at the entrance; if a Shadow wanted to enter the building underground, there was no way the abbies could keep him out.

  The tunnel itself was sized for diminutive hominids; even Rita would have to duck down a bit if she didn’t want to bang her head on the ceiling. We could see a few yards down its length, but after that the ambient light from the dormitory petered out and there was only blackness. Devon reached for his flashlight, but I put a hand on his arm to stop him. If we wanted to pass for menials we couldn’t afford to risk being seen with such a device.

  I took out the small fetter lamp that Sebastian had given me and studied it. There didn’t seem to be any kind of on-off switch, and when I held it out at arm’s length and said experimentally, “Let there be light” (for lack of a better idea), nothing happened. How had Isaac turned it on, back in the Warrens? I tried to remember. We knew that the fetters Sebastian had given us were activated by touch, but this item, clearly, required more than that. What if the strange mental sorcery that powered the light would only work for him? No, that couldn’t be true; Sebastian understood how Weaver tech worked, and he wouldn’t have given it to us if it was owner-specific.

  Closing my fingers over it, I shut my eyes and tried to visualize it glowing with light. I figured that since it was powered by mental energy, maybe that’s what was needed to turn it on. And sure enough, after a few moments of concentration I saw a cool blue light begin to glow between my fingers. It wasn’t as bright as when Isaac had used it; maybe the charge was running low. But there was enough light to let us see where the walls of the tunnel were, and to keep us from tripping over anything.

  We headed into the tunnel single file, hunched over to avoid the low ceiling. Since Rita had the stealth fetter, we let her lead the way. What no one said aloud—but I’m sure we all were thinking—was that if we had to hurt someone, she was the best person to have in front. We all had our kitchen knives at hand, their improvised plastic sheathes duct-taped discreetly beneath our clothing, but I didn’t think Devon was any more prepared than I was to slice into human flesh. Rita though … she looked ready.

  The tunnel seemed to go on forever, and by the time we reached the wooden door at its far end I had a cramp in m
y neck from bending over for so long. I held my breath as Devon reached out to test the handle. If it was locked we’d have to go all the way back to the abbie house and seek another way in. I couldn’t risk using Sebastian’s fetter on this lock when we might need it later to free Tommy.

  The door wasn’t locked, although, as it swung open, the hinges made a dreadful noise that reverberated down the length of the tunnel and probably throughout the citadel as well. All three of us froze in place, and I thrust Isaac’s glow lamp deep into my pocket so that its light wouldn’t be visible. We could hear people in the distance, and we waited with pounding hearts to see if they would come our way. The darkness surrounding us was as thick and oppressive as it had been back in the caverns, and I reached out to put my hand on the wall, to keep from drowning in it. Then we waited.

  And waited.

  There was a dry lump in my throat. I had to fight not to clear it.

  Finally Devon whispered, “It’s all right, I think. No one heard us.”

  I took the lamp out of my pocket again. Its pale blue light revealed a large chamber with wooden boxes stacked up along the walls. Two tiny pinpoints of light down near the floor drew my notice, then startled me by moving suddenly. A rat. It was gone before I could draw my next breath, its pink tail twitching as it disappeared between two crates. I had a sudden flashback to our flight from the sewers, and had to take a moment to steady myself before I could go on.

  Trembling and silent, we made our way past the rat, and into the Shadowlords’ lair. Heading toward the nearest place where the map indicated an access point to the service passages below, we passed by several storerooms. Since our cover story was that we were here to deliver supplies, we peeked inside to see what was there. We stood a better chance of fooling people if we weren’t walking away from the place where our supplies were supposed to be going. A quick glance in each storeroom told us that there was no food stored here; that was probably kept closer to the kitchen. Good enough.

  At one point we saw another rat watching us, its beady black eyes all but invisible until the light glanced off them. Probably that’s why the food was stored elsewhere.

  This place is in serious need of cats, I thought.

  As we moved further into depths of the building, we began to hear voices ahead of us. Clearly, we were getting closer to the areas where servants lived and worked. We hitched our sacks up to our shoulders, traded in our stealth-in-the-darkness body language for something that communicated Of course I belong here! and hoped we could sell it.

  Suddenly we turned a corner and were face to face with a local, an elderly man who was so preoccupied with business of his own that he was clearly not prepared for three teenagers nearly running into him. I saw Rita reach up to activate the silver fetter.

  “Kitchen?” Rita asked brusquely, before the man could say anything. The air of authority in her voice was naturally compelling, and hopefully the fetter would compound it. The man blinked, hesitated, then pointed us down a side corridor. We hurried in that direction, and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief when we turned a corner and he could no longer see us.

  One encounter, and my nerves were already raw. How many more people would we have to fool before we found a way into the servants’ labyrinth? How long would the stealth ward last?

  The map indicated three possible entrances into the labyrinth, but only one of them was drawn in black ink. That was the one Sebastian had seen with his own eyes, and we knew that it was our best bet. But as we turned a corner to head in that direction, we found another rat in our path. It stared at us for a moment with its glassy black eyes, calmly, as if taking our measure, then turned and scampered off, heading in the same direction we’d planned to go. Not moving quickly, like it was worried that one of us might come up behind it, but casually, like it had business it needed to take care of, and just happened to be going in our direction.

  I stared after it, not wanting to give a name to the fear that had suddenly taken root in my soul.

  “Anyone other than me worried about that?” Devon whispered.

  I remembered the mountain hawk that had searched for us when we’d first arrived, and Kurt’s suggestion that someone connected to the Shadows was controlling it. And I remembered all the kids back on Earth who had died after run-ins with animals. Seemingly harmless animals, that had done things animals normally didn’t do. Would a stealth ward have worked on them?

  “It’s gone on ahead of us,” I said quietly.

  “So if it’s more than a rat—” Devon began.

  “—they know we’re coming,” Rita finished for him.

  What now? I thought despairingly. Never had Tommy seemed so inaccessible.

  But we still had two other paths left to try. They were chancy at best, but still preferable to one that was likely to have a welcoming committee waiting for us. And if the Shadows were sending their servants to meet us at this entrance, that meant there would be fewer of them at the others. Right?

  We needed to get to the Shadows’ private levels underground as quickly as possible, so we could lose ourselves in the service labyrinth there. Up here we were sitting ducks.

  We turned around and started to retrace our steps, Rita whispering directions to us from her map as we walked. When we got to the place where we had to leave the main corridor, we looked around to see if any rats were in sight. There was no point in changing our course if rat spies would just report our new route to their masters. But the hall looked genuinely empty, and it was lit well enough that we felt reasonably sure nothing was hiding in the shadows.

  We travelled as quickly as we could, anxious to reach our goal before the welcoming committee at the first entrance realized we’d changed plans. But as we neared the place where the stairs leading down were supposed to be, we slowed a bit, wanting to take a good look around before committing ourselves to descent. And it was a good thing that we did. No sooner had we ceased walking than a small dark shape darted out of an opening on one side of the corridor ahead of us, ran across our path, and disappeared into an opening on the far side. It didn’t appear to have seen us, but the fact that it was here at all meant that the Shadows had animal agents watching this area as well. Which meant they were probably watching the third entrance, too.

  Which meant there would be no way to get downstairs without being seen.

  Have we come all this way for nothing? I thought despairingly. The futility of it all was nigh on overwhelming; I could feel tears of frustration brimming in my eyes.

  Devon put a strong hand on my shoulder, steadying me. We couldn’t talk aloud because the rat was still close by, but Devon’s touch spoke volumes: It’s not over yet. Be strong.

  I nodded and let him draw me back the way we’d come, wiping tears from my face as I walked.

  The search for the third entrance led us through a series of workrooms filled with tools, sawhorses, and various pieces of furniture in the midst of repair. The floor had been swept clean at some point, but a thin layer of dust had settled onto the stone surface since then; had a rat passed this way recently, its tracks would be visible. But there was nothing. I felt a knot between my shoulders ease up ever so slightly. We would leave our own marks as we crossed the room—there was no way to avoid it—but hopefully, by the time anyone saw them, we’d be long gone from this world.

  The staircase wasn’t exactly where the map said it would be, but we did find it eventually: a tightly coiled spiral leading down into pitch blackness. Unlike our other two options this staircase didn’t lead to a service passage, but into the main part of the Shadows’ private level. Still, what choice did we have? Our map indicated there was a place close by, on the lower level, where we could enter one of the hidden passages, so we decided to descend here and try to find it.

  Standing at the lip of the black iron staircase, I found myself gazing down into utter darkness; it was impossible to see what lay beyond it. But that was a good sign, I told myself. Even the Shadows probably needed some light to see
by, so the fact that this place was completely dark suggested that no one was nearby.

  We hoped.

  Rita started down first, knife in hand. I fell in behind her, and Devon behind me. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel the blood in my palm throb against the iron railing. I had to hold the glow lamp high with my other hand, so that everyone could see where they were going, and that made it harder to maneuver down the narrow stairs. More than once I had to wrap my left arm around the center pole to keep my balance, skewing the light that Rita and Devon depended on. One time she almost fell, and when Devon reached past me to grab her he almost knocked me down as well. We were still pretty high above the floor, so falling would not have been good. But eventually we all regained our footing and continued our precarious descent.

  The staircase took us through two full twists, then deposited us in the middle of a large chamber. There were pieces of furniture all around us, in no particular arrangement. Perhaps things were being prepared for delivery to the workrooms upstairs. If so, we should get out of here quickly, before someone came for these items.

  I turned toward the door which our map had indicated would lead to a service passage—

  —and I was hit from the side by something so massive and heavy that it knocked the breath out of me, sending me sprawling into a row of wooden chairs. I heart Rita cry out “Shit!” as wood split beneath me, jagged splinters scoring my flesh. I struggled to right myself. But whoever or whatever had knocked me down didn’t mean for me to have a chance to do that. Rough hands grabbed my arms and jerked me to my feet, nearly dislocating my shoulder. My fetter lamp went flying across the room, giving me a brief glimpse of the armed men who now surrounded us, including the two hulking freaks who now held onto me. I tried desperately to squirm out of their grip, but to no avail. I cursed myself for not having had my knife out when we were attacked. What was Rita doing?