Songreaver (27 page)

Scupp flashed her brother an evil grin and
crossed her hands behind her head as she leaned back on the ruins
of the cart. Suddenly, the wood snapped and gave way beneath her,
and she went down in a heap.

Diggs howled with laughter until his sister's
foot caught him right in the mouth. The rest of the cart
disintegrated in the fracas that followed.

"I don't know what to do," Garrett
sighed.

"Do somethin' else then," Warren said with a
shrug, "Take your mind off of it."

"Well, magic practice didn't work out,"
Garrett said, "I guess I could buy the essence somewhere else,
but..."

"No," Warren said, "somethin' else that
doesn't have anything to do with Marla or essence or fake
hair."

"It's not fake hair!" Garrett said.

Warren stared at him.

"Well, all right, it's sort of fake," Garrett
said, "but its not like I'm wearing a wig or something."

"You're wearing a
magic
wig," Warren
said, "That's
way
more impressive."

Garrett laughed. "Fine!" he said, pulling his
hood on again, "What do you want to do?"

Warren thought for a moment. "Let's find that
dead guy you were lookin' for."

"The Chamber of Kings?" Garrett said.

"Yeah," Warren said, "my dad was doing better
this mornin'. Let's go ask him where he thinks it might be."

****

They found Bargas and Lady Ymowyn walking
together in the street in front of Warren's house. The old ghoul
winced with every step he took, leaning heavily on a rusty iron bar
that served as his walking stick. Ymowyn walked beside him, urging
him on with equal parts praise and derision. Exhaustion dripped
from Bargas's gray face, but he smiled at the approach of his son
and Garrett.

"Mornin' boys," he panted, "just havin' a
bit... of a walk."

"Hi, Dad," Warren said, "How're you
feelin'?"

Bargas raised his eyebrows. "Alive," he said,
"I'm pretty sure the dead don't hurt this much."

"Poor dear," Ymowyn said, "Would you like us
to stop for a while so everyone can feel sorry for you?"

Bargas frowned at her and kept walking, each
pace punctuated with the dull
thunk
of his iron cane.

"Well, I'm glad you're out of bed," Warren
said, "Garrett and I had a question for you."

"What is it?" Bargas asked.

"You remember the stories about the place
where they buried the old kings of Wythr, right?" Warren said.

"Chamber o' the Kings," Bargas said.

"Yeah. Well Garrett needs to find it, and I
thought you might point him in the right direction."

Bargas stopped for a moment and leaned
against the iron cane, squinting at them. "Your uncle know you're
lookin' for the Chamber?" he asked Garrett.

"No, sir," Garrett admitted, "It's more of
a... personal project."

"The Chamber o' the Kings ain't no
project
," Bargas said, "It's a death trap. Stories say it's
guarded by Death itself."

Warren shrugged. "That's all right," he said,
"Garrett works for Death. He can just flash his badge at him and
walk right in."

Garrett gave Warren a sideways look.

Bargas sighed. "Anyways, it's just stories,"
he said, "Only ghoul I ever met knew anythin' about it was old
One-ear, and he died not too long after we came to Marrowvyn."

"Did he have any idea where it was?" Garrett
asked.

Bargas shook his head. "No, but he told me
his grandpap had seen it once and almost died. Seven ghouls, he
said, found the tomb, and all but one left their bones there. Some
kinda white devil guards it. One-ear's grandpap told him that he'd
never go back again, and he wouldn't tell One-ear where to look for
it either. Only thing he'd say about where to find it was that it
was halfway down to hell."

"So, lower than the catacombs then?" Warren
said.

"Don't you boys be sneakin' off to the 'Combs
by yerselves!" Bargas growled, lifting the iron rod and shaking it
at them, "I'm not too sick to whip the both of you!"

"We're not goin' to the catacombs, dad!"
Warren said.

Bargas looked at Garrett. "Whatever your
business is in the Chamber, boy, you'd better clear it with Tinjin
first. He'll tell you not to go throwin' yerself down holes you
can't climb outta."

Garrett nodded. "Yes, sir," he said.

Bargas sighed.

"Do you need a moment to catch your breath,"
Ymowyn asked him, "or shall we continue?"

Bargas rolled his eyes. "I'm beginnin' to
question the wisdom o' rescuin' you, girl," he muttered.

Ymowyn laughed and patted him on the arm.
"All the way to the town square this time," she said.

Bargas mumbled something indelicate, while
Garrett and Warren watched him hobble away.

"I kinda want to stay with my dad a bit,"
Warren said, "Are you all right on your own?"

"Yeah," Garrett said, "sorry the magic
practice didn't go right."

Warren snorted. "Don't matter," he said,
"Diggs has been drinkin' too much bug juice anyway. It'll do him
good to miss a week. Sorry about Marla though."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't have mentioned
Claude. I feel bad about that," Garrett said.

Warren stuck his tongue out. "Don't worry
about
that
guy," he said, "If she likes that creepstick
better'n you, she
deserves
him."

Garrett scratched the skin of his temple
through his hood, feeling a little sick to his stomach at the
thought of Claude.

"Your magic wig botherin' you?" Warren
asked.

Garrett frowned. "It itches a little when
it's wearing off," he said.

"Well, don't bother wearin' it on my
account," Warren said, "You're just as ugly to me either way."

Garrett laughed. "You're just jealous of my
beautiful magic hair," he said.

Warren snickered. "No, the truth is..." he
raised his voice to a screeching falsetto, "you frighten me with
your manly ruggedness... I'm just not ready for this kind of
commitment."

Garrett laughed again. "I'll see you later,"
he said.

"Later, Gar."

****

Garrett was almost back to the surface when
he realized that he had told Annalien that he would be back to pick
up Lampwicke for magic practice. He muttered one of Warren's
favorite curses and turned on his heel to head back down. He paused
at the old roundhouse where several of the main sewer lines
converged to drain into a large central pit.

As he wondered which tunnel would prove the
shortest cut to the Old City, a thought crossed his mind. Garrett
turned and walked to the edge of the pit in the center of the room
and stared down into the blackness. He and Warren had thrown a lot
of junk into that pit over the years, and never heard anything hit
bottom. How far down did the shaft go? Did it go
halfway to
hell?

He walked slowly around the pit, admiring the
nearly seamless brickwork of the shaft's walls. He moved as close
as he dared to the edge and held his torch out. The bricks went
down almost thirty feet, but, below that, the walls glistened like
natural stone, smooth and dark and perfectly round. The humans who
built the new city above must have found the pit and incorporated
it into the design of their sewers.

Garrett stepped away from the edge and looked
up at the ceiling above. In the dim light, he made out the weeping
red stains left by old iron rings that had been driven into the
stone of the cloister vault above. He doubted they would hold the
weight of a rope ever again, but they had done so once.

He paced a slow circle around the pit,
hopping over the drain channels and arguing with his fears and
doubts. Why would people intentionally drain their sewage into the
tomb of their ancient kings? It didn't make sense. Then again,
maybe the people who built these tunnels didn't know what the shaft
was for. Perhaps this wasn't the entrance to the Chamber of Kings
after all, but what if it got Garrett deep enough below the city to
find the chamber? He couldn't pass up the chance that it might.
Surely Warren would know enough about climbing. It could be done
safely.

Then he remembered Bargas's warning about the
tomb's guardian, but whatever fears this stirred within him were
quickly drowned out by the excitement of his discovery. In any
case, he had faced demons before and won. All he would have to do
is bring Diggs along and a large enough supply of essence. No demon
in the world could stand up to that ghoul's fiery breath.

Garrett laughed aloud and leaned out over the
pit again, looking down into the blackness.

"See you soon,
Songreaver
," he
said.

A cold, misty rain dampened Garrett's face as
he emerged from the underground in an unfamiliar part of the city.
He pulled his hood a little lower and then shouldered the ironbound
door shut behind him. He had decided to leave Lampwicke with
Annalien for another week, but left her with a whispered promise
that he was working on a plan to free her. He prayed that it would
not prove to be a false hope.

The rain had thickened to a heavy patter by
the time he reached Vaaste Street, soaking him through his purple
robe. He wished that he had worn something a little more
appropriate for the season, and then he remembered why he had
chosen to wear the nice robe this morning, and his heart sank. He
let the chill sink in as he walked and thought of Marla.

As he neared Uncle's house, Garrett fished
around in his pocket for the key. Finding it, he lifted his eyes
and saw her standing there.

Marla stood on the sidewalk in front of the
house, her cloak and hair dripping rain. Her eyes tightened,
watching him approach. Her lips trembled.

"I'm sorry, Garrett," she said.

Garrett stared back in stunned silence.

"I'm sorry... I should have been happy for
you... I..." Marla's voice trailed off in a hoarse whisper.

Garrett shook his head slowly. "No," he said,
"You were right... about the hood thing. I just wanted... it
doesn't matter now."

Marla's body blurred with speed as she leapt
forward and caught him in a tight hug. Garrett wrapped his arms
around her and buried his face in her cold, wet hair.

"How long have you been standing here?" he
asked as she stepped back.

Her eyes looked skyward. "A while," she
said.

"You could have waited inside," he said,
"Uncle Tinjin would have let you in."

Marla gave him a wan smile. "The rain seemed
more... appropriate."

"You'll get sick," Garrett said.

Marla laughed. "I don't get sick," she said,
"I just say mean things to my friends, and then I
feel
sick."

Garrett looked at her and smiled a little.
"It's all right," he said.

She looked down at the robe plastered to his
chest. "Garrett!" she said, "You're going to catch a cold."

Garrett glanced toward the house. "Come
inside," he said.

"No," she said, "I should be going. I just
wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

"Come on," he said, "stay for dinner. Uncle
will be glad to have company... I would be glad if you did."

Marla wiped a strand of lank hair from her
face and nodded. "All right," she said, "just for a little
while."

Garrett started toward the front door with
key in hand. "Oh," he said, "I guess we don't really have anything
to... drink. I'm sorry."

"That's all right," Marla laughed, "I'm not
really hungry right now, but I can pretend to eat. I'm quite good
at it."

Garrett's laughter froze in his throat when
he saw the dark gap where the front door hung, slightly ajar.

"Uncle Tinjin!" Garrett cried out as he
rushed inside.

A shadowy silence hung over the house within,
an oppressive, warm darkness.

"Caleb?" Garrett called out. A cold fear
seized hold of him, and Garrett ran down the hall to Uncle's study
and threw the door open wide.

Uncle Tinjin looked up from his book,
frowning. "You need something, Garrett?" he asked.

Garrett stood, moving his mouth, but no words
came out.

"Good afternoon, Master Tinjin," Marla said,
stepping up close behind Garrett.

"Hello, Marla," Uncle Tinjin said, "Is it
afternoon already?"

"Yes, sir," she said.

"And I gather it's raining outside?" he
said.

Marla smiled. "Yes, sir."

Uncle Tinjin eyed them both for a long
moment, then shook his head. "Garrett," he sighed, "remind me to
purchase a parasol next time we are in the market. It is a lovely
invention... one you might find useful if you insist on running
around in the rain."

"The front door was open," Garrett said, "I
was afraid something had happened."

Uncle Tinjin sat back in his chair and ran
his hand through his wispy hair. "I heard nothing," he said, "You
should probably be more careful in closing the door behind you next
time."

Garrett started to protest, but settled on a,
"Yes, sir."

"It's good to see you again, Marla," Uncle
Tinjin said.

"And you, sir," she said.

"And now... if you will excuse me, I am
rather busy," Uncle said.

Garrett nodded and pulled the study door
shut.

"I know I locked the door behind me," he
whispered to Marla.

"We should check the house," she said.

They searched the first floor, and then the
basement before going upstairs, finding nothing missing except
Caleb.

"Why would he leave without permission?"
Garrett said as he hung his satchel from the top corner of his door
and blotted it dry with a towel.

Marla scrubbed her hair with the towel he had
given her. "You said he was different," she said, "Perhaps he's
capable of making his own decisions now."

Garrett looked at her, a cold feeling in his
stomach. "Annalien says I should... destroy him... set him
free."