The Emerald Atlas (7 page)

“Yeah! Yeah, I got it right here!”

But even as Michael reached into his bag, there was a new sound.

Arruuuggga—arruuuggga!

It was coming from the trees behind them, and Kate saw the children and their mothers fall silent and look toward the noise. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then she heard the unmistakable chugging of an engine, and a shiny black motorbike emerged from the forest, its thick, knobby tires chewing through the dirt. The driver was a very small, very odd-looking man. His chin was long and thin, the top of his skull narrowed almost to a point, and yet the middle of his face was wide and flat. It was as if someone had seized his chin and the dome of his head and pulled. He had pale stringy hair and was dressed in a dark pin-striped suit and an old-fashioned bow tie. He wore a pair of bug-eyed goggles. He hit the horn.

Arruuuggga!

The motorcycle had a sidecar. But Kate couldn’t make out the features of the passenger. Whoever it was had on an old driving duster, a leather helmet, and the same bug-eyed goggles as the driver.

Arruuuggga!

The motorcycle bumped and chugged in a circle around the children and came to a stop at the edge of the dam. Kate noticed that the Screechers had not moved. They seemed to be waiting.

The driver shut off the engine and ran around to his passenger, who had already stepped clear of the sidecar. The figure removed its duster, goggles, and helmet and dropped them on the little man. Standing before them was a girl of sixteen or seventeen. She had flawless white skin and golden hair that fell to her shoulders in perfect ringlets. She wore a frilly white dress that seemed to Kate old-fashioned, and her arms were bare and slender. She wore no jewelry. She didn’t need any. She was the most radiantly beautiful creature Kate had ever seen. She seemed almost to exude life. Spotting a yellow flower at her feet, the girl let out a cry of delight, plucked it, then turned and skipped to the dam.

“Who is she?” Michael asked.

“That’s her,” Stephen McClattery said quietly. “That’s the Countess.”

“I don’t like her,” Emma said. “She looks stuck-up.”

The girl, or young woman (however one chooses to classify a girl of sixteen or seventeen), reached the dam and started up a set of stairs. Till now, Kate had been too focused on the children to take in just how massive the dam truly was. Rising six or seven feet above the lip of the gorge, it formed a sort of wide, curved bridge to the other side. Kate watched as the Countess, arriving at the top, danced across till she came to the center; there she stopped, poised over the heart of the gorge, backed by nothing but sky and the tree-covered walls of the valley.

She turned from the shawled mothers to the children and gave a little hop of excitement. “Oh, look! You all came! I’m so happy to see everyone!”

“She doesn’t seem that bad,” Michael whispered.

“Oh, shut up,” Emma hissed.

The girl’s voice was gay, and she had, Kate noticed, a slight accent.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I asked you here. Well, you may thank my secretary, Mr. Cavendish.” She gestured toward the little man, who was attempting to plaster down his greasy hair. “Oh, isn’t he just the most darling thing! Well, he reminded me that today marks the second anniversary of my arrival in Cambridge Falls.
C’est incroyable, n’est-ce pas?
Two whole years we’ve been together! How perfectly wonderful!”

If anyone else thought it was wonderful, they kept it to themselves.

“And yet, Mr. Cavendish also reminded me that your men seem no closer to finding what I asked them to find than they were the day I arrived. Boo.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pout.

“She has a nice way about her, don’t you think?” Michael said.

This time Kate told him to shut up.

The Countess continued: “But do not despair,
mes amis!
Your little Countess thought and thought till her head hurt, and I’ve found where I went wrong! Yes, I blame no one but myself! You see, I told your men, ‘Find me what I want and I will go away. You’ll be reunited with your families. All shall be as it was.’
Quelle imbécile!
How could I have been so dull-witted?! I ask your men to find something, and the reward for finding it is that you will be deprived of my company?! Is it any wonder no progress has been made?! You don’t want to let me go! You love me too much! I don’t blame you, of course. But it simply won’t do. So, difficult as it is, we must make you try to love me less.”

She waved her hand, and suddenly, one of the black-garbed, decaying creatures was striding toward the children. It reached into the mass of small bodies, and a second later, little Annie was tucked under its arm, being carried toward the dam. A cry went up from the children and the mothers. The creature stepped up beside the Countess and, holding the girl by the scruff of her jacket, dangled her over the edge of the dam.

Annie’s scream pierced Kate’s ears. Her legs kicked in the empty air. A woman on the other side of the gorge fell to her knees.

“What’s he doing?!” Emma cried, gripping Kate’s arm so hard it hurt. “He can’t—he can’t—”

The Countess put her hands to her ears and danced around in a circle, crying comically, “Too much noise! I can’t hear myself think!”

Finally, the cries subsided till there was only the sound of Annie’s whimpering.

The Countess smiled sympathetically. “I know! It’s terrible! But what am I to do? It’s been two years; that is right, isn’t it, Mr. Cavendish? It has been two years?”

The Secretary nodded his oddly shaped head.

“And believe me,
mes anges
, I do not enjoy playing the grump! But I must cure you of your excessive love of me!” The Countess picked up the doll that Annie had dropped and smoothed its patchy hair. “So, the word has already been sent to your men. They’ll find me what I’m looking for, or beginning this Sunday—I do hate Sundays, they’re so dull—beginning this Sunday, your town will lose a child each week I have to wait.”

With a giggle, she tossed the doll off the dam. As it tumbled into the void, cries rose on both sides of the gorge. Kate could feel terror race through the children. Then something brushed past her shoulder. She looked up and, seeing a torn, faded uniform, at first thought it was one of the Screechers. But something was different. The figure moved smoothly, without any of the creatures’ jerkiness. And it was enormous. Taller than any of the Screechers and two or three times as wide. If he’d been a man, he’d have been the largest man Kate had ever seen. As he passed, he glanced down. His eyes were a deep granite gray. Then he was gone, moving through the crowd of children, making directly for the beautiful creature on the dam.

“Who is that?” Emma asked. “He’s not a Screecher. You see his eyes?”

Up on the dam, the Countess nodded her golden head, and the Screecher pulled Annie back from the edge and tossed her toward the stairs. Sobbing, the girl scrambled to her feet and ran to join the other children.

“Well, this has been a delightful visit. You all look very well indeed! I like to see you taking care of yourselves. However, I must—”

“She’s seen him!” Emma said.

“Seen who?” As the man had passed, Michael had been busy cleaning his glasses, rubbing at the lenses as if he could somehow erase what he’d just witnessed. “What’re you talking about?”

The Countess was staring at the large man who was just then emerging from the mass of children. Kate saw her whisper something to the Screecher beside her, and the thing opened its mouth, and once again they heard the scream.

Michael and Emma put their hands over their ears, but it did no good. The other children reacted as if struck, many falling to their knees. Gasping, Kate watched as three of the creatures pulled their rusting, jagged swords and closed on the man. In an instant, the man was holding his own sword. The mob of children fell back. Emma was knocked over. Kate and Michael pulled her to her feet, stumbling backward so they weren’t trampled. Above the cries of the children, they could hear grunting and the clanging of swords, and then, one by one, the horrible screams were cut short.

When they had pulled themselves free from the throng, Kate saw the three Screechers lying on the ground. They seemed to be melting into the dirt with a horrible hissing sound. The man was breathing heavily. His head scarf had been ripped away. He had long dark hair and a scar down the side of his face.

“He killed ’em!” Stephen McClattery gasped. “He killed those Screechers! No one’s ever done that!”

Six more Screechers charged toward the man.

Atop the dam, the Countess was holding up the flower she’d plucked, gazing over it like a girl watching her dance partner across the room. Kate saw that Cavendish, her driver with the football-shaped head, was trying his best to hide behind the motorbike.

“He can’t fight six of them,” Michael said. “It’s too many.”

Apparently, the large man had reached the same conclusion. As the creatures moved to attack, he turned toward the dam and reared back.

“Die, witch!”

But before he could throw his sword, the Countess blew on the flower. Kate saw a golden swirl sweep toward the man and envelop him. Reared back, muscles tense, he became absolutely still. A Screecher kicked him in the chest, and the man toppled over, landing in the dirt and sending up a cloud of dust, still without changing position. The Countess gave a small laugh and skipped in place.

“Did you see that?” Michael said. “Did you see what she did?”

“She’s a witch,” Emma said. “Someone should push her off that dam. Or burn her. That’s what you do with witches.”

Kate knew they had to get away. It didn’t matter who saw them. And she was about to tell Michael to get out the book when the beautiful young woman turned and looked directly at them.

Kate felt as if she’d been stabbed.

The Countess extended her arm, her finger aimed at Kate’s heart. Her voice was a shriek. “Stop them!”

“Michael,” Kate hissed, “the book! Now!”

“Someone will see—”

“It doesn’t matter!” And she reached into his bag and yanked the book out herself. The dark shapes were running toward them. One of them screamed. Then another. And another. Kate had the awful feeling of being held underwater, unable to get air. She couldn’t breathe.

“Where’s—where’s the picture?”

Michael didn’t move. Kate could see the creatures’ screams had frozen him in place. Then Emma slapped him.

“What—what’d you do that for?”

“The picture!”

Michael glanced at the dark figures closing in, throwing children out of the way. The Countess screamed again, “Stop those children!” He fumbled in his pockets, pulled out the picture, and immediately dropped it.

Kate fell to her knees, opening the book in her lap.

“Emma—grab my arm!”

Hands trembling, she reached for the picture, but Michael had put his foot on it.

“Where is it?” he said. “I can’t see it!”

“You’re standing on it! Move!”

The Screechers were getting closer. Their cries stronger than ever. She had to focus, focus.…

Then, for a moment, silence. It seemed the creatures had to breathe after all. Kate felt the air return to her lungs, her heart pump blood through her body. She pushed Michael out of the way and grabbed the picture. It was covered with dirt and creased from his shoe. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stephen McClattery tossed aside.

“Hurry!” Emma yelled.

“Hold on to me!” Kate said.

As two dark shapes closed in, Kate placed the photo on the blank page. She felt a tug in her stomach, and the ground disappeared beneath them.

Kate blinked. Everything was dark. The air felt cool. She blinked a few more times, and then, as her eyes adjusted, relief swept through her. They were in the underground room in the mansion. She was kneeling on the floor with the book in her lap. Across the room, she could see the three of them, Michael and Emma and herself, their bodies outlined by the flashlights.

And then, suddenly, they were gone.

Kate felt herself being released. As if some force had been holding her in place.

“Kate.” Emma’s voice was beside her. Kate became aware of how fiercely her sister was gripping her arm. “Kate, where’s Michael?”

Kate looked to where Michael had been standing. Where Michael should be standing. Their brother was not there.

CHAPTER FIVE
Dr. Stanislaus Pym

At dinner, they told Miss Sallow that Michael wasn’t feeling well and had gone to bed. They themselves barely touched their food, and barely heard the old woman as she grumbled about her cooking not being up to the standards of Versailles and no doubt they’d be leading her to the guillotine first thing in the morning. Abraham had already built up the fire when they got to their room, and the girls climbed into the bed they shared and held each other.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kate told Emma. “We’re going to get him back.”

Sometime during the night, Kate sensed that Emma had fallen asleep. But she lay awake, her mind turning over what had happened. Had one of those Screechers yanked him away at the last moment? Or, even worse, had she put the photo in the book before Michael could touch her? Had he reached for her only to have her vanish before his eyes? She kept imagining Michael grabbing at the air where she and Emma had been just a second before and the terror that must’ve swept through him when he felt the cold grip of the Screechers. Lying there in the dark, Emma breathing deeply beside her, Kate whispered, over and over, “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault.” Her mother had asked her to do one thing. Keep her brother and sister safe. And she hadn’t done it. What would she say to her? How would she explain it? Her only hope was the book hidden under their mattress. They would use it. They would get another old photo and they would go back in time and bring Michael home.

The sky outside the window had just begun to lighten when Kate shook Emma awake.

“Get dressed,” she said. “We’re going to see Abraham.”

Abraham lived in an apartment at the top of the north tower, and they stood outside his door, knocking for more than a minute, but no one answered. In the kitchen, they found Miss Sallow rattling pans on the stove.

“Abraham’s gone to Westport,” Miss Sallow said, slapping a pair of sausages on Kate’s plate. “Picking up Dr. Pym.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I don’t speak French, Your Highness, but if you can understand plain English, I’ll say again, he’s gone to Westport to pick up Dr. Pym. Left early this morning. Should be back anytime.”

“Kate,” Emma whispered, “remember what Michael said? The book’s gotta belong to this doctor guy. You think he really is a wizard or—”

“Where’s your brother?” Miss Sallow demanded.

“In bed,” Kate said. “He’s still not feeling well.”

“Hmp. Imagine he’s on a hunger strike from the slop I’m serving. Well, you can carry up food to him anyways. Let him throw it down the stairs if he likes.”

She went off to get a tray from the pantry.

As soon as she was gone, Emma leaned over the table and hissed, “Dr. What’s-His-Name’s gonna know we took the book! He’ll turn us into toads or something! We gotta—”

She cut herself off as there were uneven footsteps approaching from the hall. A second later, Abraham limped into the kitchen, still dressed for the cold. “Good morning, young ’uns, good morning.” He crossed to the kettle, rubbing his hands together. “It’s cold as the grave out there today. Said as much to the Doctor, I did, as we were coming across the lake. ‘You’ve hit it there, Abraham,’ says he. ‘It is as cold as the grave.’ Ah, we had a lovely chat, the Doctor and me.”

“Abraham?”

“Yes, miss?” He had poured himself tea and was dropping lump after lump of sugar into his mug.

“We have a favor to ask. We need another—”

“Are you not finished yet? Too bad!” Miss Sallow had shuffled into the kitchen, and she snatched up Kate’s and Emma’s plates and dumped them in the sink. “Into the library, Your Highnesses. Saw the Doctor in the hallway. He wants you now, he does.”

“Us?” Kate said. “But—why?”

“And how should I know? Maybe he wants your autographs. Well, what’re you waiting for? Trumpeters and heralds to announce you? Go! And, you”—she threw an onion at Abraham—“stop stealing my sugar!”

“Two lumps is all I took, Miss Sallow.”

“Two lumps? I’ll give you two lumps! And two more! And there’s two more!”

Miss Sallow chased Abraham around the table, whacking him with a wooden spoon.

Kate sighed. “Come on.”

Kate and Emma paused at the door to the library.

“Remember,” Kate whispered, “we don’t know anything about him. He could just be an ordinary man who runs an orphanage.”

“An orphanage with only three kids in a weird old house filled with magic stuff. Yeah, right.”

Kate had to admit her sister had a point, but just then a voice called out, “Come in, come in. Don’t stand there whispering.”

Not seeing they had much choice, Kate took Emma’s hand and opened the door.

They had been in the library the day before, when Emma had broken the sliding ladder, and so were familiar with the room. There were two full stories of books and, facing the door, a wall of narrow, iron-framed windows that looked out over the ruined stables. To their left was a small fireplace and four extremely worn leather chairs. A white-haired man in a tweed suit was kneeling with his back to them, attempting to light a fire. A traveling cloak, a walking stick, and a battered old satchel had been dropped on one of the chairs.

“Sit down, sit down,” his voice echoed up the chimney. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Kate and Emma each took a chair. Kate wondered if the man had any idea what he was doing. Sticks and newspaper were piled up willy-nilly in the fireplace, along with a few rocks, an old soda can, and some used tea bags. He kept lighting matches, but nothing seemed to happen.

“Hang this,” the man said. Kate heard him mutter something under his breath, and all of a sudden a cheerful fire sprang up in the grate. “Yes, that’s the ticket!”

Emma elbowed Kate in the ribs and pointed as if to say, “See!”

The man stood and turned toward them, dusting off his hands. He was clearly very old, but his movements were easy, with none of the usual creakiness of age. He had thick, horn-like eyebrows that matched his snowy hair, and his eyeglasses were bent and sat slightly askew on his face, as if he’d recently been in an accident. His suit looked as if it had been in the same accident and maybe a few others to boot. “It’s a lost art, building a fire. Not everyone can do it. Now allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Stanislaus Pym.” He bowed very low.

Kate and Emma stared. The man seemed like someone’s harmless, slightly dotty old uncle. Still, Kate thought, there was something strangely familiar about him. Like she’d seen him somewhere before. But that was impossible.…

Dr. Pym was looking down at them with one eyebrow cocked expectantly.

“Oh—” Kate fumbled, “I’m, um, Kate. This is my sister, Emma.”

“And you have a last name?”

“No. I mean—yes. Kind of. It’s P. The letter. That’s all we know.”

“Ah yes, I remember that now. From your files. And you have a brother, I believe. Where might he be?”

“Michael’s not feeling well,” Kate said.

Dr. Pym looked at her, and Kate’s image of him as a charming, slightly bumbling old man vanished. It felt like his eyes saw right through her. Then, just as quickly, he was smiling again. “A pity. Well, let me know if there’s something I can do. I have certain talents other than starting fires. So”—he sat down across from them—“let’s have it, then. Your life story. Now take your time. One thing I hate is when someone rushes through a story. We have a nice fire. Miss Sallow can bring us tea. We can take as long as we need.”

He pulled a pipe from his pocket, held a match to the bowl, puffed a few times, then exhaled a large cloud of bluish-green smoke. The smoke didn’t rise so much as expand, wrapping its arms around Kate and Emma and pulling them in. “Begin anytime,” he said amiably.

For a moment, Kate didn’t speak. She was remembering how, after their interview with the Swan Lady, she’d overheard Miss Crumley on the phone, threatening, pleading, offering bribes, searching for someone, anyone, who would take Kate and her siblings. Out of nowhere, this man had come forward. Why? What did he want? That he had brought them here for a reason, she had no doubt. So what was it?

“Is there a problem, my dear?”

Kate reminded herself that what mattered now was saving Michael. She took a deep breath; the Doctor’s pipe tobacco tasted faintly of almonds.

“We were left at St. Mary’s Orphanage on Christmas Eve ten years ago.…” She was planning to hit a few of the major points, then apologize and say they had to go check on their brother. But a strange thing happened. Before she was even aware of doing it, she heard herself, with Emma chiming in, telling the Doctor every detail of their lives, how kind Sister Agatha had been to them, but how she always smoked in bed and one night she sent herself and the rest of St. Mary’s up in flames, and how their next orphanage was run by a very fat man who stole all the good food for his fat family and many nights they only had a bit of old bread and a little watery soup for dinner, and on and on, she and Emma both talking, telling about all the different orphanages they’d lived in, the children they’d met, how they’d refused to let themselves be called orphans because they knew their parents were coming back one day. She was dimly aware of Miss Sallow entering and setting down tea and toast and jam and then sometime later taking away the empty plates. She and Emma kept on talking, telling things they’d never told anyone: Kate’s memories of their parents, their dreams about the house they would all live in when their family was back together. Emma talked for a long time about the dog she was going to have; he was going to be black with white markings and his name would be Mr. Smith and he wouldn’t do tricks because that was demeaning, all of which was news to Kate. At some point, Miss Sallow entered again, this time with a tray of sandwiches, and they were telling about Miss Crumley and the disaster with the lady in the swan hat, about the train ride north, how thick the fog had been on the lake, and how Abraham had been waiting for them with a horse-drawn cart, which was the first time they’d been in a horse-drawn cart, and suddenly Kate was aware that Dr. Pym was talking.

“My, what a journey you’ve had! And here the day has slipped half away, tut-tut. Well, as enjoyable as this was, I won’t keep you longer. No doubt you have more important things to do than entertain an old man.”

Kate felt as if she was coming out of a dream. She looked at the empty plate where the sandwiches had been. Had they eaten them? She couldn’t remember. The fire was still crackling away in the grate, but outside, the sun had passed the windows. How long had they been here?

“We’ll talk more later. But I would like to give you a word of warning.” He leaned forward in his chair. “There are places in this world that are different from all others. Almost like separate countries. A forest here, an island there, part of a city—”

“A mountain range,” Kate said.

“Yes,” Dr. Pym said. “Sometimes a whole mountain range. Cambridge Falls and all that surrounds it is such a place. Now, the town itself is quite safe. But do not go deeper into the mountains. There are dangers there you cannot possibly imagine. One day I will explain all of this more fully, but for now, do we understand each other?”

He looked at Kate, and once again, she felt that he could see right through her. She nodded, and he sat back, smiling his grand-fatherly smile. “Excellent. By the way, I asked Miss Sallow to do something special for dinner tomorrow. Goose, perhaps. It is Christmas Eve, after all.”

“What?!” chorused Kate and Emma.

“Why, yes. Hadn’t you realized?” Then, as if a thought had occurred to him, he murmured, “Oh, of course. It was Christmas Eve you were left at your first orphanage, wasn’t it? So tomorrow will be”—he appeared to be doing the math in his head—“the ten-year anniversary of your parents’ disappearance.”

Kate was dumbstruck. Was tomorrow really Christmas Eve? How had she not known that? It was almost as if while they were talking to the Doctor, it wasn’t just hours that had passed, but days.

Dr. Pym stood up. “Perhaps by tomorrow, your brother will be fully recovered and I’ll have the pleasure of meeting him.” He guided the girls, both of whom still felt fuzzy-headed, to the door. “Tell me, are you possibly on your way to see Abraham?”

Kate didn’t question how he might know this. She just nodded thickly.

“Ask him to show you the last picture he ever took. I think you might find it interesting.”

And with that, he ushered them out and closed the door.