The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (13 page)

“Mother, what are you doing?  You’re supposed to come save me.”

“I’m trying … I’m trying!”

“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten me instead—playing mother to dead children?  What will the neighbors say?”

“Phillippe, where are you?”  My head spun.  I stumbled against the bed and had to sit.

“It’s what I should have expected,” he said.  “You could never resist a crying child, or any passing stray.  Well, if you’re going to save that girl, you probably need to hurry.  Who knows what unspeakable evil is befalling her while you waste time this way?”

Fear fueled my strength.  Phillippe was right.  I needed help to save my angel.  I needed to call … strangely, his name escaped me.  I saw a dark cloaked man in my mind’s eye, but I had no idea of how to reach him.  There was something I need to do.  If only I could think!

I slammed my fist into the carpet and screamed in frustration.  I could not let my little Angel down!  Her need for me matched Phillippe’s.  And if I did not escape, I could very well starve to death.  That would end the game right there, and then where would any of us be?  I wept tears of frustration and choked back a scream.  I drew a deep breath and pulled my feet up onto the bed.  After I hugged my knees, I set my forehead against them.  Stupid light—I needed it to go away.  

Minutes dragged by.  Unfortunately, the only plan I came up with involved using the lamp to set fire to the room.  I would wait until I was utterly desperate for such a dire measure.  I had no guarantee that I would not simply be left to burn to death by my own hand.  For all I knew, the walls of this strange place could not be burned, or the attempt could trigger strange alchemies that would once again confound me.

For lack of any other course of action, I laboriously counted all I had to work with.  My pouch and whip, the lamp, bedding—and one rose.  A full arsenal!  I laughed.  The sound bounced back at me off the walls slapping me with a sense of madness that made me stop.  Coalesced from desperation, a plan formed
in my head which greatly depended on how much my captor wanted to gloat, and if he were what he seemed.  It seemed that the light had no interest in dimming these kinds of thoughts.

The Gamesman would not be able to resist posturing, but the

Keeper remained largely an unknown factor.  I would have to threaten his security to get a favorable response, were he as he seemed. 

I stood, near blinded by the encompassing glare, and took the coiled whip off my hip.  I groped my way to the door and hung the whip on the knob.  I disarmed as a gesture of good faith, and retreated to the bed.  I sat on the edge and addressed whoever was watching, “Ask the Keeper … if he will come and speak with me.  If the Gamesman learns of this interference in the game, there will be trouble.  I am the White Rose, and e
xpected to play.”

I could only wait for a response and hope it would not be long in coming. 

Minutes crept by
with excruciating slowness.  I clasped my hands in my lap and suppressed the urge to flail out, finding relief by breaking whatever I could.  Finally, a sound at the door sent my hopes soaring.  A key turned in the lock.                It took all my restraint not to hurl myself headlong at the door as it opened.  That would not have served my needs since the entering simulacra would have had no trouble subduing me.  Flesh could not overpower metal and unlike me, they felt no pain.  They were only guards anyway—I needed guile to strike at the clever mind directing them.

The lights dimmed to a tolerable level and I could see clearly again.  Two simulacra confronted me, male in appearance, dressed in
gray livery trimmed with red.  Badges had been affixed to their breasts, pins that looked like a flywheel from a watch.  The emblems no doubt showed the particular niche they filled in the Keeper’s service.  With meticulous movements, they took up stations just inside the room, guarding the door.  Across the threshold, I saw the Keeper, unless some deception was being practiced on me.

“You wish to speak to me?” he asked.  The Keeper acted as if nothing at all was unusual about the situation we were in, or I should say, the situation he had placed me in.

I tried to copy his serenity, speaking with confidence.  “You cannot keep me here.  I must rescue my son.  You are interfering in the game.  I will lodge a complaint to the Gamesman and see that he punishes you unless you release me at once.”

“I certainly do
not
want to keep you from going about your business.  In fact, I will have my servants escort you to the ferry and see you returned to the reserve.”

I pretended agreement.  “That will suffice, but I need my sword.  It is precious to me, a gift from a loved one.  I cannot go without it.”

His face displayed surprise.  He looked through the door at as much of the room as he could see.  “Your weapon is not here?”

“No, and I am
sure you understand that a duelist cannot duel without sword in hand.”

“I shall make
inquiries on your behalf,” he assured me.

“That will not do.  I want to see Angelique.”  I made myself sound angry so that he might underestimate the strength of my bond to the child.  “I am certain the little thief took it.  Such ingratitude, after all I was going to do for her.  First she poisons me, and then she steals from me!  She will be fortunate if I do not take my whip to her.”

I wanted him to think that I was done with the girl.  After all, how likely was it that we would have bonded as thoroughly as we had upon such short acquaintance?  I myself was vastly surprised.

I saw belief in his eyes and relief that the bone of contention between us had become merely a missing sword. 
It was then that I judged him to be who he appeared—the Keeper.  The Gamesman would not have been taken in so easily.

“Remain here,” he ordered.  “I will discover what she has done with your blade.  I understand about having one’s favorite tools in hand.”  He turned to leave.

“Wait,” I cried.  “I want to go with you.  She may not tell you the truth, but she will certainly tell me!”

He hesitated.  Suspicion still lurked in his mind. 
I tried to lay it to rest.

“You are well protected from mischief by your servants.  Even in the best condition, how could I possibly prevail against them?  Not that I want to
.” 
I smiled pleasantly at him as I stepped closer to the doorway, adding a playful lilt to my voice.  “Is it not natural that I might desire such handsome company?”  I gave him a small pout.  “Do you not like me even a little?”  Once more, Fate had thrust me into the role of seductress.  I hoped I looked more convincing than I felt. 

A final step brought me up to the simulacra.  Their arms came up to bar my way.  I improvised a moment of dizziness, sagging into their support.  “Oh!”  I put my hand to my bowed head, and covered my eyes a moment.  See how defenseless I am?  Surely, you cannot be afraid of
one so helpless.

As I hoped, enough chivalry lay within his heart to compel him closer.

I
recovered
a little, and reached out to place my hands in his.  I looked up into his bearded face with a display of gratitude that assumed generosity of spirit on his behalf.  “If you would only lend me your arm for a moment, I am sure I will be fine.”

The simulacra tightened their hold on me, having no order to let me pass.  I released a small squeak of pain, as if they were hurting my soft and tender flesh.  It proved the final straw, breaking the Keeper’s defenses.  Irritably, he waved off his guards and pulled me into the comforting shelter of his arms.  I lay my head against his barrel chest and murmured a sound of contentment.

“Are you sure you feel well enough to accompany me?” he asked.

“Yes, I am feeling better already. 
If I might trust to your strength a little longer—”

“It is my pleasure to serve
.”  He dipped his head in respect as he said this, and I knew I had hooked him, if only for the moment.

After we moved a small ways down the outer hall, I stopped and turned into him.  “Oh, would you have one of your servants fetch my whip from the door.  I might not want to return to the room for it later.”  I smiled coyly at him.  “You can carry it for me if you wish.”

I offered to let him do what he no doubt had decided upon already.  He had accommodated me a great deal thus far, but it would have been stupid to arm me with any kind of weapon, and the Keeper was not that.  Lonely perhaps, and a bit too trusting of appearances, but not stupid; he had neutralized my threat easily enough, or so he thought.  A pity
he had forgotten that a woman’s beauty and vulnerability are her greatest weapons.

My whip was retrieved by one of the metal men.  He held it for the Keeper and followed closely
behind while the other creature led the way.

As we advanced, my host sought to
influence and win me firmly to his perspective.  “You have to understand, the feral children we take in would otherwise burden the system.  None are ever mistreated.  We give them purpose and structure.  We give meaning to their existence.”

“And if they resist?”  I was truly curious how he would answer. 
“Not everyone appreciates their afterlife being hammered out for them.”

He rumbled on, fanaticism warming his tone, “We all must serve the system
as required.  Otherwise, chaos reigns.”

I kept my thoughts to myself on that subject.  Argument would accomplish nothing.  The important thing was, I would soon see my little Angel, and together, we would continue the quest that had brought me to this realm
—no matter what the Keeper thought about it. 

He took me to another of those little magic rooms with the buttons on a wall.  The grating closed and I felt lighter on my feet as the chamber outside rose.  I took this to mean we were descending.  A great many floors passed until I grew convinced we had to be beneath the lake bottom, well
under the city. 

We stepped into a broad hallway lined with thin,
circular columns that fanned out at their crowns into a vaulted roof.  Between each column, closed doors muted the thunder of mysterious devices.  I heard clacking and hissing, and imagined massive gears and valves leaking steam.  I thought of how the various sections of the city were made to move at the whim of the Gamesman, and guessed that the engines locked away down here were responsible.

So what did the Keeper use the children for,
slave labor to tend his iron giants and fashion parts as needed?

I could not imagine anything worse than taking children with nothing left, but precarious freedom, and locking them in a world of pounding sound and wilting heat, never to see the sun or play again.  If I had my sword, I would have cheerfully plunged it into the Keeper’s cold unfeeling heart at that moment.

At last, we reached a door on the right that looked no different from any of those we had passed.  One of the servants opened it.  We followed him into a vast space—the heart of obscenity!

Stripped of her clothes, my little Angel was strapped on the underside of flat mesh the size of a mattress.  Chains on the corners of the frame ran up into an iron box which was in turn suspended between a pair of rails that hung in the air without apparent support.  I had only a fleeting moment to absorb her situation before the box clacked and moved, swinging her into cloying darkn
ess, on a course away from me.

“Angelique!”  I senselessly called her name, as if she could have stopped her wild ride
if she only wanted to.  I burst away from the Keeper, and ran after the mechanism as fast as I could.  A simulacre tried to stop me, but desperate fear gave me enough speed to evade it.  I wove past shifting rods and massive winding gears.  I ran beside pipes radiating fierce heat. 

M
y body dampened instantly with sweat, as if every part of me were crying.

“Mamma,” Angelique screamed, “help me!” 

I saved my breath for running, and tried not to break my neck while watching her and my footing at the same time.  I cursed in thought and fell further and further behind, with no idea what I was going to do once I reached her.

Abruptly, I found myself on a fenced walkway that ringed a monstrous vat.  Disgusting odors rose in a yellow cloud as the liquid inside churned and bubbled.  The mechanism carrying my Angel dallied above the vat, as if waiting for me to arrive for some spectacular show.

Horror closed my throat, or I would have screamed it raw as the chains lengthened.  Angelique shrieked as she plunged into the waiting cauldron.

Frantically, I climbed the fencing, intending to toss myself after her and break her free.  I had a good chance of surviving after all, as long as I had the silver mask with me.  I would not—I could not—lose my Angel now.  Even if this killed her, she would return to me if I could keep her from total destruction.

Before I could carry out my intentions, the Keeper arrived and snatched me from the fence.  He trapped me in arms like iron bands.  I struggled, but only exhausted the last of my strength.

The Keeper spoke with a calmness that outraged my spirit.  “A very special piece broke, you see.  We needed an immediate replacement.  This is the same process used to create simulacre, but this potent a mixture removes all elasticity from undead tissue. 
The children who become actual gears in the machine have no need to move on their own—only to be moved.”