The Fire Chronicle (14 page)

“I believe this is the grave,” said Dr. Pym.

“What?” Michael said.

“I believe this is the tomb we are searching for.”

The wizard was standing before a rectangular stone box. It was roughly seven feet long, three feet wide, rose four feet off the ground, and seemed to Michael no different from any of the scores of tombs they’d already passed.

“That was easy,” Emma said.

“But,” Michael said, “how do you know?”

“Different areas of this island were developed at different times. The pig merchant’s letter was dated in the last quarter of the eighteenth century. That would place our deceased sort of here-ish.” The wizard waved his arm in a half circle. “I thought we’d have to search a bit, but it appears we got lucky.”

“But how do you know this is
his
grave?” Michael demanded. “We still don’t know his name.”

“My boy,” the wizard said, “we don’t need to know his name. We have this.”

He gestured for them to approach the tomb. There, chiseled
into the center of the stone lid, visible through a glaze of ice, were three interlocking circles. Michael later sketched the symbol into his journal—

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“It is a thing I have not seen for more than two thousand years,” replied the wizard. As he spoke, he reached out and traced the rings with a finger. “Long ago, before Alexander the Great attacked the city of Rhakotis and caused the Books of Beginning to be scattered and lost, the Books were kept beneath a tower in the center of that city. The magicians who had created the books established the Order of Guardians, fierce warriors who had pledged to protect them with their lives.”

“Wait, I remember!” Michael exclaimed. “The Countess told us about them!”

The wizard nodded. “And as you know, when the city was overrun, I myself fled with the
Atlas
, which I later entrusted to the dwarves of Cambridge Falls.”

Michael nodded, signaling his approval of the wizard’s choice.

“It has always been my suspicion that the Order escaped with at least one of the books. But though I have searched unceasingly all this time, I have found no sign of either the missing two books or the Order. That is, until now. This”—he laid his hand flat upon the tomb, almost obscuring the rings—“is their symbol.”

Michael’s heart was pounding with excitement. He’d decided
he would excuse the wizard’s lapse in oldest-sibling protocol this one time.

“If Dr. Algernon’s letter is to be trusted,” Dr. Pym went on, “and this is the tomb of that same feverish man, then we may assume that the Order did indeed rescue one of the books. The questions now are: Did our fellow make a map? And if so, is the map still here, or did your parents take it? There is only one way to find out.”

“You mean,” Michael said, “we have to open the tomb?”

“I am afraid so.”

“That dead guy,” Emma said, “he’s not gonna be a zombie or anything, is he?”

“I think the chances are very low.”

“You said that about meeting a troll. And guess what, we—”

“My dear, he is not a zombie. I promise.”

The wizard told the children to go to one end of the tomb, while he positioned himself at the other.

“Remember, lift with your legs.”

“Dr. Pym,” Michael said, “this is solid stone. It must weigh a thousand pounds.”

“Michael’s kinda weak,” Emma said. “I’ll do most of the lifting.”

Michael was about to argue, but the wizard cut him off.

“I have a feeling it is not as heavy as it looks. Ready? One … two … 
three
!”

To Michael’s surprise, the stone lid came off easily.

“That’s it,” the wizard said. “Watch your fingers and toes.”

They leaned it against the side of the tomb.

Emma looked at Michael. “Don’t bother thanking me or anything.”

“Oh please, Dr. Pym obviously—”

“Well, that is interesting.”

Dr. Pym was peering into the tomb. The children joined him.

“Ahhhh!”
Emma shrieked, and fell back.

The entire bottom of the stone box was one dark, squirming mass. Michael could make no sense of what he was seeing; it was almost like—

“Rats!”

There were dozens of them. Perhaps hundreds. Wriggling and crawling all over each other. Long, naked tails whipping this way and that. Their gray-brown bodies writhing atop each other, their eyes glittering black and jewel-like.

“Those’re rats!” Michael said again.

“That they are.”

“Don’t just stand there!” Emma cried. “Do something! Zap them or something!”

“And why would I do that, my dear?”

“Why? What do you mean, why? They’re rats!”

Emma’s whole body was rigid, and there was a look of pure, undisguised panic on her face. It occurred to Michael that his sister was afraid. But that was ridiculous. He’d never known Emma to be afraid of anything, even things a person should be afraid of, like giant hairy spiders. Once, a wildlife expert had brought a bunch of snakes and lizards and spiders to their school for a demonstration. Halfway through, an enormous yellow-and-black tarantula had gotten free. There’d been a stampede of screaming
children. But Emma, sitting in the front row, had calmly picked up the spider and plopped it back in its glass cage.

“Tell me,” the wizard said, “do you notice anything odd about these rats?”

“Uh …” Emma’s voice was not at all steady. “They’re still alive and you’re not doing anything about it?”

But Michael thought for a second, then said: “They’re quiet.”

“Exactly so,” the wizard replied. “This many rodents should be creating a terrible racket. There is more here than meets the eye.”

Emma muttered, “I’m gonna throw up.”

The wizard stepped to a scraggly tree that was growing between two mausoleums and broke off a long, dry limb. Michael watched as the wizard then poked the stick into the swirling gray mass. To Michael’s surprise, it went right through.

“An illusion. Designed to discourage intruders. There are no rats. Indeed, I seem to feel a sort of shaft.”

Emma took a half step closer. “So … they’re not real?”

“Not at all. Now, one of you should come below with me while the other stays here and watches the way back to Malpesa. Just in case we were seen.”

“You mean climb down into the rat hole?” Emma asked. “You—”

“I’ll do it,” Michael said quickly. “Emma can stay up here.”

“Very good,” the wizard said. Then he took the branch he was holding and broke it into thirds. He handed one of the sticks to Emma.

“Rub this on any surface, and it will burst into flame. But only
do so if you’re coming below. Otherwise, you’ll make yourself too visible.” The wizard looked at Michael. “I’ll go first.”

He draped his long legs over the side of the stone coffin. Michael and Emma watched with horrified fascination as his foot went into the swarming tide. For a moment, the creatures seemed to swirl around it, then his foot disappeared, and then his legs, and his chest, and finally, his white head vanished into the nest of rats.

The children were alone. Michael turned to Emma.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t stand on top of a mausoleum. Silhouettes are really visible in the dark.”

“Okay.”

“And sound will carry a long way; so I’m afraid no singing or whistling to keep yourself company.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and don’t stare too long at any one thing. Look at something, look away, then look back. It’s an old sentry’s trick.”

“Michael …”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be fine. You be careful too.” She gave him a hug. “I love you.”

She released him, and Michael stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

“Go ahead,” Emma said finally. “Dr. Pym’s waiting.”

Michael nodded, then climbed up the side of the tomb, took a deep breath, and lowered himself down.

“Take this.”

The wizard handed Michael a burning torch. They were in a large cavern directly below the grave. Michael had found it unnerving, submerging himself in the squirming pool of rats, and though he’d known it was an illusion, he’d shut his mouth and eyes tight as he’d gone under. But he hadn’t been bitten, and a moment later, he’d found himself in a shaft that burrowed downward from the tomb. An iron ladder was affixed to the rock wall. The wizard had called up to him, and Michael had seen the red glow of the wizard’s torch thirty yards below.

“So,” Dr. Pym said, “we must decide which way to go.”

The cavern was unlike the caves and tunnels that Michael and his sisters had explored near Cambridge Falls. Both the ceiling and the floor were studded with stalactites and stalagmites,
so the effect was like being in the mouth of a great, many-fanged beast. And there was water everywhere, dripping from the ceiling in a constant
thip … thip … thip
, running in rivulets down the walls, collecting in pools upon the floor. And there was the air itself, which was so moist and thick with minerals that every breath tasted like a dose of medicine.

As to where they should go, Michael could see two choices, two tunnels that faced one another across the cavern.

“Now, I would wager that tunnel,” the wizard pointed to their left, “runs back to Malpesa. While this fellow,” he gestured to the right, “seems to continue on beneath the cemetery. What do you think?”

Michael had no idea. Part of his mind was still back in the graveyard. He hoped that Emma had listened to his advice. He hated leaving her alone.

He tried to make himself focus.

“Well—”

“Or we could go that way!”

Dr. Pym pointed to the far side of the cavern. At first, Michael saw only rocks and the play of shadows. But then, looking closer, he perceived that one of the shadows was in fact a narrow fissure, a sort of crack in the cavern wall.

The wizard smiled. “Lucky we’re both slim, eh?”

They had to scoot through the crease sideways, and the jagged edges of the rock wall ripped at Michael’s jacket and the legs of his pants; once, he banged his knee and had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. Finally, the crevice widened, and Michael and Dr. Pym could walk normally. But the way was still dark, and
the only sounds were their footsteps and the soft flutter of the torches. Michael hung close to the wizard’s heels and began to ask questions. Mostly, he wanted to hear the wizard’s voice.

“So, that letter Dr. Algernon found was from two hundred years ago?”

“Yes, give or take.”

“And the man with the fever, the one who was in the Order, said he and the others had taken the book out of Egypt; and that happened more than two thousand years ago.”

“That’s right. Oh, Michael, my boy—”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please don’t set fire to my suit. It’s my only one.”

“Sorry.” Michael slowed and put another few inches between his torch and Dr. Pym’s back. “So wouldn’t he, the sick guy, have had to be really, really old?”

Michael heard Dr. Pym chuckle; the sound seemed to bounce from wall to wall.

“Indeed he would. Which raises an even more interesting question. There are two remaining Books of Beginning. Each has unique powers. Tell me, have you given any thought as to what those powers might be?”

Michael had. He and Emma had debated the subject endlessly since their return to Baltimore—Kate had refused to join in, saying, “The Books’ll be what they’ll be; I don’t want to think about them till I have to.” But all of his and Emma’s theories about the Books’ possible powers—the power to fly, the power to become superstrong, the power to talk to insects (Michael had
once seen a documentary that said there were more than a trillion insects on earth and how if they all worked together, they could take over the planet), the power of endless ice cream (one of Emma’s favorites, which Michael had maintained was not actually a power), the power to talk to people a long way off (another of Michael’s, though whenever he’d mentioned it, Emma had always said, “Yeah, that’s called a telephone”)—suddenly seemed either too small or just plain silly.

“Yeah, but nothing good.”

“Allow me to give you a hint,” the wizard said. “You correctly pointed out that the man in the pig merchant’s letter would have been thousands of years old. And yet, the members of the Order were men with normal life spans. How do you explain this fellow living as long as he did?”