The Fire Chronicle (37 page)

And then, without even really understanding what he was doing, Michael said, “Killick was an old king … of the elves.”

His father’s smile never wavered. “Yes, I remember now. The elves have a great deal of wisdom. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

“Well,” Rourke cut in, “this has been a delightful reunion. But we’re not here to natter away the day. You and your sister
come along and you have my solemn promise that neither you nor your parents will be harmed. Refuse, and I’ll put Richard and every elf in that fortress to the sword, and you will still leave with us. Understand?”

Michael’s mind was spinning. His father hadn’t remembered the quotation. Then he’d acted like he had! And he’d thought that Killick had been an elf! Had he just forgotten?

“Boy, you’re severely testing my patience.”

“Okay. But I … I have to explain it to my sister. I’ll bring her out.”

He needed to get away; he needed space and time to think about what had happened. He started to turn.

“Wait.”

Rourke had his knife to their father’s throat.

“You want to bring out wee Emma yourself, fine. Leave the
Chronicle
.”

Michael could feel the tension in the fortress, the hunger coursing through the Screechers and Imps. It seemed as if all their lives were poised on the edge of Rourke’s blade. He reached into his bag and felt for the hard leather cover he knew so well.

“Let my dad hold it, though. Just till Emma and I get back.”

Rourke smiled. “Of course.”

Michael stepped forward and handed his father the book.

“There’s … a curse on it. Keep it closed.”

He watched as his father ran his hand over the cover.

“I thought it was red.”

“The Order hid it in the lava, so the leather got burned. I’ll be right back.”

He started up the slope toward the fortress. He had to force himself to go slowly. His heart hammered; his nerves were raw and jangly. He stumbled on loose rocks. Halfway to the gate, he glanced over his shoulder. Rourke was watching him, and the moment their eyes met—perhaps the bald man saw something or perhaps he was already suspicious—Rourke snatched away the book that Michael had given his father. Michael didn’t wait for him to open it and look inside; he was already sprinting forward.

“Stop him!”
Rourke shouted.
“Stop the boy!”

The cries of Screechers tore the air. Michael was twenty yards from the gate when he tripped, sprawling full out upon the rocks. He was up in an instant, but the delay had cost him. He could hear the Screechers closing in. Then the elf captain was running out of the fortress, bow outstretched, his hand a blur as he fired a volley of arrows that whistled past Michael’s head and shoulders, finding their marks with an accordion-like
thik-thik-thik-thik
. The elf grabbed him by the arm, shouting, “Run!” and pulled him on. Then they were through the gate, Michael heard the huge doors slam shut, and he fell to his knees, panting.

“Michael?! What happened?! Are you all right?” It was Emma, clutching at his arm. “You gave him the book! And what about Dad?! He’s still out there!”

Michael forced himself to stand. “That’s not … that’s not Dad.…”

“What do you mean?”

“He forgot this quotation, the one he’s supposed to love, and … and he thought King Killick was an elf … and I gave
him
The Dwarf Omnibus
and he thought it was the
Chronicle
. That’s not him!”

Michael could see that Emma didn’t understand, but there was no more time to explain. Out beyond the walls, Rourke was shouting his name. Quickly, with Emma and the elf captain following, Michael climbed up to the battlements.

Wilamena rushed toward him as he stepped off the ladder. “Oh, Rabbit—”

“Not now,” Michael said.

He ran to the wall. Gabriel was already there, staring down the slope. Below them, Rourke had a knife at the throat of the man Michael no longer believed to be his father.
The Dwarf Omnibus
lay upon the ground.

“Lad! I’m giving you one last chance.”

Michael turned toward Emma. “Listen, I know you don’t trust me—”

“What?! What’re you talking about?”

“I mean, not the way you used to! And I understand! But you have to trust me now! That’s not our dad!”

Emma stared at him, and, even without the power of the
Chronicle
, Michael saw the pain of his betrayal still so fresh inside her. It was awful to see it, awful to know that he was responsible. But he didn’t look away. He knew what it was he was asking.

“You’re sure?” she said. “Like, one hundred percent sure?”

Was he that sure? Was it even possible? Even with all the evidence—forgetting the quotation, mistaking Killick for an elf, not recognizing
The Dwarf Omnibus
—with all that, there was still
room for doubt. There was no way to be one hundred percent sure.

But Michael knew, in his gut and in his heart, that that man was not their father.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she said. “I trust you.”

Michael turned to the elf captain. “Shoot him.”

“The bald man? With pleasure.” He notched an arrow and drew it back.

“No,” Michael said. “The man pretending to be our dad.”

Emma, the captain, Gabriel, and Wilamena all stared at him.

“You are certain of this?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes.” He took Emma’s hand, felt how it trembled. “That’s not our dad.”

Emma’s eyes darted nervously from Michael to Gabriel. She was scared, but she was with him. She nodded.

“Boy—”

There was a soft
twang
, and then the shaft of an arrow was protruding from the chest of the man beside Rourke. The mountainside fell silent.

“Michael …” Emma gripped his arm.

“Wait.”

The man slumped to his knees and fell forward onto the black rocks.

Michael stayed absolutely still. He didn’t blink; he didn’t breathe.…

Then Rourke began to laugh, a deep, rolling laugh that echoed all through the canyon. With his boot, he flipped the
man over. Their father had disappeared. In his place lay a short, sandy-haired man with an arrow in his chest.

“He was wearing a glamour!” Wilamena cried. “Rabbit, you’re a genius!”

She seized him and kissed his cheek.

“My dad would never mistake
The Dwarf Omnibus
,” Michael said, trying not to show his relief. “Or think that King Killick was an elf. Ridiculous.” Then he looked at Emma and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for trusting me.”

Emma said nothing, but hugged him tightly.

“Well, lad,” Rourke shouted, “I guess we’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” He turned to his horde. “Bring me the children! Kill the rest!”

And so the battle began.

“What do you mean? Who’s burning the church? The Imps?”

Kate, Rafe, and Beetles were standing in the middle of the street as the revelers continued to spin and dance about them. Rafe had grabbed Beetles by his jacket.

“Ain’t the Imps!” Beetles cried, his eyes wild. “It’s humans! There’re mobs all over the city! Going after anything to do with magic!”

“But the church is hidden!” Kate said. “It’s supposed to be invisible!”

The boy shook his head. “Not no more.”

Rafe said, “What happened to Scruggs?”

“He was with you, right? Went to the Imp mansion?”

“But he didn’t come in! After he gave me the glamour, he stayed in the street.”

“Yeah, well, coming back to the church, he run into a mob going after these two witches. Scruggs stopped ’em, but someone threw a brick or a rock or something and clopped him smack on the head. He’s dead, Scruggs is.”

“Scruggs is dead?” Kate was stunned.

“Sure. Them two witches brought ’im back to the church, told us what happened. I was there when they brought ’im in. He said, ‘I’m thirsty.’ Then fell down dead as dead. Second later—
bang
—the church was there for everyone to see. People on the street started shouting and pointing. Wasn’t a half hour later the mob came. They had torches and guns—”

“And they knew,” Rafe said, “they knew there were kids inside?”

“Sure they knew,” Beetles said. “Miss B told ’em. They didn’t care. They just started burning the church!”

Rafe charged through the crowd, disappearing down the darkened street. Beetles took off after him, and it was all Kate could do to keep up. The long coat hampered her legs, and the boots the gnomes had given her kept slipping on the snow and ice. It was quickly apparent that Beetles was telling the truth: on street after street, they passed gangs of men—sometimes bands of three or four, sometimes a dozen—moving through the city with torches and burning anything that hinted of magic. Kate wondered how she and Rafe hadn’t seen or heard the mobs before, but then perhaps they had, only from a distance, the shouting and the torches were easily mistaken for celebration. It seemed to Kate as if a madness had taken hold of the city, as if people could sense the coming change and knew this was
their last chance to vent their rage before the magic world disappeared.

“What time is it?” she shouted to Beetles as the two of them raced through the streets.

“Past eleven! Got less than an hour till the Separation!”

“Where’s everyone else? Where’s Jake and Abigail?”

“Dunno. The mob was all round the church, and Miss B told me to go find Rafe. She thought he mighta taken you down there. What were you two doing?”

Kate didn’t respond. By then, she could see the flames against the night sky and hear the shouting, and when they came around the last corner, Kate was stopped dead by the sight before her. The church was completely engulfed in flames, the snow melted for a dozen yards all around it. A crowd had gathered in the street; many people waved torches and appeared to be cheering on the fire. She didn’t see Rafe.

“Over here!”

Beetles was sprinting toward an alley across the street from the church. She followed him, and there, huddled between the buildings, were Abigail and twenty other small children. Their faces were streaked with soot, and their eyes were large and filled with fear. Abigail immediately threw herself into Kate’s arms.

“You’re okay?” Kate asked, hugging the girl tightly. “You’re all okay?”

Abigail nodded and wiped at her eyes, tears smearing the ash on her cheeks. “Miss B sent us out the side door. Whole place was on fire, but she went back in, said there were others she had to get out. She’s still in there!”

“What about Jake?” Beetles demanded. “You see Jake get out all right?”

The girl shook her head.

“He’ll be okay,” Kate told him. “He’ll get out.”

Even as they were talking, another group of children came running into the alley. They were covered in soot and terrified. They said they had been trapped inside the church, but that Rafe had broken through the door and led them outside. Kate could see Beetles looking around frantically; he seemed on the verge of tears.

“Where’s Jake? Somebody musta seen Jake? Who seen him get out?”

The children all shook their heads.

“I seen him in the church,” one girl said. “I thought he was coming with us. I don’t know where he is.”

Without another word, Beetles sprinted off toward the church.

Kate looked at Abigail. “Is there somewhere safe you can go?”

Abigail nodded. “The Bowery Theater. Down near the magic quarter. The manager’s a friend of Miss B’s.”

“Go there then,” Kate said. “You’re in charge. You can do this.”

Watching Abigail push out her jaw and square her shoulders, Kate was reminded again of Emma. The young girl turned to face the other children.

“Right! Everybody find someone else to hold hands with! We’re going downtown.”

The children moved about, finding buddies.

“What about you?” Abigail asked Kate.

“I’m going after Beetles.”

And she turned and ran toward the fire.

The church stood at the corner of First Avenue and a narrow cross street, and the mob was massed along the avenue. There were men and boys, and they held torches and knives and clubs. They were all shouting and laughing and cheering, and they threw rocks and bottles crashing through the church’s remaining windows, their faces red and demonic in the light from the blaze. Kate lingered for a moment at the back of the crowd.

How could they do this? she wondered. Where could so much hatred come from? These were children living here; they’d done nothing wrong!

Kate felt anger welling up inside her; she wanted to lash out at the mob, to hurt them; and it flickered through her mind that this must be how Rafe felt all the time.

Forcing herself to focus, she ran around the mob to the cross street behind the church. There was a wall separating the church from the houses on the block, and Kate ran alongside it. The heat from the fire was tremendous and stung her face. Beetles was throwing himself against a flaming door, again and again. Kate pulled him back.

“Stop! It’s too dangerous!”

“He’s still in there!” Beetles sobbed, struggling to get free. “Jake’s still in there! Lemme go! I gotta—”

The door exploded outward. Black smoke billowed forth, and figures stumbled out, a dozen children, seventeen, eighteen, bent over and hacking, their faces blackened with smoke. Kate led
them away, checking each one to make sure that he or she was okay. Jake was not among the children, and Kate turned and saw Beetles shielding his eyes and edging toward the door. She caught the boy as he made to leap.