“Why the Wolf Caves?” Chester inquired as he and Will found a level piece of ground on which to place the stretcher.
“Because of the wolves,” Martha said matter-of-factly.
“Wolves?” Chester spluttered nervously. “I haven’t heard anything.”
“You wouldn’t.” Martha made sure the door was shut and secured, then continued to talk as she went about the business of preparing them some food. “They move like specters, hunting in packs of three or four. They usually pick off stragglers and avoid larger groups of people.” Sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out before her, she sliced the ends off the Loop Snakes, then peeled the pale white skins from them. “I only just managed to escape them the last time I came this way. So if you ever get separated from the rest of us, remember where these caves are.”
Having asked the boys to light a fire, Martha suspended the skinned Loop Snakes over it. When they were cooked, she distributed tin dishes of them to everybody, and Chester seemed to forget his earlier promise that he would never eat them.
“So, what do you make of it?” Will asked as Chester nibbled at a long strip of yellow-white meat.
“Bit like jellied eels,” Chester reflected as he chewed. “But they don’t taste of eel, and they’re not jellied.”
“Helpful,” Will replied, taking his first bite.
PART 3
THE METAL SHIP
16
THEY LEFT the Wolf Caves after a few hours, resuming their journey. Will had lost track of how long they’d been walking when Martha indicated that there was something up ahead.
“We’re close now,” she told them as they came to a rope bridge.
Chester whistled. “I can’t even see the other side. How far across is it?” he said.
“Maybe … a hundred feet,” Will estimated as he regarded the precarious-looking structure that spanned the chasm before them.
“Did you make this?” Chester asked Martha as he and Will put Elliott down. Martha took a step onto the bridge and it swayed and creaked ominously. She took several more steps, cautiously trying each of the wooden slats as she went. “Or was it Nathaniel?” Chester asked, having received no response.
“The boat people,” Martha replied, peering anxiously into the darkness above. “I can feel them. They’re up there.”
“Who?” Will asked.
“We’re near the nests … where the Brights live.” Despite the heat, she shivered. “I can feel them up there — ready to swoop.” Her eyes met with Will’s. “This is a wretched place.
We’re not meant to be here. It’s their place.” Her gaze drifted from Will as if she was seeing something behind him, but there wasn’t anything there.
Will realized that she must be exhausted. Although he and Chester had grabbed the odd nap on the unforgiving ground along the way, they’d found the journey tiring enough. Martha rarely seemed to allow herself even that. She’d been in an almost permanent state of vigilance for the week since they’d left the shack, watching out for dangers and navigating them through the labyrinthine tunnels with phenomenal accuracy.
Her clothes, never clean at the best of times, were stained and filthy, and her face was lined with fatigue. Will watched as her eyes slid shut.
“Hey, Martha,” he said gently.
Her eyes flickered open and she turned to the bridge. “We cross one at a time. And no talking — we have to keep the noise down from here on in.” She took out some Aniseed Fire, but didn’t make a move to light it. “Save it,” she said, as if reminding herself what she ought to be doing. Then she edged forward, the bridge rocking as she began to cross it.
It was Chester’s turn once she was safely on the other side. The boys had decided between them that since Chester weighed the most, he shouldn’t attempt the crossing with Elliott. Instead he just took one of the lighter rucksacks with him.
“I’m not happy,” he grumbled as he started across. “Not happy at all.”
“Safe as houses,” Will told him confidently.
“Oh, brilliant, that’s the kiss of death. I’m doomed for sure now that you’ve said that,” he groaned, raising his eyebrows at Will, who gave him a nod to wish him luck.
From where he was standing, Will could see that Chester’s weight was making the bridge sag. And even though Chester was taking it slowly, the bridge swayed alarmingly and made such loud creaking noises, Will thought the whole thing was going to come crashing down at any moment. But the boy stopped frequently, allowing the bridge to settle down before he continued again, and eventually made it safely to the other side.
Then came Will’s turn. Picking up Elliott and the stretcher, he ventured forward. He’d gone twenty steps when he had to stop. He stood as rigid as a statue. There were two guide ropes on either side of the bridge at waist height and Will longed to grip one of these, but he couldn’t because his arms were full with Elliott.
“It’s a long, long way down,” a voice in his head boomed so loudly he flinched. Just the thing he didn’t want to happen happened: The irrational urge was back, and it was as if he was suddenly under the control of some puppet master. He could so vividly picture himself pivoting over one of the guide ropes and tumbling into the velvety, welcoming darkness below. Somehow, it made such perfect sense. For several seconds he wasn’t aware of anything else, just the overwhelming attraction of the empty air below him as it tried to suck him down. He hadn’t a thought for Elliott, who was totally at his mercy, or for Chester and Martha on the other side of the crevasse; there was only him, and the persuasive, irresistible pull. Then, in that small portion of his brain that was still cogent, he forced himself to consider Elliott and how wrong it would be to take her with him. But it wasn’t enough — the compulsion was too strong.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, no.”
Then something nudged him from behind, and he swiveled his head stiffly around to see what it was. Bartleby stood balanced between the slats, his big eyes peering at Will with incomprehension. The cat had obviously decided that it was time for him to cross, and couldn’t understand why Will was stationary and blocking his way. As Will locked eyes with the cat, the animal gave a low meow — with an intonation that made it almost human; he could have been saying, “Why?”
Will blinked, and the urge flickered like a candle flame in the wind, and then was extinguished. He swung around to see Chester poised at the other end of the bridge. Will began moving forward again, the cat treading softly behind him, nudging the boy when he thought he was stepping too slowly.
Since Martha had told them not to speak, Chester didn’t say anything when Will was back on terra firma again, but his concern showed in his eyes. Will stumbled a little way down the tunnel, where he lowered Elliott to the ground, then slumped beside her, his head in his hands.
Once Rebecca had joined them, they were ready to move on. They hadn’t gone far before they noticed that they were walking on fungus again, and then they were almost immediately faced with the prospect of three successive vertical drops. Will was still feeling drained after the incident on the bridge, and the thought of carefully lowering Elliott and the stretcher down each of the three declines was almost too much to contemplate. It wasn’t another outbreak of the urge that troubled him — for some reason, that didn’t reappear — it was the amount of planning associated with each maneuver. And the slippery surface of the fungus only added to their difficulties. By the time they’d finished the third and final descent, Will was fit to drop. But Martha, by her frantic pointing and gesticulations, wasn’t allowing them a second’s rest.
Half an hour later they entered a sizeable cavern. Will had just detected the distant sound of falling water when Martha slowed to a crawl. Following the beam of her light, Will saw why. Protruding at an angle from the swells of fungus was some kind of small tower, maybe a hundred feet tall. Only its upper half was visible — its dark surface smooth, with a metallic sheen to it — while the rest was encased in swells of fungal growth.
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“The metal ship,” Will whispered, his face breaking into a grin.
They’d finally arrived at their destination. He wanted to shout with joy, but knew he couldn’t. Chester was jabbing his finger frantically to draw Will’s attention to the area underneath the tower, and to the left and right of it. Their lights didn’t penetrate very far into the darkness, and it took Will a few moments to see what Chester was so excited about. The form of the fungus suggested there was more to the tower than immediately met the eye, and whatever it was, it was big. It seemed to be cylindrical, and Will immediately tried to work out what sort of ship it could be. He’d never been terribly interested in them, except for those of historical importance, like the Cutty Sark.
Martha hurriedly shepherded them to the base of the tower. The boys had to keep shielding their faces as strong squalls blasted showers of water at them. Salt water, Will thought to himself as he tasted the tanginess on his lips.
Beyond the tower nothing was visible, just a gaping blackness. Will immediately assumed that the ship was poised on the very edge of another of the Seven Sisters. At first glance it could have been the Pore itself, but the never-ending roar of falling water, like faraway thunder, set it apart.
They climbed up the curved surface of the ship with some difficulty, slipping and sliding as they went, then gathered together at the base of the tower. Martha was using a knife to poke around in the fungus, evidently searching for something. As the knife grated against metal, Martha thrust her hand into the fungus and pulled hard, grunting and straining, until a few links of rusted chain were visible. The fungus growth had clearly enveloped the chain, as it had just about everything else in the vicinity.
With a last effort from Martha, the chain suddenly came free, tearing a line all the way up the fungus sheath. As it rattled against the exposed metal at the top of the tower, Will saw it was secured to something up there. Grabbing hold of the chain, Martha wasted no time heaving herself up. It occurred to Will that they weren’t attempting to jump to the top because of the risk of missing it and ending up in the void.
Chester climbed up next, then lowered a rope to pull up Elliott and the stretcher. After Rebecca had ascended with the rucksacks, it was Bartleby’s turn. The cat was none too happy when Will looped a rope around him so that Martha could hoist him up. Once this was done, Will heaved himself to the top. And found only Martha.
He didn’t have any time to take in where he was, or where the others had gone: A high-pitched wail cut through the air.
“Brights,” Martha said, her voice not much more than a whisper. In a heartbeat, her crossbow was raised and cocked. As Will craned his neck to peer above, he glimpsed dim lights, but these were so vague and undefined it was as if he was viewing fireflies through a mesh screen.
Had he blinked? Suddenly a large object was within the limits of Martha’s light. It seemed to come from nowhere, and Will found it difficult to take in what he was actually seeing.
His first impression was of its color — it was almost pure white. Its wings, nearly thirty feet from tip to tip, were stretched wide. Between these, its body was the size of a full-grown man’s, but there was nothing remotely human about it. Will recognized straightaway that it was some kind of insect from the arrangement of its head and thorax, and from its strange abdomen, which seemed to be split, as if it actually had legs. But as it hovered, Will saw that these twin prongs were not limbs, and were covered in downy feathers, or perhaps mothlike scales. And clinging to its forked abdomen were many small black entities — arachnids. Tiny versions of the spider-monkeys, he guessed on the spur of the moment.
There was something very batlike about the angular outline of the creature’s wings, and this impression was further enhanced as it flapped them once and Will heard their leathery beat.
The bolt hissed as Martha fired straight at the creature. Yet the shot encountered nothing but air. Although no more than fifty feet above the tower, and well within Martha’s practiced range, the creature had simply disappeared.
“What!” Will exclaimed. He was sure he hadn’t blinked — and even if he had, these creatures were preternaturally fast.
He heard another beat of its wings. It appeared again, this time to the left of the tower, and closer. And this time Will had his lantern up. The creature was caught in the full glare of its beam.
Its head was not dissimilar to the size and shape of a football, with a small coiled proboscis dead center, beneath which lay a mouth packed with rows of savage-looking, pearl-white teeth. And right above its proboscis were a pair of silvery disks — Will knew that these probably weren’t eyes, but something like the “ears” Martha had shown him on the dead spider-monkey.
Will was so surprised that, this time, he did blink, but the creature was still there when he opened his eyes. The oddest thing was that its features so strongly suggested a face. And stranger still, on the very top of its head was an oscillating disk — a circular structure emitting a light that seemed to pulse in intensity. Will instinctively knew this must be some kind of lure, to draw its prey to it in the darkness.
With this glimpse of the creature, Will also saw that it had its wings drawn back, as if in a dive.
A dive toward him and Martha.
Will was rooted to the spot by the apparition, but Martha again fired her crossbow. For a second time the creature simply vanished, leaving Will staring at thin air. It took a frantic shout from Martha to bring him back to his senses.
“Get in!” she screamed, bundling him into the opening by her feet. His lantern spun out of his grip, falling below, where he heard it clatter. Will, too, would have fallen, if he hadn’t by sheer luck caught hold of a metal ladder. He managed to climb down a few rungs before Martha, descending with all the delicacy of a stampeding hippo, trod on his fingers.
“Ow!” he cried, extricating his hand as she slammed the hatch shut above them and secured it by turning the circular locking mechanism.
“What in the world was that out there?” he exclaimed, flexing his fingers to ease the pain as he scanned around the confined space he found himself in. “No way was it a spider-monkey!” he added as he realized he was now inside the “tower” of the ship. It was oval-shaped, and numerous pipes and conduits ran down the sides.
“… A Bright,” Martha said breathlessly. “I told you they nest here. They’re a very different kettle of fish from the spiders — they can fly.”
“You don’t say,” Will mumbled to himself as he descended to the bottom of the ladder, passing through another hatch on the way. As he dropped lower, he noticed the air had a stale-ness to it, and he smelled traces of mold and mildew. His feet clanged down on a metal-grilled floor. It was at an angle, and he assumed that was because of the way the ship had settled when it had fallen down the void. As he stooped to retrieve his lantern, Chester rushed up to him.
Will tried to tell him about the flying creature. “You’ll never —”
“Will! Will!” Chester interrupted, gabbling in his excitement.
“This isn’t any old ship! It’s a freakin’ submarine. And a new one at that!” He raised his light so Will could see what lay around him.
“Wild!” Will said, laughing with the strangeness of it all. It reminded him of a scene from a movie. He looked at the panels of electronic equipment, all completely dark and dust-covered. And although it appeared very modern and complex, there were stubs of burned-down candles on some of the flat surfaces. Around them there were pools of melted wax, which had formed long strings as it had dripped to the floor. “They didn’t have any power,” he noted, then stepped to the center of the space, in which there was a column that could have been the periscope, and a small desk above which a Perspex sheet was suspended in a frame. It had contour lines drawn on it as if it was a map, although the sheet was shattered and some of the map missing.
“A submarine,” he echoed, not really taking in what he was saying. “So we just entered through what must be the conning tower. And t
his is the control room or … or the bridge, or something like that. Is that right?”
“S’pose so, yes.” Chester shrugged.
“But how could a submarine get all the way down here? How could that happen?”
“What about that stuff you were telling me about moving dishes?” Chester suggested.
“Moving plates,” Will corrected him. He strolled slowly around, inspecting the sophisticated array of equipment. “Yes, plate tectonics. Some sort of seismic shift on the seabed … perhaps the submarine just got sucked in.” Then he reached where Chester had left Elliott, still on her stretcher. It brought him back to the reason they had come there. “We need those medical supplies. Martha, which way are they?”
“Here,” she said, already heading through a rounded doorway with a raised threshold, then along the gangway on the other side. As they passed a cabin with an open door, Will spotted objects floating in dirty water. Because of the angle of the hull, the water rose above the height of the floor grille down one side of the ship. He saw clothes, a single deck shoe, and some sodden cardboard boxes partially immersed in it, white tendrils of mildew growing over them.
“Hold on a second — there’s something here,” he said as he stooped to pick it up.
“A newspaper,” Chester observed. Will opened it out. Half of it had been turned to a soggy pulp by the water, but the rest was still legible. Will saw a picture of a man with a large moustache; the print around it was in Russian.
As Chester looked over his shoulder, Will pointed to the top of the page. “You’re right — it could be a Ruskie newspaper … but can you read what that says? Is it a date?” he asked.
Chester said, struggling with the word. “Um … I’d have to try to remember what that means — it must be the month — but look here at the year. It’s less than a year old!” Then he frowned. “I don’t even know what the date is now.”