Hester lowered the knife.
Tom and Theo came hurrying through the trees, slithering down the steep lawn. "What's happening?" shouted Theo, who was in the lead. "Wren? Are you all right?"
"She's trying to kill him!" Wren had sunk to her knees. She was crying so much that they could hardly make out her words, but she kept repeating them until they understood.
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"She wants to kill Pennyroyal!"
Tom looked down at Pennyroyal, who raised a trembly hand.
"Tom, my dear fellow, let's not be hasty...."
Tom didn't answer for a moment. He was remembering how it had felt to lie on his back in the snow of Anchorage, sure that he was about to die. He could still feel the hole in his chest, and taste the blood. He could still hear the fading throb of the Jenny's engines as Pennyroyal made off with her. For a moment he felt as fierce as Hester, ready to seize the knife himself and finish the old scoundrel. But the feeling passed quickly, and he reached for his wife's hand. "Het, look at him. He's old and helpless and his palace is going down in flames. Isn't that revenge enough? Let's get him aboard the Jenny quickly, before this place sinks any lower."
"No!" shouted Hester. "Have you forgotten what happened last time we let him aboard? Have you forgotten what he did to you? He nearly killed you! You can't just forgive him!"
"Yes, I can," said Tom firmly. Kneeling beside Pennyroyal, he nodded to Theo to help lift him. "What's the alternative? Murder him? What would that achieve? It wouldn't change anything...."
"It would," said Wren, and there was such an odd sound to her voice that Tom looked up at her. She was crying with big, unladylike sobs, her face wet with snot and tears. She scrambled away fearfully when her mother turned toward her, and shouted out, "If she kills him, he won't be able to tell you how she sold Anchorage to the Huntsmen."
Hester jerked her head as if the girl had hit her. "Lies!"
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she said. She tried to laugh. "Pennyroyal's been filling her up with his lies!"
"No," said Wren. "No, it's true. All these years everybody's been so grateful to her for saving us from the Huntsmen, when all along it was her who brought them down on us in the first place. I wanted it not to be true. I told myself it couldn't be. But it is."
Tom looked at Hester, waiting for her to deny it.
"I did it for you," she said.
"Then it's true?"
Hester took a step backward, away from him. "Of course it's true! Where do you think I went to, that night I took the Jenny? I flew straight to Arkangel and told Masgard where he'd find Anchorage. It was that or lose you, and I couldn't have--I couldn't have! Oh, Tom, for the gods' sakes, it was sixteen years ago; it doesn't matter now, does it? Does it? I sorted it out, didn't I? I killed Masgard and his men. And I only did it for you...."
But it had been a different Tom Natsworthy whom she had loved enough to betray whole cities for. That Tom had been a brave, handsome, passionate boy who might have forgiven her; but this older Tom, this timid Anchorage historian who stood staring at her with his stupid mouth hanging open in dismay and his stupid daughter sniveling beside him, would never understand what she had done. Neither of them would. She was nothing like them. She had been a fool to believe that she could live in their world.
"All these years," she said, flinging her knife away. "All these years in Vineland," she said, watching it flash as it stuck quivering in Pennyroyal's lawn. "All these years with you
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both ... Gods, I've been so bored!
She was shaking, and it made her remember the night of MEDUSA, when she'd first dared to kiss Tom. She had shaken uncontrollably then, back at the beginning of it all, and here she was shaking again as it all came to an end. She turned and walked quickly away from him across the ruined gardens. Through a gap in the smoke ahead, she saw something loom square and low. She thought it was a building, then realized it was some sort of stupid maze. Well, it would do. She strode fast toward the entrance.
"Hester!" shouted Tom behind her.
"Go!" She glanced back. He was scrambling after her, a frantic silhouette against the blaze of the Pavilion, Wren hanging back behind him with her African boy. "Go!" she shouted, turning without stopping, walking backward for a pace or two, pointing at the Jenny Haniver. "Just get Wren aboard and go, before Pennyroyal steals the bloody thing again...."
But Tom only shouted again, "Hester!"
"I'm not coming, Tom," she said. She was crying. Smoke blew past her, and burning scraps of envelope fabric, and the hot wind raised the skirts of her coat like black wings, and she looked like some terrible angel. "Go back to Vineland. Be happy. But not with me. I'm staying here."
"Hester, don't be stupid! This place is falling apart!"
"It's just falling," said Hester. "I'll survive. There are towns below: hard desert towns, scav platforms. My kind of place."
He had almost caught up with her. She could see his face shining with tears in the light from the blazing buildings. She wanted very badly to go to him, to kiss him and hold him,
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but she knew that she could never touch him again, because what she had done would always come between them. "I love you," she said, and turned and ran, plunging into the maze while the deck plates pitched and reared beneath her, and sounds that were half sobs and half laughter came out of her mouth without her meaning them to. Behind her, fainter and fainter, she heard Tom shouting her name. Overhead, Cloud 9's gasbags were igniting one by one, filling the maze with weird racing shadows. Hester sobbed and stumbled, the hedges scratching her face as she blundered into them. She was just beginning to realize that this was a bad place to be, that she would need better shelter than this when the deck plate came down, when she reached the heart of the maze. Something crouched there, as if it had been waiting for her all along.
She came to a stop, skidding on the grass. The waiting shape unfolded itself and stood up, towering over her. She thought at first that it was made of fire, but that was just the reflections from the burning gasbags shining in its dented, burnished armor. Its dead face widened into a smile. Hester knew that face; she had shoveled earth over it herself, eighteen years ago on the Black Island, burying the old Stalker deep and piling stones upon his grave. It seemed she'd been wasting her time, though. She could smell the familiar smell of him: formaldehyde and hot metal.
"Hester?" called Tom's voice faintly, away in the gardens somewhere and lost to her now forever.
And Grike reached for her with his dreadful hands and said, "HESTER SHAW."
***
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Another gasbag went up with a roar, a geyser of light escaping into the sky. Tom found himself airborne for a moment as the deck plate dropped. He hit the grass hard, rolled, and came to a stop against a statue of Poskitt. "Hester!" he shouted as he scrambled up, but his voice was cracking with the effort, and then his heart seemed to crack too. He kneaded his chest, but there was no relief: He was on his knees; on his face; pain nailed him to the lawn. He blacked out, and when he woke, someone was with him. "Hester?" he mumbled.
"Daddy ..." It was Wren, her hands on his back and his shoulders, her face looking down at him, tearstained and frightened.
"I'm all right," he told her, and it was true, the pain was passing, though he felt sick and giddy. "It's happened before.... It's nothing."
He tried to stand, but Wren's friend Theo came and picked him up, lifting him with barely an effort. He must have lost consciousness again as Theo carried him back across the gardens, because he thought that Hester was with him, but when he looked round she wasn't, and they were already at the Jenny's open hatchway, Pennyroyal peering out at them from the flight-deck windows. It was confusing, especially with the whole garden tilting and swaying like this, and the only thing he could be sure of was Wren, who was holding his hand very tightly and trying to smile at him, though she was crying at the same time. "Wren," he said, "we can't go; we have to find your mother...."
&nb
sp; Wren shook her head, and helped Theo heave him aboard. "We're going to get you away from this awful place
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before it's too late," she said.
The hatch closed, and as Theo went forward to the flight deck to help Pennyroyal start the engines, Wren knelt over her father, holding him the way that he had held her when she was a very little girl, when she was sick or frightened. "There, there," he used to whisper to her, and so she whispered, "There, there," and stroked his hair, and kissed him, until he was calm again. And she tried not to think about Mum, and the things that Mum had done and said, and the trembling light that had shone from the blade of Mum's knife. She tried to remember that she did not have a mother anymore.
How she had aged!
Grike had thought he understood the Once-Borns and the things time did to them, but it was still a shock to see his poor child's lined and weather-beaten face, her beautiful red hair turning coarse and gray. He reached toward her, sheathing his claws, and she reacted in the way most Once-Borns did when the chase was done and there was no escaping him: that wordless keening, and the sudden hot stink as her bowels emptied. It hurt him that she was afraid of him. He pulled her close as gently as he could and said, "I HAVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH."
And Hester, crushed against his dented armor, could only shudder, and weep, and listen to the saddest sound she'd ever heard: the dwindling roar of twin Jeunet-Carots as the Jenny Haniver took off without her.
And Cloud 9 touched down at last, first the dangling cable car plowing into the sand like a drag anchor, then the edge of
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the deck plate catching on a reef of rocks. Catwalks torn from the underside went striding end over end across the dunes; smashed flying machines and uprooted trees spilled down into the desert. A hawser snapped; a sagging gasbag broke free and fell upward, soaring through smoke and dust. Whole sections of the Pavilion burst, shedding antiques and objets d'art like shrapnel. Stairways crumpled; sundecks buckled; swimming pools imploded. Cloud 9 bounced, slicing the top off a gigantic dune. Candy-colored domes bowled off across the desert, pursued by greedy townlets. The wreckage crashed down again, belching fire, trailing cables and collapsing gasbags; crashed and skidded and spun and shuddered to a stop.
There was a time of silence, broken only by the mineral sigh of a billion grains of upflung sand sifting gently down. And in that silence, before the scavenger towns came roaring in to gobble up the wreckage, the Stalker Grike stood up and lifted Hester in his arms, and walked away with her into the desert, and the dark.
Philip Reeve, Infernal Devices
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