Darkwalker

CHAPTER 21

For the first time in several days, Zach knew where he was. That should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. If anything, it made him feel smaller, more forsaken, than ever before. That was because his captors had chosen the creepiest place in all of Kennian to stash him.

Zach had never much liked churches. When he was small, the nuns used to force him to attend prayers in the chapel at the orphanage, and every now and then he’d been dragged—literally—to weekend service at the larger of the two churches in the poor quarter. The nuns didn’t make him go anymore, though. They had long since grown tired of the pranks, the outbursts, the embarrassments. Zach had succeeded in making such a nuisance of himself that his immortal soul was deemed not worth the trouble, and that was fine by him. It wasn’t just that church was boring, though it was, or that its rituals were weird, though they were. Zach didn’t like the way church made him feel. He didn’t need to be told that it was wrong to steal, or to lie or cheat or any of the other things he did on a daily basis. God punished him for those things all the time, by making him go hungry, or letting him get beaten. The trouble was, God’s punishments forced him to commit those sins again, which in turn made God punish him more. Zach had asked the priests how he was supposed to break this cycle, and they’d told him to pray.

He wondered if he should pray now. It had never worked for him before; he still went hungry, still got beaten. But maybe God would hear him better if he prayed in a church. Churches were supposed to be Houses of God, after all, though admittedly Zach wasn’t sure about abandoned churches. He gazed up at the peeling frescoes and wondered if God was watching him through the sad eyes of the angels. If not God, maybe the angels themselves were watching, judging, already tallying the sum of his deeds so they would be ready with their verdict when he . . .

No, he told himself firmly, pushing the thought away. It’s just a building. And you won’t be here for long. It wasn’t that hard to convince himself, since he was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to die like this. He’d always figured that if he got it someday, it would be at the hands of some archcriminal he’d been chasing for months. That was how big-shot inspectors went down. They didn’t get snuffed in churches for no reason at all.

His captors had brought him here last night, trussed up in a burlap sack like a kitten waiting to be drowned. He was surprised when dawn came and he could see where he was. He’d never been inside the abandoned cathedral, but every Kennian knew it. Zach had walked past it dozens of times, and had even tried unsuccessfully to break in once or twice, just to satisfy his curiosity. It was big and dark and deserted, which made sense, but it was also within the city walls, which didn’t. It seemed awfully brave of his captors to bring him back into the city when the hounds were out looking for him. Then again, maybe they knew that the walls were too thick for anyone to hear him scream. He’d certainly tested that theory.

Zach had no idea why they’d moved him, but he liked to think it was because Lenoir was getting close. Not that whisking him away would help; Lenoir would track his captors down wherever they went. Zach imagined the inspector kicking open the ancient wooden doors of the cathedral, a pistol in each hand, his figure silhouetted against the sunlight. Pigeons would erupt from the rafters in fright as Lenoir strode boldly between the rotting pews, his eyes burning with righteous fire. Zach’s kidnappers would try to flee, but Lenoir would bring them down with a puff of smoke from his flintlock. Over and over Zach pictured this scene, his imagination refining it a little each time. Maybe Lenoir would carry a saber instead of a pistol? No, the inspector was no swashbuckler—even Zach could see that. Besides, a pistol was better; it could drop a man from clear across the room, so the kidnappers wouldn’t have a chance to escape.

That was assuming there would be anyone around when Lenoir arrived. Zach hadn’t seen his captors since before dawn. For all he knew, they’d left the cathedral altogether.

His captors were planning something big for him, and soon. They probably meant to do to him what they’d done to the other boy, the one who’d screamed and screamed. Only this time, whatever had gone wrong was supposed to go right. Though no one said so, Zach knew instinctively that if it didn’t go right, people would die, and he would probably be one of them. He had to get out of here before that happened. Lenoir was coming for him, but that didn’t mean he had to sit around and wait, did it? If nothing else, it was probably a good idea to come up with an escape plan so he knew what to do when Lenoir started shooting.

Zach decided to map out his new location, as he’d done in the cellar and the farmhouse before it. Planting his heels and dragging his bottom, he inched his way out of the chapel and into the main body of the cathedral.

It was even spookier out here. Thin blades of light sliced between the boards covering the windows, casting the nave in ghostly relief. Wind moaned and wailed through unseen cracks, echoing eerily under the vaulted ceiling. Zach was uncomfortably aware of the space around him, of the empty gaze of stone generals peering out from the gloom, and he shivered against a chill that had little to do with the cold. He wondered if it was possible for churches to be haunted. He’d heard somewhere that the cathedral sat upon a vast web of catacombs, the walls of which were stuffed with corpses. It certainly seemed like the kind of place that would be haunted.

He dragged himself forward until he came to a sort of dais, a short set of steps that led to a pulpit fringed with a wooden rail. It was from this spot, he supposed, that the high priest once lectured everyone about their wickedness. It had long since been stripped of anything valuable or fine, yet it still seemed to radiate judgment into the shadows beyond, a virtuous island in a sea of sin. Zach paused to rest against the stairs. He was surprised how tired he was. He was used to going without much food, after all. On the other hand, he wasn’t used to being tied up and going without sleep for days on end.

A glint of metal caught his eye. It lay on the floor a few inches from his boot, lined up with the stairs. He shuffled closer. A metal cylinder about as big around as his fist was embedded in the floor, its top protruding about two inches from the tile. The rim was uneven, as though it had been filed down in a hurry. Something had once stood here—the Golden Sword, maybe?—that had been looted sometime in the past. Whoever took it hadn’t bothered to make a clean cut. However much time had passed, the metal still looked sharp.

Zach’s stomach did a little flip. Spinning on his bottom, he turned his back to the ring of metal, waving his fingers around until he located it. He shimmied back until he was almost sitting on top of it. Then he started to work at the ropes binding his wrists.

It didn’t take long, and when the ropes finally came free, Zach yanked his arms apart in triumph. The pain took him by surprise, so sharp and sudden that he nearly cried out. His wrists screamed in protest at their prolonged imprisonment, and his shoulders burned and tingled. Gingerly, he rotated his aching joints until they moved more smoothly. Then he started in on the bonds tying his ankles.

That was harder. He couldn’t get the leverage he needed against the metal ring, and his fingers were weak and uncertain. Eventually, though, he managed to get the knot free, and his legs came apart. Carefully, having learned from the experience of his arms, he tested his weight against his legs. Sure enough, he was wobbly, and he was grateful to have the stairs to lean against. But his legs had been less awkwardly situated than his arms, and after a few seconds, he was able to stand upright without much trouble.

“Maybe I won’t have to wait for Lenoir after all,” he whispered to himself, hearing the sound of his own voice for the first time in a very long time. How proud would the inspector be if Zach managed to get out of this all by himself?

He headed for the massive doors at the bottom of the cathedral. Shadows gathered around him as he drew farther away from the windows, and soon he couldn’t see anything at all. He had to feel along the wood until he found a metal ring, which he hauled against with all his weight. The doors did not so much as rattle. Zach patted and groped, but he couldn’t figure out where the two panels came together, much less how they were secured. He heaved against the ring again, but it was pointless. The doors stayed put.

There had to be another way out. He cast his mind back to the last time he was in a church, but it didn’t help. The church in the poor district was much smaller and laid out differently, and anyway he hadn’t exactly gone exploring. He had no idea where to look for another door. But there had to be one in a building of this size—he was sure of it. He just needed to find it.

He kept close to the walls, ducking through any archway or opening he could find. There were many, each one leading to a dead end, and it wasn’t long before Zach started to get frustrated. How many separate nooks did a single place of worship need? Zach didn’t know a chapel from a vestry, a library from a study, but this cathedral had them all, and none of them had an exit. The first fluttering of panic began to stir in his belly. He could feel the minutes hurtling by, a scary and unfamiliar sensation. Time had always felt like a vast desert stretching endlessly before him; now it slipped through his fingers like a fistful of sand. He started to consider the awful possibility that his captors might return before he could take advantage of his good fortune. He needed to find a way out, and he needed to do it now.

Finally, at the bottom of the south wing, Zach found a door. It wasn’t much more than a slab of gloom in the shadows, and stood ajar, judging from the chill air that gusted from it. Zach leaned into it with his shoulder and was rewarded with a slight shudder. Gathering his weight, he threw himself against it, hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. With a loud bark, the door swung free, sending Zach stumbling into a short corridor. He could see sunlight at the far end. A swell of triumph fueled his limbs, and he dashed forward.

He emerged onto a covered walkway surrounding a grassy courtyard overgrown with weeds. Vines sprawled across the pillars and choked the arcades, and moss erupted between flagstones caked in pigeon filth. A light rain drifted down from the sky, stringing watery jewels along the spokes of a large spiderweb. Zach had never seen this courtyard, and he knew with sinking certainty that it was enclosed by the cathedral walls.

But wait. . . . Zach closed his eyes, remembering the facade of the cathedral as best he could. It had been a long time since he’d been in this part of the city, even longer since he’d paid much attention to the abandoned relic in its midst. But he could swear he recalled a second, smaller door, just to the right of the main doors in the western facade. That would put it at the bottom of the walkway where he now stood. Taking a deep breath and praying as best he knew how, Zach ran to the far end.

Sure enough, the door was there, and his heart leapt. That is, until he saw the chains wrapped around an ancient, rusted lock and realized that the door might as well be made of solid stone.

A sob caught in Zach’s throat, and he sank to his knees. He sat there, slumped in defeat, until a last spasm of defiance sent him hurtling against the door with a scream, his fists pounding painfully against the cold, unyielding wood. He beat the door until the pain became unbearable; then, his rage unspent, he seized a handful of vines and yanked. The stubborn plant didn’t budge, just one more implacable surface in this prison of wood and stone.

Zach paused. He considered the vines more carefully. Snatching up two fistfuls, he hauled against it with all his weight. Some of the thinner stalks snapped, but the bulk of it stayed put. Zach stepped out into the rain and peered up at the covered walkway. It looked flat on top, and was only a few feet shorter than the outer wall. If he could get up there, he could easily get to the top of the wall. Eying the vines again, Zach repeated his experiment with a thick batch growing along one of the pillars supporting the roof of the arcade. As before, it stayed anchored to the stone in spite of Zach’s best efforts to tear it free. Untold years of growing wild against porous, decaying stone had left the roots strong. He tested it one last time, reaching as high as he could and letting himself dangle from the vine. Miraculously, it held.

Zach pulled off his boots, doing his best to avoid the stinging touch of the thistles crowding the edges of the walkway. He tied the laces together and stuffed his already-soaking socks inside. Then he flung his boots up onto the top of the walkway. Choosing the pillar with the thickest vine, he reached above his head and wound his fingers though the ropy plant. Cautiously, he cocked his left leg and grasped the vine with his toes. He pulled.

Roots snapped, and Zach’s foot slipped, but he didn’t fall. Choosing his next foothold more carefully, he found a thicker stalk to anchor his right foot to, and spread his toes wider to distribute his weight. He heaved himself up. Once again, the vine tore free, but not enough to let him fall. Slowly, his heart in his throat, Zach climbed. So long as he didn’t move too sharply, or panic if he slipped a little, the vine would hold.

It took a long time to reach the top of the pillar, and Zach’s arms ached so badly that he almost didn’t have the strength to pull himself over the top. But he did, and he was so overjoyed that he lay on his back and giggled, heedless of the cold rain until he was almost soaked through. He pulled on his boots and heaved himself to the top of the wall surrounding the cloister.

Now he was presented with a new problem. The street was far below, too far for him to jump. The vines didn’t reach the other side of the wall, and there were no footholds he could see. He couldn’t climb, and none of the nearby buildings were close enough to jump to. He needed help.

Zach crouched on the wall, scanning the street for signs of life. For a long time, he saw no one, which wasn’t surprising for this part of town, especially when the weather was foul. Eventually, though, a youth appeared at the far end of the road.

“Hey!” Zach called, his voice croaking from disuse. “Hey, you!”

The youth paused. “What?”

“I need a ladder!”

The youth gave him an incredulous look. “Does it look like I’ve got a ladder?” He walked away.

“Durian’s balls!” Zach swore. He’d started to shiver, and water streamed from his plastered hair. He waited. A long time passed before someone else came along. This time, it was a woman, and she had a pushcart. It was full of straw. Zach flicked his eyes skyward and said a prayer of thanks.

“Hey, miss!” The woman didn’t seem to hear him, so he tried again, waving his arms frantically over his head. “Miss!”

The woman looked his way. She stopped. “What’re you doing up there, stupid child? Break your neck, you will!”

Zach adopted his most pitiful voice. “I’m stuck! Please, miss, let me jump into that cart!”

“Not bloody likely. That’ll break your neck for sure! Besides, I’ve just been mucking stalls. It’s full of horse shit!”

“Please!” Zach’s voice cracked in desperation. “I’ll be fine, I swear! I need to get down right now!”

The woman hesitated, and for a moment Zach feared she would refuse. But then she shrugged and wheeled her load over to the wall, positioning it as close as she could. “You’re a stupid boy,” she called, “but be it on your head.”

Zach bit his lip. Now that he was looking straight down at it, the cart didn’t look like such a soft landing. A big pile of wet straw was certainly better than stone, but it was hardly goose down. It didn’t smell very nice either. But Zach had no choice. If he stayed where he was, his captors would find him and he would die for sure. Swallowing hard, his pulse hammering in his ears, Zach eased himself over the side of the wall and jumped.

He landed in a painful heap, momentarily too stunned to move. His right foot had missed the straw and struck the edge of the cart, and when he shifted, pain arced up his calf and into his thigh. It was probably broken. Still, it could have been worse. Zach sat up and rubbed his head, and was pleased to find himself otherwise intact.

He hopped off the cart, careful not to put weight on his bad foot. “Thanks,” he mumbled to the woman.

“How’d you get up there, anyway?” She squinted at him through dirt-fringed eyes.

“Long story.”

The woman grunted. “Well, you got what you deserved, I suppose, ’cause now you smell like horse shit.” So saying, she wheeled her cart away, leaving Zach standing in the rain.

He paused to orient himself before heading off in the direction of the police station. It would take him a while to get there, especially with his sore foot, but it seemed like the quickest way to find Lenoir. He hobbled down the street, tired and a little dizzy, but hopeful enough to keep his step lively and determined.

The streets were quiet, even several blocks away from the cathedral. The weather had driven everyone indoors. Zach saw no one until he rounded a corner and walked right into someone coming the opposite way. He hit the ground hard, crying out as his bad foot was wrenched beneath him. It was raining hard now, and water streamed into his eyes. He could only vaguely see the tall man who reached down to help him stand.

Zach was pulled to his feet, and found himself gazing up at a tall Adali man with hard eyes. He had never seen the man before, but Zach knew him all the same. A small, helpless sound escaped his throat, and he slumped as though someone had reached inside and pulled his skeleton right out of his skin.

“Come now, boy,” the man said in a voice so familiar that it set Zach’s body to trembling. “Let us get you back where you belong.”