The Emerald Atlas Page 7

  “Used to be,” Abraham said when they’d entered and were gazing about in amazement, “I had a great passion for photography. Perhaps because I was born with this bad leg and couldn’t work the mines. But times change. I haven’t taken a photograph in years.”

  He leaned forward, topping off their mugs with cider.

  “You’re sure nothing’s amiss? You two seem a bit off. Hope you haven’t caught what your brother has.”

  “We’re fine.”

  Unspoken between Kate and Emma was the fact that it was Christmas Eve and ten years to the day since their parents had disappeared. As they were getting dressed that morning, Emma had suddenly and without explanation hugged Kate. They’d stood there in the center of their room and held each other for almost a minute, wordlessly.

  “So you met the Doctor. ’E’s not from Cambridge Falls, you know. Just showed up one day and bought this old place, oh, more’n ten years ago. Took on me and old Sallow.”

  “Abraham …” Kate and Emma had decided to be up front; they needed answers, and the old caretaker was their best, and safest, hope of getting them. “Do you, um, do you remember us? From before. One day beside the lake. Did we just sort of … appear?”

  Kate knew if she’d asked this question two days earlier, Abraham would have had no idea what she was talking about. But since then, she and Emma and Michael had gone back in time. The past was different now. That meant Abraham’s memory should also be different. And in fact, even before she’d finished asking the question, the old man was smiling.

  “Remember you? Three young ’uns just—pop—appearing out a’ nowhere? A person doesn’t go forgetting a thing like that. When I saw you lot get off the boat day before yesterday, I said to myself, Abraham, old boy, them’s the same that stepped out a’ thin air near fifteen year ago, and look at ’em, not a day older. But I’m glad you finally fessed up; I feared I was getting soft.” Abraham leaned closer. “I take it you’ve pieced it together, then? The truth about Cambridge Falls?”

  Kate shook her head. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “Oh, you’re having me on! Two children who go skipping about through time, and I’m to believe you’ve not realized the very nature of the place you live?”

  “We thought … I mean, we suspected there was something strange.…”

  “Strange, oh yes. That’d be putting it mildly.”

  “And Dr. Pym … is he …”

  “Is he what, miss?”

  “Is he a …” Kate couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

  Luckily, Emma’s patience had reached its limit. “Is he a wizard?!”

  “Shhhhhhh!” Abraham scooched his chair even closer, gesturing them to lower their voices. “Let’s not be announcing it in Westport!” Then he winked, grinning. “But you’ve hit it there. The man’s a wizard, true as life.”

  Kate set her cider on the floor. She no longer trusted her hands.

  “And how did the two of you find out? Did he do a spell, perhaps?”

  “He sort of made a fire appear,” Emma said.

  Abraham nodded knowingly. “Yes, a brilliant man, the Doctor, but he couldn’t start a fire to save his own life. Tell me, are you witches, then?” A look of worry crossed his face. “ ’Cause if you are, I’ll just say I’ve never been anything but friendly toward you, and don’t reckon being changed into a goat or growing an extra bottom—”

  “We’re not witches,” Kate assured him.

  “Yeah,” Emma said. “We always thought magic was just some stupid thing Michael talked about.”

  “Is that so?” Abraham rubbed his beard. “You didn’t know magic was real?”

  “It’s not unusual,” Kate said. “Most people don’t think magic is real.”

  “Not even Michael,” Emma added. “And he’s pretty weird.”

  “Then how in heaven’s name did you come—”

  “We’ll tell you everything,” Kate said. “But you have to tell us about Cambridge Falls. The truth.”

  He looked at them for a long moment, then sighed. “Very well. I suppose the cat’s out of the bag. But I’ll be needing my smoke.” And he took out his pipe, tamped the bowl with his thumb, and lit it with a stick from the fire. “Now, the first thing you must know is that the magic world used to be entwined with our own. Like this.” Abraham threaded his knobby fingers together. “Was that way for thousands a’ years. Till people—normal people, I’m talking about—started spreading out and multiplying, putting up towns and cities. Finally, the magical types saw that humankind was unstoppable. So they began carving out territories and made ’em invisible to human eyes and impossible to enter unless you knew the way. Whole chunks just vanished off the map. This went on a century or more. Then, last day a’ December, 1899, what was left a’ the magical world up and disappeared. Whoosh!”

  “But,” Kate interrupted, “that’s not that long ago! People would remember!”

  “This is deep magic we’re talking about, girl. People was made to forget. Forget about the missing islands and forests. Forget such a thing as magic ever existed. Whole history of the world was rewritten. Only thing was, here and there a human town got dragged along. Cambridge Falls was one a’ those. Me, Miss Sallow, folks in the village, we’ve lived next door to magic folk all our lives. Even had dealings with them in better times. But we’re as human as you. Not like them you’d find out there.” He gestured with his pipe out the window. “There’s things in them mountains you wouldn’t believe.”

  The old man leaned forward.

  “Now it’s your turn, my dears. If you’re not witches, how’d you show up that day fifteen years ago?”

  The girls glanced at each other. Their fear was if they told him about the book, he might say it belonged to Dr. Pym and make them give it back. And if that happened, how would they ever save Michael?

  “We lied,” Emma said. “We are witches. We just wanted to see what you knew. Congratulations. You passed.”

  Kate thought that this was a stunningly bad lie, but Abraham was nodding as if he’d suspected something of the sort all along.

  Fair enough, she thought.

  “Abraham,” Kate said, “we need some old photos. From when … she was here.”

  Despite the merry little fire, a chill seemed to settle on the room.

  Abraham lowered his voice. “You mean the Countess, do you? And what would you be wanting with her? Dark times those were. Better forgotten.”

  “Please, we really need them.”

  “And if you don’t give ’em to us, we’ll turn you into a toad.” Emma squinted at Abraham and wiggled a finger. The old man immediately jumped up and scampered to a chest against the wall, whipping it open and beginning to tear through the contents.

  Kate looked at Emma reproachfully.

  Emma shrugged. “He’s getting them.”

  Abraham returned with a thick leather folder stuffed with photographs.

  “She made me her official photographer, you know. Vain creature she was. Always going on about how it was my duty to record her beauty for posterity.” He snorted and handed the folder to Kate. “You can have ’em. I’m well rid of the lot.”

  Kate glanced inside. There were hundreds of photos. Surely, they could find one that would take them back to whenever or wherever Michael was.

  “Abraham, who was the Countess? Is she the reason Cambridge Falls is the way it is?”

  Abraham looked like he didn’t want to answer, but Emma narrowed her eyes, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll tell you what I know. But who she was, where she came from, I’ve truly no idea. She just appeared in Cambridge Falls with fifty a’ them ghouls. Screechers, the children called ’em. I remember one took you three away that day beside the lake, so you know what terrible, cursed creatures they are.” A log hissed and cracked, and Abraham paused to stir the fire with the poker. When he continued, his voice had grown quieter.

  “It was summer. Beautiful day. Not a cloud in sight. Most of t
he men were in the mines. That’s two hours’ walk into the mountains. So it was just the women and children in the village. And me, thanks to this leg of mine.” One hand absently rubbed his bad leg. “I was in my cousin’s house and heard this scream. A sound like nothing I’d ever heard before. Robbed the breath right out a’ me. I ran outside, and one of them monsters was chasing a boy down the street. Picked ’im up and carried ’im off ’fore I could say a word. I followed ’em to the square. Couldn’t believe what I saw. Children everywhere. And them Screechers. They ’ad their swords out and were pushing the mothers back, cutting ’em off from their little ones. And that’s when I saw that golden hair a’ hers, shining there among all them black shapes. She said something, and those monsters drove the children in front of ’em like sheep, down to the gorge and across the bridge. I followed along with the women, who were all wailing and screaming, and …”

  Abraham stopped speaking. He was looking at Kate.

  “You feeling okay, miss?”

  “Your face is all white,” Emma said.

  “I—I’m fine,” Kate stammered. “Please go on.”

  But she wasn’t fine. She was thinking of the children, how scared they must’ve been, how she had left Michael with those monsters.…

  “Please. I’m fine.”

  Abraham nodded and took a drink of cider.

  “Well, old Mr. Langford was living in the big house then. A tiny thumb of a man, he was. And a right rich little bugger too. His family’d run the mines since forever. And he’s standing there on the front steps when she comes up with them monsters a’ hers and all them crying children. He starts asking what she thinks she’s doing, private property and et cetera and so on and does she know who he is, when she gives this little giggle and Lord if one a’ them creatures didn’t cut Mr. Langford right in half. What a sight. One minute the fella was standing there telling her to clear off. Next minute there was two pieces of him. Course, truth be told, no one much liked Mr. Langford, stuck-up little plug he was, but still, terrible way to go. His mouth was still moving when the top part fell off the bottom.”

  Kate and Emma sat completely still, hardly daring to breathe. Abraham stirred the fire again; he was deep in the past. “We’d sent runners to the mines. But it was nightfall before the men were back. We got torches, as many weapons as we could lay our hands on, and crossed the bridge.” Abraham laughed humorlessly. “What were we thinking? We weren’t fighters. And here she was a dark witch with a horde of demon warriors. Utterly hopeless.” Abraham shook his head. “She came down the front steps to meet us. Three of them Screechers with her. But she didn’t have to do no more than hold up her little hand like this”—Abraham raised one palm—“and everyone stopped. She said in that high, sweet voice a’ hers, ‘I have your children inside; there’s a blade at each of their throats. They’ll be dead before you reach the door.’ Oh, the silence was awful. Not a soul moved. I remember the two halves of Mr. Langford’s body still lying there on the steps, and she looking out at us, so beautiful and terrible in the torchlight. Then she told us there was something in the mountains she wanted. Said if we found it for her, she’d give us back our children.”

  “What’d you do?” Emma asked breathlessly.

  “What do you think we did, child? The men went into the mountains with a gang a’ them monsters to guard ’em. The women went back to the village, and she stayed in the house with the children.”

  For a full minute, no one spoke. The only sound was the hissing and crackling of the fire. Kate realized she had been gripping the folder so tightly that her hands had locked in place. She opened them slowly, flexing her fingers.

  “And no one ever tried to fight?” Emma asked finally.

  “A few did. A man would just get too fed up, missing his wife or little ones, and go crazy.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “She had a boat. Used it like a floatin’ prison for anyone who disobeyed. At night, you could hear the cries coming across the lake.” Abraham shuddered. “Rumor was she did things to people there. Awful things.”

  Kate remembered how, when they’d gone back into the past, she’d seen the large boat floating far out on the lake. That had to be the one he was talking about.

  “What was she looking for?”

  “She never said exactly. But there was talk.”

  “What kind of talk?”

  Abraham’s voice had fallen to a whisper. “People said it was a book of some kind. A great book of magic that’d been buried in the mountains long ago. Imagine”—his voice lowered even further, and Kate and Emma had to strain to hear—“imagine something so fearsome and terrible it had to be buried away from the sight of men.”

  Kate glanced at Emma. Her sister’s dark eyes had grown very wide. They were thinking the same thing. Was the book the Countess wanted their book? But they had found it in the house. It couldn’t be the same one.

  “What happened in the end?” Emma asked.

  Abraham shook his head. “No, I’ve said all I’ll say. Turn me into a newt. Some things are better left alone.”

  “Please,” Kate said, “we have to know what happened to the children.” And she said the thing that had been trembling inside her. “She has our brother.”

  “What?”

  “He’s not sick. We left him there. In the past … I left him.”

  “Oh Lord …” Abraham drew a mottled hand over his face. “Yes, I remember now. I’ve blocked out so much a’ those days, but I do remember your brother.” He shook his head. “No, I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me to. I’m sorry. You must go to Dr. Pym. He’s the only one who can help. I’m sorry—”

  He started to get up, but Kate grabbed his sleeve.

  “At least show us the last picture you ever took? Please?”

  The old man blinked several times, clearly surprised at the request. Then he hobbled to a desk, unlocked a drawer, and removed a single old photograph. With shaking hands, he passed it over.

  The photo was dark and blurry. It seemed to show a group of women running along the edge of the gorge. Many of the figures held torches. But as poor an image as it was, both Kate and Emma could sense the women’s alarm and fear.

  A door slammed. They looked up and saw that Abraham had climbed the spiral staircase to his bedroom and shut the door.

  “Come on,” Kate said. She slid the photo in her pocket, and they left the tower.

  They went down to the kitchen, as it was nearly evening and they hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Miss Sallow had the goose roasting in the oven and was too busy with dinner to upbraid them for missing lunch. They grabbed bread, cheese, and salami and escaped upstairs.

  Abraham had been right about one thing: the Countess was vain. They had to wade through dozens of shots of the Countess in evening gowns. The Countess wearing jewels. The Countess boating. The Countess playing badminton with her strange-looking secretary. Usually, she was glancing coyly at the camera, as if caught by surprise. Yet somehow, it always favored her left profile.

  “Look at this one.” Emma was on the floor, surrounded by photos and holding up a picture of the Countess looking coquettish under a lace parasol. “I told you she was stuck-up.” She tossed it onto a growing pile in the corner.

  Kate was sorting through pictures on the bed, and whenever she came upon a photo of a Screecher, she quickly slid it to the bottom of the stack. Over the past two days, she’d been keeping at bay the thought of what Michael might be going through. It had been necessary if she was to function. But now that she’d heard Abraham’s story and seen pictures of these creatures with their frayed black clothes and long, jagged swords, fear for her brother was flooding her heart. She came to a picture of a particularly gruesome-looking Screecher and found herself pushing the entire stack away, overcome with worry.

  Emma made a noise and threw another photo in the corner.

  The book was resting beside Kate’s knee, and, for a moment, she let her fingers drift over the emerald cover.
She thought about her vision of the night before. Had she just imagined it? She opened the book and pressed her fingers to a blank page. The effect was immediate. As clearly as if she was there, she saw the village on the banks of the river. But it had grown. There were stone streets, a wall. A market. She saw men and women, all milling about. She could hear the press of voices.

  She turned another page and touched her fingers to the parchment. She saw a vast army marching along a road, the dust rising from their sandals. She heard their spears and shields clanking together, the rhythmic pounding of a drum. Behind them, in the distance, Kate glimpsed the village on the river, burning. She gasped and flipped a few more pages. The army vanished. She saw a fleet of ships at sea. They rocked on the waves, their sails snapping in the wind. She could hear the shouts of sailors, the whip crack of ropes, could feel their wooden holds bursting with the treasures of distant lands. She turned more pages. She saw people fleeing as a black dragon and a red dragon battled in the air above a town, belching flame. They tangled together and fell, crushing buildings, spreading fire. Another page. A knight in armor advanced into a cave as a monster with long, scaly arms slithered out of the gloom, hissing. She turned a handful of pages and saw a hot-air balloon rising in the sky as women in long dresses and men in white straw hats applauded. Another page. She saw a city filled with old-fashioned motorcars. She turned to a place deep into the book. She waited. Nothing happened. She stared at the blank parchment. At its very center, a small black dot appeared. As Kate watched, it began to spread, like an ink stain. Suddenly, the entire page was black. And then, she saw with horror, the blackness begin to spread up her fingers.

  “Kate!”

  Emma was looking down at her. Kate realized she was lying on her back.