Читать книгу The Cradle of All Worlds - Jeremy Lachlan - Страница 20

THE DEPARTURE

At first, everyone in the foyer’s too stunned to move, but it isn’t long before they’re all bustling around the doors, trying to get them open. I’m still on the floor, staring at an old, tarnished brass key resting alongside the gash in my palm. I let it slip between my fingers. It lands on the floor with a dull thud. Winifred bends down and quickly ties off a bandage around my hand. I can feel her watching me, hear Violet calling my name, but I can’t stop looking at the bloodied key lying there in the dust. There’s a symbol on its handle. The one Winifred drew on the back of my photo. The almost-triangle in a circle.

‘Jane, you better come look.’

Violet’s standing on her mum’s shoulders, looking through one of the broken windows. Strange. It’s probably the most intimate moment I’ve ever seen them share.

‘Don’t talk to her, Violet,’ Mrs Hollow grunts. ‘You know you’re not allowed. Why should she look anyway? The last thing we want to do is let her curse us all over ag–’

‘It’s your dad, Jane,’ Violet says. ‘He’s outside and he’s . . . he’s . . .’

I’m up in a flash, heading towards a small upturned desk in the corner of the foyer. I pick it up, turn it over and slam it against the wall beneath another broken window, shooting daggers at Winifred Robin all the while. ‘I swear if anything happens to him –’

‘You cannot stop him, Jane.’

‘Stop him from what ?’

Onto the desk now. I leap for the tall, narrow window, pull myself up and look through the shattered glass. It’s a war zone outside. The square’s a mess. Pillars of smoke rise from the town beyond. The horse and cage have disappeared. People are stepping out of the shadows. Stumbling. Crying. Staring and pointing up the Sacred Stairs.

‘Violet, where –’

And then I see him, my dad, scrambling up the Stairs, already halfway to the top.

‘He is about to enter the Manor, Jane,’ Winifred says. ‘He has been chosen.’

‘WHAT? ’

It isn’t even me who says this. It’s the Hollows. Eric Junior. Pretty much every idiot in the room. Everyone’s glareing at Winifred.

‘Now listen here, you home-wrecker!’ Mrs Hollow shoves Violet back into Mr Hollow’s arms. ‘First you break into my house and free that – that man. Then you interrupt the festival just when it’s getting interesting, and now you have the nerve to suggest –’

‘I have the nerve to do a great many things, Beatrice. Do not forget who you are talking to. I have let you get away with many horrible deeds in the past, but those days have come to an end. A new age in Bluehaven has begun and John Doe is leading the way. Now are you going to keep arguing with me or are you going to stop Jane from joining him?’

I really hate this woman. Nobody had noticed me hop down from the desk and start towards the back of the foyer. Now they’re all looking at me like a bunch of ravenous wolves, which are these big ferocious dogs that howl and hunt in packs. I read about them in a book once.

‘Run, Jane,’ Violet shouts.

So I run. Past a grand staircase, down a long corridor. I kick my way into some sort of office and push through the upturned furniture to a window. Mrs Hollow shouts after me, ‘Get back here, Doe! You are a scar upon this island! A catastrophic blemish –’ but I’m already out the window, already sprinting for the Stairs. I trip more than once – over a rock, a plank of wood, Peg. Whenever I stumble or hit the ground I pull myself up and keep on moving. Dad’s just an ant-sized speck now, three-quarters of the way to the top. I wish I could reach out, grab the invisible thread and reel him back to safety before it’s too late.

Because I’m not the only one trying to stop him.

Atlas has found a pistol. Someone must’ve dropped it in the square. He’s running for the Stairs too, but he hasn’t seen me coming. He fires at Dad. Misses by a long shot. Raises the pistol to fire again. I jump over a boulder and that’s when we collide. We hit the ground hard and roll. The pistol goes flying. I manage to slip out from under Atlas, but he grabs my ankle, pulls me back, and before I know it he’s on top of me, hands wrapped around my neck. He squeezes. Leans in.

‘No more games, girl,’ he snarls.

I’m choking. I can’t breathe. I reach out with my uninjured hand, feel around for something, anything, to help me. The pistol, a piece of wood, a club.

‘Your little friend’s not here to save you now, and neither is Winifred Robin.’

A rock. I grab it, hold it tight, smack Atlas in the head as hard as I can. A dull thud and he collapses beside me.

‘Lucky I can take care of myself then,’ I wheeze.

I stagger to my feet, coughing and spluttering, rubbing my neck. Only manage three steps before my legs buckle and someone catches me from behind, strong but gentle.

Winifred’s here, holding me up, holding me back.

Dad’s at the top of the Stairs now. A tiny red dot of a man dwarfed by the sheer size of the Manor and its great stone door. It strikes me that we’ve never been this far apart before.

Why is he leaving me? How can this be happening?

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look back. He scrambles right up to the Manor, and we can’t even see him any more for the angle of the Stairs. But we can see the great stone gateway opening wide, ready to swallow him whole. Nothing can stop him now.

‘A door opens,’ Winifred whispers, ‘an adventure begins . . .’

I’m not a big crier – hell, I reckon I could count the number of times I’ve cried in my life on one hand. But as the Manor gateway shuts again, and I feel the invisible thread stretch and tug and snap with a sickening jolt, I can’t stop the tears from coming. I struggle in Winifred’s arms. I want to follow Dad, run up to the Manor and smash my way inside, but I’m too weak. Exhausted. Broken.

He’s gone.

I can’t go up the Stairs now anyway. A flock of people have beaten me to it. Dozens of townsfolk stream around us, shouting, pushing, desperate to try their luck on the gateway. Barnaby Twigg’s in the thick of it, warning everyone to back off.

‘It’s my turn,’ he bellows. ‘My destiny! My time!’

‘We must leave,’ Winifred says. ‘That door will not open again for a very long time. Atlas will come for you again when he wakes. We must get you somewhere safe.’

Dad’s gone. I’ve lost him, and I don’t know how I’m gonna get him back.

‘I have to . . . have to go after him.’

‘You will,’ Winifred says. ‘But not that way. There is another.’

That’s when I notice my bloodied handprint on the Stairs. Every crack in the stone spiderwebs out from its centre. Up and down the Stairs. Across the square.

My left hand throbs again. The bandage is already spotted with blood.

‘Did . . . did I do this?’

‘Come, Jane,’ Winifred says. ‘We need to talk.’