Saving Thanehaven (26 page)

When Noble indicates Yestin, Lorellina smiles. It’s the first real smile that Noble has ever seen on her face, and he’s astonished at the difference it makes. Her teeth look so perfect. Her dimples look so pretty.

How beautiful she is
, he thinks.
I keep forgetting
.

“That boy over there cannot save us,” Sangred
objects. “He is small and weak. He’s not a part of our group.”

“He will be if you invite him to join us,” Noble points out. Then, before Sangred can say anything else, he adds, “If you make the wrong choice in this dream, only bad things will come to pass. But if you make the right choice, you will be aided in your fight against any future perils.”

Sangred frowns, glancing at the nearest gargoyle.

“Yestin looks small and weak for good reason,” Noble continues. “If you had three cups set out in front of you—a gold one, a silver one, and a stone one—which would you choose?”

There’s no reply from Sangred. He ponders, his gray eyes searching Noble’s face.

“Maybe you would choose the gold or the silver cup,” Noble says, “because stone doesn’t gleam. But the stone cup would be the strongest.”

“It would,” agrees Sangred.

“Then choose the stone cup! Let the boy come with us, or Thanehaven will struggle to defeat all these new foes!”

Sangred nods slowly—just as the guard in the nearest booth beckons to him. For an instant, the warrior priest hesitates.

“Go,” mutters Noble. “You’ve been called.” Then he turns and summons Yestin with a twitch of his head.

This time, Yestin takes care not to attract the
female guard’s attention. He makes sure that she’s looking away from him before he ducks below the surface of the milling crowd that separates him from the Thanehaven team. This swirling, chattering crowd is made up, not only of hopeful applicants, but of those refused admittance. So while half the crowd is shoving forward, the other half is trying to force its way back to the elevators.

Noble worries that Yestin is going to be trampled in all the confusion. There’s so much pushing and pulling that he nearly gets trampled himself—especially when the scaly silver horse rushes to join all the gargoyles and salt devils who are now treading on Sangred’s heels. Sangred is explaining himself to the guard at the booth up ahead. There’s so much background noise that Noble can’t hear what he’s saying.

“We have to hurry,” Lorellina warns.

“I know.” All at once Noble catches sight of Yestin, who’s wriggling through a mass of tightly pressed bodies. Noble grabs him. With Lorellina in the lead, they rush over to the booth where Sangred has just been given permission to admit his entire group.

Sangred pauses for a moment, as the gargoyles and salt devils jostle him. His expression is mildly anxious. But it clears when his gaze finally falls on Noble.

“This is the boy?” asks Sangred.

“Yes,” Noble affirms.

Sangred gives a satisfied nod. He ushers first Yestin, then Lorellina, then Noble past the guard’s
booth. No sooner does he fall in behind them, however, than a sharp voice pulls him up short.

“Wait!” says the guard. “Hold it right there.” He rises from his seat, peering over the counter. “Who is
that
kid? He’s not one of your people!”

“T
he boy is with us,” Sangred protests.

“No, he’s not,” snaps the guard. “Look at his outfit! That T-shirt doesn’t belong in Thanehaven.”

“I have a swipe card!” Yestin holds it up, edging away from the guard until he’s backed up against Noble. “I know the password! It’s bloodquest!”

The guard scowls. As Noble wraps an arm around Yestin, his gaze darts back and forth, frantically searching for an escape route. But the space into which he’s emerged is almost identical to the space on the other side of the booths. It’s long and narrow, with elevators along its rear wall and a large set of double doors at either end. The only difference that Noble can see is that there aren’t so many people in this half of the room.

“Please get back to where you were.” The guard leans across his counter, reaching for Yestin. “You belong in the red zone. You haven’t been cleared for this zone, yet.”

“The boy is important,” Sangred argues. He inserts himself between the guard and Yestin. “You
have
to let him through.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but he needs to make his own application for admittance,” the guard retorts. “He might have a password, but he’s on his own. Can’t you see that? He’s a rogue subprogram that you’ve picked up along the way.”

“You’re lying.” Sangred speaks with such confidence that even Noble is surprised. “That boy is Thanehaven’s best hope for the future. I have made my choice, Sentinel. I have chosen deliverance. And if needs must, I plan to defend my choice.”

“Sir—”

“Test me and I
will
rise to the challenge!” Sangred’s voice rings out like a tolling bell as he raises his Tritus. “For I am Sangred, son of Foretell, and no dark force will deter me in this world nor any other!”

For one breathless moment, time seems to stand still. It crosses Noble’s mind that Sangred’s Tritus must be dead—or perhaps asleep—because she isn’t reacting at all. She’s just sitting in his hand like any lifeless weapon. She doesn’t try to shape-shift. She doesn’t even bare her teeth.

The guards respond just as sluggishly. They stand
and stare as Sangred continues to address them.

“I know you represent Lord Harrowmage and the tides of chaos! I know that you wish to point me down the wrong path! But I
will
choose wisely, and woe betide you if you oppose me in my wish!”

“He’s gone viral,” says one of the guards. Like a signal, these words trigger an immediate reaction. All at once a high-pitched wail fills the room, making everyone jump.
Eee-aw-eee-aw-eee-aw …

A red light begins to flash on the ceiling.

“We’ve got a viral infection here!” The guard who’s been dealing with Sangred looks around for help. “It’s a breach! Code Red! I need backup!”

Uniformed guards immediately rush toward him from every direction. When Sangred swipes at them with his Tritus, even more guards join their comrades, some from the elevators, some from the booths. “It’s a breach!” they cry. “It’s malware! It’s a lockdown!” They’re so intent on pushing Sangred back into line that they seem to have forgotten about Yestin—at least, for the moment.

Seeing this, Noble moves swiftly. He catches Lorellina’s eye, then ducks behind the scaly silver horse, keeping as low as possible. Yestin is dragged along with him. The siren is still screeching.
Eee-aw-eee-aw-eee-aw
. The red light is still flashing. The guards are still shouting as Sangred swings at them. Though his Tritus isn’t shape-shifting, it works well enough as a big, metal bar, cracking a skull here, an elbow there.

Everyone else is looking stunned. Confused by the noise and disarray, most of the people in Noble’s vicinity cower like whipped dogs, mute and motionless. Only Yestin and Lorellina keep moving as they pursue Noble toward the nearest exit, their heads low, their shoulders hunched.

Noble has no real plan. He’s hoping that his swipe card might work in one of the elevators, or that the door up ahead might be unlocked. Before he can reach the door, however, it suddenly bangs open—and Noble catches his breath in horror.

There, framed in the wide doorway, stands a familiar vehicle. Its tinted windows are reflecting the
flash-flash-flash
of the pulsing red light. Its engine is idling away at a steady rumble, like the sound of an approaching avalanche.

It’s the white van, and it advances slowly into the room, nudging aside a few dazed musicians as it loses speed. The double doors swing shut behind it.

Noble can’t believe his eyes. How can the AV be here, in Rufus’s computer? It doesn’t make sense—unless this van only
looks
the same as the other one. Perhaps this is a different AV, in an identical van. Perhaps all computers have AVs. Or perhaps it isn’t an AV driving the van at all.

But it has to be
, Noble reasons.
Because the guards are talking about malware, and the AV in Mikey’s computer was called in to fight malware
.

For a split second, Noble wonders if he
himself
is
now malware. After all, he just gave Sangred a new and disruptive idea. Could that be how it works? It’s certainly the kind of thing Rufus would have done, back when he and Noble were still running around in Mikey’s computer.

But after a moment’s disquiet, Noble quickly dismisses the thought. He doesn’t have time to reflect on such matters. He has too much else to worry about.

I’ve got to get out of here
, he decides.

Dropping to his haunches, he shields himself behind a clump of cleaning ladies, whose buckets and mops add bulk to the screen provided by their stick-thin legs. Yestin and Lorellina follow his example. Noble can’t talk to them because of the siren’s blare, but he knows that they’ve seen the white van; he can tell by their fearful expressions. When he catches the princess’s eye, Noble puts a finger to his lips. Otherwise, he remains absolutely still while the van rolls past.

Finally, it lurches to a halt. The squeal of its brakes is audible even through the clamor of the alarm. At the same instant, a memory flashes into Noble’s head. It’s an image of Rufus leaning into another van and saying, “He took his keys with him. Pity. An AV’s keys would have got us into pretty much every part of this computer.”

The keys
, Noble thinks.
If that van belongs to the AV, then we need his keys
.

By this time, the shouts and clangs and roars of
battle have almost overwhelmed the noise of the siren. Everyone’s attention is riveted to the booth where Sangred is fighting off at least a dozen uniformed guards. No one seems interested in the bland-faced, white-coated person who’s just clambered out of the stationary vehicle.

No one, that is, except Noble, Yestin, and Lorellina.

“Ssst!”
The princess nudges Noble, who nods. It’s the AV, all right. But like almost everyone else, the AV has turned his gaze toward the fight across the room.

For a moment, he stands there, watching fists fly and bodies collide. Then he passes in front of his van, heading for the source of the commotion. From where he’s crouched, Noble has a clear view of the vehicle’s rear end. He can see that the driver’s door has been left open, though he can’t see inside the van. Not that he’s expecting anyone else to be lurking in there. Experience tells him that the AV works alone, calling in reinforcements only after his preliminary inspection.

And this, without doubt, is a preliminary inspection. Why else would the AV be plucking a small black book from the pocket of his white coat? Why else would he be tapping an injured guard on the shoulder?

Suddenly, the siren stops wailing. The red light is extinguished. “Must be one of them terrorists,” observes a small, bandy-legged cleaning lady in a
green head scarf. The other ladies nod and cluck as the AV starts to take notes.

Seeing the AV turn away from him, Noble seizes his chance. He grabs Lorellina, who grabs Yestin. Together, they scurry toward the parked van. No one tries to stop them. No one says a word. Only Yestin utters a low protest when Noble pauses to stick his head into the front seat.

“What are you doing?” Yestin mutters.

Noble is searching for a key. At first, he’s confused by all the buttons and sticks and dials in front of him. But then, as he shifts his weight, the van rocks slightly, causing a small, dangling, silver object to catch his eye.

It’s a little silver disk attached to something that looks like the top of a key. Unfortunately, the key is wedged into a kind of axle or shaft that’s supporting a large wheel.

When Noble yanks at it, however, the key slides smoothly out of its keyhole.

“Wait!” Yestin whispers, from his post near Noble’s elbow. “Leave it in there! We can
drive
away!”

“What?”

“If we’ve got the ignition key, we can turn the engine back on!”

Noble hesitates. It’s a good idea. But just as it occurs to him that he wouldn’t know how to steer the van, let alone adjust its speed, the AV catches sight of him through the van window.

“Hey! You!”

Noble yanks his head out of the cabin and bolts. He throws himself at the door up ahead, hoping that it might lead to some sort of escape route.

But it’s locked.

“The key! Use the key!” shrieks Lorellina, skidding into him from behind, Yestin at her heels. Noble is aware that the guards are converging on the three of them like crows on a carcass. He shoves the AV’s key into a keyhole.

As the tumblers click and the door swings open, he steps aside to let his friends pass through ahead of him. Already the wailing siren has been switched back on; the red light is flashing again. Noble turns to defend himself against any guards who might be in pursuit, then flinches in horror. An entire herd of gray uniforms is bearing down on him. He’s looking at a sea of gaping mouths and bulging eyes.

“Quick!” Yestin screams.

Noble stumbles backward through the door. It slams shut in the face of a guard who nearly loses the tip of his nose. “Lock it! Hurry!” Lorellina shouts, wedging herself against the handle. As Noble wields his stolen key again, bodies thump against the other side of the doors, making them tremble.

“Where are we?” the princess demands.

They’re at the end of a long corridor—a
very
long corridor. It stretches out before them, dead straight and unadorned, as far as the eye can see. Its floor is shiny and gray. Its ceiling is dotted with glowing tubes
that recede toward a distant vanishing point. Its walls are lined with black doors, each of them firmly closed, each bearing a printed sign.

“Which way?” Lorellina flings out an arm, indicating the nearest black door. “Through there?”

“Not that one,” Yestin quavers. “That’s a sandbox.”

“A sandbox?” Noble echoes. And Lorellina adds, “Quicksand, you mean?”

“No,” Yestin replies, shaking his head. “It’s a security mechanism. It’s for executing untested code in a controlled environment—”