The Garden of Darkness (39 page)

“You have to pretend you don’t know the cure,” said Ramah. “All of you. Leave it to Clare and Jem and me.”

They pulled more things from the pile only finally to face a wall of cedar chests and old steamer trunks. Abel sighed. “His children have been busy,” he said.

“We have to find him and stop him,” said Jem. “He has a taste for killing.”

“We could bonk him on the head,” said Bird Boy cheerfully.

“You can’t even bonk a trout on the head,” said Sarai.

Then they heard Britta’s voice again. “We’ll clear the door and let you through one by one,” she said. “But we want the body first.”

They ignored her. Jem and Bird Boy hauled a chest down; a mattress behind it collapsed onto them.

“We should explore the other rooms,” said Ramah. “There may be all kinds of exits that don’t involve coming face-to-face with that awful Britta.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dante. “You all don’t seem panicked at all, but we’re trapped in here. There may be no way out. Master may just let us die down here. This could be
it
. This could be the end.”

They all stared at Dante.

“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘it,’” said Ramah. “Or what this could be the end of.”

“Right now, we’re just locked in,” said Abel. “That’s not very scary. Even for me.”

Mirri walked over and put her hand on Dante’s arm. “We’ve been through a
lot
. Being locked in is the
least
of it. Trust us. Fresh air soon.”

Fresh air.

“The doll room,” said Clare. “I could feel the air moving in there—it had to be coming from somewhere.”

They took three of the hurricane lanterns and hurried down the hall. Jem held Clare’s free hand. With the strength of the lights, the scene in the doll room was even more disturbing. One shelf was nothing but a row of heads;, the hair very crudely chopped away from the faces. Mirri lifted her lantern and they saw, in the corner, a sparkling pile of blue. The eyes themselves.

“This is just
evil
,” said Mirri.

Clare took the lead with Jem right behind her. She slipped behind the bookcase of dolls and found herself next to the foundation of the building. Just above her head was a window. The bottom of the window was flush against the grass at the edge of the courtyard. Air was seeping through a gap between the top of the window and the casing. But the window, like the doors, was locked, and the lock seemed to have been painted over. Jem couldn’t prize it open.

“Ramah?” he asked. “Do your skills reach to jammed locks?”

Ramah moved over to him and examined the window. Then she pulled down one of the frail-looking curtains, wrapped it around her hand and smashed in the glass.

“There,” she said.

They used a tapestry to cover the glass so that they could crawl out without cutting themselves. Jem gave Clare a leg up, and she was through. One by one, with Jem pushing from below, Clare hauled the little ones up and out. Lastly, she gave Jem her hand, and a moment later, he was out. They emerged into the courtyard, into the twilight.

It looked nothing like Clare remembered it. Now, in the evening light, everything looked washed out, the flowers unnatural in their regular rows. In the meadow beyond the walls, Clare could see sheep, and even they looked flat, as if they were pasted onto the grass.

All the false flashy beauty of the place had fallen away.

Bear pushed up under Clare’s hand, and she stroked his head.

“Let’s get
out
of here,” said Mirri.

“What about Master’s children?” asked Dante. “The older ones are on the cusp of Pest.”

“I don’t feel any great love for Britta or her little followers right now,” said Jem.

“But I don’t suppose we can just leave them to grow into Pest.” Clare sighed.

Jem put his arm around Clare’s waist.

“Something’s changed between those two,” said Mirri to Sarai.

“It’s what we talked about, I bet,” said Sarai. “They must’ve finally figured it out.”

Clare, when she was to look back later, was to wish those moments had no end. She stood with Jem, remembering how he had kissed her, how she had kissed him back, and thinking ahead to the infinity of time before them. She could see that Ramah looked worried, and Dante was frightened, but she couldn’t feel anything but joy, and not just the joy of being at that moment with Jem, but the joy of being with Jem in the years that suddenly and miraculously had opened out before them all.

But something had to be done about the Master and the Master’s children. Clare couldn’t help but think that it would be so much easier just to leave the children. She didn’t want to take them in at Thyme House, even temporarily. Another thought occurred to her.

“What if the Cured have overrun Thyme House,” said Clare, “while we’re here?”

“We didn’t leave Thyme House
empty
,” said Mirri. “We left Sam and Becca there—you remember,
pregnant
Becca. They showed up right before we left. They looked just the way you described them. Not that you needed to describe much about Becca. She’s
huge
.”

“Sam and Becca,” said Jem. “I’m glad.”

“We put the leeches on them,” said Mirri. “For Sam it was
just in time
. He already had the marks on his neck. Becca cried until he was better.”

And that’s when Britta and Doug and several of the others came out of the Master’s mansion and walked down the steps into the courtyard.

When Britta saw Clare, she stopped.

“You should be dead,” she said. “This isn’t possible.”

“Actually, I feel pretty good.” And it was true, Clare did feel pretty good—more than pretty good. She felt terrific. She felt as if all her senses had come alive. “You can be cured, too,” Clare said. “You don’t need Master. The blue-eyed ones don’t need to die.”

“Master’s building a new world,” said Britta. “And he’s said there is no cure. You’re just some weird lucky exception. And the blue-eyed ones he takes would die anyway—just like the rest of us.”

“Their sacrifice builds community,” said Doug.

“Ignorance is strength,” muttered Ramah.

“Come with us,” said Jem. “There’re better places to be. You don’t need Master.”

“Nothing you can say makes any difference to us,” said Britta.

“I weren’t nothin’ before Master,” said Charlie.

“That’s right, Charlie,” said Doug.

“And I seen that girl what has the dog before,” said Charlie. “In the dark place. Her and the boy. Them two makes things happen. Them two is—” Charlie seemed to reach down deep into his vocabulary—“perilous.”

Then Clare heard a quick intake of breath. She turned and looked. On the path that led to the gate was the Master. He was striding towards them. And he was smiling.

There was a sudden tussle as Jem tried to push Clare behind him, and Clare tried to push Jem behind her. Clare was still weak; Jem won. The Master couldn’t see her as he greeted them.

“Hello,” said the Master. His smile was so broad that he was absolutely beaming. He turned to his children. “I believe our guests are just leaving,” he said.

Perhaps he really had intended for them to leave. Perhaps not. Clare was never to know. He pushed Jem aside suddenly, and as soon as he saw her smooth and glowing face, he ceased to smile. The change was as sudden as snakebite.

“You’re alive,” he said.

“Yes,” said Clare.

He stared at her neck. “No more marks of Pest. And no patch. I guess you’re not leaving after all, Clare.”

“We’re going home,” said Jem. “
All
of us. And I think that these other children are going to come, too.”

The Master sighed. Clare thought that he probably preferred the anonymous blue-eyed children in the photographs he kept in his secret box to the living, breathing riddles that lived with him.

“You have a real cure, Clare,” said the Master. “Give me the cure, and I’ll let you go.”

“Your world’s over,” said Clare.

“Do you know why they call me ‘Master’ instead of ‘Doctor Sylver’?”

Abel spoke up. “Because it sounds really scary?”

Dr. Sylver frowned. “Because since Pest, I’ve shaped everything the way I want it. The world is mine, and I can make what I like of it.”

“No,” said Clare. “You can’t.”

“You’re just an ignorant little girl who’s out of her depth,” said Dr. Sylver. “You’ve happened on a cure for Pest, and you have the eyes I’ve been waiting for my whole life. I want it. And I want you.”

“Not happening,” said Jem.

“Yes. It is.”

“Do you really think we’re going to let that happen?” said Jem.

And that’s when the Master pulled out the gun. “If you don’t give me the cure,” said the Master, “I’ll shoot. It’s very simple.”

“It is simple,” said Clare. “If you shoot me, I won’t be able to tell you what it is.”

“Oh I won’t shoot
you
,” he said. “I’ll shoot your little friends.” There was a moment of silence.

Then he lifted the gun and shot Jem.

Blood and flesh exploded from Jem’s shoulder. Clare caught him as he fell, and they slid to the ground together. Ramah ran to them. In the horror, Clare could find only two words.

“Get him,” she said to Bear.

CHAPTER FORTY

RAMAH’S ARROW

J
EM WAS BLEEDING
. Clare ripped off part of her shirt and pressed it into the wound, and the cloth was scarlet almost immediately.

Clare felt rather than saw Bear begin what would almost certainly be the last action in his life. Then she looked up, because she was responsible for the great animal, and if Bear didn’t make it all the way to the Master, if he were shot down, she should have to watch.

Bear hurtled towards the Master. Clare could only hope that he would somehow survive long enough to reach him.

Then Clare heard someone shout out “NO!” and Bird Boy was running, running so hard that none of them had a chance to try and stop him. And Bird Boy, Clare realized, wasn’t running toward the Master; he was running towards Bear. He collided with Bear as the Master fired.

Bird Boy went down, shot in the chest.

Less than a moment later, Clare heard a resonating singing sound.

And then Doctor Sylver, the Master, the tempter, the ghoul, the murderer, fell, an arrow through his eye.

Ramah lowered her bow.

A
S
R
AMAH RAN
to Bird Boy, Clare pressed her shirt harder into Jem’s wound and put Jem’s hand over it. Ramah cradled Bird Boy in her arms.

“Help me,” Ramah said quietly.

“I have to get to Bird Boy,” Jem whispered.

“You can’t move,” said Clare. “You’ll bleed out.”

But she couldn’t stop him. Jem got to his hands and knees and, painfully, began to crawl. Clare would have carried him if she could have. As it was, she got him half upright, and he leaned on her until she was taking almost all his weight. In this way, slowly, Jem made his way to Bird Boy.

“Save him, Jem,” said Ramah. “There’s so much blood. So much.”

Clare let Jem down next to Bird Boy. Bird Boy’s chest had been torn open by the bullet. His face was spattered with blood, and Jem wiped it off. He tried to put his hands on Bird Boy’s chest, but, as Ramah had said, the blood was everywhere.

“Ramah?” Bird Boy called for her even though she was right there.

“I’m here. You’re going to be all right. You’re going to be—“

He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

“Ramah,” he said. And then he died.

“No,” said Ramah. And then, more softly, “Stay here, Bird Boy. Stay here.” But Bird Boy wouldn’t stay.

All the children except Britta stayed well back from the Master. She approached him, but as if she were terrified; she crawled on her hands and knees until she was next to him. His breathing was harsh and deep, stertorous, and Clare knew he was dying. Blood flowed in a torrent down his face, and as he convulsed, some of it scattered into the air. Britta was speckled with blood. She tried to cradle his head in her arms, but it kept lolling to one side. Blood was everywhere. It was almost enough, Clare was to think later, almost enough. But not quite.

Mirri didn’t move, but she looked at Ramah and Bird Boy. Her cheeks were wet. Her nose was running, and she wiped it with a sleeve.

“Why didn’t Bird Boy
stay
?” Mirri whispered to Clare.

“He just couldn’t,” said Clare. Jem was unconscious now. She knew he was fighting for his life.

“Is Jem going to leave too?” asked Mirri fearfully, and it was the first day they had met all over again, and Mirri was just a little girl who had seen too much death.

“I don’t know, honey,” said Clare. She put an arm around Ramah, who was weeping silently over Bird Boy’s body. “I just don’t know.”

The Master writhed on the ground, and the sounds he made were obscene. He tore at the the arrow, although it was all too late. Where his eye had been was now no more than a pulp of flesh and blood. Britta backed away from him with a kind of horror. He turned on his side, and then he lay quietly in the stillness of death.

Bear sat back on his haunches, lifted his head and howled at the sky.