The White City (38 page)

The next car came down faster, and Nel was not ready this time. The enormous side of the car crashed into him. As it rose, Ray expected Nel to be lying on the ground, but he was not there at all.

“Ah, Joe Nelson,” the Gog laughed, his voice carrying faintly on the wind. “You toy with me.”

Nel clambered atop the rising car. The Gog walked slowly forward as the next car came down to the ground. When it
reached the lowest point, he took hold of a bar running along one of the windows and stepped onto a metal lip on the side of the car. As his car rose behind Nel’s, the Gog deftly climbed onto the roof, and the agents tightened their circle around the wheel.

Ray felt his hands tingle as warmth flowed from his chest down his arms. If he could only get up on the wheel, he might be able to help Nel. “We need a distraction,” he said, his eyes settling on Hobnob.

Hobnob nodded in agreement, and then his eyes sprang wide as it seemed to dawn on him what Ray was suggesting. “No. No. Why’s it always me that gets sent into this sort of madness? ‘Just go lift the key from the sleeping sheriff, Hobnob.’ ‘Just go hobble the rangers’ horses, Hobnob.’ ‘Just hold Rosie’s jaws while I give her medicine, Hobnob.’ Well, none of them worked, so why’s this going to?”

“You’re right,” Ray said. “It might not work. But either you could agree now to help and get going, or we’ll ask the Pirate Queen to convince you.”

At that moment, several people bumped against the side of the booth. “Ray, you in there?” the Pirate Queen called from the other side of the wall.

“Yes,” he said. “Along with Hobnob and—”

The Pirate Queen growled, “I was wondering where that little yellow-headed coward ran off to. Send him out here so I can speak with him.”

Hobnob strangled the dandelion hat and cursed, “Tarnation! So what you want me to do?”

Redfeather replied, “Use your hat. Get on the other side of
that line of agents. Then get their attention so they turn around. Just long enough for us to make a good charge.” He held up his hand, flames lapping through his closed fingers. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“After this I’m quits,” Hobnob mumbled. He slapped his dandelion hat over his nest of hair and faded.

As the last of the pods drifted away, Ray said, “You all ready?”

Gilley slid the last bullet in his revolver and shut the cylinder. “I’m ready.

Marisol notched an arrow, and Redfeather put his palms together, allowing the flames to encase both hands. He called out, “My lady, get ready to follow us.”

“Aye,” she growled.

Ray peered over the counter and saw Hobnob appear behind the line of agents.

“Any of you boys got change for a dollar?” he said.

The agents swung around, baffled for half a moment by the little thief. Hobnob quickly put his hat back on as gunfire opened up on the spot where he’d been.

Redfeather kicked open the door. “Here we go.”

He dashed out from the ticket booth, running toward the agents who were still turned around and searching for Hobnob. Redfeather whipped out both his hands, sending streaks of flames at the backs of the agents’ coats. There were shouts as clothes caught fire. Many dropped their weapons as they fell to the ground or ran in panic. Redfeather continued to lash out with the flames. As the other agents gathered their wits and lifted their rifles, Marisol volleyed arrows and Gilley opened fire
from behind the counter. The roaring Pirate Queen charged along with Lamprey and Piglet, guns blasting. The agents scattered back toward benches and behind trees.

Ray ran, heading straight for the base of the wheel. He leaped over fallen agents and others rolling on the cobblestones to extinguish their flames. He was almost there when an agent came out from around the wheel’s engine room and blocked his path. Ray froze as the agent’s pistol leveled on him. He cocked the hammer back with his thumb. “Got you,” the agent sneered.

Ray heard hooves thundering on the boulevard. The agent had only an instant to turn his head before a Comanche horseman struck him with the butt end of his rifle. Horses charged past Redfeather and the Pirate Queen and the others as the Comanches joined in the battle.

Ray reached the base of the wheel and watched the next car lower. He grabbed the door handle, shouldered the door open, and fell inside as the car rose back up. The storm beat against the car like war drums. Ray looked up through the rain-blurred window for Nel and Grevol.

The two were atop each of their rising cars, casting spells at each other. Nel drew on the powers of the world—storm and hail, lightning and wind. The Gog drew on the powers of his machinery—electric charges, magnetic forces, eruptions of light and heat that came from the glowing knob atop his walking stick. The two ducked and dodged, leaping around the roofs of the cars, bracing against the raging storm and each other’s spells.

As Ray forced the door open into the howling wind, he saw the ground below. More agents and more of Buffalo Bill’s men
had joined the fight, converging below the towering wheel. The agents who had been driven back by the Comanche fighters came back with reinforcements. From down the boulevard, groups of Hessian cavalry and vaquero horsemen emerged, firing round after round. Then there was the Pirate Queen, barking and cursing and leading a band of her pirates. Marisol was now at Redfeather’s side, firing arrows as he slung whips of flame. The battle was growing, and here the final stand would take place.

Ray reached for a handhold to get up onto the roof, his fingers half frozen. He tightened his grip and with a grunt hoisted himself up.

The car swung with the storm, and his foot slipped on the rain-slick metal. Ray slammed against the side of the car. He squeezed hard so as not to lose his grip on the bar. Rivulets of rain poured into his eyes, and he brushed his face against his soaked shoulder to try to see. He pushed with the toes of his boots but found no foothold. Looking up, he saw Nel’s car reach the peak of the wheel.

Nel shot down a twin lightning flash that brought Grevol down on one knee. Grevol held up the walking stick with one hand as the lightning illuminated his body, a thin black phantom within a sun-bright crackling of electricity. But then the lightning coalesced, sucked into the knob of the walking stick. Grevol rose, laughing.

Nel’s car began its descent, the Gog now above him. Grevol leaped for Nel, his coat flapping out bat-like in the storm. He knocked the Rambler backward and caught Nel by the throat.

“You are not whole, Joe Nelson,” the Gog said. “You possess within your leg the link to my Machine.”

Ray kicked and struggled to get atop the car, desperate to reach Nel in time.

Nel grabbed at the Gog’s hand where it locked on his throat. His eyes were bulging and he gasped for breath.

The Gog lifted the walking stick, pointing the glowing knob at Nel like a sword ready to be plunged. A whirling noise rose from the knob, tiny gears churning and growling.

“Don’t fear. I don’t intend to kill you, Mister Nelson. I could have thrown you from this wheel already if that had been my aim.” A wide smile slithered across the Gog’s face. “No. You will join me. You will be one of my clockwork servants!”

Ray’s feet pressed against the wet metal of the car. His arms shook as he drew himself up. When he was over the edge, he dropped to his stomach and rolled over. He rose and, with a leap, landed on the roof of the car above Nel and the Gog.

For a moment, Ray thought he saw a figure, a mere shadow, climbing onto a car at the bottom of the wheel. He narrowed his eyes to see who it was—Redfeather or Big Jimmie or someone else who might be of help. Or were the agents coming to help their master?

“Let us finish this, shall we?” the Gog said, bringing the knob to Nel’s chest, pressing it over his heart. Nel’s gaze flickered up to Ray, and the Gog glanced over his shoulder. Nel used the moment and kicked, catching Grevol in the stomach. Grevol shouted and bore down on Nel, thrusting forward with the walking stick. But Nel was not there.

A silver-furred fox twisted and broke from Grevol’s hold. The knob of the walking stick struck the roof of the car with a flash of greenish light. The blast sent the fox sliding across the rain-slick metal until his hind legs fell over the edge.

His car was swinging again in the wild wind, and Ray clung tightly as he leaned over the edge and looked down.

The Gog spun around, reaching out with his free hand to grab the silver-furred fox. Nel scrambled, his claws scratching at the wet metal. The Gog’s gloved fingers reached for the fox’s neck but met empty air.

The fox fell. Nel fell.

The Gog peered down from the roof of his car.

Ray cried out as the fox flipped and tumbled. Then the fox hit the ground and was still.

“No!” Ray screamed. “No! No!”

Grevol looked back over his shoulder, locking his coal-black eyes on Ray. He smiled.

S
I AND
C
ONKER WALKED THE DARK PASSAGE HAND IN HAND
. Si held her other hand aloft, for guidance and to light their way. She had begun trembling again, and Conker feared there was nothing left for him to say to alleviate the growing terror. They were deep within the Machine, and the Darkness was like a cloud—evil and encompassing and barring their ability to hope that somewhere the sun still shone.

They were cold, a deep, bitter cold down to their bones, although the air was sweltering. Despite the tall ceiling, the acrid smell of fumes and pulsating noises of the machinery drew thick around them. Si pressed close to Conker’s side.

“Will we know if the Gog is killed?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Conker replied.

“And if Nel doesn’t defeat him?”

“Hopefully Ray’s gone to Nel. Hopefully together they’re able.”

Her voice came out as the faintest whisper, as if the Machine was listening, as if it would turn her fears against them. “But if the Gog kills them both …”

“Don’t you think like that,” Conker said, also whispering, but urgently.

“But if he does,” Si said. “If the Gog isn’t destroyed, even if we drive the spike into the Machine, Grevol will only build another one. Like after your father died. And who … who will be left to stop him?”

Conker was quiet for a time before answering. “Redfeather and Marisol,” he said. “Maybe them.”

“They’re not like Ray. They’re not like you.”

“Hush on it.”

“I can’t,” Si said. “I keep thinking we’re going to die, and all for nothing. That we’re making a mistake.”

“We ain’t,” Conker said.

“We might be.”

“We ain’t. The Machine, it’s doing this to us. Don’t you see? It’s putting these fears and doubts in our heads.”

“Do you think so?” Si asked. “Really?”

“The Darkness,” Conker said. “It eats at you, don’t it? I feel it trying to stop us.”

They struggled to continue forward.

“Si?”

Her voice trembled. “What?”

“Do you remember when we were kids? That first time you performed in the medicine show? You were all covered
in chains, tied up and twisted all around and stuffed in that box.”

“Yeah.” She managed a weak chuckle.

“I asked you how you could stand to be in that box. I said, ‘Don’t it scare you to be locked up in there?’ You remember what you told me?”

“No.”

“You said the time in the box weren’t nothing but a few moments. You just thought on what you’d do when you’d get out. What we’d do together after the show was over.”

Si walked on in silence, her glowing speckled hand extended before her.

“Si.”

“Yeah?” she whispered.

“This ain’t nothing but a few moments. One way or the other, it’ll all be over. And we’ll be together.” Conker’s voice lowered. “Don’t let this Darkness make you forget we’re together. You and me.”

Si squeezed his hand. “Always.”

Then she gasped and stopped walking. “Look, Conker. Ahead.”

A faint sickly green light formed down the passage. “What is it?” Conker asked.

They began walking, heading toward the eerie glow. As they did, they saw the light pulsate. Not rhythmic like a heartbeat, but erratic and jarring. Conker felt his stomach knot and his hold on the hammer weaken.

As they went farther down, Si slowed and Conker couldn’t help but do so also. Each pulsation of the light shot waves of pain through him, electric and burning. Si uttered a groan and
turned her head. “It hurts,” she said, and drew back behind him to shelter her. “What’s it doing?”

“Trying to stop us,” he grunted. Conker had to force himself forward, each step bringing new and worsening shocks of pain. He held out the Nine Pound Hammer as a talisman before him. “Keep going.”

“Conker,” Si said weakly. “Please no.”

He had to pull her by the hand to keep her behind him. “Almost there.”

They were still a dozen yards from the end of the passage. How would they ever reach it? How could they keep enduring this?

The green light glowed from a circular metal plate mounted in the center of the wall of machinery. The metal skin grew transparent with each pulse, and beneath the surface a mass of gears and clockwork parts churned and writhed, insect-like.