The message came early the next morning—too early. His “package” had arrived. Despite an astounding hangover that chiseled at his temples like a coal miner, Ollie dragged himself out of Tera’s bed, bid goodbye to the housemates, and somehow made his way to the Tea Party.
When Ollie staggered into Nikki and Floyd’s shop, the eponymous couple sat side-by-side behind the counter. Nikki wasn’t wearing the fur shawl this time; just a light-colored, cotton wrap. Floyd wore his usual brown garb and dour expression. The floating platform bobbed beneath them.
Ollie didn’t bother with small talk. “You found him?” he asked.
Nikki gave him a raised eyebrow. “He’s out on the docks. Waiting.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him we had a job for him,” Floyd said. “A big job. He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out the truth.”
“Don’t worry about Laszlo,” Ollie said, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Well, well, well.” Nikki sounded amused. “Aren’t you the big man all of a sudden.”
Ollie gave her a cold stare and reached into his front pocket. “Here,” he said, handing over the keychain. “As promised.”
“It still blinks?” Floyd asked suspiciously.
“That little button, right there.”
Floyd pressed it, and the three of them stared in momentary, spellbound stillness as the name flashed on and off, on and off.
Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.
Ollie felt a tug of something. He remembered standing in another shop, in what seemed like another lifetime, buying the keychain. Who was that guy? He could hardly recall.
Meatball shifted on Ollie’s shoulder, breaking the trance. “We’re good?” he asked.
Nikki looked down at her husband, who responded with a reluctant shrug. “We’re good. He’s out there, to the left.”
Ollie gave them a curt nod and walked toward the exit, pushing aside the canvas flaps. There, through the crowd of milling shoppers, he saw him.
The acrobat.
Laszlo sat on an overturned crate, staring out over the water. He wasn’t wearing the shiny blue suit, though his “regular” clothes were nearly as tight. His fingers tapped impatiently against his thighs, which looked like two planks of split firewood wrapped in black fabric. His silvery button-down shirt seemed out of place in the murk, shimmering and stretching. He looked like a man from another place and time. Ollie had looked the same way, just two short weeks ago. Now, he stared at Laszlo’s profile with a mixture of fury and homesick pining.
The acrobat reached into a paper bag on his lap and tossed bits of rhizer to a pack of scurrying trogs at his feet. Ollie approached the empty crate next to him and sat.
Laszlo looked up and gave a bland, indirect smile of greeting. Then he did a doubletake. His small, dark eyes widened into discs.
Ollie’s face remained impassive. “Well, if it isn’t Laszlo Kravchenko, nephew of the famous Kravchenko Brothers of Ukraine,” he said pleasantly. Coolly.
Laszlo continued to stare. Finally, he spoke. “It is…Ollie?”
“You got it,” Ollie said, scratching the brown trog on his shoulder. “Ollie Delgato, of the North End Delgatos. You look confused. Oh, wait. Did you expect me to be over there?” Ollie pointed across the water to the Herrick’s End tower in the distance. “Surprise! I got out.”
Laszlo stammered something unintelligible.
“An umbrella would have been nice,” Ollie continued, his voice smooth. “I think I’m the only one down here who doesn’t have one. Maybe you could just make it a standard part of the Laszlo Kravchenko Deluxe Travel Package. Did you know those worms up there pee on us once a day?” He pointed one finger up at the ceiling, not moving his eyes. “What am I saying. Of course, you know that. You know all about this place, don’t you?”
Meatball skittered down his arm and hopped onto the dock, joining the other trogs in the search for dropped rhizers.
“Ollie, my friend, I—”
“Your friend?” Ollie guffawed. “Oh, that’s good. You knew I’d end up in that shithole. You knew exactly what would happen to me if you sent me down here. And you didn’t care. How does it work? Does the Warden pay you to send unsuspecting morons down here to staff up his Labor Force?”
“No! I mean, yes, I do know Warden.” Laszlo was sputtering, stunned. “He is asshole. Grade-A asshole, as you say. But no, I would not do that to you. I would never do that.”
“So why, then?”
Laszlo seemed to be marveling. “You are free?” he asked. “You were in there, and you got out?”
“Yeah, that’s right. No thanks to you.”
A long-haired merchant rowed by in a boat filled with accordion fans and multi-colored fabrics. “Beautiful, beautiful!” she screeched in a distinctly unbeautiful voice as she passed. “Something nice for your girl?” The two men waved her away.
“Mr. Ollie, Oliver, I would not send you into harm’s way. Never.”
“Why, then? Why did you send me at all?”
“I was following instructions,” Laszlo said. “Very…how do you say…specific instructions.”
“Instructions from who?”
“You would not believe me if I say.”
“Try me.”
Laszlo rested his hands on his trunk-like legs, not answering.
“Instructions from who?” Ollie asked again.
The acrobat inhaled, then said, “From George Herrick.”
Ollie leaned backward. “George Herrick is dead.”
“Yes, I hear this. Very sad. But before he was dead, he used to leave notes. Usually small kinds of things. And one day, he left note to me. With my name.”
“What did it say?”
“It said, ‘When you find the lost boy looking for the lost girl, send him to me.’”
The two men stared at each other. All around them, conversation and laughter and clomping boots echoed in the thick cavern air.
“So, what?” Ollie said. “What made you think that was me? That could have been anyone.” But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. The lost boy, looking for a lost girl. The savior who wasn’t a savior. Of course it was him. Pathetically, obviously him. How was it possible that Herrick had written not one, but two messages about Ollie, before Ollie had ever stepped foot in the Neath? Another note, another peek into the future. The witches, it seemed, had blessed ol’ George with more than just a long life.
“Why would I make up such thing? I would not!” Laszlo said. “I ignore this note. It make no sense to me. But then, you come to the Center. You ask your questions. You give your name. And I hear you talk, and I think: Lost girl! Confused boy! That must be the one. And so, I write note to you. To meet me, at stairs. I think that you will not come. But you do come! And you tell me your story, about your missing girl, and I think, Hey, this must be all right. He wants to go to Neath, and George Herrick wants him to go to Neath, so I must send him, yes? What else can I do?”
Ollie felt like he had opened the door to a closet full of nonsense words, and they had all come tumbling down onto his head at once. “Stop, stop,” he said, holding up a hand. “Why would he want me down here? What does that even mean?”
“I do not know,” Laszlo said, looking forlorn. “How am I to know? When George Herrick tells you to do something, you do it. That is all.”
“Well, you did it, all right. You got me tossed into the pits of goddamn, fucking hell.” Ollie dropped his head into his hands. “And now Tera’s in there, too.”
“Tera?” Laszlo straightened. His ruddy complexion began to pale, like milk pouring into tea.
“Yeah. You know her?”
For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. His Roman nose cast a long shadow on his cheek as the seconds passed. Then, in a low voice, he said, “I know her.”
Ollie stared at him. “You brought her down here, didn’t you?”
The acrobat nodded. “Many years ago. She came to WRC, looking for help. Like so many.” Laszlo’s expression hardened as he stared out over the olive-hued water. “She could have chosen revenge. Me? I think probably that she should have. But she did not. She chose forgiving. And a new life, and a new name. That was…what? Five, six years ago? She was just child.”
The two men regarded each other, sharing a long look of unspoken things.
“Yeah, well, she’s all grown up now,” Ollie finally said. “And she’s in a world of shit. Thanks to you, and thanks to me.”
“Tera is really there? In the prison?”
“Yes, she is. And you, my friend, are going to help me get her out.”
“But I do not—”
“You misunderstand,” Ollie interrupted, giving the acrobat a stern, unwavering stare. “I’m not asking.”
* * *
They lined up next to each other like descending-height Russian dolls: Ollie and Laszlo on the end, followed by Ajanta, Derrin, and Kuyu. Meatball had been left back at the house.
Tall, conical stalagmites kept them hidden. They peered across the open clearing at another, much longer line, where people stood behind wheelbarrows as they waited. And waited, and waited. Some waited for vengeance, some waited for justice. But it was getting harder for Ollie to tell which was which.
It was the same spot, more or less, where he had hidden only two weeks before, after Tera and Mrs. Paget had first dropped him at the murky shore outside of Herrick’s End. This time, though, felt nothing like the last. He wasn’t scanning the line of people. He wasn’t nervous, or confused, or unprepared. Ollie knew exactly what was coming next. He welcomed it. The tower rose up into the orange smog, beckoning him. Daring him to enter. He stared back, unblinking.
“There,” Laszlo muttered, pointing at a red-suited guard in the distance. “That is my guy.”
Ollie tore his gaze away from the crumbling walls. He nodded, then turned to his left. “Everybody remember the plan?” he asked in a loud whisper.
Four heads nodded. Beside them, a wheelbarrow stood at the ready, along with some rope and a small fabric bag.
Kuyu lifted the rope. “You sure this is necessary?” she asked dubiously.
“Yes,” Ollie said. “If they recognize me, we’re screwed. I have to look like a new prisoner.” And who better to play the role of his angry little victim than Kuyu? She’d probably kick him a few times for good measure. Or for fun. But Ollie didn’t say that last part out loud. “You guys are all set with the food?”
“Yes,” said Derrin.
“Everyone remember the rendezvous points?” Ollie asked.
Again, four nods.
“Good. I can’t guarantee the timing, but we’ll get there.” Eventually. Hopefully. Maybe. But again, he didn’t say those last parts out loud. He clenched his jaw as the decrepit, tipping tower loomed over them, mocking their plans. “I was in there,” Ollie murmured, staring up. “And she came for me. I’d still be there now if not for her.” Then he drew himself to his full height and turned to face them. “She would have done the same for any one of you.”
Ajanta tugged on her braid. Laszlo looked like he might be about to cry. Kuyu slipped her arm through Derrin’s and clung.
“All right, then.” Ollie raised his voice as loud as he dared. “Let’s go get our girl.”
Kuyu was the first to move. She reached for the fabric bag and held it aloft, facing Ollie. He ducked and allowed her to slide it over his head. The world went dark. Then he climbed blindly into the wheelbarrow and curled his body into a ball as the others tied his wrists and ankles.
“Good luck, my friend,” he heard Laszlo say. “I will see you very soon.”
“Be careful, Ollie.” That was Derrin.
A silent squeeze. That had to be Ajanta.
Ollie heard muttering and crunching footsteps. Then he heard Kuyu’s voice. “You ready, big guy?”
“Ready,” he answered, sounding muffled.
“And you’re sure you want to do this? It’s not too late, you know.”
He smiled reflexively at her words. They were the same words Tera had used when she first dropped Ollie here and tried to dissuade him from going after Nell. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl.
But that was then.
“I’m sure,” he said.
Kuyu grunted, hoisting the handles. His body jostled inside the wheelbarrow as she pushed him through the edge of the stalagmite forest, out into the clearing beyond, and eventually took her place in the line. They had sliced a few holes in the bag to let in air and a little bit of light, but for the most part Ollie saw nothing.
He didn’t know how long they waited. Hours, at least. Finally, they reached the admittance desk. Kuyu, to her credit, did an impressive job. She told them his name was Devin. She described unspeakable acts. She even shed some tears.
The guards untied him and hauled him out of the wheelbarrow, as he knew they would. They dragged him with violent, terrible force, as he knew they would. And as they raised the heavy iron gate and threw him into the dark hole beyond, Ollie closed his eyes. He imagined himself plunging into a cold river. Holding his breath. Rising to the surface. Lifting his arms with strong, even strokes.
She was there, somewhere in the current, and he would find her. Not rescue her—no. The thought was laughable. But he would find her. And when he did, one of two things would happen: They would swim, or they would drown. Together. There were no other options. Because once he had her hand in his, he was never letting go.