Huddled on a hilltop overlooking Rome, staring at a list of names like “Flutter Blood Baby” and “The Tether Heads” on a torn, dirty slip of paper, waiting for Mamoud to get back from reconnaissance, wasn’t exactly how Jonathan had expected things to go. But here he was, here they all were, midmorning of the day after their desperate escape from the train.
Atop a hill with a crumbling stone cistern in the center and yellowing grass and a ruined low wall either side of the cistern for shelter. No doubt the wall had been built by the Romans centuries before. Moss and lichen had transformed it into a spray and daub of greens.
Rack was propped up against the stones to the left of the cistern, legs out straight in front of him. Danny sat beside him, cross-legged, a distant stare widening her face, and Alice on the other side. Alice had bruises and a sore shoulder and lacerations on her face, but nothing serious.
Danny’s pack lay where she’d dropped it, and looked abandoned. It alarmed Jonathan to see Danny that way, as if she’d reached her limit. Rack had a cut on his left cheek that would leave a scar and a pulled muscle in his left and only calf. Danny’s hair was caked with dirt and her face smudged with smoke residue. Tee-Tee had curled around her neck like the world’s shortest, worst scarf, almost as if he’d gone into hibernation from stress.
The sky beyond the cistern, looking back upon broken Rome, had taken on a green-orange haze so vivid it resembled a chemical leak. The puff of explosions among the maze of buildings blossomed now black, now white, depending on the cause.
What Mamoud termed “distracting decoys” floated in the air against that backdrop: imitation Golden Spheres that spoke in terrifying ways, that dropped low and then shot up high, that at times were corporeal and then less so, that changed size. Taunting the lumbering mecha-elephants.
While parts of the city disappeared in smoke and fire. While the giant lizards—which, through the binoculars Mamoud had provided, were the size of an anole seen green against a wall, but actually almost half the size of the elephants—engulfed one mecha-elephant in their scuttling ire, sympathetic to a Golden Sphere that did not wish to be caught.
A terrifying yet also absurd sight, to Jonathan.
Because what would they have done if Crowley hadn’t derailed the train? Would they really have jumped off and made it through that hellscape to complete their mission? Fought giant lizards and Crowley’s forces? Held their breath against the dangerous green-and-orange magical fog that rolled in and rolled out again, restless, aimless, unpredictable? Cornered the Golden Sphere, waved the Wobble in front of It, and all would’ve been well?
Somehow, he doubted it.
The wound in Jonathan’s thigh had stopped bleeding, but if he were back home he’d have had a trip to the hospital in his near future. Here, he’d just have to hope it healed. The swift way Alice had ripped a sleeve from her shirt and wrapped it around the wound in Jonathan’s leg in seconds flat had saved him from serious damage.
“Nothing like adversity to bind people together,” Sarah had said. “If they’re of good character.”
But that wasn’t quite right. Whether of good, bad, or indifferent character, when people’s lives were in danger, they took steps. They took steps to survive. Even if they turned out to be the wrong steps.
Almost as an afterthought, Danny began to tie her hair back in a ponytail to get it out of her face, wincing from pain in her right wrist, while Rack now showed signs of life, pulling his pack toward him and rooting through it ceaselessly, looking for something important he couldn’t quite locate.
Although disheveled, muddy, and spent, they were already like veterans of something larger than themselves. He could see it in their eyes. He could see it in the way Rack’s resolve had stiffened with his stance, tension in his wide shoulders, the firm set of his lantern jaw. The night before, Jonathan had seen it in the way Danny had brandished the bear gun, had secured the ax she’d found through her belt.
As they’d slipped past the gauntlet of demi-mages and the train had gone from a mosaic of bright, almost cheery orange-red flames fractured and diluted by the black branches of trees to a dim glow against the chill.
“It’s nothing like our world,” Rack said, still rummaging.
“Actually, the trappings aside, it’s very much like our world,” Jonathan replied.
“I know one thing—I don’t want our world to become like this one,” Danny said. “I don’t want Crowley to win.”
Both of their worlds could use massive amounts of improvement, as far as Jonathan could tell, but he agreed with that one thing.
“I don’t want Crowley to win, either,” he said. “Especially not after almost being killed by a giant replica of his horrible face.”
“Do you think they knew we were on that train?” Danny asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Alice said. “It was bound to happen sometime.”
“You really think it had nothing to do with us?” Jonathan asked. Somehow that seemed unlikely.
“I know one thing that had to do with us,” Alice said. “Or you, rather.”
Jonathan gave her a puzzled look.
“You mean how we got out,” Danny said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Jonathan, why don’t you tell us?” Alice said. “One moment we were stuck inside the train car. The next we were all sprawled on the snow, along with our things.”
“We were thrown free.”
“No, I distinctly remember you shouting ‘Enough’ and the next second we’d all gotten free.”
Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But he did know what they were talking about.
Something had shifted in that moment after he’d shouted “Enough!” Something had been different, for a speck of time. A mote of time. He’d shifted it, much as he’d “pushed” the wraith in Spain.
A row of sparrows had descended upon the wall above the heads of Danny and Rack. Brief respite, and then in a chattering ruckus took their leave, headed somewhere safer.
Not as free to leave was a foraging hedgehog that either was brave enough not to fear them or too hungry to bother with fear.
As it snuffled around Jonathan’s feet, he pulled out a half-eaten protein bar from his coat pocket and broke off a piece, tossed it in front of the inquisitive nose. Down the gullet it went. Not that they had much food to spare. They’d managed to save about two packs’ worth of supplies from the train.
Mamoud appeared at the wall, from down the hill. Alice rose, hopeful.
“Any good news?” Jonathan asked.
Mamoud gave them a weary grin. A grim grin. “Rome is on fire. Crowley’s armies are on the move, driving all before them. The leader of the Italian resistance is dead—someone betrayed him. The Golden Sphere is no longer here.”
“Is that all?” Jonathan said, hurting all over. Aware that the Wobble in his pocket might not mean much now. Last times he’d checked, it’d looked like a black dot with teeth, then like a sunflower with fangs, then like a cheap glass marble. Only ever for a few moments, then it’d settle back into flat anonymity.
“No. Unfortunately, we have only one door out. Crowley’s closed off some, and his army’s in the way of reaching any of the others.”
It didn’t seem fair that Mamoud could deliver this news with not a hair out of place, with the appearance of limitless energy. He was dressed impeccably for the weather, in a spotless black overcoat and boots with silver trim.
“So we’ll just go home, yeah?” Danny said. “Regroup. Take stock and take our chances back at the mansion.”
Surprising but not surprising that Danny would say that. She said it a bit like he imagined her rugby coach might say it if their team was losing by a wide margin at the midpoint.
“Go home? There’s no going home for now,” Mamoud said. “The only door leads to the foothills of the Alps—here on Aurora. The Alps will be your home for a while.”
Rack’s head was bowed, and he’d ceased searching his pack. “I knew it. I just knew it.”
Danny had decided to concentrate on rewrapping her left wrist with the fabric she’d torn from a spare T-shirt. But Jonathan could see the wheels turning.
“Less than a day in Aurora and we’re all falling apart,” Rack said, off his own thoughts. “Forget the fade—wear and tear and not knowing what the hell will come at us next will do us all in.”
“I’m happy to be a parrot: We’ve no choice for now. No choice at all,” Mamoud said, smiling.
“Are we going to die here, then?” Danny asked.
Mamoud blinked at her. “Alice thinks we should try to break through their lines, instead of risking the door. The argument is: What if the door’s not safe after all and Crowley’s men lie in wait?”
“And Mamoud thinks that’s a crap idea because their ‘lines’ are so shambolic it would be a roll of the dice,” Alice said.
“One person might break through,” Mamoud said. “I might. You might, Alice. But what then? A long, arduous journey through enemy territory or a boat to Sardinia and then Corsica, and then what? Still behind enemy lines.”
“I could do it,” Alice said. “I bet I could.”
“What about the other members of the Order? Can’t you call on them?” Jonathan asked.
“Lots of them have turned up dead of late,” Alice said. “Lots are scattered. There’s disarray in the ranks. Factions.”
“Which brings us to my Allies List,” Jonathan said.
Which brought them to, among other oddities, “Flutter Blood Baby.”
“Flutter Blood Baby” was an inside joke Jonathan shared with R & D, a bit of nonsense uttered by him late one night while playing a board game as relief from studying for midterms. The other two began saying it as well, and it became a favorite saying. Incomprehensible to anyone else, unable to be explained the way some things between friends just were, to outsiders.
“Flutter Blood Baby” looked plenty stupid now, on the page, but he’d felt a need when writing down the allies to disguise the real ones a bit. Never thinking that perhaps Dr. Lambshead had already done so.
The full list of allies in the area read as follows:
The Tether Heads
The Black Tower of Sumurath*
Flutter Blood Baby
Sir Zafir Samuels*
Mandible Man & His Star Goats
Hoard-Slugger Lastface
Various Bird-Children
The Alpine Meadows Research Institute*
The Three-Legged Squirrel of Zurich
He had not made up either the Tether Heads or the Mandible Man. But those didn’t have asterisks by them, placed there by Dr. Lambshead: “The ones I recommend you visit, when you have time.”
Alongside each name was an address, each more absurd than the last. Surely there had never been a street named “Tensile Strength” or “Go Boom.” “Various Bird-Children” he studiously ignored, as the address was Dr. Lambshead’s mansion.
“How old is this? How accurate?” Alice had said in challenge, when he’d shown them the list, dirt-smudged and sweat-stained from living in his trouser pocket. Possibly “Flutter Blood Baby” had raised the alarm.
Jonathan had come right back with, “How would I know? Do you have a better idea?”
No, they did not. Other than splitting up and going their separate ways in enemy territory, which seemed like a terrible plan. All this right before Mamoud and Alice had tasked him with telling the others there was no easy way home.
Of course, Dr. Lambshead’s list had been nonsense to Jonathan when he’d first read it, and nonsense he’d thought applied to people and places on Earth, not an entirely different Earth.
“Flutter. Blood baby?” It sounded even more ridiculous when Mamoud said it aloud, in a questioning tone. But not as embarrassing as admitting he’d made it up.
Both Rack and Danny lost it when he said the words, of course. No helping that.
“Oh, by all means, Jonathan, let’s go visit Flutter Blood Baby. I’ve always wanted to,” Rack said.
“Flutter Blood Baby—the superhero we never knew we needed, yeah?”
He just rode it out, at least happy he’d brought R & D out of their heads, said curtly, “No reason,” when Mamoud asked why the laughter.
“Well, I don’t want to go to a black tower,” Danny said. “Neither does Tee-Tee.”
“Quite right,” Rack said. “Ever read P. D. James? Never go to the black tower, unless you want to be death-murdered.”
“How’s that different than usual murdered?” Danny asked.
“It’s much, much worse, trust me, sister.”
“So, does that mean you’d rather go to something or someone called the Tether Heads?” Danny asked.
“The Black Tower is closer than the rest,” Mamoud said. “And the name is alluring.”
“But only by a little,” Alice added. “And I doubt there’s help there, just shelter. Crowley’s men would likely have taken it over by now, as well.”
“The squirrel option tempts, but Zurich is the farthest away,” Mamoud said. “Although I do not doubt the power of a squirrel ally.”
“Zurich will be teeming with spies, including Crowley’s operatives.”
“What about the Alpine Meadows Research Institute?” Jonathan asked.
“I have never heard of it before,” Mamoud said. “At least, by that name.”
“I’ve heard promising rumors,” Alice said. “Could be the best, given the options. Could definitely be the best.”
“The address is somewhat precise at least: Way Station 3712, Montagna del lago dell’inferno, Puffin Path, Mile Marker 667.”
He didn’t say he favored it because he thought he remembered Sarah mentioning it, or something like it, in one of the stories she’d told him. He also didn’t say how the thought of retracing her steps, even on Aurora, gave him a sense of dread. Of a shadow looming into view.
“That’s the trap, of course,” Rack said. “The one that’s innocent-sounding will be terrible, and the one that sounds like suspicious bollocks will be great.”
“A way station is likely to have supplies and shelter—remote enough it’d be out of Crowley’s path,” Mamoud said. “If anything is.”
“It sounds very formal,” Jonathan said. And thus comforting, amid all the chaos, which had been exceedingly informal.
Alice hesitated, then said, “I know the general area. And the trail, or I know of it.”
“But you grew up in England,” Jonathan said.
“My parents sent me to a boarding school in the Alps. Swiss Alps, not Italian, but I still remember some things.”
She seemed less than pleased to have to divulge the information. Or was that just good acting?
“The Alpine Meadows Research Institute it is, then,” Mamoud said.
“Do we have any other choice?” Rack asked.
“You don’t,” Alice said.
“She has a point,” Mamoud said. “The fade. Fatigue lowers resistance.” He stared at Jonathan’s leg. “Being injured does, too. We need to find a sanctuary.”
Jonathan exchanged a glance with Rack and Danny. They were going to have to keep their wits about them, traveling in a strange land. Wary of the fade. Unable, yet, to get home.
“Where is the door to the foothills?” Danny asked.
“It’s in the cistern, of course,” Alice said. “The cistern is a door. Why do you think we came here? For our health? Gather up your things. We should leave soon.”
Rack had his walking stick, which he could wield like a weapon.
Jonathan had nothing but the Wobble, a cheerful pocketknife, and, now, binoculars, but somehow that was enough for him. “You’d best dig deep to survive what’s coming,” he told the hedgehog, for Crowley’s armies would overrun this position soon enough. Two or three hours, Mamoud had estimated.
To his surprise, but also relief, the hedgehog looked up, appeared to nod, and then on nimble feet trundled away down the line of the wall, popping into a hole near the base of the cistern Jonathan hadn’t noticed before. He rather hoped the nibble of protein bar wouldn’t hurt the little creature.
At least the hedgehog didn’t look at him funny because of what he had done to get them free of the train. R & D had pointedly asked no questions, and perhaps thought in time he’d talk about it. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to. As if talking let out all kinds of things into the world, things that shouldn’t be there.
As for the cistern, it looked like the usual, with an ordinary tin lid that Mamoud lifted and pushed back on a hinge. Revealing a mouth of black water beneath and a not-so-reassuring burbling and bubbling. Enter the cauldron. Trust in doors that looked like wells.
“Not as bleak as it looks, I assure you,” Mamoud said, a sparkle in his eye at some private joke. “Not as deep. Not as septic.”
One, two, three, they went, Jonathan fourth but not last.
As Jonathan let himself fall over the side of the cistern, he felt not the expected weight of water but the crackle of some magical discharge; he had the thought that they might as well be visiting Flutter Blood Baby. After all, he had a voice in his head (he thought), a Wobble in his pocket, and a living knife to boot.
Thus ended the glorious Rome adventure, witnessed by a lone hedgehog and some dour weeds.