Chapter
9: The Tangled Web
By
the time Catherine reached their chamber, Valerie had filled her in on the
day’s events. “Come on in and sit down,” Catherine called to her as she went
into the bedroom. “I just need to change first. My feet are killing me.”
Valerie
chuckled. “Heels do seem…impractical.”
“That
they are,” Catherine agreed as she toed the vile things off, “but necessary,
sometimes.” She dug out her favorite pair of worn tennis shoes from under the
bed and put them on, then shrugged into the grey Columbia Law School
sweatshirt. “Ahhhh, much better. Make
yourself some tea if you want—I think the kettle is on the burner.”
“It
is,” Valerie confirmed. “Is this one of Mouse’s inventions?”
“What,
you mean the burner?” Catherine asked as she pulled her hair into a loose
ponytail and found Valerie staring bemusedly at the burner, which had been
jury-rigged to fit neatly above an old carved tea cart. “Yeah, it does. And
with a minimum of fireworks too.”
Valerie
chuckled. “Mouse, bless him. Above, I don’t know what he’d be—either in jail or
running a toy company.” She sobered. “Catherine, he wasn’t…very happy about
being left behind. A bunch of people weren’t.”
“I’m
sure Vincent had his reasons,” Catherine replied. “It must have been hard for
him to choose.”
“It
was,” Valerie confirmed, “but he had good reasons. Fewer people means a
lessened risk of being discovered, plus…well, you might not have noticed, but
Mouse doesn’t come with an ON/OFF switch. I don’t think he knows how to be
quiet.” She folded her arms. “Still, I’d expect Vincent to get an earful from
some of them. Me, I’m just glad he didn’t ask Cullen to go. He and Leah are all
I’ve got, you know?”
Catherine
nodded. “I do. I do indeed.”
“What
were your plans tonight?” Valerie asked, a shade too carefully.
The
question was loaded with some other meaning, Catherine sensed. “I hadn’t really
thought that far,” she confessed. “Why?”
Valerie
fiddled with the edge of her teacup—a nervous gesture. “There are people
gathering in the commons,” she finally said. “It would do them good to see you.
To know that you are not afraid. It’s what Vincent would do.”
Catherine
sat down heavily in one of the overstuffed chairs, absorbing this. Her husband
was as much symbol as man to the tunnels, but this was the first time she’d
confronted it quite so baldly. “And if I tell you that I am afraid…what then?”
“Then
you’ll be another member of the club,” Valerie said dryly. “At least you won’t
be alone.”
***
The
small group traveled mostly in silence for the first few hours. Vincent was
pleased by this; they didn’t know precisely where Lucas’s sentries might be and
they were much less likely to be discovered if they didn’t make unnecessary
noise. He glanced at Mary and Angus and thought their expressions must surely
mirror his own: grim determination mixed with just the slightest amount of
apprehension.
He
took a deep breath, forcing calm over his instincts, the urge to leave the
others behind and strike at the people who had harmed his father. There was the
instinct of the hunter rising within him, thrumming with the rhythms of his
blood; set free…alone…and nothing and no one would stop him. I can do
this, the Other said, giving voice to all his inner conflicts. Let me.
Vincent
became aware of murmuring, and that Angus had said something to him and was
awaiting his answer. “I’m…sorry, Angus. My mind was elsewhere. What did you
say?”
Angus
shook his head. “Distracted is no way to go about this, you know. I said I
think we should stop for a bit—if I remember the maps right, and Mary says I
do, the corridors are going to start branching soon and we’ll need to figure
out which one to go down. Plus, if we’re going to cut power, we need to know
where they’re hiding their junction box.”
Vincent
accepted the rebuke with an incline of his head. Winslow would have said much
the same. “You’re right,” he said. “My apologies.”
Angus
grinned, an unexpectedly wry look on his dour face. He felt the weight of
Angus’s hand on his shoulder and through the contact, Vincent sensed there was
no true anger in him, just concern. “That’s what you brought me here for, ain’t
it?”
Vincent
returned the smile with one of his own. “Not entirely, but…yes, thank you.”
***
“Angela,
what’s going on?” Father asked as the door shut behind her.
Angela
shifted her son to her shoulder. Her
other hand rested on the thin, fragile shoulders of her eldest daughter. “Were
you serious, what you said? You would let us join you?”
“Depends,”
Rhys said before Father could speak. “Did you know what Lucas was planning?”
“I’m
his wife,” Angela replied, as tartly. “Not his counselor. Not his mind-reader.”
Quinn
folded her arms. “That doesn’t answer the question. Did you know?”
“I
knew Lucas was going to get a doctor—Joshua was sick, and Dr. Peter had told us
he wouldn’t be available for a time. I didn’t know… all of this.” Angela looked
at all of them, the bravado missing from her eyes, and Father noticed how tired
and frightened she looked. “I didn’t. Please. Believe me.”
“I
do,” Father said, before any of the others could speak. “But Angela, the
council will have to make the final decision as to your asylum. Be prepared
that they may not be in a listening mood after…all of this.”
Angela’s
smile made her look years younger. “They will, if I help you escape.”
Father
felt a certain unwilling respect for her; Angela might well want a better life
for herself and her children, but she was going to buy her way into their
community with the only currency the council would accept. It was calculating,
and a touch cold, but he couldn’t argue with her logic. “Very well,” he said.
“I assume you have a plan?”
***
Catherine
followed Valerie into the crowded commons and realized that most of the
community must be in here, waiting. There was an uneven, worried tone to the
rise and fall of conversation and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a
sullen Mouse (sullen? Mouse? she wondered) sitting with Jamie. But in
the nervous glances, Catherine saw that Valerie’s assessment had been correct:
without Father to lead them, without Vincent to calm them, the community was
rudderless and afraid.
She
took a deep breath and considered what to do next. There was an empty space
across from Mouse and Jamie’s welcoming smile beckoned her forward. “Do you
want some coffee?” Valerie asked. “There’s a fresh pot. I can bring you some if
you want. Cream, sugar?”
“Both,”
Catherine said. “And thank you.” She walked over to the table and sat down. The
conversation halted as soon as she sat down. “I told you,” Jamie said. “She’s
here, Mouse.”
“I
am,” Catherine told her with a confidence she didn’t feel. “How are you two
doing?”
“Mouse
is grumpy,” Jamie said, forthright as always.
“Wanted
to come,” Mouse said, an unusual sourness edging his words. “Should be there.
Father’s not just Vincent’s Father.”
He
was fidgeting, Catherine saw, with the worn ceramic handle of his mug, and she
thought how odd it was to see him without one of his customary tools in his
hands. “Of course,” she soothed. “But I’m sure Vincent didn’t want to see you
get hurt.” And almost without conscious recall, she remembered the days after
the cave-in, coming Below to check on Vincent and finding Father engaged in a
serious discussion with Mouse about all the risks he’d taken to free them. “That much explosive, you could have been
killed!” Father had said, and although Catherine hadn’t heard the worry in
his words then (she’d thought Father was being just a tad unfair, considering
Mouse’s risk had saved his life and Vincent’s) she thought she understood now.
Mouse didn’t care for his own welfare when the lives of his tunnel family were
endangered…and to keep him safe, Vincent had left him behind.
As
he did for me. The
thought was not a new one, and Catherine knew she would have been of little
use—what need had they for a lawyer right now?—and she was buried in work
besides, necessary work with the Avery trial starting so soon, but…Jamie’s
light touch on her arm broke into her train of thought. “Catherine, you know
he’s going to be okay, right? They’ll all come home.”
“I
thought I was here to reassure you,” Catherine replied dryly.
“You
are. You did. But you needed to hear it too.”
***
They
trudged on in relative silence for another few hours or more. Vincent shut his
mental door against his darker thoughts to concentrate better on the faint
clues only he could pick up: the smell of fabric, the heavier (and much more
unpleasant) scents of unwashed bodies, the emotional residues of fear and worry
(Vincent shook his head once; sometimes these emanations were as overpowering
in their way as the more obvious smells.) The center corridor was absent all of
these clues; clearly no one had come this way in some time. The corridor to the
left, though…He picked up a whiff of tea-antiseptic-book and knew. Father
and the others had been taken down this passage. The growl rumbled in his
chest, unbidden.
Vincent
turned at a tug on his cloak: Mary, gesturing them both to a jury-rigged
junction box hidden just inside the narrow left corridor. “It’s as I thought,”
she said, voice pitched low. “They haven’t made any changes since I was here
last. Father and I…saw this on our way back the last time. He was appalled.”
Angus
grunted. “With good reason. It’s a fire hazard waiting to happen. Complacent
bastards, aren’t they?” He eyed the wiring skeptically. “Been a while since I
mucked around with electrical work, but it looks easy enough to cut power.”
“And
how far away are we from Lucas’s group?” Vincent asked. He had a mental
estimate but he could as easily be wrong.
Angus
yawned and glanced at his watch. “Coming on midnight now. Shouldn’t be too much
longer.”
Vincent
felt a pang of guilt. They had left on his insistence and had not stopped,
except for a few brief breaks, for hours. And Angus and Mary were older; he
should have given them some time to rest. And you? Aren’t you tired? an
inner voice asked in Catherine’s voice—Catherine who had always insisted that
he gave his needs and desires as much weight as everyone else’s. Reluctantly,
he acknowledged the truth: he too was tired, and worried. And it was only with
great effort that he was able to limit the torrent of feelings coming from
Father and the others so he could focus on finding them. The strain of that,
the constant tug on his own emotions, was beginning to wear on him. “We can
stop for an hour or so,” he said aloud.
Mary’s
head jerked up. Her hair had come down from its customary knot—a rare enough
sight—and as Vincent watched, she hastily repinned it. “I don’t think an hour
will make much difference, Vincent. We’ll all sleep better once they’re home.”
Her arch look punctuated her words: Don’t stop on my account.
Angus
nodded. “She’s right. Better we get there—we can rest on the way home.”
Vincent
folded his arms. “There might be…little rest for us on the way back. Are you both
certain?”
Angus
grinned, a challenging, fierce look. “What do you think, boy?”
***
Father
sat down heavily on the bed, tired to the marrow of his bones. Rhys paced the
confines of the narrow room. “Do you believe her?” Quinn asked.
Father
sighed. “I believe that she wants a better life for her children. Whether I
believe that she’ll be able to cut the electrical power and return to rescue us
is another thing entirely. But…it’s in Angela’s hands now. There’s little else
we can do.”
Her
plan, he had to admit, had been a good one. With Lucas and the other members of
their rag-tag council embroiled in a meeting with “her” (Angela’s eyes had
flickered nervously to the door as she’d said the word,) it would be easy
enough for Angela to bring her children to Father and the others, and then
journey to the power junction to cut all power—and the overhead lighting. Then
she would return to guide Father and the others out of the community and on
their way back home. He fought against another sigh—so many, many things,
resting on the frail shoulders of one woman. And if she was caught…well, as
he’d said, it was up to Angela.
He
heard the muted snick of the door’s lock; the door creaked open. Angela,
guiding her children inside. “I’ve fed Joshua and changed him,” she said
without preamble. “We should have a couple of hours before he gets fussy again.
These are my other children, Susan and Joseph.”
“Joey,”
the boy insisted. “My name is Joey.”
The
girl Susan rolled her eyes. “Joseph is your full name. I keep telling you
that.”
“Joey
is a fine name,” Quinn said. She glanced at both children. “Would you like to
come with us? There are lots of other kids for you to play with.”
“And
there’s food there,” Angela put in. “Food for the taking.”
“Food
for the asking,” Father said firmly, wondering how well these children
would fare. “We do not steal in our community.”
Joey’s
eyes were round with shock and Susan opened her mouth to say something, but
Angela’s hand on her shoulder silenced them both. “Maybe we can talk about how
you live after we get there, eh?”
Rhys
smiled. “Great idea.” He took Joshua from her and sat down on the bed, holding
the child with a parent’s practiced ease. “How long do you think it will take
you to cut power and return?”
Angela
shrugged. “About an hour or so. Once I shut the power off, there will be a lot
of confusion and I’m sure Lucas will suspect something is up, so bar the door
and don’t let anyone in until I come back.”
“Is
Daddy coming too?” Joey asked.
Angela
bit her lip. “I don’t know, baby. I’ll ask him though, okay?” She squared her
shoulders. “I need you and Susan to stay here for a bit, okay? I’ll be back
soon.”
The
lights flickered and died on the last of her words. And Father knew, as surely
as he knew the sun would rise, or one of Mouse’s gizmos would inevitably
backfire…he knew.
Vincent
and the others had arrived.
***
As
the hours wore on, more and more people came into the commons, as if to relieve
those who had already left, or simply to support those who remained. Bronwyn
joined them at some point near midnight. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said simply.
“The kids are out like lights, but…I can’t. Can I sit here?”
“Of
course,” Catherine said, scooting over on the long bench to make room. “Have
you eaten?”
“Some,”
Bronwyn replied. “But…you know how it is.”
“I
do,” Catherine told her.
Valerie
stood. “Oh, there’s Marisol and Miguel. Can I get you something from the
kitchen, Bronwyn?”
Bronwyn
shook her head. “Catherine, do you mind if we talk a little outside?”
“Of
course not,” Catherine replied. She rose and followed the other woman into the
narrow corridor just outside the commons. Someone—Kanin, probably—had carved a
couple of wide benches into the wall and she sat down on one of them. The tappings on the pipes, even at this late
hour, rose and fell and she felt some of the tensions of her day subside with
the rhythms of home.
Bronwyn
sat down next to her. She smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in her long patched
skirt then said, “Catherine, what do you know about what’s going on with Rhys?”
“Only
what you do,” Catherine replied and that thought unnerved her more than she
could say. Vincent, she sensed, had narrowed the threads of their bond to
concentrate better, and although she understood his reasoning, it was difficult
to perceive so little from him.
Bronwyn
folded her arms. “Are you…I’m sorry, Catherine, but I’ve heard rumors
about….you and Vincent’s connection. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”
“I…I
only know he’s well. I have to assume the others are, too,” Catherine said,
slightly nettled with discussing their bond so openly. It wasn’t something that
needed much analysis…it simply was, like the air she breathed or the
moon at night.
Bronwyn
flushed slightly. “I’m sorry. I’ve asked you about something personal—”
Catherine
breathed out and smiled, recognizing the desperation that had driven Bronwyn to
breach the tunnels’ tacit respect for privacy. “No, if the shoe was on the
other foot, I’d have asked the exact same thing.”
Bronwyn
tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. “But they’re all right?”
Catherine
nodded. Bronwyn’s hand reached out and clasped her own. “Then we’ll have to
hold to that.”
4 comments:
Such suspense! ^_^
Yay! Progress made on several fronts. I had a feeling Angela was NOT pleased with her husband's involvement with "Her" plans, and it's interesting that she came up with pretty much the same plan as Vincent and his group. Now we just have to anxiously wait to see if the two groups can meet up and safely escape. This is great! More please!
Regards, Lindariel
Wonderful stuff. Down the line I'm interested in the culture shock of Angela's children to the other Below - if they make it that far. Eric or one of the other children coming to an adult heartbroken that a treasure is missing, and Angela's children genuine confusion at the law of the land not being that if you're dumb enough to leave your stuff lying around it's up for grabs. And I'm dying to know who "Her" is.
Ruby
Brit- Well, yes. :-) Glad to see you around!
Lindariel- So good to see your comment. Things are...moving right along, as they say. ;-)
Ruby- Yes, there's going to be a lot of culture shock...and who "she" is will be revealed in the next chapter. Or two :-)Thank you so much for your thoughtful comment!
Hugs to all,
Krista :)
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