Carefully, he asked, “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re a boy who’s been known to move sap, and that’s where it comes from, mostly. And besides, I heard tale you’d already been down there and seen it.”
“So … you heard about that.”
“I hear about everything.” With calculated casualness, she continued. “I know who you’re working for, don’t I?”
He thought about being contrite, and opted instead to be direct. “I expect you do.”
She nodded, and unloaded the cart, making sure everyone’s supplies were bundled up good and tight (including her own), and saw to it that the boys retrieved their weapons.
While she checked and refolded the fishing net, she was silent. But when she’d finished, she said, “It’s no surprise. These other two”—she motioned at Zeke and Houjin, who remained concertedly quiet—“know how I feel about Yaozu. Wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire. He spent too many years propping up my murdering son-in-law down here. I can forgive it for my own peace of mind—but I won’t forget it.”
Rector didn’t believe for a moment that she’d forgiven anyone for anything.
“That being said”—she chose her words carefully, speaking more slowly than usual—“Yaozu is not an inventor, and he’s not some kind of scientist—but he understands how to run a city, or a business, or people … better than Joe ever did. So with that in mind, I will be as gracious as I can muster, and tell you that I don’t think Yaozu is the worst thing that could’ve happened to Seattle. I just hope he’s strong enough to hold it together against the sorts of men who are always trying to weasel their way inside these walls. If he isn’t, someone will take the city away from him, one of these days.”
“And better the devil you know, eh?” he said, more lightly than he meant to.
She donned her bag and started for the stairs that led up out of the cellar. “That’s one way to put it. He’s smarter than Joe, and that’s either good or terrible, depending on how the cards fall. I’m hoping for good, because I care about this place and I want it to hold together—even if he’s the glue. But I’m worried about the bad, because if he put his mind to it, he could do a lot more damage than Joe did. This city is worth saving. It’s worth fixing, however we have to go about it. But it shouldn’t be saved at the cost of making that drug, and all the people it kills. And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.”
The cellar doors parted with a shove of her shoulder.
Rector reflexively held his breath—the Blight looked like smoke, and his body rebelled against the idea of inhaling it—but he beat the instinct down.
Back into the curdled air they climbed, adjusting their gear and their garments to cover all the skin they could. Rector had hung onto Fang’s gloves, and now he felt prepared to poke around inside the dead city, whether or not he enjoyed it.
“Which way’s the wall?” he asked.
“That way,” Houjin answered, pointing.
Rector faced in that direction and waited for Angeline to take the lead. She paused to turn around and remind them, in a soft but penetrating voice, “From here on out, we whisper. And unless it’s real important, don’t even do that. Just keep your mouths shut. We’ll work our way along the wall, same as you were doing yesterday, and if the sasquatch comes out to watch us, so much the better. If it doesn’t, then we’ll keep looking for holes.”
She left the trap near their starting point, baiting it with a piece of horseflesh she unwrapped from a packet of paper. The meat wasn’t terribly fresh, and Rector was glad he was wearing a mask so he couldn’t smell it. They covered the whole setup with some dead, brittle brush, but kept the camouflage light. The odds weren’t great that any creature inside the wall would know a trap when it saw one, or that it’d necessarily care.
And from there, they returned their attention to the wall.
Seventeen
The farther up the hill they explored, the harder it became to hug the Seattle wall.
When it was built seventeen years previously, it had been thrown up as hastily as possible, using whatever was at hand and cutting through anything in its decided path. Houses were severed; trees were knocked over; buildings torn down and left in pieces, their exposed foundations jutting out from the wall’s base. Whereas before Rector had grazed the structure with his fingers to keep tabs on it, now he could keep to it only so closely without falling into an open cellar or climbing over a crumbling old home.
Rector tried to contain his revulsion at the dank, sick press of the air. He kept hoping he’d grow accustomed to it, but familiarity bred only more contempt. He didn’t like the darkness, the constant shroud that hung over everything. He loathed the revolting fog that dripped off every branch of every dead tree, like tattered ghosts or decaying moss. He would have preferred anything else to this, even the muddy tunnel beneath the root cellar. At least he could scratch his nose in the root cellar.
But onward they climbed, and upward, because Angeline told them, “I’ve heard a lot of animal noise and whatnot a little ways from here, at the northeast edge of the wall. Maybe we’ll find our breach there, maybe we won’t. But it’s worth looking.”
Beyond simply breathing in the masks, they also worked against the steep angles of Denny Hill. It was easy to keep from talking. No one had the stamina for it.
And everywhere they went—foot by foot, yard by yard—the wall was intact and imposing. It disappeared up into the fog, its top lines reaching well beyond their field of vision. Occasionally it jutted out through the toxic air, its silhouette a shadow shaped like castle ramparts; usually it wore its halo of fog as thickly as a winter cap, and nothing but a dim suggestion of its shape could be seen.
When they paused to rest they huddled furtively, watching the ever-shifting screen of Blight conceal and reveal the city’s details at its capricious leisure. Once or twice they thought they were being followed, but nothing appeared from the alleys. Nothing leaped forth from the empty homes or shuttered businesses. Nothing joined or harassed them.
They listened, because it took less effort than speaking.
They pulled forward in a nearly vertical crawl, using their hands to hold the streets, which were eroded badly from years of rain and neglect.
For a while they heard the whoosh, drag, and suck of the farthest northern pump room, and they saw its great yellow tube poking up into the sky to reach the clearer air. The dull rumble of machinery somewhere beneath them felt like tremors under their feet. But this comforting, rollicking noise faded, and they couldn’t hear it even if they ignored the sound of their own lungs hauling air back and forth.
And when that steady, reassuring sound was gone, it was replaced by something else.
Rector grasped at Angeline’s sleeve.
“I hear…” She slowed, and stopped. The boys stopped with her. “Something.”
“Reminds me of the noise in Chinatown,” Zeke said quietly. “The men fixing the vents and the ceilings. It’s the noise of men building things.”
Rector made a valiant effort to peer through the fog, but failed to see anything of substance. He leaned forward to make himself heard. “I thought Yaozu was working to fix the city, shore it up, and all that malarkey.”
Houjin’s eyes were grave when he responded. “Not here. The north end of the wall … nobody lives out here. It’s no-man’s-land. It’s too far away from anything useful.”
Zeke added, “No Chinese, no Doornails. No men from the Station.”
“Or there shouldn’t be.” Angeline followed Rector’s lead and tried to peer through the fog by sheer willpower. She turned to the boys and said, “I think you fellows ought to head back. Let me go take a look at this. It could be dangerous.”
“No way.” Zeke shook his head hard enough to make the buckles on his mask rattle.
Houjin echoed the sentiment. “We’re coming, too.”
“I don’t know…”
Rector pushed back as well. “It could be dangerous. You shouldn’t go by yourself.”
She laughed before she could stop herself, then cleared her throat and looked serious again. “There’s nothing in this city that’ll take a swing or a shot at me, Red. Ain’t that right?” she asked Houjin and Zeke.
They nodded their support, but their eyes were anxious. Zeke said, “Even the pirates keep their promises to Miss Angeline.”
She said, “And one person is quieter than four people. That’s not my opinion, that’s math.”
Still the boys stood firm, so she relented. But before they resumed their hike, the princess extracted a promise from them. “If things get bad, I want you boys to run, you hear me? Don’t stick around and try to be heroes. I’ve talked and cut my way out of tight situations before, and I’ll do it again. If it all goes to hell, I want you to head back to the Vaults and tell Zeke’s momma.”
Rector let out a small snort. “Why? What’s she going to do?”
Zeke turned to him. “More than you think, and she won’t do it alone. She’ll bring Cly, and maybe Mr. Swakhammer. And both of them have friends. Big friends, the kind who don’t mind making a mess.”
“Promise me you’ll go?”
Collectively, they sighed, promised, and continued up the hill.
It might’ve been Rector’s imagination, but he could’ve sworn that the higher they went, the thinner the Blight and fog were. He’d heard it was heavy stuff, and it pooled like liquid, or maybe the light just got better as their altitude rose. One thing that wasn’t his imagination: These had been some expensive houses, once upon a time. They were huge and ornate, and even with crumbling gingerbreads and drooping porches he could see that they must have cost a fortune. They’d all agreed to maintain their silence, so he didn’t ask if this was the neighborhood they’d called Millionaire’s Row, but he expected it probably was. You’d have to be a millionaire to own one of those places, even seventeen years ago.