Willow nearly laughed in spite of herself, in spite of the horror.
The louder noise started again and Willow knew that Kepler was getting closer. She didn’t like the idea, but she equally didn’t like the thought of being alone in darkness anymore.
“That’s it,” she said. “I’m this way. Yes, this way.”
And then Kepler bumped into her foot.
“That’s close enough,” she said. “Now, tell me what is going on.”
3
It was working, after a fashion.
Boy crawled on his hands and knees a handful of paces behind Valerian, who made slow progress. Valerian was walking more and more slowly all the time. Boy wondered if he was getting tired, or if his arm was giving him more pain, but whatever the reason, Boy found it no trouble at all to keep up with him, even crawling as he was.
Slowly they made their way on through the catacombs. Occasionally they would come across a branch of the canal, gurgling gently, the water an oily black snake that shunted off into the next section of tunnel.
Now they were in a long corridor, a straight path with a low ceiling composed, Boy supposed, of buildings that soared away above their heads into the City, into the long-forgotten daylight.
It was an unsettling world, far underground, in this deserted empire unknown to almost everyone. Boy was now following Valerian down a low tunnel in which sound behaved strangely. There was an echo from the scrape of Valerian’s boots, but it was a short, dry sound, cut off almost as soon as it had begun. The ceiling hung with miniature stalactites, at the end of which were small, ice-cool drops of water. When one of these fell onto Boy’s neck it was all he could do to stop himself from shrieking and giving himself away. And then there was the smell, musty, damp, full of spores of unseen fungus noiselessly swelling in the lightless passages and caverns.
They passed a gateway-an iron gate, with a massive rusty iron lock. Behind it the darkness stretched away into depths that no one would ever see.
Along each side of the corridor were low doorways, and at each one of these Valerian would stop a few feet short and then peer in.
As Boy passed them, there was still enough light from Valerian’s lamp to see strange numbers over the lintels, carved and then painted. The numbers made no sense to Boy, but some of the doorways bore inscriptions instead. Sometimes, said one, it is better to die than to live .
Oh, good! thought Boy. Just the sort of thing Valerian will love.
Then he saw something that bothered him, though he couldn’t work out why. Valerian began to scratch his nose. For a long time Boy watched, trying but failing to work out what it was that upset him about this.
Boy scratched his nose.
Suddenly Valerian dropped his pace near to a dead halt and tiptoed the last inches to a doorway, swinging the lantern round in a rush.
“Boy?” he called, and something in his voice made Boy’s skin creep. He hung back farther from Valerian’s light, until he was sure he would not be seen by his master.
Valerian moved on.
“Boy!” he called. “Boy, I know you’re there. Come out. Let’s talk. There’s really nothing to be scared of. I need your help.”
Boy didn’t want to listen, but had no choice. He crawled on after Valerian, all the time hoping that he would see a way out, maybe a patch of light, or feel a breeze of fresh air.
Valerian had stopped. The light from the device was failing and he could not carry it and wind the handle at the same time. He placed the box on the ground and, steadying it with his foot, he leant down and began to wind the handle evenly, looking about as he did. The light from the globe shone strongly again, and Valerian picked it up.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Valerian said, and Boy thought about Willow and wondered if she was dead. If she wasn’t, he shouldn’t have left her. But what could he do? He had had to run, or Valerian would have had him. Broken arm or not, he would have had him, of that Boy was sure. Valerian always got what he wanted. Always.
“Come out, Boy. I know you’re there. Come out, Boy. I need your help. Haven’t I helped you all these years?”
Valerian sounded tired. He sounded old and pathetic and sad, and Boy wished he would be quiet.
“I found you. In the streets I found you, groveling in dark places. I gave you a life, and a place to sleep and food. We’ve come a long way, Boy, you and I, haven’t we?”
Boy thought about just how far he’d come. Here he was, still groveling around in dark places. Well, at least that was familiar ground. He watched as Valerian slid up to another of the low doorways and repeated his trick of stealing the last inches on tiptoe. Finding nothing, he moved on.
“I’ve always looked after you, haven’t I, Boy? Yes, I have. But now I need you to help me. That’s not so much to ask, is it? You know I’m in trouble, Boy, don’t you? You know I need help. You are my famulus! I need your help, Boy. You’re the only one who can help me now.”
His voice was full of pain and pitiful to hear.
Boy found himself crying in the darkness.
“Please, Boy. Come out. We can go on as we did before. I’m not going to hurt you, Boy. I need you. You don’t know how much you mean to me. And besides, there are things I’ve never told you-things I should tell you. About who you are, where you came from. You’d like to know about who you really are, wouldn’t you?”
Now Boy was listening hard. Valerian couldn’t know anything about his parents, could he? But supposing he did? What if Valerian died and he never found out?
“Yes, I can tell you who you are, Boy. I can tell you about your father, your mother. So come out and let me talk to you.”
Boy stood up. Valerian could not yet see him, but Boy began to walk slowly, his heart thumping in his chest, toward the light.
“I do need your help. And I can tell you who you are, Boy. Who you are, and where you came from.”
Now Boy stood a few feet behind Valerian.
“Who am I, Valerian?” he asked quietly.
Valerian jerked round and lifted the light high, making sure it was really Boy he was looking at.
“Boy!” he shouted. “There you are! Come on, there’s no time to lose!”
But Boy stood still, and though his blood beat through his veins as if they would burst, he spoke calmly to his master.
“I’m not going anywhere, Valerian, until you tell me who I am.”
Valerian took a step toward Boy, his face blank.
“I give the orders, Boy, you know that. Now come here. I won’t hurt you.”
Boy took another step backward.
“Who am I, Valerian?” he cried. “You said you’d tell me.”
“Boy,” growled Valerian, coming closer, and for the first time Boy faltered. He could see Valerian’s eyes more clearly now, he could feel them eat into his own, finding their way into his mind, making him feel so small, so helpless. He would do anything Valerian told him. He always had, he always would…
With an effort, Boy wrenched his eyes away and ran several steps back into the shadows.
“Come here,” said Valerian. “Come here!”
“No,” said Boy.
“Come here!” Valerian shouted. “You! Boy! Come here!”
Boy turned and ran into the nearest doorway.
Valerian’s light bobbed after him.
4
“But what can we do?” Willow said.
“We need to find a light,” said Kepler, “or we shall die down here. Let me try another match now. The warmth from my hands may have dried them a little.”
This time there was a stronger flicker of flame that lasted longer but died as it reached the wood of the match.
In that short time Willow saw Kepler had a cut above his right ear, a vivid slash of red across his face. He stared at the failing match intently, his desperation clearly visible.