"This is just gross!" he said, gagging on the stench. "No wonder you need to wear one of those things!"
"I know," Cal said flatly, his expression hidden by the breathing mask as he pointed to the gully by the foot of the escarpment. "Come over here."
"What for?" Will asked as he joined his brother. He was astonished to see him thrust his hands into the molasses-like slurry that lay stagnating there. Cal lifted out two handfuls of the black algae and rubbed it over his mask and his clothes. Then he grabbed Bartleby by the scruff of the neck. The cat let out a low howl and tried to get away, but Cal streaked him from head to tail. As the filth dripped over his naked skin, Bartleby arched his back and trembled, looking at his master balefully.
"But the stink is worse that ever now! What the heck are you doing?" Will demanded, thinking his brother had taken leave of his senses.
"The Division uses stalker dogs — bloodhounds — around here. Any whiff of Colony on us and we're as good as dead. This slime will help cover our scent," he said, scooping up fresh handfuls of the brackish vegetation. "Your turn." Will braced himself as Cal doused the fetid weed over his hair, chest, and shoulders and then down each of his legs.
"How can you smell anything over this?" Will asked irately, looking at the oily patches on his clothes. The reek was overpowering. "Those dogs must have some sense of smell!" It was all he could do to stop himself from being sick.
"Oh, they do," Cal said as he shook his hands to rid them of the tendrils, then wiped them on his jacket. "We need to get out of sight."
Crossing one by one, they passed swiftly over a stretch of boggy ground and into the city. They went under a tall stone arch with two malevolent gargoyle faces glaring down contemptuously at them, and then into an alley with high walls on either side. The dimensions of the buildings, the gaping windows, arches, and doorways, were huge, as if they'd been built for incredibly tall beings. At Cal 's suggestion, they slipped through one of these openings, at the base of a square tower.
Now out of the green light, Will needed his orb to study the map. As he pulled it out from under his coat, it illuminated the room, a stone chamber with a high ceiling and several inches of water on the floor. Bartleby scampered into one corner and, finding a heap of something rotten, he investigated it briefly before lifting a leg over it.
"Hey," Cal said abruptly. "Just look at the walls."
They saw skulls — row upon row of carved death's heads covered the walls, all with toothy grins and hollow, shadowy eyes. As Will moved the orb, the shadows shifted and the skulls appeared to be turning to face them.
"My dad would've loved this. I bet this was a—"
"It's grisly," Cal interrupted, shivering.
"These people were pretty spooky, weren't they?" Will said, unable to suppress a wide grin.
"The ancestors of the Styx."
"What?" Will looked at him questioningly.
"Their forebears. People believe a group escaped from this city at the time of the Plague."
"Where to?"
"Topsoil," Cal replied. "They formed some sort of secret society there. It's said that the Styx gave Sir Gabriel the idea for the Colony."
Will didn't have the chance to question Cal any further because suddenly Bartleby's ears pricked up and his unblinking eyes fixed on the doorway. Although neither of the boys had heard anything, Cal became agitated.
"Come on, quick, check the map, Will."
They left the chamber, cautiously picking their way through the ancient streets. It gave Will an opportunity to inspect the buildings at close range. Everywhere around them the stone was decorated with carvings and inscriptions. And he saw the decay; the masonry was crumbling and fractured. It cried out with abandonment and neglect. Yet the buildings still sat proudly in all their magnificence — they had an aura of immense power to them. Power, and something else — an ancient and decadent menace. Will was relieved that the city's inhabitants weren't still in residence.
As they jogged down lanes of ancient stone, their boots scattered the murky water on the ground and churned up the algae, leaving faintly glowing blotches in their wake like luminous stepping stones. Bartleby was agitated by the water and pranced through it with the precision of a performing pony, trying not to splash himself.
Crossing a narrow stone bridge, Will stopped briefly and looked over the eroded marble balustrade at the slow-moving river below. Slick and greasy, it snaked lazily through the city, crossed here and there with other small bridges, its waters lapping turgidly against the massive sections of masonry that formed its banks. On these, classical statues stood watch like water sentinels; old men with wavy hair and impossibly long beards, and women in flowing gowns, held out shells and orbs — or just the broken stumps of their arms — toward the water, as if offering up sacrifices to gods that no longer existed.
They came to a large square surrounded by towering buildings but held back from entering it, taking refuge behind a low parapet.
"What is that?" Will whispered. In the middle of the square was a raised platform supported by an array of thick columns. On top of the platform were human forms: chalky statues in twisted postures of frozen agony, some with their features obliterated and others with limbs missing. Rusting chains wound around the contorted figures and the posts next to them. It looked like a sculpture of some long-forgotten atrocity.
"The Prisoners' Platform. That's where they were punished."
"Gruesome statues," Will said, unable to take his eyes off it.
"They're not statues, they're real people. Tam said the bodies have been calcified."
"No!" Will said, staring even more intently at the figures and wishing he had time to document the scene.
"Shhhh," Cal warned. He grabbed Bartleby and pulled him to his chest. The cat kicked out, but Cal wouldn't let go.
Will looked at him inquiringly.
"Get down," Cal whispered. Ducking behind the parapet, he cupped his hand over the cat's eyes and clasped the animal even more tightly.
As he followed suit, Will caught sight of them. At the far end of the square, as silent as ghosts, four figures appeared to float on the surface of the waterlogged ground. They wore breathing masks over their mouths, and goggles with large, circular eyepieces, making them appear like nightmarish man-insects. Will could tell from their outlines that they were Styx. They wore leather skullcaps and long coats. Not the lustrous black ones Will had seen in the Colony; these were matte, and camouflaged with streaky green and gray blocks of dark and light hues.
With easy military efficiency, they were advancing in a line, as one controlled an immense dog straining on a leash. Vapor was blowing from the muzzle of the inconceivably large and ferocious animal — it was unlike any dog Will had ever seen before.
The boys cowered behind the parapet, acutely aware that they had nowhere to run if the Styx came their way. The hoarse panting and snorting of the dog was growing louder — Will and Cal looked at each other, both thinking that at any moment the Styx would appear from around the edge of the parapet. They angled their heads, straining to catch the least sound of the Styx approaching, but there was only the hushed gurgle of running water and the unbroken patter of cavern rain.
Will's and Cal's eyes met. All the signs were that the Styx had gone, but what should they do? Had the patrol moved on or was it lying in ambush for them? They waited and, after what seemed like an age, Will tapped his brother on the arm and pointed upward, indicating he was going to take a look.
Cal shook his head violently, his eyes flaring with alarm behind the half-fogged glass; they pleaded with Will to stay put. But Will ignored him and raised his head a fraction over the parapet. The Styx had vanished. He gave the thumbs-up, and Cal rose slowly to see for himself. Satisfied the patrol had moved on, Cal let go of Bartleby and he sprang away, shaking himself down and then glowering resentfully at both of them.