Chapter 17
The Chemists’ cavern is three times the size of the average Valley cottage, its smell damp and mineral, its walls showing the deep gouges of past limestone mining. Reatha and Marie walk a well-worn path to what looks like a dead end at the rear.
Then they disappear.
Heart thudding, I hurry to catch up and see that they’ve stepped behind an outcropping and through a concealed door.
On the other side is a home as nice as any in the village, except for its lack of windows.
The living room holds a couch and two chairs.
The kitchen is attached, though it currently looks more like a laboratory than a place for cooking.
Its stone-carved countertop is strewn with glass beakers, small burners, and technology I can’t identify.
Open-faced cabinets holding plates and pottery are carved directly into the limestone, as are the bookshelves lining every wall.
I guess I know what happened to the Chemists’ texts.
A table in the far corner is covered with metal, wires, and machinery the likes of which I’ve never seen. Two door-sized openings appear to its right, both hung with gray blankets. Likely the bedrooms. If I had to guess, the bathroom is outside.
Reatha bustles to the kitchen, calling out, “Is mint tea all right for you?”
I nod, tensing as Albert enters the room, rolling his wheelchair as normal. But I can’t get the image of it hovering out of my mind. “How long did it take to modify?” I ask, trying to remain calm as suspicion roils hot in my gut. Was he the shadow I saw behind the chapel before Jonas was Harvested?
He gives a quick shrug. “Only a couple days, once I got the parts.”
I inhale, about to say something to Albert that I’ll regret, when my father calls out to me from a memory.
In medicine as in mysteries, he admonishes me, one must never draw conclusions from insufficient facts.
My heart softens. It’s been so long since I’ve heard Dad’s voice.
And he’s right: no one’s guilt is a foregone conclusion.
Accusing Albert now would only sour the milk, and I don’t even know what I’d be accusing him of.
Lurking at my wedding? He certainly didn’t zip in, stab my mother, and zip out unnoticed.
His wheelchair might be able to hover, but it isn’t invisible.
“Your chair is wonderful,” I tell him honestly.
“I know villagers who would benefit from it.” Like Gran, who can no longer walk far, or Sandor of the Fermenter House, who had both legs amputated at the knee after a terrible accident.
At least, Sandor would have loved to have a chair like that, if he hadn’t been Harvested.
“It’s the easiest of the things I’ve created,” he says sullenly. “A child’s science project from the Before Times, scaled up for size.”
“Albie’s a genius at building things,” Reatha says proudly, handing me a warm rag and pointing at her head. It takes me a moment to realize she’s referring to the blood on my face from the wood splinters that rained down on me back in the village. I had completely forgotten.
I clean myself up as she returns to the kitchen to pour hot water into mugs.
“Aren’t you, darling?” she says, continuing to praise her son.
“He made me a solar-powered centrifuge from one of our charging panels and a micro-scale from salvaged metal springs and counterweights from a broken clock.” She smiles softly.
“It makes sense he’s so gifted. Albie’s dad was a brilliant Engineer before he joined the Chemist House.
Some of our talents are passed along in our blood, are they not? ”
Albert ignores her. He’s staring at me. Warily, I think.
“You wish to build machines, then?” I raise an eyebrow, feeling Reatha’s attention sharpen on me.
“The Council listens to new ideas if you did want to pursue Engineering,” I say, when Albert doesn’t respond.
“There’s a petition process, isn’t there?
The village could really use a talent like yours. ”
“When was the last time you heard of anybody allowed to do something other than what they were born or married to?” Albert rubs the back of his hand angrily across his broad nose.
I accept a mug of steaming tea from Reatha. It’s fragrant with a scent I haven’t smelled this strongly in months. “You have honey?”
“We have a hive out back. I developed a process to graft it from the ones that had to be abandoned.” She pauses, clearing her throat. “Due to the animal attacks.”
I take a sip. It’s so sweet my teeth hurt.
“You’ll want to know what we’re doing here,” she continues. “I’ll keep it simple.” She seems to be avoiding looking at Albert or Marie. “Jarek asked something from me that I was not willing to give. For my children’s safety, we were gone by morning.”
I set down my tea, hard. “So you went into hiding? Instead of pleading your case before the Record Keeper, you made us think you self-Harvested and left your community in mourning?” Even if I could understand committing a crime as severe as abandoning my duty, I can’t fathom the effort of faking a Harvest and then making a home in the caves.
Unless she was running from something more dangerous than I can imagine.
“David wouldn’t have listened to me,” she says.
“He has to!” It’s true. It’s written into our charter. The Record Keeper House must keep track of our laws and adjust them when fairness demands.
Reatha’s eyes glisten. “Does he? If Jarek convinces him otherwise? If Jarek convinces the whole village that we’re guilty of some crime and ought to be sent up the Wall?”
I swallow. She knows about Jonas. Well, that confirms it.
Albert came to spy on my wedding ceremony, probably sneaking into town to catch a glimpse of his beloved Marina.
He knew the streets would be empty, after all.
I felt bad for the kid even before his accident, always trailing Marina, doing her dirty work in exchange for bread crumbs of affection.
Whereas I tried to avoid her completely, he sought her approval like roots wanted rain.
Rather than answer Reatha’s question, I ask one of my own.
“So you know my brother was Harvested two days ago. You also know my mother was murdered?” I try to look at all three of them at once.
“And Peter Martinez was killed just yesterday?” My voice cracks on the last word, and I realize I’m stretched thin from the violence.
Reatha drops into the nearest chair. “Albie told me of your brother and mother. I’m so, so very sorry, Rose. I didn’t know about Peter.”
She’s either an excellent dissembler or telling the truth. Marie, too. She appears ready to weep at the news. Albert, however, only goes to the sink to wash his hands. I cannot see his face, nor do I know how to interpret his behavior.
I rub my arms, trying to return to my body. The cave is surprisingly clean and cozy, the faint sulfuric smell of cold rock the only indication we’re surrounded by limestone.
“This place has been here forever,” Reatha says, watching me.
She’s still ashen as she spreads her arms to indicate the space.
The Chemist House symbol is visible on the inside of her left wrist: a perfect circle with another half circle on its top and a cross on its bottom.
“A group of us have been outfitting it for years. We used to meet up here.”
“Who?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. They’re gone, and Albie, Marie, and I live here now.”
My head’s spinning with everything I’ve learned. I focus on the practical. “How’d you get everybody to believe you went Beyond?”
Albert turns off the faucet. The cave even has running water.
Is it also the result of his tinkering? “It wasn’t hard,” he says.
“Most folks can’t imagine willingly abandoning Noah’s Valley.
All we had to do was leave a note and the tablet—which Marie managed to borrow from right beneath David Seingalt’s nose—in front of the basket and disappear. ”
The reason the Record Keeper is no longer allowed to store the tablet.
Marie smiles proudly from her seat on the couch, revealing two perfect dimples. “I’m little, and I’m quick,” she says. “Means I’m a good sneaker.”
I try to smile back, but the world feels shaky.
“Please,” Reatha pleads. “You must keep our secret. You must not tell anyone that we’re alive inside the Wall.”
That’s an easy one. Who do I have left to tell? Even if I did trust Misia, Jarek, or the rest of the Council, I wouldn’t turn on the Chemists, not unless I was sure they’d done harm. I won’t sacrifice them to the same system that Harvested Jonas.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I say. I think of the materials needed to modify Albert’s chair, all their books, the loaf of bread under glass on the table. “Who else knows you’re here?”
A clomping outside the dwelling draws our attention, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps across stone.
“You’re about to find out,” Albert says, his smile sly.
He propels his chair forward, exiting the living space before Reatha can stop him.
I find myself following. I don’t know who’s waiting for me on the other side of the doorway, but whoever it is, I’d prefer not to be trapped inside a stone prison as I face them.
I’m positive, at least, that they’ll be better than the forest monsters I’ve imagined.
When I reach the outer cave, I realize how very wrong I am.