Emily Rodda - The Third Door

His shyness forgotten, Pieter dashed to the back of the lobby, threw open a door marked ‘No Entry’, and beckoned wildly to Zak. ‘Cakes!’ he yelled. ‘Come see! An’ then I’ll show you the giant’s head-cutter Carryl found, from the olden days!’

Zak followed slowly, making it clear that he was the older of the two, and that neither sweetcakes nor head-cutters were of particular interest to him.

‘Pieter’s my youngest grandson,’ Carryl said, stripping off her gloves and ushering Keelin into a large, echoing room where cracked bowls, broken daggers and other sad objects were ranged on sagging shelves. ‘He spends a lot of time here with me—he likes old things and old tales. The others tease him because he’s small for his age, but I tell him he’ll likely shoot up in time like I did and be bigger than any of them one day. Now …’

She closed the door and turned her sharp blue gaze on her companion.

‘So you’re the one who saved Zak—the one who’s lost his memory. You look as if you should still be in bed! Why did Farr send you instead of coming himself? What’s happened?’

Keelin told her. The corners of her mouth tightened.

‘First Zak, now Janna,’ she muttered. ‘By the stars, how much more can Farr take before he cracks and lets the council have its way? I’ve got to work faster. But how can I? I’m here twenty-four hours a day as it is! If only I could get more help!’

She grimaced at Keelin’s expression.

‘Don’t think I don’t care about Janna. I care, all right. But I’ve lived a long time and I’ve learned to put feelings aside when I have to. And for now there’s nothing more important than stopping Farr launching his attack when there’s another way.’

‘Another …?’

‘Another way, yes! I feel it! I know it! Here!’

She grabbed Keelin’s arm and dragged him back into the lobby and through the door marked ‘No Entry’. The two boys were standing at the far end of the cluttered workroom beyond, eating cake and arguing loudly.

‘It’s not a head-cutter!’ Zak was saying scornfully. ‘It’s just a rusty old tool like farmers use for cutting stalks to feed the hogs.’

‘A head-cutter!’ Pieter insisted.

‘Whatever it is, don’t touch it!’ Keelin shouted. He had no time to say more. The next moment Carryl had thrown back a curtain and hauled him through another doorway, into a room without windows.

Here all the central floorboards had been prised away, and a great black hole yawned, exuding the smell of ancient rock and sour, damp earth. Keelin felt a stab of panic.

‘Down there,’ the old woman cried, pointing into the stinking darkness. ‘That’s where the answer lies—the proof I need to convince Farr, to convince them all! The spirits tell me so!’

And at that moment, in terror, Keelin heard someone shouting in his mind—shouting the same words, over and over again.

Get out! Get out! Get out!

Then there was an explosion as loud as a hundred thunderclaps. For one wild moment Keelin thought the building had been struck by lightning, then he remembered that the sky had been clear. The ceiling above him fell. He dropped to his knees, covering his head. Shattered plaster rained down on him, great beams crashed around him. He heard Carryl scream and his blood ran cold.

The deafening roar faded away, but the old building was creaking and groaning ominously. The walls were shaking. Terrified wails were coming from the workroom.

‘Pieter,’ Carryl called feebly. ‘Zak …’

Keelin staggered to his feet and in a blink had reached the workroom.

The two boys were crouched together halfway to the door, plaster swirling like fine rain around them. Pieter had fallen. Zak was struggling to pull him up. Keelin seized them both, one in each arm, and sped them out of the workroom, through the lobby, and out into the air. How he moved with such speed he had no idea. He never gave the ring on his finger a single thought.

‘Zak, get Pieter away!’ he ordered, and plunged back for Carryl.

She was lying where he had left her, a vast beam across her chest, pinning her down.

‘Pieter …’ she murmured, as Keelin struggled to free her.

‘Outside. Safe. With Zak.’

Her eyes closed in relief. ‘Pocket,’ she croaked. ‘Book. For Farr. Then go. Go!’

There was a low rumbling sound. Straining timbers squeaked and cracked.

Get out! Get out! Get out!

‘I cannot—leave—you,’ Keelin gasped, struggling with the beam, refusing to listen to the voice screaming in his mind though his head felt as if it was bursting.

Carryl’s eyes fluttered open. They fixed him with a stern gaze. It seemed to him that the blue was already fading.

Sweat broke out on her forehead as with her one free hand she fumbled in the pocket of her overalls and pulled out a small book with a faded leather cover. Her cracked lips opened. The voice came, harsh with pain but full of authority.

‘I am finished. Save the book! Get it to Farr! Tell him to …’

And that was all. The words died on her lips as her brave heart gave up its struggle and her pain ended.

Shaking, Keelin pulled the book from the dead fingers. Turning to run, he looked down at the title, printed in gold on the front.

He stared at the title, transfixed.

It is going! GET OUT!

There was a groaning crash. The rumbling mounted to a roar. Clutching the book, Keelin took a single step towards the doorway. And then the floor gave way beneath his feet, and the world collapsed in on him.

11 - The Pit

He woke in the dark. He woke to raging thirst, to the smell of dust and decay, to a sense of ancient evil so strong that for a time he could only lie shivering without thought, listening to the sound of his own ragged breaths. Then slowly, slowly, his mind began to work. Little by little he remembered what had happened to him, where he was …

And who he was.

‘Rye,’ he whispered aloud. Suddenly his time as Keelin, the stranger, seemed like a dream. The shadows that had darkened his memory were still there, but they were clearing in patches that broadened every moment.

Sonia, Rye thought. Dirk. Sholto. Where are they? Why did they not come for me? Are they safe? The wings of terror fluttered briefly at the edges of his mind, but he brushed them away. He could not afford weakness now. And surely he would know if Sonia, Dirk and Sholto were in danger or dead.

Cautiously he moved one hand, then the other. He tested his feet, his legs. He sat up, wincing at the pain in his head, and the light debris that had covered him fell away in a chinking, rattling shower.

He felt for the bell tree stick. By a miracle, it was still in his belt, and unbroken. In another moment he had found that the bag of powers, too, was safe.

The wave of warmth these discoveries gave him did not last long. Soon the evil-smelling darkness was pressing in on him again, and his skin was crawling at the thought of what might be lurking within it. He pulled the light crystal from the bag. Its brilliance was a blessing, but so dazzling that at first he had to shield his eyes. Squinting through slitted fingers he peered around him.

He had fallen onto a heap of dust and ash thick with small, blackened twists of metal and crumbling objects that looked horribly like human bones. Grimy stone walls rose all around him. It was like being at the bottom of a huge well.

His stomach churning, he looked up and saw a jumble of wood and stone wedged into place high above his head.

Then he understood. He had fallen into a great pit in the ancient foundations of the museum—a burial pit, by the looks of things. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the light he could see that some of the metal pieces looked like belt buckles, buttons and a brooch that might once have fastened a cloak. Beside him was a round object that he feared was the top of a skull. Gingerly he touched it and it crumbled into dust very similar to the dust on which he sat.