Jonathan Stroud - Lockwood & Co. Book Three - The Hollow Boy

I didn’t argue. I’d had enough of that. And the coat was warm. “I don’t remember any of it,” I said dully. “You know, how I got down here. I know I must’ve banged my head when I fell—I haven’t been thinking quite straight since.” I thought of the skeletons, and our one-way conversations. Then I thought of the hollow boy.

Lockwood nodded. “I’m not surprised. It was all a little hectic. Well, after you were sucked down the hole, the Poltergeist blew itself out. It was like you were the focus of it, Luce. All that raging air just stopped, like it was frozen in time. You could hear things thumping to the floor all around the building. I was quite lucky—I was in midair, quite high up when it happened, but I was over the escalators, so I didn’t fall too far. I landed on that central part, and just slid gently down. I lay there, upside down, watching all those tissue leaves wafting slowly down across the foyer. It was like falling snow. Apart from their being red, of course. It was quite pretty. I wish Mr. Aickmere had been there to see it. Got to admit the place doesn’t look quite so attractive now.”

I rubbed my eyes. “That poor department store…”

“Oh, think of all that free publicity we’re going to give it,” Lockwood said. “It’ll do really well.” He scratched the bridge of his nose. “Either that or go out of business. Anyway, who cares? One thing’s for sure, they’ll have to do something about the hole in the floor. It goes pretty deep, and the earth is very unstable. I had quite a job getting down in one piece. When I got to the bottom, I hacked through this layer of broken stone and dropped down into the old prison chamber. I found one of your candles on the floor and knew you were alive. I set off up the passages, but got lost—at least, I ended up in one that was half-filled with water. I don’t think you went that way.”

“No.”

“But in the end it paid off for me because, before I found you, I came across the entrance to a long straight tunnel, part waterlogged and stinking of the river. I swear I could hear the lap of the Thames at the far end—it wouldn’t surprise me if that was another way out. We could try it, maybe—save us trying to climb back up the hole.”

I looked at the floor, so carefully swept clean. “I think it will be a way out,” I said softly. “Lockwood, the ghost you saw with me—”

“Yes, what was that thing? I heard you talking to it, but to me it seemed just a horrible tangle of black wisps. I could hardly make out a shape at all, even when I crept close with my rapier.”

“So you didn’t see its face?”

“Should I have?”

“Oh, no—it doesn’t matter.”

There was a silence, then. In truth, I found I couldn’t easily speak of the Fetch to him. To forestall immediate questions, I pointed out the signs of previous activity in the room: the swept floor, the cigarette end, the burn mark in the center, and wax stains here and there. Lockwood was at once alert; he paced the chamber, studying it with a frown.

“You’re quite right,” he said. “This is a mystery. Someone has been here, and very recently. Look at the marks here: it’s Chinese wax they’ve been using”—he scraped it with his finger and held it to his nose—“scented with jojoba oil. You get that at Mullet’s. Top quality stuff. And as for that cigarette…Its brand might tell us something….” He picked it up and scrutinized it, rolling it between his fingers, scanning it against the candle light, narrow-eyed. “Hmm…aha. Yes….”

“So what brand is it?”

“Haven’t a clue. It just looks white and tobacco-y to me. But I bet we could find someone to tell us more.” He gazed around at the skeletons. “So what on earth were they doing? You know, Luce, George said that something funny might be going on to stir so many ghosts up so quickly these last few weeks. And he was right. I want him to see this. He’s got just the right kind of slightly fussy, obsessive mind that might notice something. We need to do it fast, too, before Barnes shows up. As soon as he does, you can bet DEPRAC will boot us out and take over.”

I nodded. That was usually how it went. “The Chelsea outbreak…do you think we’ve stopped it?”

Lockwood was all energy again; he held out his hand to pull me up. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He looked over at the skeletons, peppered with salt and iron. “But if this room doesn’t turn out to be the Source, with all this lot, and with an unknown someone doing something weird, I’m a Bunchurch agent. Look at the bones! If these guys were all entombed alive here, that’s enough psychic charge to light up a city district.” He patted my arm. “And you found it, Luce. You did so well.”

That wasn’t how I was feeling. “Lockwood,” I said slowly, “about the Poltergeist…you were right, earlier. I was the focus. When we were upstairs, I…I argued with Holly. I picked a fight with her. We stirred the Poltergeist up. I’m really sorry, Lockwood. It’s all my fault. I couldn’t control myself. I’m a liability. I could have killed us all.”

“You and Holly saved Bobby Vernon, don’t forget,” Lockwood said, but he didn’t actually contradict what I’d said.

“She probably told you, did she?” I said. “Maybe she didn’t have time.”

“No, she didn’t say anything. She seemed worried about you, Lucy. We all were.”

He produced a penlight and led me out of the room of bones, down a narrow passage. We went in silence for a while.

“Lockwood,” I said, “I need to apologize. About recently. I’ve not been myself.”

It was a tight corridor; we walked almost side by side, following the beam of light. His voice was calm and quiet in the dark. “Well, neither have I,” he said. “After what happened at the Wintergarden house, I’m afraid I haven’t treated you very well. I know I might have seemed standoffish. It’s just”—he took a deep breath—“I didn’t trust myself to be with you. I was too anxious about what might happen.”

I stepped carefully over a fallen stone. Water was pooling around our feet. “Um, what might happen in exactly what sense?”

“In an operative situation, when our lives were again in danger. Your Talent is just so extraordinary, Luce—yes, we go left here; I know it looks like sewage, but it’s algae, mostly—I mean, I heard you talking to that thing just now. It’s getting easier for you, isn’t it? It’s not just the skull anymore. It’s unique, your Talent, but it makes you so vulnerable. And I have to look after you.”

Something knotted tightly in my chest. In the dark of my mind I saw again the palely smiling face. “No, Lockwood, you really don’t. You mustn’t. It’s not your responsibility to—”

“But it is , Luce. Look, I know I don’t talk about it, but it’s happened to me before. Losing someone dear to me. I can’t let it happen again.”

I stopped. Water was up to our knees; the meager flashlight beam showed a break in the wall, and beyond it, over tumbled blocks, an earthen passage. Lockwood gestured with the flashlight to indicate we should go through, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t go any farther without—

“Lockwood,” I said, “I’ve got to admit to something. I’m going to tell you, and then you can switch the flashlight off and just leave me here if you want. Block the tunnel in. I don’t care, and I’ll deserve it.”

There was a pause; water sucked and flowed through the gap in the wall.

“Blimey,” Lockwood said, “it isn’t you who’s been pinching my stash of Choco Leibniz biscuits from my desk drawer, is it? I always thought it was George.”