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Part 2-14: Cells
I scooped up the little key, the Jailer’s last words ringing in my head. Then Persi and I set about puzzling out the room. As expected, there were sixty cells. Two stood open, and the sconces above them glowed white.
There were people in the shut cells. Shadows of them at least. They lurked near the backs of the cages, silent. The ever-present, flat light lost its vigour at the edge of the prisons, leaving the occupant maybe a quarter illuminated. This was a small blessing. Most writhed and moved about—I could not set my eyes on them for long, because the things they were acting out were too much for me to take. I saw jets of blood, jaws cranked open in muted screams, bodies quivering in either pain, freezing, or terror. Some seemed still, and I thought I saw one with an expression either of orgasmic happiness or eye-rolling insanity—but like I said, I did not study any of them closely.
Except for Willy.
Willy was in the cell to the left of the two open ones. Persi gripped the bars and stared in. He was in the back, like the others. He sat, one arm outstretched. In the other, he held a fine boning knife. The blade shook as he brought it closer to the fleshy lump of muscle on his forearm. His face was rigid with terror, and he strained against his own will as the blade dropped. When it touched his skin he started heaving and shaking his head back and forth.
“Persi, holy Christ almighty,” I said, turning away. The taste of bile threatened.
“Eden let him be conscious for it,” she said, her voice level. She’d been there for a while now, maybe five minutes, as I had explored the room.
I wanted to remind her that Eden was probably on its way right now, and that we better hurry, but the steel in her voice stilled my tongue.
“He loops over and over,” she continued. “Willy, I mean. He does the first arm. The second is even worse—he hurts so much. Then a slump when he dies, and he resets. Smooth transition. Is he trapped in that moment? Or is it just a replay?”
I said nothing. I did not have an answer. I didn’t want to know the answer.
After a while, the ring started its tingle.
“Persi, I think we’re out of time.”
“Let’s try then.”
“It’ll work,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“You got out. Last time it ticked it back.”
She looked down, and stepped back from the cell, little fists curled into balls. I took her place, head also down, so I wouldn’t have to see inside. I slipped the silver key into its hole, and twisted.
Willy’s room blared white. I took a few steps back, and we heard an enormous cruh-uh-uh-unk sound from either deep below or a mile high. Then the light in the room died and the bars swung open with an anticlimactic squeak. It was empty, and the sconce above glowed white.
A moment ambled past.
“Don’t tell me that’s—” I started, then an earthquake strummed up.
Dust and pebbles started to rain as the room shook. The sconces flickered, then one popped in a spray of yellow flares.
“What were you saying?” Persi said, half laughing.
“Not funny! Not cool!” I yelled, and hopped into the cell as a chunk of the ceiling came crashing down nearby. Persi ran in with me, and we dropped to all fours to keep the bucking floor from throwing us down. I watched the central dais rise and tilt, then do a solid Titanic impression as it split and sank.
Then, across the dying chamber, I saw the Minder’s hidden staircase reappear as a crack raced through the illusion or spell or whatever had sealed it.
“Look! We have to try!” I said, pointing.
The wall with the stairwell promptly imploded.
“Good thought,” said Persi. She stared around. “I’ve a better one!”
“Out with it!”
“Come on!” She grabbed me and yanked me backwards. I turned, throwing an arm up because by all accounts, she was about to hurl me into a stone wall. But really, I should have known better. The rear wall of the cell was flickering like a bad TV set. We crossed through it, and found ourselves in a still shaky but significantly less collapsey part of the castle. It was a hall. A lightly curved hall with no visible doors, only a single white-lit sconce.
“Huh. Very nice, Persi.”
She curtsied, and we moved right. After two more white sconces, there was a yellow one. And a familiar door.
The floor vibrated. A dangerous crumbling noise rattled from no discernible direction. Dust puffed from cracks and the sconce crackled and buzzed.
“Open sesame,” I said, and we pushed into the big iron bar. I pictured the posh room, the weird, invincible cabinets, our friends the King and the Queen, and four little knobbly lengths of vase stand legs. The last bit must have sealed the deal, because the door flew open and we tumbled in. All was as we’d left it, all was how I’d pictured it, right down to the remains of the stand.
The clock was crawling with snapping yellow bolts, and the minute hand trembled. I strode toward it, holding Persi’s hand, casting a cursory glance at the corpses (still peacefully dead, eyes still closed). Then the minute hand snapped one minute backward, all the light went out and the rumblings ceased.
I froze and squeezed Persi. “You still there?”
“Still here.”
“I can’t see.”
“Same.”
We felt our way along the furniture, still heading to the clock. I noticed after a moment that I could make out the sooty edges of things. The clock’s face was a soft smudge suspended in the ink. Light was coming back. Charcoals became greys which grew into pale blues and… blue?
Blue light streamed in from the door behind us. It pulsed, and shadows started to angle from the jamb with growing speed.
“Eden’s coming,” said Persi.
“And we’re going,” I said.
We got to the clock and I slipped my middle finger into the loop. The Queen’s Band clicked against it with satisfying precision. I glanced over my shoulder, as the shadows straightened and a humanoid figure made of bright blue clouds lurched into the room, wispy and faceless.
This time, Persi did the honour of flipping it off.
I pulled.
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