AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Despite the freeze, there was free-flowing water here: it sprung from a tap shaped like a falcon’s head, tumbled into a small channel that circled the room at the base of the walls, and flowed into a shallow pool at the edge of the room, ringed by smooth black stone at the far edge of the room. This water was the source of the cavern’s heavenly light. Like the stuff inside soul-jars, it glowed a ghostly blue, and it pulsed dimmer and brighter in regular cycles, as if breathing. It might’ve been oddly soothing, all this, like some Nordic spa experience, if it weren’t for the distinct and human sound moaning at us beneath the water’s pleasant burble. It was exactly like the moan we’d heard outside—the one I’d dismissed as wind whistling through doors—but there was no wind here, nor any possibility of hearing wind. This was something else.
Bentham hobbled into the cavern behind us, winded and shielding his eyes, while Caul strode to the middle of the room. “VICTORY!” he cried, seeming to enjoy the way his voice ricocheted between the towering walls. “This is it! Our treasure house! Our throne room!”
“It’s magnificent,” Bentham said weakly, shuffling to join his brother. “I see now why so many were willing to give their lives fighting for it …”
“You’re making a terrible mistake,” Miss Peregrine said. “You mustn’t desecrate this sacred place.”
Caul sighed dramatically. “Must you spoil every moment with your schoolmarmish moralizing? Or are you simply jealous and mourning the end of your reign as the more-gifted sister? Look at me, I can fly, I can make time loops! A generation from now, no one will remember there was ever such a silly creature as an ymbryne!”
“You’re wrong!” Emma shouted, no longer able to hold her tongue. “It’s you two who will be forgotten!”
Emma’s guard moved to strike her, but Caul told him to leave her be. “Let her speak,” he said. “It may be her last opportunity.”
“Actually, you won’t be forgotten,” said Emma. “We’ll write a new chapter in the Tales about you. The Greedy Brothers, we’ll call it. Or the Horrible Awful Traitors Who Got What They Deserved.”
“Hmm, a bit flat,” Caul said. “I think we’ll call it How the Magnificent Brothers Overcame Prejudice to Become the Rightful God-Kings of Peculiardom, or something to that effect. And you’re fortunate that I’m in such excellent humor right now, girl.”
His attention turned to me. “Boy! Tell me about the jars here, and skip no detail, however small.” He demanded an exhaustive description, which I gave, reading aloud many dozens of their spidery, hand-scripted labels. If only I spoke Old Peculiar, I thought, I could’ve lied about what was written on them, maybe tricked Caul into taking a soul that was weak and silly. But I was the perfect automaton: blessed with ability but cursed with ignorance. The only thing I could do was try to divert his attention from the most obviously promising jars.
Though most of them were small and plain, a few were large, ornate, and heavy, with hourglass shapes and double handles and gem-toned wings painted on their surfaces; it seemed clear they contained the souls of powerful and important (or self-important) peculiars. The larger size of their coves was a giveaway, though, and when Caul made me rap on them with my knuckle, they rang deep and loud.
I had no tricks left. Caul would get what he wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it. But then he did something that surprised everyone. Something that seemed, at first, bizarrely generous. He turned to his guards and said, “Now! Who would like first crack at this?”
The guards looked at each other, confused.
“What do you mean?” said Bentham, hobbling toward him in alarm. “Shouldn’t it be you and I? We’ve worked so long …”
“Don’t be greedy, brother. Didn’t I tell them their loyalty would be repaid?” He looked again to the guards, grinning like a game show host. “So which of you will it be?”
Both of their hands shot up.
“Me, sir, me!”
“I’d like to!”
Caul pointed to the wight who’d been guarding me. “You!” he said. “I like your spirit. Get over here!”
“Thank you, sir, thank you!”
Caul pointed his gun at me, thus relieving my guard of his duty. “Now, which of those souls sounds like your cup of tea?” He remembered where I’d identified certain jars and began to point them out. “Yeth-Faru. Something to do with water, flooding. Good one if you’ve ever fancied a life under the sea. Wolsenwyrsend. I believe that’s a sort of centaurish half-horse, half-man creature who controls clouds? Ben, sound familiar?”
Bentham mumbled something in reply, but Caul was hardly listening.
“Styl-hyde, that was a good one. Metal skin. Could be useful in a fight, though I wonder if you’d have to oil yourself …”
“Sir, I hope you don’t mind my asking,” the guard said meekly, “but what about one of the larger urns?”
Caul wagged his finger. “I like a man with ambition, but those are for my brother and me.”
“Of course, sir, of course,” the guard said. “Then … um … were there any others?”
“I gave you the best options,” said Caul, his tone edging toward warning. “Now choose.”
“Yes, yes, sorry, sir …” The guard looked anguished. “I choose Yeth-faru.”
“Excellent!” Caul boomed. “Boy, retrieve the jar.”
I reached into the cove Caul indicated and removed the jar. It was so cold, I pulled the cuff of my jacket over my hand like a glove, but even through the fabric it felt like the jar was stealing all the warmth left in my body.
The guard stared at my hand. “What do I do with it?” he said. “Take it like ambrosia?”
“I’m not certain,” Caul said. “What do you think, brother?”
“I’m not sure, either,” said Bentham. “It’s not mentioned in any of the old texts.”
Caul scratched his chin. “I think … yes, I think you should take it like ambrosia.” He nodded, suddenly sure of himself. “Yes, that’s the ticket. Just like ambro.”
“Are you sure?” asked the guard.
“Absolutely one hundred percent sure,” said Caul. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll go down in history for this. A pioneer!”
The guard locked eyes on me. “No tricks,” he said.
“No tricks,” I said.
I uncorked the jar. Blue light shone out of it. The guard put his hand around mine, guided it and the jar above his head, and tilted back his face.
He took a long, shuddering breath. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and tipped my hand.
The liquid poured from the jar in a viscous stream. The instant it reached his eyes, his hand clenched so tight around mine that I thought my fingers would break. I wrenched free and leapt backward, and the jar fell to the ground and smashed.
The guard’s face was smoking and turning blue. He screamed and fell to his knees, his body shuddering, and then he pitched forward. When his head smacked the ground, it shattered like glass. Bits of frozen skull shot out around my feet. And then he was silent—and very, very dead.
“Oh, my God!” cried Bentham.
Caul clucked his tongue as if someone had spilled a glass of expensive wine. “Well, drat,” he said. “I guess it’s not like taking ambrosia after all.” His gaze roved around the room. “Well, now someone else has got to try it …”
“I’m quite busy, milord!” cried the other guard, who had his gun trained on both Emma and Miss Peregrine.
“Yes, I can see you’ve got your hands full there, Jones. Perhaps one of our guests, then?” He looked at Emma. “Girl, do this for me and I’ll make you my court jester!”
“Go to hell,” Emma snarled.
“That can be arranged,” he snarled back.
Then there was a loud hiss and a brightening of light at one edge of the room, and everyone turned to look. The liquid from the broken jar was dripping into the channel by the wall, and where the water and blue liquid had mixed, a reaction was taking place. The water bubbled and churned, glo
wing brighter than ever.
Caul was gleeful. “Look at this!” he exclaimed, bobbing on the balls of his feet.
