Page 91 of Inkpot Gods

“Uh-huh. A base level,” says Artemis. “And what’s above us?”

“Directly above us? One of the secondary research libraries. It took up most of the level by itself, because that was also where they did the printing. Apart from that, the water filtration. Which should also probably have been below us, to prevent flooding.” Kelpie is frowning now. “They don’t seem to have put a lot of thought into things while they were building this place.”

“Didn’t they grow it?”

“Yes, but the Roman concrete would follow the sigils they drew. They got to decide what went where, even if some of the closets and shelving may have generated spontaneously.”

“All right. Above the water filtration.”

“Hydroponics.”

“And above that?”

“The menagerie, and the incinerator. Why are you asking me about all this?”

“Do you know what happened above the menagerie?”

“The level above the menagerie was where they built the cuckoos. Arty, come on. You’re starting to scare me. What do you see?”

Artemis steps to the side, gesturing to the colorful map pinned to the back of the door. It’s drawn in the style of an old children’s book illustration—may even be an old children’s book illustration—and shows the various lands and protectorates of the Up-and-Under as a series of layers, beginning with the wall in the woods that leads to the Kingdom of Coins, where riches may be made out of common clay, and then wending its way slowly upward.

There were more than a dozen Up-and-Under books published before Asphodel’s passing, but no one ever remembers them beyond the first four, with Avery and Zip and the lessons of the graveyard path. Kelpie looks at the map on the door, gravity slowly melting into horror as she traces the progression with her eyes, the journey through the levels of the Up-and-Under mapped out in the levels of the lab.

It’s a tenuous connection. If it were drawn anywhere but in the temple of Asphodel Baker, she would think it was unrealistic. As things stand …

She turns to Artemis. “We need to find the others.”

“Yes, we do,” says Artemis. She finally slings her bow over her shoulder, grasping Kelpie’s hand and squeezing it hard before she pulls her toward the door and out into the hall beyond.

They’ve only gone a few steps before Kelpie breaks into a run, hooves clattering as she pulls Artemis along behind her.

The etiäinen in the dark does nothing to interfere.

Movement

TIMELINE: AUGUST 23, 2018.

“It’s always been the Up-and-Under,” pants Kelpie as she runs, not letting go of Artemis’s hand. Her scramble up the stairs is unbalanced and unsteady, and might end with her on the floor if not for Artemis steadying her, providing a weight she can pull against and stop herself from moving too fast.

“Breathe,” says Artemis.

“She told us it was always the Up-and-Under,” says Kelpie urgently. They’re almost to the top of the first flight of stairs. “From the moment she abandoned the Congress, she put everything she had into the Up-and-Under. All her secrets, all her plans, all her everything. She was writing a blueprint for her perfect universe. And we didn’t see it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know, but I know that we need to figure it out fast, because whatever this is, we’ve walked straight into the middle of it.”

The door opens easily, revealing a large library, the shelves still loaded down with books. The ceiling is, impossibly, cracked, the vines dangling down from above having conquered even the Roman concrete. Kelpie stops dead, staring open-mouthed at the hanging greenery.

“Nice jungle,” says Artemis. The vines are dark green, their leaves spade-shaped and several shades lighter. She starts to step into the room, and Kelpie’s grip tightens, stopping her.

“Fire an arrow,” says Kelpie.

“What?”

“I want you to fire an arrow into the room.” Kelpie’s voice is hard, as unyielding as her grasp.

“Why?”