Charlie watched Marlowe step even closer, his black hair stark against his pallid face. But it wasn’t the missing children he asked about, not first. “I’m afraid for someone. A person. Can you see, can you tell me, is she okay? Her name is—”
“Alice Quicke … is not … a talent.”
Marlowe half turned, peered back at Charlie through the darkness. Charlie could see a faint light in his eyes, like twin stars. “No,” said Marlowe. “But she’s our friend, mine and Charlie’s, and she brought us here to you. But she’s gone now down to London with Mrs. Harrogate, and they’re going to find Jacob Marber.”
The glyphic focused its eerie yellow eyes on Marlowe. Its face looked all of wood but the eyes were bright, wet, reptilian. “We know … you. We have seen … you. In the Dreaming.”
Several thick roots lifted and swayed near Marlowe. But they did not attack him.
“Alice Quicke…，” rumbled the glyphic, craning its neck, “is trying … to locate … Jacob Marber.”
“Yes.”
“But he … will not … be found. It is he … who does … the finding.”
“What does he mean?” whispered Charlie to Komako. The roots tightened.
“Marlowe,” she called. Her voice was soft and urgent and there was something in it Charlie hadn’t heard before. Fear. “Marlowe, ask him about the disappeared kids. How do we find them? Ask him about the carriage.”
But Marlowe had drifted closer and maybe didn’t hear. “I … I’ve been having these dreams,” he said in a whisper. “I think Alice is in trouble. I think she needs me.”
“Dreams … yes … we know … about dreams. You … are the one he … seeks.”
Charlie could not see Marlowe’s face, only the back of his head, the way he was standing in his dirt-smeared robe, the way he balanced on the balls of his feet.
“Closer, child … closer … put your hands … on our face … do not be … afraid.”
“Uh, Mar—” called Charlie. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“It’s okay, Charlie. He won’t hurt me.”
Komako had one gloved hand free and she reached for Charlie’s wrist. Her fingertips felt cool, light. “It’s how he communicates clearest, Charlie. It isn’t dangerous.” She closed her eyes, as if hearing a sound in her skull. “He knows why we’re here. He knows what we came for.”
And then Charlie watched the little boy stand on his toes, and reach up, and lay his hands gently on either side of the glyphic’s skull.
Slowly, a faint blue glow grew and grew until it filled the chamber, casting everything into eerie relief, as if they were underwater. Charlie knew that shine; he’d seen it on the train.
Komako’s eyes filled with amazement. Oskar had stopped whimpering and stared, his delicate pale lips half-open. Even the tree roots hesitated.
Everything went still.
But then the light got brighter, it kept on brightening until it hurt their eyes, and they had to look away, and Charlie squinted against the glare and understood. Something was wrong. Marlowe had stiffened; and suddenly, without making a sound, his whole body wracked backward, as if in agony.
“Marlowe?” Charlie cried in the dazzle. “Marlowe!”
Or he tried to, at least; it was as if the words wouldn’t come, or would come only sluggishly, drained of all sense, and everything was moving impossibly slow. He turned his slow blue face. He lifted a slow blue hand. Slowly the blue roots squeezed.
And then, just as suddenly, the shining flared out and was gone; all was absolute darkness and afterimage, burning into their eyelids. Marlowe had collapsed, released from whatever spell had held him. Charlie tried to get free, to go to him, but he couldn’t move, and somehow was having trouble breathing. But his eyesight was adjusting, again; he saw the roots surrounding the glyphic coil and contract, coil and contract. The creature lifted its face, peered malevolently at them with yellow eyes. “The child … may pass…，” it rumbled. “But you … the rest of you … come with too … many … questions.…”
Charlie felt the roots around his chest slither tighter. His lungs were on fire.
But then there was a movement, a sturdy powerful movement from the tunnel where they had come in. Charlie’s eyes were watering and it was hard to see. But the roots were shifting, seeking purchase, something was lumbering around behind them, and all at once Charlie felt a slick strong grip pry back the roots crushing him.