Patch's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

The smog pressed under the stone where the door used to be. Patch shoved Bella toward the wooden toy box in the corner. She went without arguing, which scared him more than the smog did. She folded her tall body down behind the box and pulled her starred robe over her knees. The pacifier dangled from its clip against her chest. Her hand shook. Patch climbed into the box itself, buried himself under painted trains and blocks, and left one eye clear between two wooden wheels. Something tapped the far wall. Once. Twice. Then the stone opened like it had never been closed. A porcelain face ducked through the doorway. Eight brass legs followed, folding neat to fit, then spreading wide across the rug. Patch had heard the toy shop woman describe things that came down from the upper city to collect stray children. He had not believed her until now. The nanny's mask had three fine cracks near the left eye. Her skirts were black. Her hands were gloved and small. "Child," the nanny said. Her voice was flat. "You are damp. Stand up." Bella stood. Her face went slack around the pacifier, which had somehow found her mouth again. She started toward the nanny like a wound toy. Patch pushed a train off his chest. The nanny's head turned at the sound. One brass leg lifted and pointed at the box. "Mice," she said. "I will deal with mice after." She knelt on four legs and reached for the tapes at Bella's hip. Bella's eyes cleared for one blink and found Patch through the slats. She gave the smallest nod. Patch came out of the box sword first. He landed on the nanny's back between two leg joints and drove the blade down through the brass collar where her neck met the body. Something inside her ticked, then screamed like a kettle. She reared. Her legs skidded on the rug. Patch held on with one paw and sawed. A gear popped out and rolled under the cot. The porcelain mask cracked from the left eye to the chin. She fell sideways and did not get up. Her legs kept moving, slower, slower, then stopped. Bella spat the pacifier onto the rug and stepped on it. "She came through the wall," Bella said. "Patch. She came through the wall." Patch pulled the compass from his cloak. The needle was still stuck. He pointed at the hole the nanny had opened. It was already narrowing, the stone knitting shut. "Go," he said. Bella grabbed him under one arm like a doll and ran. The gap closed on her trailing hem and tore it. Then they were in a new tunnel, dark, warm, and the smog was behind them. Something further down the tunnel tapped the wall. Once. Twice. Waiting.