But Will's demeanor remained grim. 'True, but we won't see them, either.'
Cal held Bartleby still while Will tied a rope leash around his neck. They couldn't risk him wandering off under these conditions.
'You'd better hold on to my backpack so you don't get lost. And whatever you do, don't let go of that cat,' Will urged his brother as they took their first steps in the fog, descending slowly into it, like deep-sea divers sinking beneath the waves. Their visibility was immediately reduced to no more than a foot and a half — they couldn't even see their boots, making it necessary to feel for the edge of each step before venturing to the next.
Thankfully they reached the bottom of the stairway without incident, and at the start of the mud flats they repeated the black-weed ritual, wiping the stinking goo all over each other, this time to mask the Topsoil smells of London.
Traversing the edge of the marshland, they eventually bumped into the city wall and followed it around. If anything, the visibility was getting even worse, and it took them forever to find a way in.
'An archway,' Will whispered, stopping so abruptly that his brother nearly fell over him. The ancient structure briefly solidified before them, and then the fog closed up, obscuring it again.
'Oh, good,' Cal replied without an ounce of enthusiasm.
Once inside the city walls, they had to grope their way through the streets, practically walking on top of each other so that they wouldn't become separated in the impossible conditions. The fog was almost tangible, sucking and rolling like sheets in the wind, sometimes parting to allow them the briefest glimpse of a section of wall, a stretch of water-sodden ground, or the glistening cobbles underfoot. The squelch of their boots on the black algae and their labored breathing through their masks sounded unnervingly loud to them. The way the fog was twisting and playing with their senses made everything feel so intimate and yet, a the same time, so removed.
Cal grabbed Will's arm, and they stood stock-still. They were beginning to notice other noises all around them that weren't of their making. At first vague and indistinct, these sounds were growing louder. As they listened, Will could have sworn he caught a scratchy whispering, so close that he flinched. He pulled Cal back a couple of steps, convinced that they'd stumbled headlong into the Styx Division. However, Cal swore he hadn't heard anything at all, and after a while they nervously resumed their journey.
Then from the distance came the bloodcurdling baying of a dog — there was no question about it this time. Cal tightened his grip on Bartleby's leash as the cat raised his head high, his ears pricking up. Although neither boy said anything to the other, they were both thinking the same thing: The need for them to get through the city as rapidly as they could had become all the more pressing.
Creeping along, their hearts were pounding as Will referred to Tam's map and repeatedly checked his compass with his shaking hands in an attempt to fix their position. In truth, the visibility was so poor he had only the roughest idea where they were. For all he knew, they could be wandering in circles. They seemed to be making no headway at all, and Will was at his wits' end. What a great leader he was turning out to be!
He finally brought them to a halt, and they huddled down in the lee of a crumbling wall. In low whispers they debated what to do next.
'If we start running it won't matter if we come across a patrol. We can easily shake them off in this,' Cal suggested quietly, his eyes darting left and right under the moisture-spotted lenses of his gas mask. 'We just keep running.'
'Yeah, right,' Will replied. 'So you
Cal
Will went on. 'Look, we don't have a clue where we are, and if we have to make a run for it, we'll probably hit a dead end or something…'
'But once we're in the Labyrinth, they'll never catch us,' Cal insisted.
'Fine, but we've got to get there first, and for all we know it's still a long way off.' Will couldn't believe his brother's absurd suggestion. It dawned on him that a couple of months ago
The furious whispered exchange continued, growing more and more heated until Cal finally relented. It was to be the softly-softly approach; they would inch their way to the far edge of the city, keeping the sounds of their footsteps to a minimum and melting into the fog if anyone, or anything, came close.
As they stepped over hunks of rubble, Bartleby's head was jerking in all directions, scenting the air and the ground, when all of a sudden he stopped. Despite Cal 's best efforts to pull on the leash, the cat refused to move — he'd lowered his body as if he were hunting something, his wide head close to the ground and his skeletal tail sticking straight out behind him. His ears were pointing and twitching like radar dishes.
'Where are they,' Cal whispered frantically. Will didn't answer but instead reached into the side pockets of Cal 's backpack and yanked out two large firecrackers. He also took out Auntie Jean's little plastic disposable lighter from an inner pocket in his jacket and held it ready in his hand.
'Come on, Bart,' Cal was whispering into the cat's ear as he knelt beside him. 'It's all right.'
What little hair Bartleby had was bristling now. Cal managed to draw the cat around, and they tiptoed in the opposite direction as if walking on eggshells, Will at the rear with the firecrackers poised in his hands.
They followed a wall as it curved gently around, Cal feeling the coarse masonry with his free hand as if it were some incomprehensible form of Braille. Will was walking backward, checking behind them. Seeing nothing but the forbidding clouds, and coming to the conclusion that it was futile to try to place any reliance on sight in these conditions, he spun around only to blunder into a granite plinth. He recoiled as the leering face of a huge marble head reared out of the parting mist. Laughing at himself, he warily stepped around it and found his brother waiting only a few feet ahead.
They had gone about twenty paces when the fog mysteriously folded back to reveal a length of cobbled street before them. Will hastily wiped the moisture from his eyepieces and let his gaze ride with the retreating margins of the fog. Bit by bit the edges of the street and the facades of some of the nearest buildings came into view. Both boys felt an immense flood of relief as their immediate surroundings were tantalizingly revealed for the first time since they had entered the city.
Then their blood turned cold.
There, not thirty feet away, only too real and horribly clear, they saw them. A patrol of eight Styx were fanned out across the street. They stood motionless as predators, their round goggles watching the boys as they dumbly looked back.
They were like specters from some future nightmare in their gray-green striped long coats, strange skullcaps, and sinister breathing masks. One held a ferocious-looking stalker dog on a thick leather strap — it was straining against its collar, its tongue lolling obscenely out of the side of its monstrous maw. It sniffed sharply and immediately whipped its head in the boys' direction. The black pebbles of its beady eyes sized them up in an instant. With a deep, rumbling snarl it curled back its lips to reveal huge yellowing teeth dripping with saliva. Its leash slackened as it crouched down, preparing to pounce.
But nobody made a move. As if time itself had stopped, the two groups merely stood and stared at each other in horrible, mute anticipation.
Something snapped in Will's head. He screamed and spun Cal around, knocking him from his shocked inertia. Then they were running, flying back into the fog, their legs pumping frantically. They ran and ran, unable to tell how much ground they were covering through the shrouds of mist. Behind them came the savage barking of the stalker and the crackling shouts of the Styx.
Neither boy had a clue where they were heading. They didn't have time to think, their minds frozen with blind panic.
Then Will came to his senses. He yelled at Cal to keep going as he slowed to light the blue fuse on a huge Roman candle. Not really certain if he'd lit it, he quickly dropped it against a chunk of masonry, angling it in the direction of their pursuers.
He ran ahead several feet, then stopped again. He flicked the lighter, but this time the flame refused to come. Swearing, he struck it desperately again and again. Nothing, just sparks. He shook it just like he'd seen the Grays do so often at school when lighting their illicit cigarettes. He took a deep breath and once again spun the tiny wheel. Yes! The flame was small but enough to ignite the fuse of the firecracker, an air-bomb battery. But now the
