Curse of the Midions by Brad Strickland Read Free Book Online

side. A double row of pillars helped to support the raftered ceiling. Six huge panels, heavily outlined in two-foot-thick timbers, looked like trapdoors that opened up to a floor somewhere above. Dust lay thick everywhere, and scuttling spiders had strung their webs over the bricks and every other surface. Corroded gear wheels the size of dinner plates littered the stone floor, and a few broken-down machines, bigger than automobiles, crouched against the far wall, some upright, some on their sides.
    Where had everyone gone? Jarvey wandered until he found a single splintered door. It was unlocked, and it creaked open on rusty hinges when Jarvey tried it. A steep ramp led up into what looked like an alley, narrow and dark between featureless walls of sooty brick.
    Jarvey fished in his pocket until he found the crumpled card that Zoroaster had forced on him. Did the man really know where his mom and dad might be? Zoroaster had admitted lying to him, but he seemed to be Jarvey’s only hope. Jarvey studied the engraved script on the card: Lord P. Zoroaster, Ruling Council. Beneath that was what had to be an address: 3, Royal Crescent.
    Stuffing the card back into his pocket, Jarvey crept up the incline, holding the book tight. The alley was narrow, only about three feet side to side. To his right, it ran for fifty feet and then bent around the corner of the huge building and vanished in darkness. To his left he saw light. When he reached the alley mouth, Jarvey paused, his jaw dropping.
    Early-morning light made a cloudy sky milky-white. A ghastly throng of men, women, and children trudged past in the street, all of them wearing coarse, ragged gray clothing, most barefoot. Their heads drooped, and they all looked hopeless, helpless. In the washed-out light of morning, the soot-streaked buildings loomed like forbidding prison walls. A few heavyset, tough-looking men in black strode beside the crowd, brandishing six-foot-long staves. Now and then one of them yelled and struck out at a straggler, who would cower, cry out, or stumble.
    Jarvey shrank back into the shadows. One of the guards jerked his head around, his eyes narrowing. Jarvey backed away as the man shouted to one of the other guards and then came toward him, brandishing his heavy staff.
    Looking wildly around, Jarvey realized he had no choice—he had already retreated past the entrance to the basement. He hurried through the alley, away from the street and the man, took a sharp left turn and found himself in a dead-end passage between two crumbling brick walls, a passage no more than a yard wide.
    Trapped! Jarvey whirled, but already he heard the crunch of the man’s boots out in the main alley. He’d be caught, forced into that line of hopeless people—
    Tucking the book inside his shirt again, Jarvey looked around frantically. Suddenly an idea struck him. He braced his back against the right wall and pressed his feet against the left one. He walked a little way up the wall, holding himself there by the pressure of his back, and then hitched himself up. Back and forth, first moving his feet, then his back, he crept up until he was a good twelve feet or more above the ground.
    Then he froze. The man with the staff had reached the mouth of his dark, narrow passage. Jarvey tried to force his heartbeat to slow and held his breath. The leather-clad man leaned in and peered down the blind alley to the far end. He sniffed, like a bloodhound.
    His muscles trembling, Jarvey thought desperately: Don’t see me! Don’t see me!
    The guard looked up.
    Jarvey swallowed. He would be taken, and the guard would find the Grimoire—
    The guard below continued to sweep his gaze up, past Jarvey. And then he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing and fading as he strode back toward the street.
    Jarvey felt as if he would fall. How could the guard have missed him? He had looked straight at Jarvey, but had seemed to look through him.
    Climbing