The Live-Forever Machine by Kenneth Oppel Read Free Book Online Page A

corner preaching about the wrath of God. Just crazy words that didn’t make any sense.
    “Fire and brimstone,” he muttered. The words rang through his head.

5
Alexander
    Someone was watching him.
    Eric paused in the entrance hallway of the museum and looked around. Just a few other visitors, the usual knot of people heading for the gift shop. Nerves, he told himself. There was no one watching him. He shivered in the air-conditioned cool. It was either too hot or too cold. There was no in-between these days.
    But it happened again. As he climbed the swirling stairs, he could feel eyes boring into the top of his skull, and when he looked quickly up, he was sure he saw someone moving back from the railing on the level above him. And a few minutes later, as he walked through the Chinese tomb, he thought he saw something shift at the back of the display.
    Stop, he told himself. You’re freaking yourself out.
    He did a quick tour of the museum, watching for Alexander, and by the time he reached themedieval gallery, his hands were numb with cold, and a muscle in his thin chest was stuttering like a telegraph signal. He pushed his right hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers gently around the locket, feeling its bevelled corners through the washcloth.
    A few visitors passed through the armoury, including one man who panned a video camera rapidly from side to side as he strolled down the corridor without stopping.
    Eric walked slowly through the darkened gallery. The stillness of the displays unnerved him, the soldiers and horses frozen in mid-action, as if they might suddenly jolt to life and finally finish swinging their swords, raising their shields, spurring their horses. A hundred pairs of eyes. The skin on his forearms crawled.
    There was no sign of Alexander. What are my chances of finding him like this anyway, Eric wondered. Very slight. He tried to rub away the goose bumps on his right arm. He grimaced, wishing he could get some meat on his bones. He leaned against the railing and gazed into the display. The toppled soldier had been removed, leaving only the imprint of boots on the gravel. Eric looked deeper back, into the shadows.
    The door blended in so well with the painted backdrop that he never would have noticed it if it hadn’t been left slightly ajar. A vertical sliverof light from the opening gave it away. He looked at it for a long time, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. His fingers drummed softly against the locket.
    He walked to the far end of the gallery to give himself time to think. It wouldn’t hurt to have a look. His chances of finding Alexander back there would be better than if he were to wait in the galleries all day. And if he got caught he could always plead ignorance. He turned and started back.
    He was alone. He swung his legs over the railing and scuttled through the petrified army. The soldiers followed him with their dead eyes. He reached the sliver of light in the dark wall, wedged his fingers into the gap and pulled the door open just far enough for his slim body to slip through.
    A long corridor, illuminated by fluorescent lights, stretched out ahead of him. His heart and breathing slowed. Turning around to face the huge door, he saw that it was marked: West Armoury. He must be in one of the service corridors that ran behind the displays and into the back of the museum.
    He started walking, going over what he would say to Alexander. Found the locket. Saw you disappearing through the door. Assumed it was yours. Came to give it back. Fine. And thenhe’d try to work in some questions about the locket, and about Gabriella della Signatura.
    The passageway branched in three directions, and Eric picked one at random. He could hear the distant sounds of voices, and the low rumble of wheels under a heavy load. But it was impossible to tell where they were coming from. He passed more and more junctions, other corridors and stairs, some going up, others down. Rat’s maze, he