Ghostly Echoes (Jackaby #3)(54)

I opened my mouth, but found no words with which to fill it.

“She is not what you were expecting?”

“She?” I said. “No, she’s not what I was expecting. I guess I imagined little red imps or maybe choirs of moony angels with white robes and harps.” I glanced back over my shoulder into the haze. “Ammit is a little different.”

“They are here, also.” Charon pressed onward at a slow crawl. Within the spinning mist I began to see all manner of shapes and faces, and it was difficult to determine if I was only imagining things in the billowing clouds or catching a real glimpse of what lay beyond them. “The imps are not my favorite, but we can take that route if you prefer.”

“No, no. That’s quite all right.” I considered. “Is it hard to find your way?”

“I never lose my way.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to find mine?”

“I do not know.”

“I’m looking for a man called Lawrence Hoole. Do you know how I might find him?”

“The river does not generally take you where you want to go,” said Charon. “But it will always take you where you need to be.”

“That’s moderately reassuring,” I said.

“There will be trials.” Charon’s tone betrayed neither sympathy nor malice. “There are always trials.”

“I rather suspected.” I took a deep breath. “What sort of trials?”

“I do not know what you will face. There are many. Ishtar once sacrificed articles of clothing at each gate until she stood naked before all the monsters of the underworld.”

“That sounds like the sort of trial a naughty schoolboy would write.”

Charon shrugged. “Ra had to slay a great serpent; Persephone had to abstain from eating. Some have crossed through fire, and others have simply found their names in a book. It is different for everyone. Death is a personal journey.”

The boat suddenly rocked and lurched to a stop as if it had run aground. The mist roiled and condensed before us until it formed two pillars of solid ivory. Between them sprang coils of smoke that trickled upward toward the foggy darkness of the cavern ceiling. Somewhere in the distance a low note sounded, and the smoke trails snapped into tight, rigid bars. We bumped, bow to bars, against an ethereal gate.

“Ah,” said Charon. “Here you are.”

“What should I do?” I asked.

“—” said Charon.

“What?” I said, or tried to say. My lips formed the word, but no sound escaped.

The ferryman’s mouth opened and closed, but I could hear nothing. Even the rush and drip of water all around me had stopped. I clutched at my ears frantically.

“Strain your ears to be sure I’m here,” said a soft voice from beyond the gate. It was a woman’s voice, low and quiet as a whisper, but still crystal clear in the absence of any other sound. “But say my name and I disappear.”

I lowered my hands slowly. It was a riddle. I could do riddles. If it were a choice between wordplay and swordplay in the depths of the underground, I would take words any day. “Strain your ears to be sure I’m here. Say my name and I disappear.” I mouthed the clue as I thought. It sounded simple enough, although it was still unnerving to be enveloped by such absolute . . .

“Silence.” I said the word out loud, and with it came rushing back all of the other sounds of the underground cave. The gate was mist again in an instant, and the boat shuddered forward.

Charon bowed his head in approval and returned to propelling the slender ship forward.

“Was that it?” I said. “Am I done?”

A voice came from my left. “I sure hope not, Abby darling.”

I nearly fell out of the boat. Goose pimples rippled down my arms. Nellie Fuller stood beside us in the curling mist. She wore the same neatly tailored dress that had complemented her full figure when she was alive, her dark curls tucked up under a stylish black hat. She had been an ace reporter for the New Fiddleham Chronicle. She had been an indomitable force to be reckoned with. She had been my friend.

“It’s real nice to see you, kid.” She smiled. “But what’s a hot-blooded girl like you doing down here?”

“Nellie!” I wanted to weep. “Oh my word! I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry?”

“For what happened—the valley—the dragon. It should never have been you.”

She waved me away and rolled her eyes. “I don’t need anybody apologizing for my choices. I’d been all around the world—it was time for a new adventure, anyway. There are some amazing souls down here. I met a woman named Anne Bonny on my first night. She was a real-life pirate, told me all about it! When they caught her, she snuck out of jail and went straight. Nobody ever found her again, but guess what? She died decades later, peacefully, lying in her bed, a mild-mannered great-grandmother! I met a boy named Elpenor, too. He survived the Trojan War—sailed with Odysseus himself! The actual Odysseus! I didn’t even think any of that classic hero stuff really happened! Do you know how Elpenor died?”

“By the sword?” I guessed.

“He got drunk and fell off of a roof.” She laughed. “I got to tell the both of them that my last dance was toe to toe with an honest-to-goodness dragon! We all have to go sometime, Abby. I’m happy I went out on a high note. I’ve got no regrets.” She gave me a wink and I smiled. Death had not dulled her spirit in the least. “I didn’t plan on having you follow me down so soon, though,” she said. “What are you doing here?”