Sing Down the Stars (The Celestine Series Book 1) by L.J. Hatton

Author:L.J. Hatton [Hatton, L.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyscape
Published: 2015-10-06T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

Birch was right about the tree bark. Nearly an hour after he left me, the pain tapered off until I could breathe without having to hold the rail for leverage. I even managed to get myself into a better position, with my legs hanging off the walkway so I could peer into the abyss, or count the levels above my head.

There were nine.

The facility was unlike anything I’d seen, even in my father’s sketches of things to come. I recognized some of his elements, but the construction lacked his stylistic markings. Whimsy had been replaced with steel and curves that looked like the cutting edge of a farmer’s scythe.

Birch had been right about the fruit, too. I hadn’t checked the trees, because I didn’t fancy a climb through the hedge to get at them, but shiny clustered berries hung near my perch, close enough to pick at without moving. I ate them slowly, spacing them into a rudimentary clock. One that told me Birch had been gone too long for dinner.

He could have been sidetracked—or worse, caught. At that very moment, it was possible that he was facing punishment for his transparent pineapple ruse. Or Birch’s ability to conceal his movements could have been a façade fostered by the resident warden to discourage Birch from taking precautions.

If he’d been caught, then I was on my own, and so I was left with the unpleasant conundrum: honor my promise, or try to escape.

I didn’t want to outright lie, but I’d left flexibility in my phrasing. I hadn’t said I wouldn’t plan an escape or leave the greenhouse at all. If I left, and got back quickly, everything would be fine.

Besides, he’d promised to come back. If he didn’t keep his word, then why should I fret over mine?

I pulled myself to my feet, bracing for the shift in my ribs, but while I could definitely feel pressure with every breath, it barely edged into pain.

The double doors were each composed of a single beveled piece of metal, similar to the casting blanks my father used to shape the exoskeletons of his golems. They had no handles. I pressed against one, but it didn’t move. I placed my fingers near the outer edge of the door, feeling for the hinges, but there weren’t any.

There had to be a hidden latch release or button.

“I don’t suppose saying ‘please’ would make a difference?” I asked. “How about ‘open sesame’? I bet you’d open for my father, you stupid hunk of steel.”

I hit the panel, and a jolt leapt from it to my palm before both doors opened along a track of rolling casters. This was getting very weird. I might believe that my father’s coat and the medallion he made for his sister could recognize me as Magnus Roma’s blood, but why would that matter to Commission technology?

Outside, the hall was clear. The open levels stopped in favor of a single floor with bare walls marked by even gray lines that ran top to bottom.

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