“Thank you!” said Door, cheerfully. “I’m glad you aren’t dead, too.”
Richard edged over. “Um, Door. Could you tell the rat something for me?”
The rat turned its head toward him. “Miss Whiskers says that if there’s anything you’ve got to say to her, you can tell it to her yourself,” said Door.
“Miss Whiskers?”
Door shrugged. “It’s a literal translation,” she said. “It sounds better in rat.”
Richard did not doubt it. “Um. Hello . . . Miss Whiskers . . . Look, there was one of your rat-speaker people, a girl named Anaesthesia. She was taking me to the market. We were crossing this bridge in the dark, and she just never made it across.”
The rat interrupted him, with a sharp squee. Door began to talk, hesitantly, like a simultaneous translator. “She says . . . that the rats do not blame you for the loss. Your guide was . . . mm . . . taken by the night . . . as tribute.”
“But—“
The rat squeaked again. “Sometimes they come back . . . ” said Door. “She has taken note of your concern . . . and thanks you for it.” The rat nodded to Richard, blinked her bead-black eyes, then leapt to the floor and scurried back into the dark. “Nice rat,” said Door. Her disposition seemed to have improved remarkably, now that she had the scroll. “Up there,” she said, indicating an archway effectively blocked by an iron door.
They walked over to it. Richard pushed against the metal, but it was locked from the other side. “Looks like it’s been sealed up,” said Richard. “We’ll need special tools.”
Door smiled, suddenly; her face seemed to be illuminated. For a moment, her elfin face became beautiful. “Richard,” she said. “My family. We’re openers. It’s, our Talent. Look . . . ” She reached out a grubby hand, touched the door. For a long moment nothing happened, then there was a loud crash from the other side of the door, and a chunk from their side. Door pushed against the door and, with a fierce squeal from the rusted hinges, it opened. Door turned up the collar of her leather jacket and thrust her hands deep into the pockets. Hunter shone her flashlight into the blackness beyond the doorway: a flight of stone steps, going up, into the dark. “Hunter. Can you take the rear?” asked Door. “I’ll go on in front. Richard can take the middle.”
She walked up a couple of steps. Hunter stayed where she was. “Lady?” said Hunter. “You are going to London Above?”
“That’s right,” said Door. “We’re going to the British Museum.”
Hunter bit her lower lip. Then she shook her head. “I must stay in London Below,” she said. There was a tremble in her voice. Richard realized that this was the first time he had ever seen Hunter display any emotion other than effortless competence or, occasionally, tolerant amusement.
“Hunter,” said Door, bewildered. “You’re my bodyguard.”
Hunter looked ill at ease. “I am your bodyguard in London Below,” she said. “I cannot go with you to London Above.”
“But you have to.”
“My lady. I cannot. I thought you understood. The marquis knows.” Hunter will look after you as long as you stay in London Below, thought Richard. Yes.
“No,” said Door, her pointed chin pushed out and up, her odd-colored eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand. What is it?” she added, scornfully. “Some kind of curse or something?” Hunter hesitated, licked her lips, then nodded. It was as if she were admitting to having some socially embarrassing disease.
“Look, Hunter,” Richard heard his own voice saying, “don’t be silly.” For a moment he thought she was about to hit him, which would have been bad, or even to start crying, which would have been much, much worse. Then she took a deep breath, and said, in measured tones, “I will walk by your side when you are in London Below, my lady, and I shall guard your body from all harm that might befall you. But do not ask me to follow you to London Above. I cannot.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, planted her legs a little apart, and looked for all the underworld like a statue of a woman not going anywhere, cast in brass and in bronze and in burnt caramel.
“Right,” said Door. “Come on, Richard.” And she set off up the steps.
“Look,” said Richard. “Why don’t we stay down here? We can find the marquis, and then all set off together, and—” Door was disappearing into the darkness above him. Hunter was planted at the foot of the stairs.
“I shall wait here until she returns,” Hunter told him. “You may go, or stay, as you will.”