“Do you see that vent up there?”
Wren looked up, back at Three, nodded. Cass cut the conversation off.
“No. No way. You’re not sending him through there.”
Three ignored her.
“It’s big enough for you to fit. Can you crawl through, and open the gate from the inside?”
“Did you hear me?” Cass said. “He’s not going in there.”
“I’m talking to your son,” answered Three, forcefully. Cass was so stunned she didn’t know how to respond. Three didn’t take his eyes off Wren. “Can you do that?”
Wren shrugged, apparently torn between Cass’s words and this man who called him a soldier.
“I think so, maybe.”
“Don’t tell me what you think,” Three said in a firm voice. “Tell me if you can.”
Wren looked up at the vent again, and then back at Three. Cass noticed her son did not look at her. He just nodded.
“I can do it.”
Three stood up and took off his harness.
“Three,” Cass said. “No. I’m not going to let you send him in there by himself. There’s no telling what’s in that thing. He could get hurt.”
Three pulled a chemlight out of his vest and ignited it, attention still focused on Wren.
“If he doesn’t go, he’ll die.”
Three had a way of making choices seem nonexistent. Cass struggled to think of a better alternative, any alternative, while Three went on prepping her son, as though she had no say in the matter. He gave Wren the chemlight, drew something from his vest which he held hidden in his hand, all the while talking Wren through the steps.
“Once you get the cover off, crawl to the nearest vent. You may have to turn left or right once or twice, but it shouldn’t be too far before you can drop down. If anyone’s in there, ask for Gev. Can you remember that?”
Wren nodded. Cass gave up trying to prevent it, just watched the exchange, noticed how attentive Wren was, how eager.
“And if you don’t see anyone, look for two engines. Big engines. There’s a lever on one side. Just pull it, and the gate should open up. Can you do that?”
“I think—,” Wren stopped himself. “Yes.”
“Who are you asking for?”
“Gev.”
“Alright, I want you to take this.”
Again Three knelt, holding out his hand. Across his palm, lay one of the knives Cass had seen twice before; once in the wayhouse where Wren had cut his hand, and again during Three’s fight with Dagon.
“He certainly doesn’t need that—” she protested. Wren flicked his eyes to her, but Three paid her no mind.
“This is very sharp, and very dangerous. You understand?”
Wren nodded. Three lifted Wren’s unbandaged hand and pressed the handle of the knife into it.
“You’ll need it to open the vents. Do a good job, it’s yours.”
Wren nodded solemnly while he gazed at the simple, elegant blade, as if it were an ancient sword being passed down from some great and mighty warrior-king.
“Listen,” Three caught his eye again. “You’ll do it. I already know. You ready?”
Wren nodded again. Confident. Cass wanted to say something, anything, to change their minds, but nothing seemed forceful enough, meaningful enough, to override whatever had just taken place between Three and her son. Something in Wren’s face had changed, so subtle, so slight only a mother would notice. But there was some measure of strength there now that hadn’t been there before, as if Three had given some of his own for Wren to carry with him. Wren didn’t even look at her as he stepped closer to the wall.
“Hey, one last thing,” said Three. “Give your mom a kiss.”
Wren obeyed, shuffled over to Cass. She knelt, hugged him, received his little wet kiss on her cheek.
“Be careful, sweetheart. Don’t get hurt.”
It sounded wrong to her, somehow, like telling a soldier in the arctic to remember his mittens, but she couldn’t stop herself from saying it. He pulled away before she was ready for him to go.
“Always kiss the lady goodbye,” Three said, easily swinging Wren up onto his shoulders. “So she remembers you.”
Wren scrabbled up to a standing position on Three’s shoulders. His head just below the vent, he reached up with his knife and jammed it into the seam between metal and concrete. He pulled hard on the handle, but the vent wouldn’t budge.
“It’s stuck.”
“Work it back and forth, little bit at a time… yeah, yeah, that’s the way.”
Wren worked the blade and the vent inched away from its concrete base. After a few moments, it swung suddenly free, catching him off-guard. He swayed backwards, but caught the lip of the vent, balanced himself.
“Be careful, baby.”
“Mom. I am.”
It was the first time Cass remembered Wren calling her anything other than Mama.
“Alright, soldier. In you go.”
Three had Wren step up on to his hands, then boosted him higher. Wren stretched his hands into the opening, scooted in up to his shoulders.
There he hesitated, and for a moment Cass thought, hoped even, that he would back out, say he couldn’t do it, that they’d have to find another way.
“It smells bad in here.”
“You won’t be in there long.”
Three’s eyes flicked skyward, judged the ratio of blue to purple. The first stars were just visible.
“Quick as you can.”
With that, Cass watched as her baby son scuffled and shimmied his way into a dark shaft, headed into the unknown, alone, without her, and she was frightened.
Three stepped back, watched Wren’s small feet kick their last way into the opening, and disappear from view. He and Cass stood in silence for a few moments. Then, wordlessly, with the slightest glance and nod, Three patted her shoulder twice, and squeezed it once.
“He’ll be alright.”
“If he’s not, I’ll kill you myself.”
For once, Wren was thankful for his size. The airshaft, or whatever it was he was in, was bigger than he’d first thought, big enough for him to move pretty freely in. But the darkness made it seem tighter, more confining. The yellow-green chemlight splashed out in all directions, and didn’t show nearly as far ahead as Wren wished it would. There was a very slight breeze, more draft than anything, but it was hot, and the smell from inside was getting stronger. Wren couldn’t place it as any one thing. It just reminded him of being sick.
It’d seemed so easy, so possible when Three had told him about it. A simple crawl, a drop, a lever to pull. Nothing he hadn’t done playing in any of the places he’d been with his mother, even more so when he’d been out with Ran and Dagon. But here, now, alone in the dark, he just felt afraid. Something about the darkness just changes when grown-ups aren’t in it with you.
He glanced back at the entrance, now a hole of waning light small enough to hide behind his thumb. Mister Three had said it wouldn’t be far, but how far was it? Not far to him sometimes seemed like a really long way to Wren. Wren started to wonder if maybe he’d passed the way out already, if maybe he should try to turn around, or crawl backwards. But Mister Three had said to be quick, and Wren already felt like he’d taken too long.
He crawled on a little further, and suddenly felt a change in the subtle draft. A swirling, like wind colliding. He stretched the chemlight forward as far as he could. And his heart fell.
Mister Three had said there might be a left or right turn. He never said there might be both, in the same place.
Wren was at a T in the ductwork, blackness stretching off to his left and right without hint or clue as to which way he should go. A coldness crept up inside, and he looked quickly back to the entrance, hoping maybe it was closer than he remembered. It wasn’t. In fact, it was harder to see it now; smaller, darker. Night was falling. A quiet sort of dread crept into his heart.