1

  The lights dim as I find myself walking along the water again. It’s late, and no one else is around. There is only the dim light, the sound of the occasional unseen fish beneath the water, the feel of wet carpet beneath my bare toes. I am all by my lonesome, and the world is beautiful.

  “Jeanie Locksmith, what are you doing out so late?”

  My silence interrupted, I turn to find Aunt Derry staring at me, one meaty hand on her hip. “Nothin’ important,” I say.

  “Nothing besides losing your sense of time,” she grunts. “Come on, now. Your father’s just arrived. Let’s get you back inside.”

  I can’t help but smile at the irony of it, as we’re already always inside. I take one last glance at the dark water lapping against the stairs before taking my leave.

  It’s late, but a few people are still up and about in the hall. Two men play cards by the elevator, a cat slinks around the corner, a pair of boys reluctantly pack up their game near the barricade. The cobbled-together wall of bed frames and desks might be sore to look at, but it’s less because we’re liable to be attacked and mostly to prevent anyone from wandering out and getting themselves lost.

  As we pass by the doors embedded in the wall, I put out my hand so my fingers brush against the metal numbers. 40423, 40425, 40427—at least, those are the numbers I understand. Each one is finished with an icon of a red diamond, just like the ones on the carpet. Ahead, Aunt Derry is stopping and looking for her key. Pressing it against the lock, she concentrates for a moment, willing it to take the correct shape. After a few seconds it fits and she turns it, opening the door.

  We are greeted by a blaze of light and sound. Kids from three families chase one another through whatever empty spaces they can find, as well as some occupied ones. Papa is polishing his locksmith tools at his workbench. He looks up when we enter, getting up from his workbench. Homemade, it looks out of place next to the hotel furniture that came with the room, but no one in this family cares much about aesthetics. He gets up to shake my hand while Aunt Derry leaves to help Mama with the dinner.

  “Been helping your Ma hold down the fort, Jeanie girl?” he smiles.

  I sink into his iron embrace. “If I hadn’t, it would’ve flown away. How was your trip?”

  “Better now that I’m back.” He laughs easily. “Uncle Torm can tell you more about the sights, as usual. The fishing in Green River stinks as badly as ever, the sun Outside burns as unpleasantly strong as ever, and the folks at Old Pipe are still fighting as hard as ever over whether or not they should start excavating, but all of them luckily still need a locksmith. And don’t let the little ones know, but I brought sweets from Grand Hall.” Of course, he says this loudly enough for my sisters and cousins to hear, and they immediately flock around him.

  As he hands out the wrapped candies, Mama puts a hand on my shoulder. “You think you’ll be joining him on the next one? We could use another set of hands.”

  “I’d like to,” I reply, and it’s the truth. As much as I love my home, I’d still like the see the infinitely twisting corridors of the world beyond the barricade. Doors aren’t made to hold a Locksmith, as the family saying goes.

  Mama smiles. “Uncle Torm found they’re planning to expand near Green River. You’ve been improving so much lately, I thought you might like to go with him when he heads out next week.”

  My eyes widen. “You really mean it?”

  “Cross my heart.” She squeezes me, and I can feel just how much she’s giving up. “I’ll get you the maps to study. It’s a well-traveled road, but still, it doesn’t hurt to have them.” I nod in agreement. As close as Green River is, it’s easy to get lost in a place that’s literally infinite. With one wrong turn, a traveler could be left wandering the carpeted halls for as long as they could wander. Even with precautions and good signage, getting lost is still a danger.

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” I say for both our sakes. And then Uncle Torm comes in, and we listen to his stories until long after the windows have been darkened by the setting of the false-sun.

  2

  There’s something about the way that wallpaper fades that makes me sad, especially when it has flowers on it. Even as I walk past them, my hand touches the pale blossoms, imagining how they might feel. Maybe all flowers, even the fake ones, wish they could live under the sun.

  “Okay in the back there, Jeanie?” Uncle Torm asks.

  “Yessir,” I call back, trotting to catch up. I wasn’t lagging too far, but his concern isn’t without reason. The hallways here are twisty and all look about the same, and the plan for my first trip away from home doesn’t involve me getting lost in an infinite hotel.

  Uncle Torm pauses for a drink, and I take the moment to consult the map. I’ve checked it and checked it over the past few weeks leading up to this trip, and I’ve checked it a few times since, but I’d like to make sure I know where we are just in case something happens. Uncle Torm laughs when he hears this. I’m shaping up to be a mighty responsible girl, he says.

  We keep traveling until the lights in the hallway dim. Over the course of the day, we leave the faded floral wallpaper behind and pass by sections with red pinstripes, cheap stucco, and etchings of animals I’ve never seen before, although I’m sure they exist in some world. Finally, Uncle Torm stretches. “Seems like a good place to stop and make camp, Jeanie?” he asks.

  “Sounds good,” I say, admittedly tired. I watch him inspect one of the doors that line the hallway and knock twice for politeness. When nobody answers, he takes out his key. With a bit of concentration, he shapes it into the correct form and fits into the lock. The room is hotel standard, with two twin beds and a single desk for furnishings, and of course unoccupied. After locking the door behind us, Uncle Torm heads into the bathroom to take a shower, and I open the curtains and look out the window.

  There’s not much to see, of course, with the glass being as clouded as that of every other window down here. It’s late, so the window is dark, but I can still make out a phantom landscape through the haze. The horizon looks rough and the trees are vague, almost as though they were added as an afterthought. As if an artist wanted to focus on their main work, and didn’t have the patience or skill to paint the obscure details that weren’t even likely to be noticed.

  Placing my hand against the glass, the cloudiness shifts ever so slightly. “Goodnight,” I tell the hotel.

  ———

  The next day, we make it to town, and it stinks.

  It’s not Green River’s fault, but dead fish tend to smell, and being a fishing town, it tends to have a lot of dead fish. They’re piled up in baskets along the edge of the water, which laps against the carpeted floor. The river meanders along the sunken floor before cascading down a stairwell and out of sight.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Dead fish and moldy carpet. The moment the smell hits us, I want to gag.

  “It’s a bit much for anyone on their first time,” Uncle Torm reassures me. He takes a small whiff and his nose wrinkles. “It’s still a bit much, even if you have been here before. Come on, let’s get away from here and start making those keys.”

  Mercifully, we leave the edge of the river and walk through the town. A few folks look up as we pass by, but most are intent on their own tasks. Eventually, we stop at a door. An old man opens it after a few minutes, looking frustrated. His tattered frock coat is in the fashion of Outside, and there are dark circles under his eyes. The frustration melts into relief as soon as he recognizes my uncle. “Torm,” he greets him, “it’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you again too, Vic,” my uncle replies.

  Vic gestures for him to come inside. “Well, let’s not just stand here in the open. Come in, both of you.” He ushers us into the room, which is about half the size of the one we spent the night in. Most of the furniture has been removed and replaced to be practical, but on the carpet, I can still see marks from where the single bed originally stood. “I trust your journey was a safe one. And who is this little lady?”

  “My niece, Jeanie,” Uncle Torm pats me. “She’s my helper.” He gestures at Vic. “Jeanie, this is Vic Doctor. He’s an old friend.”

  “Old, but not quite yet in the grave,” he winks.

  Uncle Torm chuckles. “Well, how about you, Vic? What’s the news from town?”

  “The same as always. As long as the fishnets are catching, the people are happy. As long as the people are happy, all is well.”

  “Then it’s good that the fishnets are catching.” They share a laugh. “Anyway, Victor, someone was asking for a Locksmith?”

  Victor nods. “I’m sorry you were called back after such a short time, but a few new families need rooms of their own. More than a few, actually.”

  “So I’ve heard. It’s good for business, at least.”

  “Business, and not much else.” He sighs. “Sometimes I feel like every time I get up, the town’s doubled in size. Soon, I’m sure you’ll be getting the spillover out in Red Diamond Hall.”

  I sit up straighter. “So you think we’ll be getting neighbors?”

  “Ah, so she does talk,” Vic winks.

  Uncle Torm strokes his beard. “There’s no need to get wild with speculation, Vic,” he says. “We’re still on the frontier. It won’t become a center of commerce overnight.”

  “But it will happen eventually?” I ask, not sure if I’m excited or upset.

  “I’ve seen it happen enough times before. Heck, I still remember when ‘Go west, young man’ was the slogan of the times, rather than ‘Go under’. Before they passed the Second Homestead Act, this place was the edge of the world, and now, you can’t walk two feet out your door without bumping into a new neighbor. You think there would have been some outcry about the nature of this place when the old lineages—Locksmith, Doctor, Gardener, and the rest—started manifesting their gifts, but it only seemed to make folks push for further expansion. Who cares how many pipes we strip for metals, how many walls we gouge, if there will always be more? Well, I care. And more importantly, I worry about what else may care.”

  He sighs again. “Well, don’t let me put a sour spin on your livelihood, or your little helper’s. Glory knows I’m just talk and won’t turn away a patient, no matter how many new ones come knocking on my door.” As he finishes the sentence, we hear the door thud. “That’ll be one now, another starry-eyed Outsider with more dreams than sense,” he says. Getting up, he shakes Uncle Torm’s hand and leads us to the door. “It was good to see you both. And I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, if that’s one good thing coming out of all these new people.”

  As Vic focuses on his new patient, Uncle Torm leads us away, out to the outskirts of town. The hall here is less populated, and eventually we stop in front of an unmarked door. “Well then, Jeanie, are you ready to be a Locksmith?”

  3

  It’s a good piece of work. I turn the key over in my hands, running my fingers over each knobby cut, shaping the ones that don’t quite match the bitting. After a few moments, I hold it up to the keyhole and place it in, breath held for the moment of truth. It slides in cleanly, like a hand entering a familiar glove.

  Uncle Torm gives a low whistle. “Looks like there’s just one thing left to do.” I look up, and he smiles. “A new key like that needs a signature, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Right,” I murmur, realizing I’ve forgotten that part. I press the head of the key between my fingers and concentrate. When I open my hand, I see my initials engraved in the thin metal. The ‘J’ is a little shaky and the ‘L’ leans to the side, not quite as clean as Uncle Torm’s practiced ‘TL’, but they plainly show that the key was made by me. I can’t help but smile.

  “A true mark of a Locksmith,” Uncle Torm nods approvingly as I get up from the workbench and hand the key to him for a final inspection. When he’s satisfied it needs no adjustments, we return to our customers, the young couple that’s moving into the room we’ve just unlocked. Uncle Torm strikes up a conversation with them, and while they’re negotiating, I hang back and wait for them to finish. After a few minutes, Uncle Torm takes pity on me. “Go on and enjoy yourself,” says Uncle Torm, motioning for me to get up. “I can handle the rest of this.” Nodding gratefully, I scamper off down the hallway.

  Green River is busy, and it’s wearing its new population boom like a kid with a set of her daddy’s trousers. Things look nice at first glance, but with a second look it’s clear that they don’t fit right and she’s still figuring out how to manage all the extra fabric. Lone fishermen get in the way of larger boats, and families with clothes too fine for the frontier try to avoid the worst of the filth. Mold encroaches on the damp carpet and walls, and there’s an ugly hole on the side of the hallway where someone has mined through the wall to harvest metal from the pipes.

  One of the doors is open, and I can see some men working in the room. Stepping inside, I see that one of the two windows in the room is broken and they’re preparing to board it up. Unlike the intact window, the light behind the cracked glass has gone out, and the dark and translucent glass seems out of place.

  The men are working quickly and carelessly, and every blow of their hammers rattles the unbroken window as well. I’m getting uncomfortable, since windows can be fickle things. If you break one, sometimes it leads to the hallway you’d expect, and sometimes it doesn’t. Break two windows next to each other, and sometimes the places behind them will be wildly different.

  I call out, “Hey, misters! You ought to be a mite more careful!”

  One of the men looks over. He’s clearly a recent arrival from Outside, given that such a harsh tan can only be cultivated by years beneath a stronger sun. He hollers back, “Hey missy, the lads know what they’re doing. Leave the work to them, and the comments to yourself.”

  I fold my arms and stick out my tongue. Aunt Derry’s always telling me I need to pick my battles, and even though she’s not here, I don’t want Uncle Torm to tell her I got into a fight on my first time out.

  But as soon as I turn my back, one of the Outsiders is a bit too careless with the board he’s carrying and it swings into the intact window. I don’t see the glass shatter, but I definitely hear it. An instant later, the lights go out and cold air rushes in from the window, slamming the door shut in front of me. The temperature drops five degrees, and then plummets another fifteen.

  I hunker down against the wall to get away from the biting cold, and that’s when I hear it. A heartbeat, slower even than a horse’s, reverberates through the walls. It pulses once, twice, and then falters.

  A light flickers through the crack under the door. Shivering, I make my way towards it. The door handle doesn’t budge under my frozen hands, and it seems it somehow locked itself when the door slammed shut. With numb fingers, I get out my key and will it into the correct shape. With a great deal of effort I pull the door open and tumble out, right in the middle of a gathering crowd of people.

  “Jeanie girl, you scared us half to death!” shouts Uncle Torm, pushing through the crowd. Vic Doctor isn’t far behind him, and I blink, bewildered, as he checks me for injuries. A few of the townsfolk are working to push open the door and shine their oil lamps into the room, and while I don’t know what they see, I realize the workers who broke the window haven’t come out yet.

  “We should never have left the sunlight for this cursed place,” a woman in a bonnet states fearfully. Not everyone nods along with her, but it’s clear that the mood has become uneasy.

  Vic grumbles and gets up as a pair of townsfolk help the tanned Outsider and one of the other workers out of the room. The remaining worker still hasn’t been found. “I’ve said it before but you just won’t listen,” Vic sighs, beginning to work on the two men. “The frontier demands respect. A forest won’t fight back if you chop it down, but this place? This place will.”

  Uncle Torm leads me away from the crowd and the two of us face toward the endless hallway in the direction of home. “Come on, Jeanie girl. I think it’s time we headed back,” he says.

  I follow him for a few paces, and then ask, “Do you think it’s true what that woman said, about this place being cursed?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think so. It’s more that we’re a curse to this place, or maybe a virus. If there are only a few of us and we stay relatively quiet, it won’t notice us and we can coexist in peace. But if people keep tearing up the walls and carpets and pipes, it’ll get hurt and try to kick us out. It’s starting to notice us, so soon we’ll figure out if we can live together in peace or if things will turn ugly. And I sure hope things don’t turn ugly.”

  I run my hand along the wall, feeling the faded paint. I don’t want my home to be in pain, and I want to show others that it shouldn’t be in pain as well. I don’t know what will happen in the coming years, but I’ll do what I can to protect both my home and my people. There are many places to go and see, and after all, doors aren’t made to hold a locksmith.