The Lock-Eater Read online

  Dial Books for Young Readers

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  First published in the United States of America by Dial Books for Young Readers,

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2022

  Copyright © 2022 by Zack Loran Clark

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Dial & colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us online at penguinrandomhouse.com.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  Ebook ISBN 9781984816894

  Cover art © 2022 Fiona Hsieh

  Cover design by Jessica Jenkins

  Design by Cerise Steel, adapted for ebook by Michelle Quintero

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For the Brooklyn Wizards:

  Nick & Andrew, Billy & Nico, Jack & Seth, Laura & Sarah.

  I’m so grateful to have you all in my life.

  CHAPTER 1

  NEARLY everyone at the Merrytrails Orphanage for Girls agreed: Abraxas was not a good cat.

  He was stubborn and hateful, which wasn’t itself unusual in cats, and didn’t even necessarily preclude a cat from goodness. Plenty of the girls’ favorite stories featured cats who were notorious grumps, and yet they maintained a certain charisma.

  But Abraxas was also unsightly. Again, ugly cats were commonplace in the streets of Crossport, and the girls loved them all the same. Some were rakish toms, riddled with the scars of their many cat duels. Some were misshapen but sweet, with smooshed-in faces and warbling cries that softened even the most callous hearts.

  Abraxas was neither. Where he had fur, it was a vague sort of gray. His stomach was completely bald, and one white eye had a milky quality to it. And he stunk, noxious from the pearly globs of wetness Mrs. Harbargain fed him twice a day.

  All of this might have been perfectly fine if Abraxas had at least been entertaining. But the orphanage’s pet cat was sedentary during the day, hissing at any of the girls who came too close.

  Little Mariana Porch had once dared to bring a broom handle within a few inches of his face, dangling a feather in the manner she’d seen two rich children in town do, playing with their gorgeous Siamese. She’d hoped to entice Abraxas into doing something silly. Both broom and Mariana still bore the scars from that unfortunate day.

  But what made the cat truly not good was what happened after lights-out. Because at night, Abraxas finally came alive. He stalked the halls of the orphanage like a wraith, yowling and scratching ceaselessly at every door and window he could reach.

  Mrs. Harbargain slept like a stone. Her room was nestled all the way at the bottom of the tall house, while Abraxas was locked into the upper floor hallway. She never heard the cat’s nightly pandemoniums, and waved away the girls’ complaints as whining—even as the upstairs doors were thinned away one claw-size notch at a time.

  It was on just one such a night that Melanie Gate decided she’d had enough.

  “Where are you going?” whispered Jane Alley. Melanie could just see her friend’s light brown face hovering from the top bunk beside her own, her large eyes wide and worried.

  Jane was agonizingly shy—the sort of girl who hid away from her own nameday parties. That she’d spoken up at all meant she’d sensed Melanie was about to do something particularly audacious.

  Jane always seemed to know. Sometimes even before Melanie herself.

  Outside the dormitory, Abraxas yowled. He was rattling the hall window with his paws, as if playing a glass drum.

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” Melanie said, shuffling to the edge of her bed and lowering herself gently to the floor below. Her face was pale and irritated as she glimpsed it in the room’s small mirror. “I haven’t slept more than ten hours all week.”

  Sun-mi Churchyard’s bunk was just below Melanie’s. She pushed a lock of dark hair from her eyes. “But what are you going to do?” she asked, sitting up as Melanie slid her feet into her slippers. They were donations from the wealthy families during the last Night of Gold festival, addressed: To the Poor, Sweet Orphans. With Affection & Heartache.

  “He wants out so badly,” Melanie said primly. “I’m going to give him what he wants.”

  Across the room, Agatha Chickencoop laughed. She brushed a tangle of russet curls from her tawny freckled face to better smirk at Melanie. “Mrs. Harbargain locked all the doors and windows. If they’re open, she’ll know it was you, lock-eater. You’ll get punished.”

  By now, all the girls were sitting up in their beds and watching Melanie as she marched toward the dormitory door in her nightgown and slippers.

  “There’s more than one way to open a window,” Melanie declared. “One of these days, Abraxas is bound to rattle the glass just a bit too hard.” She revealed the weighty fire iron that she’d smuggled beneath her bedspread, and a chorus of gasps filled the room.

  “Don’t!” little Mariana squeaked.

  “Oh, Mrs. Harbargain will be so mad,” said Baruti Harbor. She pulled her favorite blue blanket around her until it nearly covered her dark brown face and eyes.

  Melanie reached the door and whirled around, brandishing the iron. Just outside, Abraxas had broken into a wailing aria. His voice was like a mournful young soprano with a rock in her mouth, trapped inside a bucket.

  “Mad is what we’ll be if we don’t get some sleep,” Melanie said. “They’ll have to rename this place the Merrytrails Asylum for Cat Killers. Listen to him,” she added, “he wants out as much as we want him gone. I’m striking a blow for liberty.”

  Abraxas had begun drumming against the windowpane again, providing Melanie’s revolution with a jangling anthem.

  “Can I at least count on you not to tell?” Melanie asked. “Harbargain can’t punish all of us.” Melanie’s eyes slowly scanned the dormitory, falling on each of her friends in turn. “I’m doing this for everyone,” she said.

  There was a long moment of not-quite silence. Then a timid voice called out. “I won’t tell,” said Jane.

  “Me neither,” Agatha announced boldly.

  One by one, the girls agreed.

  Melanie beamed at them. She nodded, then turned and faced the locked dormitory door. She placed her hand on the knob and there was a genial, mechanical noise. Pins and springs slipped helpfully out of the way. Then Melanie twisted the knob, fire iron in hand, and the door creaked open. She stepped alone into the hall.

  * * *

  • • •

  Melanie Gate had always been good at opening things. Doors, windows—places of passage just welcomed her. Locks malfunctioned when she needed to get by in a hurry. In the springtime, windows that had been rusted shut for years would lurch open with clouds of auburn flakes.

  As a very young girl, Melanie would sometimes be found wandering the lower floors of the house, exploring after lights-out. Though Mrs. Harbargain had always carefully locked both the door to the girls’ dormitory and the one leading downstairs, she’d invariably discover them wide-open the next morning. After a few near escapes by Abraxas, Melanie was finally broken of this habit through a week of missed desserts.

  But the strange skill went back as far as infancy. Like all the foundling girls at Merrytrails, Melanie had been named after the place she was discovered. As Mrs. Harbargain told it, a pair of city guards had been strolling past Crossport’s South Gate during their evening rounds. The gate was fastened
shut and locked, as it was every night.

  Just when they’d passed by, however, the guards heard a horrific clamor behind them. They spun around to discover that the enormous South Gate was cracked open, as if it had never been bolted closed. Only the enchantments of the city’s aldermages kept the ponderous doors from swinging completely wide. And there, wedged between them, was a very determined toddler with chestnut curls trying to pull herself through the gap and into the city.

  Melanie was promptly deposited at the orphanage. She had nothing but her first name, her clothes, and a single token—an embroidered cloth decorated with a field of flowers. Pointed rooftops protruded from the bulbs, and above it all looped the words: Kinderbloom! The Garden Village.

  Mrs. Harbargain sometimes called her uncanny, and Agatha said she was a “lock-eater.” But Melanie didn’t eat anything. She simply asked doors to open and they agreed. To her, opening doors seemed perfectly natural. After all, that’s what they were for, wasn’t it? It was really all very polite.

  None of the other girls minded. Not even Agatha, really. Every orphan at Merrytrails had her own traits and skills. Agatha was a brilliant actress. Well, she was dramatic, anyway. Little Mariana could charm the stripes off a bee. Helen Stables claimed to have a way with horses, though the girls had never put this to a test.

  Each could be expected to help the others when needed, using their particular talents for the good of all. Now was simply one of those times.

  Melanie stared out into the hall, which had gone suddenly, shockingly quiet. She glanced to the window, where a keen yellow eye watched her back.

  “All right, cat,” Melanie said. “The council of orphans has heard your demands. I’m here to set you free.”

  “Maow,” Abraxas replied skeptically.

  “Well, you didn’t leave us much choice, did you?”

  Melanie waved the poker around as she approached the window at the end of the hallway, shooing the old cat. She knew better than to attempt this within striking distance of his claws. Abraxas hissed at her, but he slunk away, watching her with his gleaming good eye from a few feet down.

  Melanie turned her attention to the window. It was a large and cheerful casement, and very sunny in the morning. A wide sill lay beneath on which rested a small pretty vase full of small pretty flowers. She set these on the floor for now.

  Outside, the moon was high: a shining fingernail. Much of the city was dark, though the magical toverlichts kept the wide avenues lit for the town watch. Melanie could just make out the empire’s three-eyed flag waving from the roofs of the nearby buildings. Beyond them were the harbor and the three city gates. The North Gate led to Ultrest, the empire’s capital city, where the king lived. The East Gate was sometimes called the Prisoner’s Gate because it fed out to the Donjon, a court and prison system so sprawling, it was a city in its own right. Melanie could actually see the South Gate now, towering in the distance. And beyond it . . . ? An ache. A tug.

  Melanie had been at Merrytrails for as long as she could remember, and more than anything, she wanted to see the world.

  Her very favorite books in the orphanage’s meager library were The Misadventures of Misty Steppe, a collection of heart-pounding tales starring an audacious explorer. Misty got into all sorts of trouble, but each time she’d find her way out again through gumption and good humor.

  Melanie and Jane had read the books countless times, Melanie sometimes starting again just as she turned the last page, while Jane dreamed up Misty stories of her own. Drawings of the young woman covered Melanie’s notebooks, and were tacked to her bedpost. If she closed her eyes, she could clearly picture Misty’s face. She felt that real.

  Melanie wasn’t the sort of orphan to pine over lost parents or mysterious origins. She was an ambitious girl, with a gaze set forward rather than back. Misty was all the role model she needed.

  And how she longed for an adventure of her own, just like Misty. Melanie spent practically every waking moment—and often her sleeping ones—pining for what waited beyond the city. The desire for freedom shaped her dreams, sending her climbing snowy mountains and trekking through dark forests on a nightly basis.

  Now, behind her, Abraxas called out an impatient “Maow.”

  Melanie shook her head. She needed to focus. “Just lining up the strike,” she said. “No need for salty language.” She raised the fire iron high over her head.

  Melanie took a brief moment to consider the consequences of her next action:

  Was freedom truly prudent for a cat as old and half-blind as Abraxas?

  Wouldn’t Mrs. Harbargain mourn his disappearance?

  Was it actually true that the matron couldn’t punish all the girls, if she believed they were conspiring against her?

  Considerations so made, Melanie swung the iron bar.

  A loud peal brought her up short. It was one of the city bells, tolling from the palace, its voice high and clear. Melanie let out a little gasp. She lowered the fire iron, waiting.

  After a moment, a second bell tolled, this one warbling, nervous.

  Lights began to brighten in the windows of the houses outside. The bells never rang this late, not unless something dire was happening. Melanie heard shouts from the street below. Boots pounded against cobblestones. Several guardsmen flashed briefly in and out of view, running toward the castle.

  The structure loomed in the distance, towering over the other buildings. Its brilliant red roof was discernable even in the darkness, lit as it was by its own magical beacons. The rolling ocean was just to the castle’s west, and the city docks, glimmering faintly under the moon.

  A third bell rang. Its voice was grim and final. Two bells meant an emergency, but three meant a death. Someone important had just perished.

  Melanie stood there a moment, unsure how to proceed. Even if she still freed Abraxas tonight, the girls would get no sleep. She and the others would be up for hours, guessing at who had died and what it might mean for the city. For the thaumacracy, even. Three bells meant the world outside was about to change.

  Melanie placed her hand to the glass, and wished desperately that the world was open to her.

  It was a brief wish, but a strong one, and it passed right through her hand where she’d pressed it against the window. The window heard her, and it did its very best to grant such a potent wish. It helpfully exploded.

  But it wasn’t just the window. Melanie’s wish must have passed through the entire orphanage, because right at that moment, every door, window, hatch, and chimney—every opening that connected to the outside—blasted outward with showers of wood, stone, and glass.

  Melanie heard the girls in the dormitory scream as their windows burst apart. She even heard Mrs. Harbargain wailing from downstairs. She felt the crisp night air breezing in through the ruined window and took a step back, nearly stepping on Abraxas, who was himself breezing by in the opposite direction.

  The cat leaped up onto the sill, unconcerned by the many shards of broken glass that glittered there.

  “Wait—” was all Melanie had time to say. Then the old cat was gone, without even a backward glance.

  Melanie stared out the window, her mouth hanging open. Behind her, the stair door crashed open, and Mrs. Harbargain charged, screaming, into the hall.

  CHAPTER 2

  MELANIE was grounded and given double chores for a month, and she was permanently banned from stepping within three feet of a door or window without Mrs. Harbargain there to supervise. It was a very tedious month, which won’t be detailed here. Only two things of any importance happened during that time.

  First, Mrs. Harbargain and the girls held a fundraiser to repair the doors, windows, and chimney of the orphanage. They sold pies, each masterfully prepared by Sun-mi. (Mrs. Harbargain had attempted one to start, but after opening the oven door to a scorched and smoking blister, bleeding raspberry goo from its wounds, she ceded the baking to the expert.)

  Meanwhile, Melanie cleaned, and the other girls were forbidden from helping her.

  Second, Melanie learned that it was the High Enchanter who had died. Zerend the Red, the Third Eye of the Empire, had been assassinated. His laboratory in the palace was burned to a black and smoking crater.