After a while, Rector almost enjoyed it, despite the rising burn in his arms, as exhaustion did not so much overtake him as threaten him from a distance. He had no intention of stopping anyplace in that claustrophobic tunnel, not after that first unnerving break. The other boys weren’t likely to give him his seat back, and besides—who knew? What if the cart broke, or they couldn’t get it moving again? What if the track was uneven, or imperfectly maintained, and the wheels refused to run against it without their hard-earned momentum?

The rail line split, just as Houjin said it would. It veered to the right, and soon after, to the left. The grade steepened, the pump handles stiffened, and the way became harder. Sweating and grunting, the trio forced the cart forward, shoving it up the incline.

Just when Rector was dead certain he’d have to stop cranking or his arms would fall off, the darkness shifted up ahead and he could see the end reflected in the other boys’ visors.

Before too long they drew up to an open area with lights bolted onto the walls. Some of these lights were lit, but most were out. Even so, it gave the space enough illumination for Rector to find it encouraging.

Houjin squeezed the brake and the wheels squealed outrageously, sparks spit from the metal-on-metal connection, and the cart came to a halt. All three of its occupants leaned, jerked, and sat up straight with their bones still rattling. They crawled out and gathered their belongings.

Zeke went behind the cart and kicked a triangle-shaped block, which dropped down against the wheel. “Keeps it from rolling when it’s parked,” he explained when he saw that he was being watched. “’Cause I don’t feel like chasing it down later on. Come on. Let’s hit the bridges.”

They came up through the basement of an old livery stable that still had decomposing leather tack hanging on the walls. The bones of horses or dogs or maybe even men and women lay scattered about like a child’s game of sticks; the boys avoided them as best they were able, but every so often the room rang out with the loud, cracking pop of something that once was alive.

The livery was only a story and a half tall, and above street level the windows had been left unboarded, allowing a watery wash of that feeble gray sun to spill inside. Rector turned his lantern down, then off. “Won’t be needing it, will I?” he asked too late, but Houjin shook his head.

“No, we’ll be on the roof soon.”

“Will that be high enough? I only see the loft, and the ladder. Everything else we climbed the other day … all of them buildings were taller than this one.”