Free Breath of Dragons (A Pandoran Novel) by Barbara Kloss

come.
    No one said "excuse me" or anything polite like that. Only sharp nods of acknowledgement were exchanged, but I felt the men look back at us after we passed, thick with curiosity.
    I hoped our cloaks would be enough.
    Our tunnel widened, turned sharply right, then ended in a sort of veranda, and I caught my breath. An entire town—roads and buildings and carriages and people—and it was all completely underground. The sky was an enormous rock dome, and instead of stars, hundreds of tiny lanterns floated above. Down here it was always night, and down here there were always stars.
    Horses clip-clopped along stone streets, pulling carriages of goods and whatnot behind them—none of which would've fit through our tunnel. There had to be another entrance somewhere.
    There were lanterns and shops with cantilevered second stories, just like the old buildings I'd seen in photographs of small English towns. Thatched rooftops were angled and oblique with oddly bent chimneys. There were even small bridges over tiny streams, and plots of grass and trees, but how anything grew down here, I had no idea. From our vantage point, the city didn't seem so frightening. In fact, it was almost charming and cozy in a Disneyland's Pirates of the Caribbean sort of way.
    A stale gust of wind blew as a sound like distant thunder rumbled, and something like clouds rolled in, masking the star-like lanterns above. Then it started raining. Underground. It was just a light sprinkle, but it was rain, no less. How in the world was it raining underground?
    "Follow me," Vera whispered before I could ask, "and make sure you keep your hoods drawn tightly." This comment was intended for me. "A little trick of the wind will do nothing against all of them."
    And there were a lot of them down here. Hundreds.
    We kept to the sides of the cobblestone street. Small puddles were already forming in holes and divots. Up close, I could see the soot stains upon the buildings and caked along crawling cracks. Warm light glowed from behind leaded glass windows, making them look like glittering golden jewels. I couldn't see inside very well, because they were covered in a thin layer of smoke and grime.
    We passed a very loud inn and a bakery, and my mouth watered as I inhaled the smell of freshly baked bread. It was so strong that I could almost taste it. How long had it been since we'd had a fresh meal? We passed a bay window filled with an eclectic display of cuckoo clocks—all of which abruptly chimed noon. Dozens of tiny doors flew open, the birds appeared, and I stood horrified.
    The birds were alive , screeching and wailing with clipped wings and talons fastened to a small platform.
    What in the world…?
    Alex tugged my cloak and I met his cautionary gaze before following him.
    I tried not to look into any more windows but it was like trying to look away from a train wreck. And then there was that window.
    It boasted an array of stringed instruments, but it was the violin that stopped me in my tracks. Its neck had been crowned with the miniature head of woman. Her blonde hair had been curled on top of her head and her eyes were shut, but her mouth was open and singing as the voice of the violin.
    Pain—so much pain pierced my heart with every note of her dirge. She was alive somehow, mourning her fate, and then she opened her eyes. Bright blue eyes stared at me and she stopped singing at once. And then all the miniature heads of other stringed instruments opened their eyes, too, and in the next moment, the entire window erupted in a chorus of heart-wrenching laments.
    Alex pulled me forward while those near us paused to see what had caused the commotion. The soft rain had stopped, and Alex continued holding on to my cloak as we passed a shop of cruel and barbaric looking weapons, another that looked like Frankenstein's pet shop, and another filled with books that might have come from the Addam's Family library. One book opened and screamed at me as I hurried