When the city of Ember was just built and not yet inhabited, the Chief
Builder and the Assistant Builder, both of them weary, sat down to speak
of the future.
"They must not leave the city for at least two hundred years," said the Chief Builder. "Or perhaps two hundred and twenty."
"Is that long enough?" asked his Assistant.
"It should be. We can't know for sure."
"And when the time comes," said the Assistant, "how will they know what to do?"
"We'll provide them with instructions, of course," the Chief Builder replied.
"But who will keep the instructions? Who can we trust to keep them safe and secret all that time?"
"The mayor of the city will keep the instructions," said the Chief Builder. "We'll put them in a box with a timed lock, set to open on the proper date."
"And will we tell the mayor what's in the box?" the Assistant asked.
"No, just that it's information they won't need and must not see until the box opens of its own accord."
"So the first mayor will pass the box to the next mayor, and that one to the next, and so on down through the years, all of them keeping it secret, all that time?"
"What else can we do?" asked the Chief Builder. "Nothing about this endeavor is certain. There may be no one left in the city by then or no safe place for them to come back to."
So the first mayor of Ember was given the box, told to guard it carefully, and solemnly sworn to secrecy. When she grew old, and her time as mayor was up, she explained about the box to her successor, who also kept the secret carefully, as did the next mayor. Things went as planned for many years. But the seventh mayor of Ember was less honorable than the ones who'd come before him, and more desperate. He was illhe had the coughing sickness that was common in the city thenand he thought the box might hold a secret that would save his life. He took it from its hiding place in the basement of the Gathering Hall and brought it home with him, where he attacked it with a hammer.
But his strength was failing by then. All he managed to do was dent the lid a little. And before he could return the box to its official hiding place or tell his successor about it, he died. The box ended up at the back of a closet, shoved behind some old bags and bundles. There it sat, unnoticed, year after year, until its time arrived, and the lock quietly clicked open.
In the city of Ember, the sky was always dark. The only light came from
great floodlamps mounted on the buildings and at the tops of poles in
the middle of the larger squares. When the lights were on, they cast a
yellowish glow over the streets; people walking by threw long shadows
that shortened and then stretched out again. When the lights were off,
as they were between nine at night and six in the morning, the city was
so dark that people might as well have been wearing blindfolds.
Sometimes darkness fell in the middle of the day. The city of Ember was old, and everything in it, including the power lines, was in need of repair. So now and then the lights would flicker and go out. These were terrible moments for the people of Ember. As they came to a halt in the middle of the street or stood stock still in their houses, afraid to move in the utter blackness, they were reminded of something they preferred not to think about: that some day the lights of the city might go out and never come back on.
Excerpted from The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau Copyright © 2004 by Jeanne DuPrau. Excerpted by permission of Random House Books for Young Readers, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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