Clockwork Twist : Dreamer (18 page)

Twist reached up to knock on Jonas's cabin door, but the door opened before he could.  Jonas held out a small glass that was half-filled with a clear liquid.

“It's about time,” Jonas said, frowning at Twist. “Where have you been?”

Twist took the glass and followed Jonas into the room.  Jonas sat down on one of the flat cushions that surrounded a low table in the center of his cabin.  There was another glass on the table, next to a cloudy white bottle with no label.  Twist sat on a cushion across the table from him and sniffed at his glass. “What is this?”

“Rum,” Jonas said, taking a drink from his own glass. “I'm really glad they didn't find this,” he added, looking at the bottle fondly.

Twist took an experimental sip and found the flavor to be sweeter and smoother than he'd imagined, considering the strong alcoholic scent. “Isn't rum what old sea pirates drink in novels?” he asked vaguely.

“Sky pirates do, too,” Jonas said, opening the bottle to refill his glass. “It's a pirate thing.  It's in our blood: like the love of shiny riches and the contempt for authority figures.”

Twist watched Jonas's motions, trying to figure out how much he'd already had.  His speech was still clear, at least.  There was still a healthy amount of tension in him as well, suggesting that he hadn't chased many of his daemons away just yet.  He looked better as well, having changed out of his singed clothing and washed his face and hands.

“So, what kept you, anyway?” Jonas asked after a quiet pause.

“Oh, nothing really,” Twist said. “I didn't mean to keep you waiting for me.  I thought you could do with some time alone.”

“I'm fine,” Jonas said flippantly. “Don't worry about me so much.”

“But we're in your version of hell.”

Jonas looked at him quietly, then shook his head. “No, hell would be being handcuffed to Ara without any access to a lock-pick.  Or a saw.  I've still got a door I can shut in her face, so I'm not doing that badly.”

Twist nodded and took another sip of his drink.  Time for a new approach. “This isn't bad,” he said, looking at his drink.

“I'll turn you into a pirate yet,” Jonas said with a wicked grin.

“No, never,” Twist said, shaking his head. “I'm rubbish at swashbuckling.”

“What is that, anyway?” Jonas asked. “Swashbuckling, I mean.  I've always wondered.”

“You're the pirate.”

“But I've never buckled a swash,” Jonas said unhappily. “At least, I don't think I have.”

“Then you haven't lived.”

“You're mad.  Do you know that?”

“I've got the top hat for that, too,” Twist said with a wink.

Jonas laughed and picked up the bottle again. “I'm so glad Quay gave it to you.  It's always good for a joke.  More?”

“Please,” Twist said, holding out his glass with a mild sense of satisfaction.  At least he was in a good enough mood to laugh.

A knock at the door startled them both.  Twist didn't realize that he'd left it open behind him.  Arabel stood in the hallway outside, watching them.  Twist hadn't heard her approach.  How long had she been there?

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I just wanted to ask if you're coming to dinner.”

Twist looked to Jonas, searching for some kind of sign.  For as long as Twist had known him, Jonas had always refused all invitations to family meals.  The thought of being trapped at a table, surrounded by the
Vimana
crew and forced to speak to them, always seemed to make his blood run cold.  At the moment, Jonas was staring into his glass with still-uncovered eyes and no emotion on his face.  Twist consulted the buzzing in his neck, and found a confusing mix of emotions that he couldn't follow.

“You're going to make me ask?” Twist marveled.  Jonas looked up to him.

“What?”

“The lady asked a question,” Twist said with a gesture to Arabel. “But you're not telling me anything.”

Jonas smiled and shook his head. “I haven't decided yet.”

“You're thinking it over?” Twist asked, unable to keep the astonishment from his face.

“What's on the menu, anyway?” Jonas asked, glancing near the doorway.

Arabel took a few steps closer, watching him carefully.  Twist could see a hopeful but delicate tension in her.  Twist frowned, wondering what in the world was happening around him.

“We're in New York,” she said. “I was going to make jambalaya like always.”

“With those sausages from that little Creole deli?” Jonas asked quickly.

“Of course,” Arabel said.  A smile was creeping onto her face. “I was thinking to get some mangoes and make coconut cream too.  They're in season in Chile right now, and I think that fruit shop next door still has them flown in every week.”

“You're a cruel temptress,” Jonas muttered, looking pained.

“So, should we set a place for you?”

Jonas gave a heavy sigh and finished what was in his glass in one gulp. “You are serving some form of alcohol as well, right?”

“I think we've still got some of that beer from Alsace...”

“All right, all right, I surrender!” Jonas said, holding up his hands. “But it's bad form to play against a man's weakness, and you know it.”

“I'm just glad I still know some of yours,” Arabel said, smiling broadly now.

“Not that many, poppet.”

“Enough to get you to come to dinner,” Arabel toned tauntingly.  Jonas refilled his glass.  “You and Myra, and your friends are coming too, right?” Arabel asked Twist.

“It seems this will be a meal to die for,” Twist said, smiling up to her. “I wouldn't miss it.  I'm sure the others will want to join us, as well.  Thank you.”

“Wonderful,” Arabel said brightly, turning away to leave. “Dinner will be ready a little after we get into the air.”

Twist watched her leave, practically bouncing in each step, and he then turned back to Jonas.  He was utterly shocked to find a slight smile on Jonas's face as he poured a bit more rum into his glass.  He looked up at Twist to find him still staring at him.

“What?”

“What just happened?” Twist asked.

“Cheating, that's what,” Jonas said with a sigh. “You know, she used to make me that meal every year for our birthday.  It's all my favorites.  She'd make the food, and I'd organize the fireworks.  But adding my favorite beer on the planet...” He shook his head. “Outright cheating.”

Twist frowned at him and leaned across the table to look him squarely in the eye. “Are you honestly admitting to me that you don't actually hate your sister?”

Jonas looked surprised, staring back at him with light, powder-blue eyes.

“You grumbled,” Twist continued slowly, “but you didn't put up much of a fight about coming on board.  And you're not nearly as angry as you usually are around your family.  And you let her tempt you.  You could have refused right away, but you gave her a chance to tempt you.  You actually asked what she was making!”

“You're paying way too much attention to how I feel,” Jonas said, frowning.

“You're not acting like yourself.  Who are you, and what have you done with Jonas?”

“Cut it out,” Jonas said with a sigh, looking away. “Where's Myra?  I need something to distract you with.”

“Ah, so you admit you have something to hide,” Twist said knowingly.

“I can't let you have all my secrets,” Jonas muttered darkly. “Now leave it alone, will you?” he added, looking slightly wounded.

Twist smiled at him. “Fine, fine, whatever you say...”

Jonas changed the subject as quickly as possible, while Twist left his silent questions sitting out in the back of his mind, ready to be assembled.  But no matter how he tried to fit the pieces together, he could only come up with a single explanation: in a deep part of his heart, hidden away from everyone and everything else in his life, Jonas had begun to miss his family.

The
Vimana
rose slowly out of New York harbor, into a rusty sky at the edge of twilight.  The crew called to each other from the rigging and the deck: their voices swept into the hum of the city below them by the crisp winter breeze.  As soon as she was free of the docks—the golden glow of the streetlights fading away on the gray hull—the ship turned out towards the southern horizon and engaged her engines, speeding down along the edge of the Atlantic.

Twist watched the sun set over the land to their right, and then turned back to watch the fire slowly drain out of the clouds over the sea.  In moments, the scattered bluffs turned gray against the darkening sky and sailed along beside them silently.  The ship rose into a swift current of southerly air that seemed to hug the coast, just above the tops of the lowest clouds.  Twist was relieved to find that the crash hadn't changed his opinion of flying.  As long as he didn't look directly down into the abyss below him, he found he was still at perfect ease in the gently rocking arms of the wind.

When Twist and Jonas entered the
Vimana's
dining room, Storm was already seated near one end of the table with his feet on the edge of his seat and his knees curled up tight, apparent fully absorbed with a device in his hands.  He was using a thin tool to tighten a coil of wire on the edge of the strange contraption.  There were a few pieces of metal and one disk of glass on the table in front of him, next to his empty plate.

The room around him was exactly as Twist remembered it.  The back wall was filled with a row of small, lead-lined windows, while the other walls were filled with painting, tapestries, and other decorations.  Persian rugs covered the floor.  A table sat in the center of room, surrounded by large, ornate chairs, and all of the table's feet were nailed to the floor.  The table was set and the silverware glinted in the gaslight of the chandelier that hung above the table.

Zayle, the ship's engineer, sat across from Storm and watched him with interest.  Twist smiled to see that Zayle's hair was still a bright, shocking green.  It hung in points around his sharp, angular features and thin black eyes, making him look a bit like a goblin in the dim light.  Moroni was already at the end of the table, while Myra sat beside Storm and waved to Twist to join her as he entered.  He did as she asked, while Jonas sat on his other side, next to the empty chair at the head of the table.

Dr. Philippe Rodés, Aazzi's husband, looked as respectable and stylish as ever in his sharp charcoal suit and silver cravat.  He offered Twist a nod of greeting and continued cleaning his silver, wire-rimmed glasses with a brilliantly white handkerchief.

“It's good to see you, Jonas,” he said in his soft French accent.

“Oh yeah!” Zayle said, looking away from Storm as if waking from a trance. “Hi, Jonas.  How's it going?”

“Fine, thanks,” Jonas said somewhat stiffly. “Phil,” he added, nodding to Dr. Rodés.  The doctor replied in kind, though Jonas couldn't see it through the black goggles covering his eyes.

“How was the shopping trip?” Twist asked Myra.

“Brilliant,” Myra said, beaming at him. “I got Storm two new sets of clothes to wear, a toothbrush of course, and a few other things, too.  He insisted on going to a shop to buy some metal and glass though,” she added, looking to whatever Storm was working on. “He said it was important, and the pieces were all very inexpensive.”

“What is that, anyway?” Twist asked her.

“No idea,” she said, shaking her head.

“He's pretty clever, this one,” Moroni added. “He already knew exactly which pieces he needed for … whatever it is.”

“I think it's some kind of audio device,” Zayle supplied, peering at it across the table.

“What?” Storm asked, glancing up suddenly as if he hadn't heard anything else.

“What are you making, Storm?” Myra asked him.

“Oh, just a thing,” he said, looking at it. “I'm almost done.  Is Twist here?” he asked, his attention already being absorbed again.

“Yes, right here,” Myra said, patting Twist's arm.  Zayle and the doctor both seemed slightly confused. “He can't see or hear Twist,” Myra explained easily.

“Why not?” Zayle asked.

“Don't ask,” Jonas said.

“Where did you find this kid?” Zayle asked.

“In a village that floats on a cloud,” Myra said with a smile.

“Did you now?” Zayle asked, wide-eyed. “So really, where'd you find him?” Twist shook his head, hardly able to believe Myra's claim even with his own experience.

The approaching sound of voices drew his attention to the door.  A moment later, Arabel entered, carrying a large plate covered with glistening, bright-yellow slices of mango, drizzled with honey and thick white cream.  Howell followed behind her with a crate full of bottles that were dripping with condensation.  Aazzi entered last, laughing at something Arabel had said and carrying a large bowl filled with a spicy-looking rice dish that had chunks of steaming sausage, vegetables, and shrimp in it.  They each put their burdens down on the table, among plates of bread and butter that were already there.

Aazzi smiled when she caught sight of Twist, and he couldn't help but smile back at her.  She was still dressed in her daylight attire: a long black dress that fell to the floor, black fabric wrapped tightly against her dark skin—all the way to her fingertips—and a silvery silk shawl laying in a puddle around her shoulders.  The long, thin, silver braids of her hair hung loose down her back, and there was a gentle light in her silver eyes.

“Twist, Myra, it's good to see you,” she said in her smooth, rich voice. “And Jonas,” she added, looking to him. “They told me that you were here, but I didn't believe it.”  As she spoke, Arabel and Howell took their seats, Howell sitting at the head of the table and Arabel taking the place beside Zayle.

“Can't a man come home for a good meal now and then, without anyone alerting the newspapers?” Jonas asked, looking cross.

“Did he just say the word 'home'?” Howell asked.

“Did he just openly praise my cooking?” Arabel asked, staring at him across the table.

“Oh hell,” Jonas muttered, rubbing at his brow with a hand. “Someone give me a beer.”

Aazzi laughed lightly along with a few of the others, and plucked some bottles from the crate on the table.  She walked behind Storm and Myra to offer a bottle each to Twist and Jonas, leaving the other she held for Howell.

“You simply have to humor us, Jonas,” she said, gliding to the seat beside her husband. “We are all happy to see you again.”  Everyone looked at him quietly, no one protesting at all.

Jonas gave an almost totally meaningless tone and popped the top off of his bottle with his hand.  Twist didn't usually find himself faced with a beer.  He tried to do the same thing, but the cap wouldn't budge an inch.  He realized quickly that it was very likely that the skin of his palm would open long before the bottle.  Without taking his goggles off to see, or saying a word, Jonas snatched the beer out of Twist's hands, opened it, and handed it back.

“Thanks,” Twist said, taking a sip.  He had to admit, it was very nice for a beer: light, gently effervescent, and finished with just a hint of citrus.

“Dandy,” Jonas snapped before taking a drink himself.

“Brigand,” Twist shot back instantly.  A smile played at the edge of Jonas's face.

Just as always, Myra insisted on serving Twist.  She piled his plate with food and then placed it before him proudly, while everyone else helped themselves.  Twist thanked her and then tried a bit of everything while she watched him.  The first bite of the rice dish was bold, spicy, and bursting with earthy and delightful flavors that Twist had never encountered before.   The mangoes were equally flavorful, but sweet and smooth with the warm honey.  The thick cream sauce tasted strongly of coconut and cinnamon, complementing well.  He'd finished half of his plate before he realized he was eating too fast.

“So,” Howell said to Jonas once everyone had settled into their meals. “How's the entertainment business treating you?”

“It's all right,” he replied stiffly.

“That's good,” Howell said, his voice drifting off as if he were struggling to find something else to say. “And you're keeping healthy, then?”

“Sure.”

“Is your Sight still giving you headaches?”

“You know,” Jonas said, “we don't actually have to talk.”  Howell's eyes darkened with obvious disappointment.

“Got it!” Storm said suddenly.

Everyone looked to see him holding up the thing he had been working on, now apparently complete.  Twist didn't think it looked very complete, at all.  Exposed coils of wire crowded around the strange scratches that Storm had laid all over the metal surface.  Either way, the glass disk was still sitting on the table beside his half-forgotten food.  Storm picked up his knife and looked to the chair beside Myra with a wide smile.

“Twist, can you put the watch down for just a second?”

“This is really getting old,” Twist muttered, reluctantly complying.  He set his watch down on the table beside his fork, and looked at Storm.

“Hi,” Storm said, looking him in the eye now. “How've you been?”

“I've been here the whole time.”

“Doesn't seem like it to me,” Storm said, getting to his feet.  He put his device on the table and picked up the glass disk before he walked around Myra's chair and leaned around Twist's, still holding the knife.

“I just need one more thing and then this will be finished,” he said to Twist. “I need a drop of your blood.”

“Get away from me!” Twist yelped, turning in his seat to pull farther away from him. “And put that knife down!”

“Oh come on,” Storm said. “Don't be a baby.”  A startled laugh got away from Jonas.

“My word, you people are entertaining,” Moroni marveled.

“What the blazes would you need my blood for?” Twist asked Storm angrily.

“You have to
let
me see you,” Storm said. “It's the only way to bend the rules of the … you know, the spell.  Just a tiny little drop and I'll be able to see you just fine, all the time.”

“Is he quite all right?” Arabel asked Myra softly.

“I think so,” Myra answered, frowning in thought.

“Could you please put the knife down?” Twist asked.

“Look, it's no big deal,” Storm said. “Here, I'll do it first.”

He held up his own finger and pressed the point of his dinner knife into his skin.  Storm winced slightly, but produced a tiny dot of blood.  He then ran his injured finger over the thin edge of the glass disk, covering half of the circumference in red.  Everyone at the table watched him do this with a silent and somewhat disturbed fascination.  Aazzi picked up her glass of red wine—the only thing she had ingested during the meal—and averted her eyes from Storm pointedly as she took a sip.

“See?” Storm said before sticking his finger into his mouth. “Nothing to it.”

“What is that?” Twist asked, looking at the glass disk.

“The lens,” Storm answered.  Twist stared at it—at the red edge around half of it.

“Come on, do it,” Jonas said, nudging him with an elbow. “I want to see what happens.”

Twist looked to him in shock, but found Jonas grinning at him expectantly.  A glance to Myra showed that she was watching the scene with curiosity and would be no help either.  Twist gave a heavy sigh and looked back to Storm.

“Fine.  But don't touch me.”

“No problem,” Storm said, holding out the knife for him to take.

Twist took it and then looked at his perfectly undamaged fingers.  The thought of harming himself for no reason seemed utterly absurd.

“Do you want me to do it?” Jonas offered.

“No, I can do it,” Twist grumbled.  If a child could do it...

Twist took a breath and pressed the tip of the knife gently against the tip of his finger.  At first, his skin only moved with the knife, but after a second of more pressure, it broke.  Twist watched, surprised by the slightness of the pain, as a bead of dark blood appeared on his finger.

“Here, rub it on the other edge,” Storm said, holding out the glass disk to him.

Twist did as he was told, completing the circle.  He thought he felt a subtle vibration in the glass the moment the circle was closed, but wasn't sure.  His Sight showed him nothing.  Across the table, Aazzi shivered suddenly.  Twist handed the glass back to Storm.  Storm smiled and hurried back to his seat.  He slipped the lens into a ring of metal at one side of his device.  The moment he did, the contraption let out a high whining sound.