Pantomime (40 page)

  The safe clicked open. Drystan shoved coins in his pockets.

  "Only take what we need. Leave the rest for the others," I said. "They'll check it before the creditors come." Drystan hesitated, but nodded.

  In a daze, I went to the safe and took out the flat, Vestige disc.

  Drystan's face asked the question.

  "This does not belong to the creditors," was all I said in response. I felt a hum when I touched the metal. I dropped it into my pocket, as though it had burned me.

  I wrapped my coat around myself. We crept from Bil's cart, keeping to the shadows.

 
 

FRAGMENT OF TRANSLATED ALDER SCRIPT

 

We darted to Drystan's cart, and I hid behind one of the wheels as the former white clown snuck in to grab his belongings. I felt like we had wasted so much time already, and any little sound set my heart thumping. I clutched the spokes of the wheel with the hand of my unhurt arm, my knuckles white, shivering in shock and fear. I had taken all I had seen and tried to push it into the deepest, darkest corner of my mind. If I did not, then I would start crying and never stop.

  Drystan crept down the stairs and joined me under the cart. He passed me a blanket and wrapped another one around his head and body, hiding the pink and white motley from view.

  We began walking up the beach arm and arm. Drystan made a great show of stooping and leaning on me like he was an old woman. The sand rocked beneath us as we walked. With each step, I hoped that we were closer to safety.

  But we heard a muffled yell and the sound of people running.

  We dared a glance over our shoulders. Jive and the other clowns were racing up the beach, and though their faces were blurry, I knew they would be twisted with rage. They had found Bil and Aenea. They suspected Drystan and me now, and betrayal makes for anger. With a sickening start, I realized they probably thought that we had killed Aenea as well.

  "Run!" I cried.

  Drystan straightened and grabbed my unhurt arm, dragging me across the sand so quickly my feet barely touched the ground. My cracked arm burned with every step, but I had to ignore it. Soon I was leading Drystan, though I had no idea where we were going. I was too afraid to look behind us.

  We raced along the promenade, knocking into people and spilling their drink, causing them to duck out of the way.

  "Left!" Drystan yelled. We darted into a side alley and ran, startling the street rats who had burrowed under trash for the night.

  "Left again!" Drystan yelled, and we turned, shocking a man nuzzling the neck of a moonshade. The whore screeched at us as we ran past, and her shrieks would bring the carnies right on our trail.

  "Right!" Drystan continued to holler directions at me as we navigated our way through the labyrinthine streets of Imachara. The thin slice of the moon barely silvered the edges of buildings. We stumbled a time or two over missing cobblestones.

  But they were gaining on us. We were in the Copper district, a bad part of town. We had run into a dead end: a Penglass dome blocked our way. It glowed softly, for it was the night of the Penmoon.

  
Two Hands. Penmoon. Penglass. Copper.

  I heard the clockwork woman's voice in my head, as if she whispered the words in my ear. The Phantom Damselfly disc burned in my coat pocket.

  
Two Hands. Penmoon. Penglass. Copper.

  I had no time to think, or to wonder if this was a terrible idea. I grabbed Drystan's hand and ran straight for the Penglass dome.

  "What are you doing?" he said. "We're trapped."

  "Close your eyes!"

  "What?"

  "Just close them!" I yelled, and I held both palms flat against the dome, squeezing my own eyes shut.

  Even behind my eyelids, the light was blinding. The clowns, close enough to touch us, screamed. I took my hands off of the Penglass and waited a moment for the light to fade enough to open my eyes. When I did, I still had to squint at the scene of horror.

  Jive, Ianio, Rian, and all the rest of the clowns – they were blinded. Impossible, newly formed cataracts had turned their eyes milky, and they cried tears of blood. Jive clawed at his face. Rian waved a hand in front of his own. They were screaming in pain and fear. I retched, but there was nothing to bring up. I had no idea what would happen when I touched the glass. I had done this – blinded men who only thought they were chasing murderers to justice. I stared at my hands, which did not seem to be my own.

  The clowns, some of whom had been friends, were still screaming.

  Drystan stared at me in fear as well. I could not meet his eyes. People leaned out of their windows, and from far off I could hear footsteps approaching the Penglass I had touched, which still shone twice as brightly as any other dome in the city.

  "Come on," he said, taking my hand hesitantly, as though he feared it would burn him. "We don't have much time."

  We ran. We ignored our pain and our wounds, running until the screaming faded and the only sound we heard were our own footfalls, our heartbeats in our ears, our ragged breathing. When we could run no longer, we slowed. I had no idea where we were. I glanced behind us. Empty. We walked, hoping to draw less attention, though our frightened panting still drew suspicious looks from anyone we came across.

  My breathing calmed, though the enormity of what had happened that night still had not settled upon me. Everything had a dream-like quality about the edges. Adrenaline thrummed through my veins. The grief and sadness would come later.

  "Iphigenia Laurus," a voice said.

  I twirled around, my heart clamoring in my ears.

  It was the Shadow. He breathed heavily from following us. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and brown stubble shadowed a handsome face lined with time.

  Another glowing Penglass was to my right. I inched toward it. "What do you want, Shadow?"

  "You've gotten yourself into more trouble than you know how to handle, little girl," the Shadow said. "You know how this looks, don't you? Like you've killed your girl, your employer, and run off with gold and your new boy."

  "That's not how it happened," I said. "Bil killed Aenea and tried to kill us both. It was self-defense."

  "And the money? There was barely anything in that safe."

  I swallowed. "There wasn't much to begin with. Bil spent most of it. It'd all go to the creditors anyway." I wondered if he had taken the rest. Something about him seemed off.

  "It's still stealing." His smile transformed his face, and he looked as cunning as a fox.

  "Stealing isn't the same as murder," I said.

  "Your parents hired me. It's time to come along home and give up the charade. They'll find a way to clear up this mess and you can go back to your old life."

  "They're not my parents. And that's not my life," I said, my voice shaking as I inched even closer to the Penglass. I did not want to touch it again – I did not want to hurt this man, even if I did not like him.

  "How many more people are you going to hurt because you don't want to live a perfectly comfortable life, Iphigenia?"

  "Don't listen to him, Micah," Drystan whispered behind me.

  "Your girlfriend is dead," the man said, relishing the cruel words. "Were you the one to kill the ringmaster, or was it your other little friend here who struck the blow? One of you will have to take the fall for it."

  I did not answer. I reached out with my hand, my fingers hovering scant inches above the glowing dome of Penglass. But his words made me feel very small and very selfish. If I had not been so dead set against my life as Iphigenia Laurus, Aenea would still be alive. Drystan was now a wanted man because of me. Perhaps I should go with him, back to my old life.

  I let my hand fall.

  "Will you vouch that we didn't kill anyone? That it was Bil, so that Drystan's name is cleared?" I asked.

  "Micah…" Drystan whispered. "Don't listen to him." I ignored him.

  The Shadow sensed my faltering. "Of course I will, Iphigenia. Of course. All will go back to how it was. Your parents will make sure you're healthy and life will be grand. Come on, now. Let's take you home."

  "Make sure I'm healthy?" I echoed.

  The Shadow nodded. "I was at your house giving a report. A doctor came. I heard him say you were sick. They're going to give you some medicine, and fix you, and you'll be right as rain."

  "Fix me?" So even after all of this, they would still perform the surgery? My fingers rose again toward the glass.

  "I think they said something like that. Don't really know. Said it would be simple and not painful, so don't you worry, Iphigenia. Come along, now. Time to go." He held his arm out to me.

  My muscles tensed. "I don't think so–" I began.

  But the Shadow realized the tide had turned. He rushed me as I spoke, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Before I could react, he had one of the handcuffs around my injured arm. He barely tugged it, but a scream of agony still tore from my throat. Drystan started to dance away from his reach, but the Shadow tripped him with his foot and sent him sprawling, pinning him down with his other foot. He still held my injured arm and absolute agony pulsed through my body. I couldn't breathe. Red stars danced in my vision.

  "You can come willingly or not at all," the Shadow said. "But you're going back to your family tonight, and that's the end of it."

  "Not… the… end…" I gasped, and twisted with a scream, putting both my hands on the Penglass. I squeezed my eyes shut, the handcuff dangling from my wrist. The Shadow gave a cry and I heard him stumble back. Lashing out blindly, I felt the swinging handcuff hit him with a solid
thwack.
Twisting away from the Penglass, I peeked at him. He had his arms over his eyes. With my good arm, I grabbed Drystan and we ran again, as fast as we could. We heard the Shadow give chase, but his movements were slower. I do not think I blinded him as I had with the clowns – my stomach still clenched at the thought of what I had done – but I had temporarily removed his sight, at least.

  Drystan took the lead, and I staggered along as well as I could as he took us even deeper into the labyrinth of Imachara.

  Eventually, we could not run any longer, and Drystan lead me to a thin alleyway that stank of rotting trash. We hid behind a bin, trying to slow our loud breathing.

  "Do you know where we are?" I asked Drystan when I could speak again.

  "Deep in the heart of the Copper District. Not the best place to be."

  I looked about and shivered, acutely aware that I was wearing ripped petticoats and a loose tunic.

  "Are you sure about this?" I asked.

  "About what?"

  "Throwing your dice in with a monster?" I asked, and I hated the petulant tone of my voice. "You've seen what I am. You've seen what I can do. You don't have to. I could make my own way just fine. I've done it before."

  He drew me to an empty alleyway, peeking out into the street to see if anyone was coming. The smell of the dying leaves of autumn, coal chimney smoke, and putrefying trash overwhelmed me. "You're not a monster, Micah," he said.

  "You're not… disturbed by what I am?"

  He kept a wary eye on our surroundings before turning to me. "No. You're strange, and there's no denying that. But I'm strange as well, and most certainly more monstrous than you." He said the words so sadly. I rested a hand on his shoulder, my dislocated thumb throbbing.

  And then I drew him into a hug, mindful of my arm, and we clung to each other, the full impact of what had happened finally hitting us. It was one of the few times we had really touched outside of the pantomime. Both of our bodies shook with sobs. Drystan held me so tightly it hurt my injuries, but I did not pull away. I refused to let the image of Drystan accidentally stabbing Bil enter my mind. He did not mean to. He could not have. We held each other until our sobs quieted and we were shivering with the cold.

  I opened my eyes "What do we do now?"

  "I don't know. Do you know anyone in Imachara?"

  I shook my head. "We could go to an inn?"

  "Inns won't be safe for us. It's the first place the Policiers will look for us. We're far too conspicuous."

  More Policiers after me. But now for very different reasons.

  "Where can we go?"

  "I have a friend."

  "And what type of friend is he?"

  "He's a magician."

  I sucked in a breath. I knew little of magicians. Mother had called them charlatans and tricksters. But she had said the same of the circus, where I had never felt more at home. I had also heard stories of magicians who had done impossible things. Some say they performed true magic, not simply illusions.

  "Is he a… real magician? Or a sorcerer?"

  Drystan leaned back from me. "His magic shows were beyond compare. Some said they could only be true magic." Drystan was dancing about my questions.

  "What's his name? Will I have heard of him?"

  "Unlikely. He last performed before you were born. He's a magician in disgrace."

  "Disgrace?" My stomach twisted. What had he done?

  Drystan stared into space, resting his hands on his chin, the light of the lamps catching the gold in his hair. He looked achingly beautiful. "It's a long story and I haven't the heart to tell it, but he lost a duel with a rival magician, and he hasn't been allowed to perform since. He performs séances, now."

  "He raises the dead?" My stomach dropped.

  Drystan's mouth twisted. "So some say."