The Madness Project (The Madness Method) (11 page)

I held his gaze and my tongue.  In the back of my mind, I
realized with an odd little sadness that, somewhere along the way I’d grown
taller than him.  I’d never stood close enough to him before to even notice
it.  There was something strange and discomfiting about looking down at him.

“My men are going to keep looking for answers,” he said. 
“You have some time, but not much.  Kor will teach you what you need to know. 
I’ve already told your other professors that you need to take some leave from
their lectures.  Kor is your only teacher now.”

I shot a glance in Kor’s direction and found him staring
straight at us, arms crossed, that same dangerous, half-mad glint in his dark
eyes.

“I don’t like him,” I said.

My father stifled a smile.  “Neither do I.  But he’s the
only one of his sort I trust.  So you’ll work with him.”

“Why?” I asked.  “Why do you trust him?”

My father didn’t answer that.  He just held my gaze for a
long moment, then turned aside.

“You’ll start working with him the day after tomorrow.”  He
started to walk away, then paused and said without turning, “That is the day
the household will be removing to Lamanstal for the winter holidays.  You will
not be coming with us.”

*  *  *  *

That night I dreamed of the bell tower.  I dreamed I stood
again on the ledge of the belfry, the wind tearing my hair, twining like
fingers around my throat.  I dreamed of fear in my heart and a rush of wild
abandon tugging through my veins, the sickening twist of my stomach seeing the
ground so far below.

Every time I dreamed of the belfry, it always ended the same. 
It always ended with me throwing me arms wide to the world.  It ended with my
fall.

Sometimes I couldn’t tell if that was a dream or a memory.

*  *  *  *

In the morning I emerged from my bed chamber only to find
Kor and Zagger locked in a staring match across the fireplace.  Zagger’s hands
drove dents in the leather arms of his chair, all his muscles knotted and ready
to spring, but Kor just slouched there, legs crossed, twirling his black hat
back and forth.

I watched for about five seconds, then snorted and wandered
back into my private room.

Griff had been right—not that I’d ever admit it to him.  I
stood at my window and stared down at the white expanse of the garden, veiled
in snow.  I could only remember one other birthday where I’d seen snow, and that
was the year I turned five.  The year I discovered my gift.

I couldn’t decide if I thought the snow today was an omen or
a promise.

After a moment I turned to my reflection in the armoire
mirror, and stared hard at the image staring back at me.  But I wasn’t trying
to see
myself
, or make any profound judgments on my person at this
momentous point of my life.  I looked because I wanted to change what I saw.

A few steps brought me face to face with myself.  I set my
jaw and focused on my reflection.  Tried to remember how I’d made my face
change when I was younger.  As far as I knew, I hadn’t
done
anything. 
I’d just imagined.

I closed my eyes and tried to create a mental picture of the
face I wanted to assume.  It was harder than I’d expected.  I could look like
anything I wanted, but I happened to be rather content with my own face, even
if it was rather too sharp and somber.

My eyes flashed open, and I gripped the edge of the armoire,
breathing hard.  What was I doing? 

I would become just like
them
.

Unnatural.

But I’m a man now.  I can’t go back on my word.

Even if it means losing myself?  Will there be any
turning back?

I can’t do this.  I’m not one of them.  I can’t.

“Your Highness?  Are you all right?”

My eyes flashed to the mirror—catching my own gaze before
shifting to Zagger’s reflection.  I sighed and straightened up.

“I’m fine,” I said.  I turned to face him.  “Have you and
Kor finished locking horns?”  He opened his mouth to protest, but I waved him
off and said, “He’s with me.  He’s my…tutor.  Understand?  Treat him civilly,
or I’ll have you stand down.”

Zagger stared at me, somewhere between stunned and crushed. 
His mouth opened, but apparently he couldn’t think of a retort, because he just
shrugged and studied his hands.

“I wanted to wish you good fortune on your birthday, Your
Highness.”

I softened.  “Thanks, Zag.”

He hesitated a while there in the doorway, clearing his
throat as though he had something to say.

“That man is a teacher?” he asked finally, quiet enough that
I knew Kor hadn’t gone anywhere.  “What does he teach?”

I gave him a sour look.  “Embroidery.”

Zag coughed.  “May I?”

He gestured to my room, and I gave him a dismissive nod.  I
trusted Zagger more than anyone in the world, but he knew his boundaries and
never overstepped them unless I told him he could.  He flicked one last glance
over his shoulder and came into my room, dropping down onto the low wooden
clothes chest edged against the near wall.

“Your Highness…”

I stopped plucking imaginary lint from the waistcoat Liman
had left for me.  “Do I have to tell you again?”

“He doesn’t seem trustworthy to me.”

“Luckily that isn’t your judgment to make,” I said.  “If
it’s any consolation, I agree with you.”

“Then what—”

I held up my hand, silencing him.  This was already a
nightmare enough.  I didn’t need Zagger becoming yet another problem for me,
not right now.

“Your father’s chauffeur will be driving this morning,”
Zagger said after a moment.

Liman rapped at my open door and I waved him in, but he kept
peering back into the outer room.

To avoid more questions, I said to Zagger, “What about you? 
Seelar couldn’t drive a motorcar to save his life.”

“I guess that’s not your judgment to make,” he said,
shooting me a glance that was almost belligerent.

Liman gaped at him in the mirror but I only laughed.

“You’ll be there, though, right?” I asked.

“I’m not exactly a member of the Honor Corps,” Zagger said.

I frowned.  “I want you there.”

“What about him?” he asked, jerking his head toward the
other room.

“What about me?”

We both snapped around to see Kor lounging against the dark
wood of the doorframe, arms folded.

“Get out!” Liman hissed, storming toward him like a
diminutive thundercloud.  “Out, out!”

“Liman,” I said, studying my reflection in the mirror as I
straightened my collar.  “He’s not your concern.”

“I felt left out,” Kor said.

He towered over Liman, who wavered between helping me with
my coat and throwing the intruder out.  My room was my sanctuary, and Liman was
even more jealous of it than I was.  He didn’t even like it when I permitted
Zagger to come inside.

“Liman!” I said again, louder.  “Leave it be.”

“Still need help getting dressed?” Kor smirked.

“All right,” Zagger said, shooting to his feet.  “Get out.”

He barreled straight up to Kor, and I could just see the
horns coming out again.  I sighed and tugged away from Liman and the waistcoat.

“Zagger,” I snapped, grabbing his shoulder.  “Get back.” 
Then, pointing at Kor, “You.  Out.  We have nothing to do with each other until
tomorrow, understood?  I don’t care what you do with yourself until then, as
long as I don’t have to see it.”

Kor measured me in silence for a moment.  Then he gave me
the vaguest hint of a nod, spun his hat back onto his head, and stalked away.

My stomach curdled.  I knotted my fists, then swore under my
breath and strode after him.

“Kor!” I called, stopping him at the door.  “The deal’s
off.  I’m not doing it.”

“Afraid?”

“No!  But this isn’t the solution.  I can’t…I can’t become
one of them.  It’s not my life.  It’s not what I am.”

He arched a brow.  “And letting your father down…that’s
nothing, I suppose?  Your pride is worth more than that?”

“You lecture me about duty?” I asked, throwing my shoulders
back.  “What does someone like you—”

“What does someone like me know about duty?  A whole damn
lot more than you do, apparently.  It’s the only reason I’m here.”  He tipped
his hat to me.  “Your Highness.”

And then he was gone.

I stared at the door long after it had settled shut behind
him.  It was impossible.  My father was asking me to do the impossible.  This
couldn’t be the answer.

Could it?

I tapped my fist against the door, gritting my teeth. 
Finally I wandered back into my chamber, where Zagger and Liman waited for
me—Zagger petulant, Liman fretting, arranging every chain and emblem on my
jacket front with fastidious care.

“I say!  Horrible fellow,” Liman muttered.  He actually
breathed a sigh of relief as he bundled me into the waistcoat and jacket. 
Sometimes I imagined he took the same comfort in his services to me that some
men took in gambling or drink.  “What did he want here, anyway?”

Zagger snorted and held his peace.  I didn’t answer
immediately, but stared at my reflection.  In that formal jacket I looked far
too young, even if the medals adorning it were the sorts of things given to
children for academic and athletic honors, and not the military achievements
they were meant to imitate.  All I could think of was my father’s portrait that
hung in the hall, stern and strong and festooned with military ribbons, and how
little I resembled him.

Finally I said, “You won’t have to deal with him.”  And
under my breath I muttered, “If I can help it, none of us will.”

I would talk to my father.  That’s all there was to it.  I
wasn’t a Jixy, not anymore, and I didn’t want anything to do with them.  If he
wanted my service, I supposed I’d help him in any other way I could.

After a lifetime of imagining I’d been shackled, I was
suddenly terrified of the idea of being free.

Chapter 10 — Hayli

“Hayli!”

The tiny voice wiggled into my dreams, and somehow I
realized I’d heard it four times already.  I winced and dragged my blanket up
over my eyes.  Too early.  Must have been some kind of new punishment Kantian
had dreamed up for me, curse him.

The gears on my curtain jangled.

“Hayli!”

“What?” I cried.  “What d’you want?  Let me sleep…”

The curtain shook again, and I reached one hand to grab my
blanket and the other to pin the curtain to my bedpost. 

Nobody opened my curtain on me.  Nobody.

“C’mon, we’re gannin’ to see the motorcade!”

I pushed upright as my sleep-fuzzy ears recognized the
voice—Pika, my little shadow, making me a liar.  She was the one person who
could barge in on me and I wouldn’t really care.  I waved my hand out the side
of the curtain.  The grey cloth batted and danced, then a mound of fiery curls
popped up alongside my bed.

“Hayli Hayli Hayli!  Come
on!
”

“What motorcade?” I asked, patting the mattress.

Pika shot up beside me and threw her wiry arms around my
neck, the wool of her jumper raspy on my skin.  “I
missed
you!”

“I’ve not been gone, silly.”

“Well, I div’n see you,” she said.  “So I missed you.”

“What!” I cried, feigning surprise.  “I was out on the
streets!  Not possible that you missed me.  You don’t miss anything.”

She grinned and tugged on my arm.  “Hayli Hayli Hayli, we’ve
got to gan
now!
”

“Right, what’s this about?”

“It’s all the talk. 
Swear
it is.  The royal family’s
gannin’ about on a driving tour through the city.  It’s the prince’s
birthday!
”

Prince Tarik!  Here I’d almost got him in an accident just
yesterday, and I’d grobbing forgot that today was his birthday.  I scowled and
tried not to think about him.  He’d kicked me off the palace grounds, after
all.  Him and that infernal bodyguard.

“They’re driving in a
motorcar!
” Pika exclaimed,
bouncing beside me.

I stifled a shudder.  “Let me guess.  You want to see it?”

“I want to see it,” she said.  Then, her voice all
sing-songy, she added, “And
you
want to see the prince!”

“What!” I cried.  “What’re you on about?”

She just smiled, blue eyes dazzling in the dim light.  “I know
Hayli wants to see the prince!”

“Stop your singing!  I’ll gan with you, but not to goggle at
some gormless prince.  Got it?”

She laughed and tugged a rolled-up newspaper from under her
jumper.  “He’s awful pretty,” she said, waving it under my nose.  “His friend’s
rather fine too.”

I scowled.  “You’re too young for such talk.  Lemme see
that.”  I snatched it from her hands and opened it up.  “Oh,” I said.  “Oh.”

Because there on the front page I saw a photograph of the
Prince standing with a boy all grimed with soot and grease.  In the blurry
background I just made out a billow of flames and twisted metal.  Prince Tarik
was glancing over his shoulder at the camera, but the wild-haired boy in the
aviator jacket had his face turned to the wreckage.  Some other faded figures
crowded at the edges, but I couldn’t stop staring at the face of the Prince. 
He stared straight back at me, like he was accusing me of something.

“What’s it say?” Pika asked.

I didn’t answer.  I didn’t even help her pick through the
words like I usually did, but read it silently to myself.

Defense Minister’s Son
Survives Deadly Crash

Brinmark, 13 of Marras — Griff Farro, 16, seen here with
the Crown Prince Tarik Trabinis, survived a terrible crash in his Vissery Steam
Plane at the palace aerodrome.  The crash occurred on the twelfth of Marras,
shortly after noon, but the cause of the accident is still unclear. 

Mr. Farro, the youngest pilot authorized to fly the
Vissery aeroplanes, suffered minor injuries in the crash, but the aeroplane was
unfortunately destroyed.  An investigation of the crash is underway.  Neither
Mr. Farro, nor His Highness the Crown Prince, who witnessed the crash, were
available for comment.

So that was the pilot Scorch had almost killed.  Tarik’s
friend.  A sixteen-year-old kid, no older than me.  And it had happened just
moments before I’d met the Prince and Zagger.

My stomach churned with regret.

I scanned the story again, and studied the picture a while
longer.  Griff Farro.  I couldn’t say why his name seemed so familiar to me. 
Maybe because he was Tarik’s friend, and probably I’d read other stories about
him in the Herald.  He sure didn’t look like any as I’d ever seen before.

“Gan on, Pika,” I said, shoving the paper back at her.  “Let
me get dressed.”

“Was it bad?” she asked, planting one finger over Tarik’s
face in the photograph.  “Sorry, Hayli.  I div’n na.  I thought you’d like it.”

Poor Pika, she couldn’t know what the story said.  I’d been
teaching her best I could, but I didn’t know much myself and none of us had
much time for schooling.  So I just smiled and fluffed her hair.  That always
made everything jake for Pika.  She giggled and dove back under my curtain,
leaving me a moment’s quiet to get myself presentable. 

My shirt already hung off me in sleep-battered wrinkles, so
I just pulled on my wool breeks, which would be cold but weren’t quite as manky
as my trousers, and my old grey waistcoat.  Coins had gifted it to me back last
autumn after scaring away half its threads, but it suited well enough.  He’d
even given me the pocket watch to go with it, and though it was dead as a nail
I still liked to wear it and pretend it made me look fine. 

I shoved my tweed cap down over my hair, combing the wispy
strands over my ears so it didn’t stick out like a disaster.  Then I whipped
back my curtain and jumped when I saw Derrin standing there, one hand up like
he’d meant to jangle the gears.  He took one smooth step back, letting me get
up.

“Where’d you come from?” I gasped.

He just flicked a glance to the side with a little gesture,
like it was obvious.  “Going out?” he asked.

“Pika asked me to gan with her,” I said.

“Where?”

I scowled up at him.  “You’ve never cared before.”

“I was never responsible for you before.”

My breath hissed out, quiet, but I couldn’t imagine he’d
missed it.  “Pika’s a wiz on the streets,” I said.  “Maybe she can teach me
something useful.”

“Pika is eleven years old,” Derrin said.

“So?”  I shot him a glance, saw him lift an eyebrow. 
“Please, Derrin.”

He measured me all stern and quiet, and I felt like each
second that passed shaved another inch off the top of me.  Finally he sighed
and turned away.  He disappeared before I could call him back, and I got the
sudden sick feeling that I’d just failed some kind of test.

I frowned and went to hunt down Pika.  She’d made her way to
the mess hall, just as I’d guessed.  Little sneak, she could weave the food
line like a beetle without anyone noticing.  I didn’t bother going in but
planted myself in the doorway, watching as she stuffed a pastry into her mouth,
tucked Gem’s roll into her vest and Anuk’s apple into her sleeve, then shot
like a cat straight for me.

“C’mon!  I got skappers!” she called around half-devoured
honey cake.