City of Ruins (9 page)

The signs here call me the mind-reading
wolf.” In my tribe of wolves, they say this ability was passed down
from Silver Throat herself—that after her encounter with the Fish
Man, she grew to understand the thoughts and language of many
different creatures. But perhaps I am a novelty simply because
humans are always startled whenever they are actually listened
to.

And is that what you are called? The Fish
Man?

“Is this the kind of prison where you are
assigned new names? I haven’t been in one of those yet.”

They don’t call it a prison. They call it a
carnival. It’s a traveling show, for the amusement of humans.

“Really? Amusements? Do they show what they
call ‘movies’ here? Especially one called
Slaversaur!
? That
apparently amuses humans, too, though the reasons for it elude me.
If they run one about Gwangis, however, we can learn new words.
Like
amigo
. And
mañana
, which refers to the movement
of time. You can call me by my name, though.” And I pronounce it
for her in my native Saurian.

And you can call me by mine: Silver Eye.

“You are named in remembrance of your
forebear, Silver Throat.”

Yes. And because I am said to see things. I
see how you came to us here.

“I have been telling you the story.”

I also see that you have more to tell.
Concerning your friends.

“Yes. It’s how I came to be captive here, in
this — you said, ‘carnival’?”

Yes. Rocket Royd’s Traveling Circus and
Odd-Lots Carnival.

“Do carnivals always camp in ruins? I
understand this place was once called ‘Wolf House.’ Perhaps you
knew of it?”

No. Rocket Royd came here to look for
something nearby.

“My friend Eli’s nest-sire kept a dwelling
near here, a place for research and experimentation. And it was
this destination I headed for after taking leave of the —”

“Fish!”

I turn to the new human voice. I can see him
through the bars. He is a boy, younger than Eli, his eyes wider,
his hair darker, more tangled. He seems a little, not
gerk-skizzy
, but
klnndd
, frightened—and somehow a
little harder, too. Like he is trying to be old before he’s
ready.

He also has long strands of human hair coming
out of his young face, trailing in front of him.

The Bearded Boy,
Silver Eye tells me.
He’s part of the carnival, too.

“Fish for dinner!” He has a metal container
in his hands, and he throws us whole fish, entire aquatic life
forms, with scales and tentacles, most of them quite dead, into the
cages in front of us.

“So you’re the new guy,” the Bearded Boy says
to me. “The Dragon Man.”

The Dragon Man. Impressive.

“Rocket told me about you. Well, don’t
breathe fire on this stuff; you’ll overcook it!” He laughs.

“That is what you human mammals refer to as a
joke, correct? And as long as I am here in jail, is it possible to
get another name? Such a re-naming wouldn’t be allowed on Saurius
Prime, but here on Earth Orange, I should take full advantage of
being an outlaw.”

“Eat!” he snaps back at me. “Don’t talk!
We’re moving out. And that’s all you need to know for now.”

Moving where?

“You don’t talk either!” he snaps at the
wolf. “I told you it spooks me when you get into my head like that!
I don’t want any other voices there! And we’re movin’ to wherever
Rocket wants to go next. He said something about home, that’s all I
know. Huh. Like anyone really has a home anymore.” The Bearded Boy
turns to huff-stomp away, but then turns back to us, his eyes still
scared, but needing, perhaps, to talk to someone anyway. He stares
at me a couple moments longer. “You don’t look so scary in there.
No sudden moves, though, or I’ll get Strong Bess to come in here.
Rocket might be right. Maybe he’s finally caught a real moneymaker
with you.”

The Bearded Boy approaches again. “Or maybe
you’re just somebody in a suit.” He takes a stick and pokes it
through the bars of my cage.

“Oww!” I yell.

“Even if you are a dragon man, don’t get any
big ideas. You’re not the star of the show yet.”

Then the Bearded Boy walks away. The fish he
threw at me is already starting to smell.

I’ll take it, if you’re not hungry. Food is
hard to come by here. You should try to get some sleep before we
move again. We’ll be leaving in the morning.

“Does that boy think I’m a slaversaur, too?
Some kind of outlaw Gwangi that wants to hurt him?”

No,
Silver Eye tells me.
He’s
afraid Rocket won’t need him in the carnival anymore. He’s always
scared he’s going to be replaced. And he doesn’t have anywhere else
to go. You mentioned the place we’re camped now is called Wolf
House. Do you know if these great ruins were caused in some war
between wolves and men?

“I don’t think so. Has there been such a
war?”

They have waged war against us for thousands
of their years. Are these the ruins where Rocket captured you?

“No. Close to here, though. I was revisiting
the house of my deep friends, and I let my guard down.”

How?

“I was standing in my friend Eli’s room, and
it happened when my attention was caught by this.” I take the
folded sheets of paper from my pocket — a once-standard medium for
communication between humans, but now rarely used except by
publications like the
National Weekly Truth
— that I found
next to Eli’s old bed.

It has his name on it:
ELI
.

“I believe this is what humans call a
‘letter.’ It is from an old nest-friend of Eli’s named Andy. And I
need to find a way to deliver it.”

Chapter Seven

Thea: Time Bandits

February 2020 C.E.

I know that I am sick, that I am seeing with
what we called
pox eyes
back in Alexandria, when I witness
Mr. Howe and Eli fall out of the sky into my room.

Or at least, through the ceiling. And on to
the floor.

“The shortcuts around this place” Mr. Howe
says to Eli, wiping himself off, “aren’t what they used to be.”
Both of them are wet, almost muddy.

“Being swept away by all that seawater didn’t
help,” Eli adds.

It’s already quite a vivid fever dream.

“Welcome back, Mr. Howe,” says the number
lady. Which number did she say she was, again? “We’ve been working
on the tunnels and pipes since you’ve been away, trying to make
them more secure. As you would have wanted, old friend. After all,
we can’t have people wandering around here at will, trying to
extract people better left under our protection.”

For an “old friend”, Mr. Howe doesn’t seem
very happy to see her. But she keeps talking. “Once upon a time,
you would have appreciated that. Especially when we have guests
like him” — she points to Eli — “who won’t stay put.”

“His not staying put,” Mr. Howe says, “is
what made him a chronological asset, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know
it.”

“I think I twisted my ankle,” Mr. Howe
replies.

“It’s hide-and-peek!” I say, and giggle,
realizing at last what game we are playing, and wondering why
everyone seems to be getting it wrong.

Besides, since it’s my dream, I think we
should have some fun.

Everyone looks at me with strange
expressions, as if they don’t understand what’s really
happening.

Next to the number lady are the men known as
the two Twenty-Fives. They had been waiting with me for some time,
since they found Eli’s confinement chamber empty, convinced that
Eli, and Mr. Howe, would eventually show up here, looking for
me.

Here in Alexandria. In the library. Where I,
in turn, have been waiting for Mother to come back, because I
believe I have a late summer chill. That’s why I’m shivering.

Perhaps we should wait, till everyone’s
back—safe and home—and this chill goes away, before we have our
party.

The entire time the number lady has been
waiting with me, she didn’t make any lemon juice with honey like
Mother would have. She did bring in a physic or two to look at
me—and pry my eyes open and feel my skin—but none appeared to have
heard of Serapis, the healing god, and whether I fully believe in
Serapis or not, I’m not against bolstering the celestial odds in my
favor by whatever means necess—

Ulp.

Oh.

“Thea!”

I believe I have just vomited. Much the way
Eli does, after time-traveling. Only a little worse.

Which is funny because Eli is here and he
hasn’t time-traveled at all.

It’s very funny.

I start laughing.

“Thea!” It’s Eli again. He’s holding me up
now. “Will somebody help her?”

All the grownups look at each other. Finally,
one of the Twenty-Fives hands Eli some kind of rag, and he begins
wiping my face.

“I’m waiting for Mother, Eli.”

“Your mother isn’t here, Thea.”

“Perhaps she’s with
your
mother
then?”

“Neither of our moms are here. We need to
clean you up.”

“Then maybe you can find Sally for me. Unless
she’s left, of course.”

“You’re shaking, Thea. I think you should lie
down.”

“Sally?” The number lady asks me. She’s
making notes of things in a little device in her hands.

“Sally Hemings,” Eli explains. Why would he
have to explain a thing like that?

“She’s an Ethiopian princess,” I tell the
number lady.

“The slave? Thomas Jefferson’s slave? Then
you met her, too?” Her note-taking fingers move a little faster
now.

“Can we just try and help my friend?
Please?”

“What do you think we should do, young Mr.
Sands?” the number lady is asking. “Perhaps she’d be a little less
agitated if you hadn’t burst in and startled her like this.”

“She’s not agitated; she’s sick! She has slow
pox. Doesn’t she?”

I laugh again, thinking of Mother helping pox
victims back in Alexandria.

“The slow pox plays hide-and-peek, too!” I
say, remembering what Mother found out about it — how it can hide
in a body for years, then suddenly appear, like the goddess Isis
after one of her magic spells.

“Does it?” the number lady asks, making
another note. “These days, it doesn’t ‘peek’ anymore unless we want
it to. And we certainly didn’t want it to peek at you.”

“Since you’ve gone to all the trouble to wait
for me here, Sheila,” Mr. Howe says while he’s still bent over,
rubbing his ankle, “maybe you should take this opportunity to go
ahead and tell them the truth.”

“You’re just upset over hurting your foot,”
the number lady says. “Besides, which truth would you have me tell
them? You should know there are many to choose from. You helped us
create a lot of them.”

“I didn’t create the disease!” Mr. Howe tries
to put weight on his sore ankle. “Ow.”

“Not originally, no,” she replies.

“Maybe you should help
him
,” I say to
Eli, pointing at Mr. Howe.

“You have a fever, Thea,” the number lady
answers instead. “Perhaps your young friend is right. Maybe you
should lie down.”

“And miss hide-and-peek?”

And then Mr. Howe, shifting on his feet,
decides to tell us a story: “All right then, Sheila. Maybe
I’ll
fill them in. The reintroduction of slow pox was a
separate project. It seemed like a perfect disease: it moved
slowly, wasn’t usually fatal, but could be —if we needed it to be.
People feared it, when they had to.

“So, if something went wrong somewhere, or
with something else, we’d have a cover story, a way to give people
a smaller panic about something that could be controlled, instead
of a larger panic about something that was far more dangerous. You
can’t control people if they’re either too happy or too hysterical.
They don’t listen well, in either circumstance.

“And we needed them to listen, Eli. Things
have been spinning out of control for a long time. In the years
right before you were born, with each bomb explosion, each new
disease outbreak, each new shock—that the oil was running out, the
weather was changing, the currency wasn’t stable, whatever it was—
with each reversal, people grew more terrified. So terrified that
soon there would’ve been no way left to run a country, or an
economy. Who’s going to go to work if they think riots could break
out at any moment, their city could erupt in flames, or their
children won’t be safe if they go away?”

“Sometimes they’re not safe if the grownups
stay. Sometimes grownups harm children on purpose. I’ve seen it.
You’ve even done it to me.”

Eli speaks and I giggle again, even though
this is serious, because even as he was speaking those words out
loud, they were in my head. And I was thinking of another dream, a
nightmare I had, about a soldier in a field, leveling his weapon at
a mother and a child, because he had orders from some other
grownup, part of the dream I had during a time of war, in a place
called Peenemünde…

I don’t think that was a dream. “What kind of
story
is
this?” I ask Mr. Howe.

Everyone turns to look at me. Again.

You know,
a voice tells me. A voice.
The voice! The lingo-spot voice is back! I haven’t heard it in…

Centuries! Since I was with Sally.

“What do I know?” I say out loud.

“You both know more than ninety-nine percent
of the so-called grownups on this planet, because of what you’ve
seen,” the number lady says. “That’s what makes you what our friend
Howe calls ‘assets.’ That’s also what makes you dangerous. You know
that certain things are possible, things that would terrify most
people, who want to be left alone to live out their lives.”

“Like I did?” Eli asks. This time, I don’t
giggle.

“You have a different kind of life,” the
number lady tells him. “That’s why we need you.”