Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2 (16 page)

"I'll never know why you don't get along with him better," Papa said. "You two agree on so much."

"I won't let you hurt this family just to protect your secrets. I'd rather you say good bye to us and leave, than leaving me to explain what's happened to you someday when you disappear on us."
 

I crept forward.

"You know I won't do that."
 

"The day will come eventually, and when it does I'll be left with the mess."

Papa tested the blade's edge and drew a drop of blood from his thumb. I gasped out loud then clamped my hands over my mouth to keep from making any more noise.
 

"Would you stop playing with that thing," Mother said. "Someone's going to get hurt." Papa made a look that seemed to say 'that's the point.' I'd never seen Papa bleed before, not even one time when he was bitten by a huge Doberman. Not even when a criminal tried to murder him with a fountain pen in the courthouse. The Bloodless, that's what the boys in town called him when they thought no one was listening; Anastasia said she heard Papa's veins were filled with the stuff stars were made of.
 

"I wonder what you're hiding from me sometimes," Mother said. "Can't you trust me with the truth?"

Papa opened his mouth, but stopped.
 

"You used to love me... or was that a lie too?"

"Of course not. I still love you—"

"Then fix this."

"I've done everything I can." Papa stabbed the blade into the table. "You think the stone walls I built around this mansion are just to keep the cannibals out?"
 

"I don't care about a fence."

"You're protected here."

Mother's eyes narrowed and she spoke quietly. "From secrets?"

"No one cares about hiding the truth more than I do."

"I'm not sure anymore," Mother said. "I know you can hear the people whispering. Sometimes, I actually think you like it. You want them to know."

She turned and walked to the door, but Papa reached out and clutched her hand.

"You're right. It's hard for me..." He paused. "But, I made a decision while I was away. I took measures to ensure my family will be secure forever. I'm close to giving it up; I just need a little more time."

What measures? Killing Evan Burl? Is that what would keep us safe?

"And in the meantime?"

"I gave Claire something today. She's as protected as she can be."

She walked to the door. "It's time for the cake. Are you sure it's big enough?"
 

I startled at the sound of the door slamming shut. Mother didn't even ask. She didn't care that Papa had ordered a boy's execution. Papa lifted the pea coat from the chair where I'd draped it that afternoon. Slipping the coat on, he pulled out a bundle of loose pages from the desk drawer. He flipped through them, stopped to lick his finger, then turned one more. He sucked in a short breath. I watched his eyes dart across the same page three times. He slumped against the wall, sighed, then stared across the room. The clock behind me ticked off two whole minutes before Papa moved. I was beginning to think he might have fallen asleep when he stood suddenly. He felt in each pocket of his coat, one by one. I realized I'd forgotten to put the book I'd stolen back. I scanned behind me, trying to think of where I could run.
 

"Claire!" Papa yelled.
 

I heard his boots pounding up the stairs. Stuffed in my stocking, the book felt hot against my skin.
 

"Where are you, Claire?"

Pushing my shoulders back, I stood up straight.

"Yes Father?" I tried to use the expression my Mother wore whenever she argued with him.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Have you been hiding up here?"
 

"Yes." I took a step back.

"And you heard what your mother and I spoke about?"
 

"Yes," I said, tilting my chin up, resolved not to show my fear.

"Tell me the truth. Did you find a little brown book in my jacket?"

An itch grew where the book touched my skin.

"I won't be angry if you tell me the truth now," he said. "I just need that book."

No turning back now. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His bright eyes flicked back and forth, like he could read my deepest secrets by staring straight through my skull, but I was determined not to look away.
 

"Come here child," he said, beckoning to me as he sat on a chair at the top of the stairs.
 
I obeyed, trying not to shake.

"When I was young like you, figuring right from wrong was simple. But as I grew older, I realized some people seem good when in reality they are not." He placed a hand on my knee, as if to comfort me, but might it be to keep me from running away? "And some scary people are actually good. When you are a child, it can be hard to sort the scary people from the good ones."

Papa's other hand was behind his back. I pictured the dagger. Was he holding it now, ready to slit my throat if he discovered what I knew? I wanted to call for Mother or Ani or the servants, but he could smother me before the words left my mouth. I swallowed. "Which kind are you?"
 

"Neither." He furrowed his forehead. "I need you to trust me."

I took a breath. "Yes, Papa."

"That's good. But there's one more thing." He glanced in the direction of my ankle, where the book was hidden. "If you happen to find that book, and if I'm no longer able to carry out what it commands, will you promise to see it done?"

I imagined him tightening his grip on the sable knife. If I didn't agree, he would kill me.
 

"I'm trusting you to be Lictora one day. That day may come sooner than any of us expect. I have to believe you'll do what needs to be done."
 

I pictured him slumped against the wall and reading those loose pages. What did he read that upset him so much? And why was he talking suddenly about me being Lictora sooner than we expect?

"That's good." He patted my head and I thought I saw him slip the blade in his belt. "Black and white worlds are the luxury of children. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you so, but better to learn from your Papa. Life's a much crueler teacher."

I stood.

"Now don't worry about this anymore. Go and enjoy the party."

I heard his boots on the stairs as I shuffled to the banister. Papa strode into the night, leaving the huge doors open behind him. I gazed down and saw the black dagger, sticking straight up out of the table. I shuddered. The front door swung in the breeze, creaking softly. I pulled the leather book out and stared at it.
 

But something had changed. Over the time code, an inky print smudged across the page—made by the finger of someone who had another copy of this exact same book. I ran to a writing hutch and spilled a bottle of quills. Dipping one in the ink, I began to write.

Is someone there?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Evan

Thursday

8:45 pm

26 hours, 4 minutes until the falling

Blood covered me. My fingers stuck together, tacky and wet. My cheek clung to the floor. Lifting my head, I rolled over. An unlit dome stretched above.

I looked closer at my hands. Not blood, just dirt and sweat. The burnt orange stool that Mazol made Henri stand on all night lay toppled on its side. I must have been out for hours, a restless sleep that took more than it gave. And of course, the dreams. I dreamed about falling, landing on the beach by my cottage. I dreamed about being someone great, like Cevo or Terillium. Of people bowing to me as I passed. Of being the hunter instead of the prey.
 

And then:

An old rickety cart drove through the castle gates into the jungles. In the cart's bed lay a splintered wooden crate with clumps of mud and dirt clinging to its side. A gravebox, freshly dug from the ground. It rattled. Someone was inside, someone who wasn't dead.
 

Who? Who was it inside the gravebox?

Pearl.

She's alive?

You tell me.

I gazed down the murky halls that lead away from the entrance hall. The Warts could come any moment, to give me another shot. I think they tried to kill me. I thought about what my father's letter said.

You will have to be much more aggressive now. The Spider alone may not be enough. If you have the ember, as I expect you do, that should save you.

They were following through with the plan, just like Terillium instructed. But I was getting stronger. They'd try to poison me again. They'd try harder next time, if the falling didn't happen first. I had a day to find Pearl, use the skull to find out who's causing the affliktion, lure the Warts into the jungle, leave Henri in charge, then, the falling.
 

My eyes fell on the lock on my wrist, and I found myself grinning. After what I did to Pearl, after I lifted a 500lb barrel of oil over my head, the Warts actually thought this little shackle could stop me?
 

Flexing my hand into a fist to break the shackle, I stopped. I might want them to think they can keep me locked up. I could let them keep me shackled if I need to get close to Mazol, breaking my chains when the time was right.

If you don't want to break the shackle, unlock it.

How?

Sapience.

I can't control it.

I've been practicing. Keeping busy while you sleep.

That's what worries me.
 

I stared at the lock, closed my eyes, and imagined its insides. The gears. The springs. The pins. The rivets. In my imagination, unlocking the shackle was easy. I flicked my finger. With a click, the cuff sprang free; metal slid across my skin.

I opened my eyes to find the shackle dangling free from the banister. Rubbing my wrist, I edged back, like it might reach out and bite me.
 

Am I still asleep, or is this real?

My mind turned to the last time those shackles were used. How many times had they held a Rosling captive under a lashing belt? As I watched, the shackles lifted into the air, pulling against the banister rail. Wood creaked, splintering as the handrail ripped apart. The shackles exploded into a thousand pieces. Metal shards fell all around the room, like rain on a tin roof.
 

So much for locking myself up later. And so much for not using sapience. I rose, tried to take a step, but my leg buckled. My brace was missing. Pain ripped through my bones. I needed Henri's help. But will she help me if I tell her where I think Mazol hid Pearl? What if I'm wrong and we find a corpse?

I ripped a spindle from the staircase to use as a cane. Limping through the castle's dingy passages, I found my way to the Caldroen's iron doors on the main level. I squinted through flooding firelight as my eyes adjusted to the glow. Moving from shadow to shadow, I edged closer to humming and whirring clankers.
 

"No breaks," Mazol said. "We're working through the night."

Several Roslings groaned.
 

"You don't need sleep," Mazol said.

Yesler flashed a toothy smile. "Yeah, it's all in your head."

Peeking around the door, I darted behind the Warts into a pipe-fitting room. I crawled through a duct that vented hot air away from the clankers into a room that I'd hidden in before. Peering through a rusted nickel grate, I spotted Henri.
 

Leaning close to Mazol, she spoke into his ear. A vision played through my mind:
 

Henri and Mazol and Little Saye laughed while I lay on the floor, a needle jabbed into my neck.
 

I squeezed the grate; the metal groaned. Henri turned away from Mazol and stared at the floor. He pulled her back to whisper in her ear. She tried to turn. He grabbed her face. Jerking away, she began lubing the aft-gears of a smoking and rattling clanker ten feet from where I hid.

"Pssst, Henri."
 

She jumped.
 

"Over here."

Squinting, she peered in my direction. I moved into the light.

"What are you doing here?" She glanced over her shoulder.

"Looking for you."

"You shouldn't have come."

"What were you talking to Mazol about?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through iron. "What happened to you?"

"Yesler gave me something nasty."

"You should hide."

"Can you sneak away?"

She didn't respond.

"It's important." The nickel grate between us twisted, groaning.
 
A bolt snapped with a ping of flying metal. I ducked as the bolt flew past my head, ricocheting down a vent pipe. Mazol's eyes darted in our direction. I ducked back into the shadows. Mazol stared right at me, but I was shrouded in darkness. After a moment, he turned away.
 

"I have to keep working," Henri said.

"Wait, please. I don't think Pearl's really dead."

"What are you talking about?"

"She's alive."

"You
know
she's alive? Or you
think
she's alive?"

"I can prove it; I just need to get to the Elusian."

Henri glanced at Mazol again. "Pearl got sick," she said. "That's all there is to it."

After you gave her the skull.

"So we should just give up on her?"

"It's called accepting reality."
 

"Is that what you and Mazol were talking about?"

She folded her arms.

"Mazol's a liar," I said. "He'll say anything to get us to do what he wants."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Just meet me in the hall in five minutes."

"But—"

I disappeared before she could argue anymore. As I made my way back to the hall, I wondered if Henri would help me if she knew we'd have to dig up Pearl's grave to find her. I pictured the faces of the erased Roslings. Little Saye. Anabelle. Lucy.
   

Ten minutes went by. I glanced at the clock in the hall again. Tick. Tock. Twelve minutes. Henri could have gone to Mazol about me. Maybe she put it all together then decided I was the killer. Maybe she was huddled with the Warts one room over, preparing another syringe.