Masque of the Red Death (13 page)

I’ve brought them here. Through my interactions with Elliott, or through some other mistake. Somehow this, too, is my fault.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

W
E TALK LESS THAN USUAL AS EVENING TURNS
to night, aware of the guards listening just outside the door. Father comes to my bedroom and mixes my sleeping draft himself.

“Araby—”

I hold Elliott’s missive between my fingers. “It isn’t an invitation.”

“No. But I’ve gotten around his commands before. There are ways…”

This is the time to ask him what is going on.

“Who were those men in the bookshop?” I ask.

His surprise is genuine.

“Young scientists the prince is not aware of,” he says. “They need guidance.”

I think of the drawing in his desk, with the enigmatic caption.
Tell the boy this will never fly
. He hates the prince’s control of science. Is that all it is, his connection to those men?

He finishes mixing my medicine and leans forward to give me an awkward hug. I’m too surprised by the gesture to ask him anything else.

In the morning, our courier is two minutes late. I notice because Mother comments on it. “Your father has gone downstairs to consult with his guards about the new soldiers. He’s very concerned.” She waits, but I don’t say anything. “Your father,” she says tentatively, “says that maybe I should walk with the two of you....”

I gag on my dry bread.

She rarely leaves the apartment and never leaves the building.

“I would go if you were with us, Araby.”

I sigh and don’t answer her. I hate the way she ignores things that upset her. I have to go to the prince’s castle. Even if I could hide behind Father somehow, there’s still a chance that April needs me. Mother goes to the piano and begins to play scales.

Father is out of the apartment, and this is my last chance to go through his lab before we leave. Elliott wants me to look for evidence that Malcontent might be communicating with Father.

I slide the laboratory door back, paying close attention to the positioning of it. Not quite closed, not fully open.

The lab looks the same way it looked before. Counters cluttered with colorful liquids, empty desk.

Last time I stopped at the drawer with the blueprints. This time I reach for the bottom drawer.

It’s empty. But when I push the drawer shut, it sticks. I pull the handle hard, removing the drawer completely from the desk, and put my hand into the cavity. My fingers touch a small book bound in leather. A thin volume that feels insubstantial in my hands.

The journal falls open to a page that says
Everything is my fault
.

I catch my breath and hold the journal to my heart. I know exactly how he feels. In this moment, I am closer to my father than I have ever been.

But I can’t stop now. Placing the journal on the floor, I open the second drawer, the one filled with receipts and papers. If there are messages, this is where I will find them. I’m on my knees, riffling through a stack of letters, when Father returns. He enters the lab soundlessly, laying a paper on the table before he looks up and sees me. I watch the emotions as they cross his face. Shock. Anger. Betrayal. And something I can’t read. Guilt?

“Araby?” His voice is nearly normal. But he knows I wasn’t in here looking for him. He doesn’t say anything else for a long time. Maybe he can’t.

“Your friend will be here soon. I saw him in the lobby.”

My friend? I realize that it’s nearly noon, and Elliott is coming to take me to the prince’s palace.

“Father…” He won’t meet my eyes.

Time stops for a few seconds as Father picks up objects without seeing them, sets them down.

Elliott’s knock is either arrogant or angry, possibly both. Father turns his back to me and I finally stand, pushing in the drawer as I do. The journal lies on the floor. I could give it back to Father now. But instead I pick it up and hide the dark leather against my equally dark skirts.

Elliott has come to the apartment without flowers. When I walk out of Father’s lab to the foyer, he’s toying with the silver handle of his walking stick.

“I have to change,” I say before escaping to my room.

Mother follows me. She waits for me to speak, and when I don’t she shuffles through my closet, eyeing my ripped dresses with distaste.

I choose a red corset.

“That won’t do,” Mother says. “The prince hates red. Let me loan you something.” She hurries to her room and returns with a dark purple dress. “This will be beautiful.”

I don’t want to take it, but I’m sure nothing in my closet is suitable.

“The prince hates the immodesty of the new fashions,” she says. She fumbles with my hair, pulling it back from my face with her clever, nervous fingers. When it’s fastened with a pearl clip, the violet streaks are almost hidden.

“You can make it up to your father,” she says softly. “When you return. Araby,” she continues. “I’ve always wanted to tell you…” She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me toward her. The look on her face is direct, intense. There is no confession that I want from her, not now. Not today.

I pull away. She is so nervous that this gesture halts her confession. I pack a bag quickly and slip Father’s stolen journal inside.

Elliott and Father are standing together, silent and uncomfortable. Heavy footsteps, pacing back and forth, remind everyone that there are guards in our foyer. Elliott taps his walking stick against the tiled floor, seeming to enjoy the sound it makes.

Mother comes through the doorway behind me, the sound of her long dress against the floor reminding me of the times before the plague, a world of swishing skirts. A world without masks.

“Be careful,” Father says. Elliott meets Father’s eyes, and some understanding passes between them. It hurts that Father will look at Elliott but not at me.

My poetry book is lying abandoned on a side table. When I pick it up, Elliott’s note, the one about meeting him in the garden, flutters to the floor.

Mother moves to retrieve it, but Elliott steps forward. His foot slides over the note as he moves in front of Mother, removing a small square box from his pocket.

He opens it to show her. “Do you think she’ll like it?” he asks.

“No.”

She realizes how terrible that sounds and covers her mouth with her hand. “It’s just that Araby doesn’t care about things like diamonds,” Mother says. “Another girl would like it.”

Elliott laughs a little. His inappropriate laughter is my favorite thing about him. He kneels and retrieves the slip of paper.

“We may be asked to spend the night,” Elliott tells Mother. “Don’t worry. She’ll be safe.”

My parents’ eyes move over my face, as if memorizing me. I wonder how often they wish that they had done the same thing with Finn. For a second I’m not sure if I can leave them. I want to run to Father and beg for his forgiveness, to wipe the frightened look from Mother’s face.

But if I do that, I’ll be trapped here, with no way to help April, no way to help anyone.

We move toward the doorway, where the unfriendly guards are standing. I don’t think they are blocking our way on purpose. One of them is looking at me, and I move to adjust my skirt before I realize that I’m wearing Mother’s sedate purple dress. When we reach the hall, I still feel the weight of their eyes.

Three chairs clutter the hallway where there used to be just one. Is it acceptable for the prince’s soldiers to sit while they spy on us?

“Those were members of the prince’s private guard,” Elliott says.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the prince is very concerned for your father’s safety.”

Elliott hands me the folded slip of paper.

“You want to be more careful.”

“I’ll try,” I say. “It’s hard to be as sneaky as you.”

“You flatter me,” he says, smiling. He looks directly at me for the first time today. “You are very elegant,” he says, picking invisible lint from his sleeve.

“Thank you.” I never know how to take his compliments, or whether they are sincere.

We walk down the stairs together, sometimes in step, sometimes with him a few steps ahead. Finally we reach the lobby.

“I’ve never been to the prince’s palace,” I say, eyeing our usual guards, who are lounging in the lobby. They see that Father isn’t with me, nod to Elliott, and go back to rolling dice on a low table.

“You should be thankful,” Elliott says darkly. “It’s a testament to how much your father loves you.”

And yet here he is lifting me into his steam carriage, taking me there. Father loves me. Elliott does not. And I’ve betrayed Father at Elliott’s request. I close my eyes as the city rushes by.

Once we’re out of the city, I open my eyes and pay attention. It’s been years since I’ve left the city proper. The air feels different here, but as much as I want to take off my mask, it still isn’t safe. Forest creatures carry the contagion, too.

When Finn was alive, Father used to borrow a horse and wagon and take us outside the city for picnics. It amazes me, how we thought life would stay the same. The drive takes more than three hours, but I stare at the scenery and the time passes quickly.

Slender evergreen trees line the road, and I long to walk through them and touch the deep green needles.

As if he can read my mind, Elliott stops the steam carriage. He’s wearing some sort of protective goggles, and I don’t like the way they work together with his mask to hide his entire face.

We are on a ridge overlooking his uncle’s stronghold. Below us is a huge castle, complete with turrets and a drawbridge.

Maybe it’s the driving goggles, but his eyes are faraway and sad.

“Elliott?” Comforting him might allow me to forget my own misery.

“I hate this place. When I visit, I always stop here.” He gestures to the overlook. “To remind myself that we aren’t that far from the city. Even on foot, it isn’t much more than half a day’s journey, and there are ways to escape the castle. See those caves?” He points to some dark areas on the side of the cliff, which, if I stare long enough, could indeed be the mouths of caverns.

“Passages in the castle lead to those caverns,” he says.

“Is there any structure in this city that doesn’t have a tunnel underneath?” I suppress a laugh, because it’s so silly, all of these passages that I have never seen and don’t really believe in. But Elliott doesn’t even smile.

“According to the book you so cleverly retrieved, all the passages in the city connect. If I’d known, I could’ve escaped to the city instead of staying here for years as Prospero’s prisoner.”

I stare out over the imposing landscape. “It’s obvious that you hated living here. That’s reassuring to know before we go back in.”

“I didn’t mean for you to be reassured. You should be afraid, Araby. Do you care enough for April to go inside?”

Even from here, in the dreary light of afternoon, I can see that there are bars on every single window of the castle. We could turn around, could be back at the Akkadian Towers before the sun sets.

But April is in there, and she would go inside for me. I’m sure of it. Regardless, we have been ordered to come.

Elliott must know what I am thinking.

“Who would come for me if I were inside?” he asks.

I can’t answer, because I don’t know.

Elliott reaches into his pocket and brings out the tiny box he showed my mother.

“Will you wear this?” he asks. He tosses the box to me. When I open it, the sun glints off the facets of an enormous diamond.

“I don’t—”

“It wouldn’t mean anything,” he says quickly. “Except to my uncle.” His hair falls over his goggles, and he looks particularly young and wistful. I take the ring.

“Sometimes I have a hard time not trusting you,” I admit.

“Don’t trust me.” The ring twists and turns on my finger. The diamond is sharp and very cold.

We drive down a narrow incline and pass a stone guard tower. Elliott slows, and the guard bows and waves him through. Next is an iron gate. A tall fence goes on as far as I can see. The gate closes behind us with a clang.

“Well, we’re in. Now I just hope we can get out.” He puts his hand on my arm. “Don’t trust me,” he says again. “It would make me feel even worse if you got killed.”

The fear sinks into me now. I don’t want to die here.

We take a sharp turn, and the castle looms above us. I wasn’t prepared for the immensity of it. Like a giant hulking toad crouching out on the peninsula, coldly menacing and exquisitely drab.

“My uncle had the road engineered to turn in that exact spot, just to give people that response.”

“What response?”

“The one you are having. Awe? Fear?”

From this angle I can see that it isn’t just a medieval castle, it is a cathedral and an abbey all meshed together into something magnificently ominous.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” Elliott pulls his steam carriage through a final stone archway and stops. “Be cautious. Do not tell my uncle anything about either of your parents, and don’t give him any indication that we aren’t madly in love.”

“We aren’t madly in love?”

“You scorn me. But I am infatuated with you.”

“You’re a better liar than I thought,” I say lightly.

“I’m a fabulous liar.” He swings down from the carriage and walks around to lift me down. He pulls me close and says quietly, “And you need to be too.”

It is sunny, if humid, in the courtyard. But once we get inside, it is cold and dark. The quick change in temperature is a shock. The entranceway and the adjoining chambers are completely empty, and I feel as if every movement I make is likely to echo throughout the castle.

Servants in blue-and-purple livery scurry out from the shadows and follow us. Elliott ignores them, stopping only when we reach a large open doorway. A herald hurries around Elliott and into the room. “Your nephew!” he announces in a loud, official voice. “Your nephew and … his female friend.”

The room is huge but also crowded.

We step into the throne room. Elliott bows.