The Wooden Prince (16 page)

“Well…” Captain Toro paused to take another bite.

The men sat in rapt attention, an anxious silence brought on by the quiet, scary way Captain Toro spoke.

Captain Toro swallowed his food. “All alchemical technology has its origins in the elemental magic of Abaton. So lighter-than-air inventions like floating masonry and my armor”—he clapped a hand to his lion-emblazoned breastplate—“all come from blue-fairy magic.”

Geppetto's eyes met Lazuli's across the table.

“Fairies,” Captain Toro continued, his words slow and stilted, “being elemental creatures of the air, are capable of manipulating the weight of otherwise heavy materials.” He paused before adding, “Isn't that right, fairy?”

The men at the bar looked perplexed. Captain Toro took a sip of wine.

“What's that, Captain?” the innkeeper asked.

“I was asking the fairy lass over there.” He turned slowly toward Lazuli. “Am I correct?”

The innkeeper and the men all looked at her. Lazuli tried to master her expression. The captain couldn't know who she really was. She could pretend to be an elemental servant. Of course she could. There was no reason to fear the captain, except that she didn't have fealty papers. What was most important was to distract Captain Toro from Geppetto.

She rose lightly from her seat. Geppetto gave a little shake of his head to stop her, but she ignored him. She could handle this.

“For the most part, you are correct, sir.”

Captain Toro's stool barked against the wooden floor as he stood. “Explain.”

Lazuli approached the bar. “I can't make
you
lighter than air. I can't transform the living. That's why you have to wear alchemied armor in order to fly. But—”

She walked around Captain Toro, drawing his attention away from Geppetto. All eyes followed her. She picked up Captain Toro's wine cup with a smile.

“If I wanted to make your wine float…”

A breeze whirled around the bar, tousling their hair. Beads of bloodred wine rose from the cup. The men laughed with surprise, all except Captain Toro.

“Are some objects easier to levitate than others?” the innkeeper asked.

“That's it exactly,” Lazuli said. “I chose the wine and not the entire mug, because wine is relatively insubstantial. It's a liquid. It's easy to infuse with air. Solid objects are harder. This is why alchemists can do it much better in their laboratories.”

“Very interesting, fairy,” Captain Toro said. He cleared his throat with a dry cough. “Your fealty papers, please.”

A jolt of panic ran through Lazuli.

“Oh,” she said, pretending to search inside her cloak. “Yes. Of course.”

“This area,” Captain Toro said, tapping the bar, “is notorious as a hideout for ungrateful outlaw vermin.”

The frog croaked, his throat swelling like it might pop, and smoothed out his fealty papers onto a table as if saying he was grateful he wasn't vermin. It sickened Lazuli. These so-called outlaws only wanted to be free, only wanted to stand up to a corrupt empire.

“Do you work in this village, fairy? Is that your master over there?”

“Um, no,” Lazuli said, continuing to search her pockets. “That's my uncle. Our alchemist master is…at the show in Siena. He sent us with a package to deliver here—”

“I'll need to see your uncle's papers too,” Captain Toro said.

Lazuli wished she hadn't given Geppetto her sword. The master of ceremonies in her father's court had told her she was the best he'd ever taught, although she'd never displayed her talents in any real combat. She hoped Geppetto wasn't planning on doing something stupid and brave with her sword.

As Lazuli fumbled through her cloak, Captain Toro snatched up his musket. The innkeeper and the men drew back from the bar. The frog and the ape chimera scrambled under a table.

“Here they are,” Lazuli said with a laugh, holding up folded papers.

The innkeeper exhaled with relief. The men chuckled nervously as they settled back to their stools.

“Wish I were going to the fire eater's show, like your master,” the innkeeper said to Lazuli. “It's all anyone's been talking about around these parts.”

Captain Toro took the papers from Lazuli's fingers.

“The Magpie,” one of the men chuckled. “The automa who flies. The swordsman who beat—”

“What did you say?” Captain Toro hissed.

“W-what?” the man asked nervously.

“Did you say a
flying
automa?” Captain Toro asked.

The realization hit Lazuli like a thunderbolt. She tried to mask her surprise. The flying automa. Was it Geppetto's automa?

“The M-Magpie,” the man stammered. “That's why we were asking you if an automa could fly without wings.”

Captain Toro looked crazed. “You never said anything about an automa!”

“All the fire eater's performers are puppets,” the innkeeper said. “Haven't you seen them?”

“And he's got an automa that can fly?”

“Not fly, exactly. But I hear it can leap. Huge leaps. Almost like flying.”

“The fire eater is in Siena?” Captain Toro demanded.

“Of course, haven't you ever—”

Captain Toro was already headed out the door, his wings snapping open in the sunlight. Geppetto spun in his seat, looking from the door back to Lazuli with astonishment.

“What was that about?” the innkeeper said as the crowd broke into noisy discussion.

Lazuli smiled at Geppetto and pretended to wipe the sweat from her brow. As she headed back to her seat, the innkeeper picked up the papers from the bar.

“Don't forget your fealty papers.” The sheets unfolded as he held them out, and his eyes widened. “These aren't fealty papers.…Hey! What's this? Are you…outlaws?”

The men at the bar got to their feet. They glared menacingly at Lazuli.

Geppetto stood. “Gentlemen, we're plainly not outlaws.” He pulled back his hood. “As you'll see, I'm not a sylph or any other elemental or half-beast.”

The innkeeper jabbed a finger. “Then why did she tell Captain Toro you were?”

Geppetto looked at Lazuli and murmured, “I did think that was a risky thing to tell him.”

Lazuli shrugged. “You weren't exactly coming up with any brilliant ideas.”

“Outlaws or not,” the innkeeper said, producing a blunderbuss from beneath the bar, “you thought you outsmarted Captain Toro. Thought you could lie to a soldier of the doge. We're good citizens of the empire. Aren't we, boys?”

“Yes,” the frog chimera croaked. Even he and the ape chimera looked ready to spring into action against them.

“Hands away from your sword,” the innkeeper said, nodding to the hilt sticking out from under Geppetto's cloak.

Lazuli and Geppetto raised their hands before the innkeeper's blunderbuss.

“Gentlemen,” Geppetto said, “this is a misunderstanding.”

A cup flew from the bar and smashed against the bridge of the innkeeper's nose. He howled and dropped the gun as he cupped his hands over his face. Lazuli snatched the blunderbuss. Wind whipped through the bar. More cups, plates, and wine bottles rose into the air.

The men and the chimera stared at the hovering objects.

“But—but you said you couldn't lift solid objects,” one of the men stammered.

“I lied,” Lazuli said, aiming the gun.

The men trembled, panicked eyes locked on the weapon.

“We're leaving,” Geppetto said, pushing the barrel of the blunderbuss toward the floor. “And unless any of the rest of you wants a bottle to the head, you'll let us walk out of here.”

The innkeeper glared at them with watering eyes. Blood and powdery bits of the broken cup smeared his face.

Backing to the door with Lazuli, Geppetto said, “You've all acted loyally to the empire. There's nothing more you could have done. We bid you good day.”

They stared as Geppetto and Lazuli hurried out the door.

As soon as they were outside, Maestro sprang from under Geppetto's cloak and chirped angrily at Lazuli, “Are you
insane
? I mean, are you insane,
Your Highness
? What were you doing back there?”

“Saving our necks,” Lazuli said.

Geppetto smiled. “Well done, Princess Lazuli. You continue to surprise me. Now let's get out of here. If that flying automa is Pinocchio, we have to hurry. Toro will reach Siena first, but maybe there's still a way to rescue the lad.”

P
inocchio and Wiq had been sneaking up to the rooftop balcony every evening to see how many new Magpie paintings were showing up on the sides of buildings around the theater.

The Magpie's popularity was growing. Pinocchio had defeated Harlequin in the last three performances and had even been promoted to Scaramouch's position as the head of the half-beasts. He and Wiq stayed up until nearly dawn, reliving the exciting parts of the show and even acting them out with wooden sticks for swords.

When they tired of that, Wiq made up a game of tossing loops made from the jasmine vines that grew up the side of Al Mi'raj's theater. They would try to catch the loops with the wooden sticks. Wiq was much better at it than Pinocchio, since Pinocchio threw it a bit too hard, and his loops kept flying over the side of the balcony.

As Wiq fashioned a new loop for Pinocchio, he said, “I wish I could run away.”

“Where would you go?” Pinocchio asked.

“I don't know,” Wiq replied. “Maybe to High Persia. I hear my people are treated better in the other human kingdoms. Although I'd really want to go to Abaton.”

“Would you be a slave in Abaton?”

Wiq lowered the loop of jasmine. “Of course not, you goof. There are no slaves in Abaton.”

Pinocchio felt his face get warm, and he tried not to be a goof. “Why did your family come to the Venetian Empire, then?”

“They didn't,” Wiq said, continuing to weave the jasmine vines together. “It was my ancestors, way way back. Prester John sent them here, along with loads of other chimera and elementals. I guess he thought he was spreading goodwill and helpful Abatonian magic and all that.” He gave a snort and shook his head.

“Do you think we could ever run away?” Pinocchio asked. “I mean do you think there's a way to escape from Al Mi'raj's theater?”

“Not with this on me.” Wiq touched the collar on his neck. “And not with your fealty lock.” He sat up a little straighter. “But let's promise that if we ever find a way, we'll escape. Together. Do you promise?”

“Of course!” Maybe Wiq could help him find Geppetto. Maybe his father could help take care of Wiq, too.

Wiq slipped the jasmine on Pinocchio's wrist like a bracelet. “This is our promise. And I'll wear one too.” He put the other loop on his furry wrist, and held out his hand to take Pinocchio's. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Pinocchio said, smiling.

Still clutching Pinocchio's hand, Wiq said, “Your hand feels squishy.” He let go and pulled up Pinocchio's sleeve. “What's with your arm? It doesn't look like wood.”

Pinocchio jerked it back. He was tempted to lie or to find an excuse to leave, but Wiq was his friend. They were going to run away together. He had kept this secret from Wiq for long enough.

“Wiq, I'm going to tell you something, but you have to swear you'll never tell anyone.”

“I swear,” Wiq said.

Pinocchio's gears felt knotted. He was terrified Wiq was going to hate him again if he knew the truth. But that voice inside him, his instinct, told him he could trust Wiq.

“You know how I'm different from other automa,” Pinocchio said. “There's a reason. Do you remember how I told you about my master? Well, he's a friend of Prester John's.”

“His Immortal Lordship!” Wiq sputtered.

“And Prester John turned me this way.” When Pinocchio had finished explaining how he was becoming…what, exactly? Flesh? Human? Real? Wiq wasn't horrified. He was wild with excitement.

“And if Geppetto is able to rescue Prester John,” Wiq said, “he might take us to Abaton. Oh, Pinocchio! We
have
to find a way to escape.”

Over the following days, try as they might, the boys couldn't come up with a reasonable plan to get away. And each day, Pinocchio was changing a bit more. Every performance put him more at risk of being injured—or worse, discovered by Bulbin and Al Mi'raj.

“Couldn't Harlequin and I…uh, be on the same side?” Pinocchio asked Punch one afternoon.

“Nay. 'Tis the lord mayor's continued wish to see you defeat Harlequin in new and dramatic feats.”

“But…” Pinocchio searched for a way out of this. “Wouldn't the audience prefer to see half-beasts lose and humans win?”

“The lord mayor prefereth that the performance stoke anger against the half-beasts and remind his citizenry of their threat. Adieu, Magpie.”