The Wooden Prince (17 page)

Pinocchio sighed as Punch waddled away.

As Pinocchio waited that night for Wiq, he never came. How late was it? The clanking hammers from Bulbin's workshop had been quiet for some time now, so he decided to look for Wiq. He tiptoed down the hall toward Wiq's bedroom. As he rounded a corner, he bumped into someone.

A feline face with a patch over one eye snarled at him, exposing gleaming fangs. Pinocchio stumbled backward in alarm.

A half-beast!

The hallway outside Al Mi'raj's workshop was filled with half-beasts. And not ones like Wiq. These half-beasts were monstrous, with animal heads on human bodies, all claws and fangs and ferocious demeanors.

Was this an attack? Were these outlaws trying to rob Al Mi'raj?

The cat half-beast was shackled at the wrists. So were the others. A few glanced at Pinocchio: a fox, a burly half-beast with the head of a bear, even a crocodile.

Pinocchio stared at the one-eyed cat he'd bumped into. He had long black-and-white fur, even on his humanlike hands. A bushy tail swished from the back of his coat. He was a little fat in the belly, now that Pinocchio was noticing, but this half-beast looked fierce.

“Planning to paint my portrait, puppet?” the cat growled. “Keep staring. I'll show you my best side.”

He snapped his teeth at Pinocchio, but the chain connecting him to the next half-beast clanked tight and stopped the cat from reaching him.

The fox half-beast chuckled. “Be sweet to the puppet, Sop.” The fox's voice definitely had a feminine quality, even though she was dressed in men's clothing: a leather jerkin, leather pants, and tall boots. “After all, you might be fighting it tomorrow.”

“Quiet back there,” a voice called. An imperial airman began pushing his way down the line. For half a moment, Pinocchio was frightened that it might be Captain Toro, but fortunately it wasn't.

Farther down the hall, raised voices came from Al Mi'raj's workshop. The djinni was saying, “General Maximian, I run a theater, not a gladiator pit!”

“These orders come from our lord doge,” a voice replied. “I suggest you remember your place, fire eater….”

The airman finally made his way back. “What are you doing here, automa?” He whacked Pinocchio against his head. “Go!”

Pinocchio ran back to the cellar. He tried to tell Punch about the half-beasts, but the automa didn't seem to care. Pinocchio sat the rest of the night next to Columbine, watching her sew. Where was Wiq? He was desperate for his friend to explain what was happening.

But Wiq never appeared.

Al Mi'raj appeared later instead and spoke quietly with Punch. Deep lines pinched the djinni's yellow brow, as if he was troubled.

When he left, Punch clapped his hands to get their attention. “Majestic marionettes! The slightest of changes to our performance. A gang of half-beast rogues hast been captured by the doge's airmen. The lord mayor wishes to have them join our performance. Naturally, they shall play half-beasts. All of you, with the exception of our star the Magpie, will join with Harlequin's swordsmen. You shall be the victors. No longer will Magpie be the leader of the half-beasts, but a turncoat who assists Harlequin in defeating the rogues.”

Fight the half-beasts! Pinocchio clutched his hands together nervously. How could they beat half-beasts? These weren't actors. They were real warriors.

Harlequin did a double flip, spinning a pair of blades when he landed.

Pinocchio sighed. At least he'd be on the same side as Harlequin.

The next afternoon, to Pinocchio's immense horror, Al Mi'raj collected him without a word and delivered him to the squad of airmen, who marched him, along with the half-beasts, out into the middle of the piazza.

The piazza was empty except for workers setting up stands for the evening's performance. A metal pen had been erected, and once Pinocchio and the half-beasts were led inside, it was locked.

Pinocchio eyed the half-beasts cautiously. There were about two dozen in all, mostly with the heads of animals and fur-covered humanoid bodies, although he spotted a few like Wiq, with human faces and some animal features, like ears and tails. One looked completely human until it came near, and Pinocchio saw that the half-beast was covered in tan scales. It hissed a forked tongue at him.

They looked like a vicious lot, no mistake about it. If he played the witless automa, maybe they'd leave him alone. Pinocchio found a spot toward the center and stood as still as he could.

The cat with the patch over his eye approached him. “And why have they put you in here with us, puppet?” His voice was rough and full of spittle.

Pinocchio shrugged. Then, remembering too late that automa didn't make those kinds of gestures, he said, in as flat a voice as he could manage, “I do not know.”

Pinocchio was already in his costume, but he held his mask in his hands. The cat ran a finger along the beak. When it reached the end, a retractable claw opened, scratching the paint.

“I like birds,” he purred. “They're tasty.”

The fox sauntered over, the hint of a smile curling on her snout. She was tall and slim, although quite muscular beneath her orange fur and sleeveless jerkin. One of her arms was bandaged, and Pinocchio wondered if she had been injured by the airmen.

“Quit teasing the automa, Sop, old darling. I doubt his sort is designed to appreciate your twisted sense of humor.”

“It looks so real.” Sop tapped a claw on Pinocchio's cheek. “More real than most of the humans' toys. Don't you think, Mezmer?”

Pinocchio tried to keep looking straight ahead, but noticed out of the corner of his eye how the fox was inspecting the airmen up at their posts atop the piazza's buildings and testing the bars of the pen. Pinocchio guessed she was clever, this Mezmer. A strategist. She was thinking of a plan for escape.

“This one's an expensive model, that's why,” Mezmer said, turning back to Pinocchio.

“An expensive scratching post,” Sop chuckled. The cat extended his claws, bringing them to the top of Pinocchio's shirt, as if to shred his costume.

Pinocchio dropped his mask to the ground. His hands instinctively shot out and grabbed the cat's wrists. Sop hissed, his whiskers and ears flattened ferociously. He twisted his hands free and backed away.

Mezmer laughed. “You can't scare these automa, old friend. Leave him alone. We have plans to make.”

As the two walked away, Pinocchio realized how easily the cat had escaped his grip. He looked at his own gloved hands. They weren't as strong as they once were. The transformation was more than just on the outside. His gearworks must be changing too.

As the sun set and the crowds began filing in to take their seats, airmen guards opened the pen so a troop of Bulbins could push a wagon piled with weapons inside. The half-beasts shoved one another to get the best weapons. They spread out in the pen, getting the feel for whatever bronze ax, sword, or spiked mace they had chosen. While Sop grabbed a sword, Mezmer chose a spear, giving it a deft twirl to test the weight.

Pinocchio put on his magpie mask and touched his sword nervously. It was nearly time. Where were the automa? Punch and Al Mi'raj waited in the courtyard. And there was Wiq, too. Pinocchio had to stop himself from waving to him.

He wished they were together on the rooftop again. Wiq could have bolstered his courage, maybe even helped him plan a strategy to beat these half-beast warriors. He ran a finger along the jasmine vines around his wrist.

The cheering of the crowd broke his thoughts. Punch took his place atop the tall podium in the middle of the piazza.

“O humble citizens of Siena,” he announced. “Welcome dons and donnas, and lord mayor, but especially our most illustrious guest…the doge of Venice.”

A wave of gasps swept over the audience. They craned their necks to look to the top of the Palazzo Pubblico. Beside the lord mayor sat another man, crowned and wearing robes of deep scarlet. He stood. The entire crowd bowed in reverence.

Pinocchio could not help but stare, openmouthed. The doge! And there were mechanical Lions on either side of him, sparkling bloodred from their armored manes to their folded wings. Once the doge took his seat, Punch continued.

“Lord Doge, we have something quite special for thee this eve. Thou wilt not only be entertained by the marvelous marionettes of Al Mi'raj's theater company. Thy pleasure shall be multiplied by the introduction of new performers…recent captives from a vicious nest of half-beast ingrates.”

The audience rumbled with boos.

The half-beasts snarled and circled in the enclosure. They were tough brutes, Pinocchio had no doubt. He wasn't eager to fight them when it came his time in the show to turn sides.

“Siena, welcome your champions,” Punch bellowed. “Harlequin and his shimmering swashbucklers!”

Harlequin and the automa swordsmen and swordswomen marched lockstep out into the piazza. They wore glittering bronze armor. Their wood was plenty tough already, but maybe Al Mi'raj wanted to make sure his mechanical performers had additional protection against the half-beast warriors.

The metal enclosure lifted into the air, but the half-beasts didn't charge out. They stayed clustered together. Pinocchio was trapped in the thick of the growling, sweaty mob. He heard Mezmer say, “Steady, darlings. Let's wait to see what they have planned.”

The automa raised their swords and charged the half-beasts.

“Looks like they plan to massacre us,” Sop said, lashing his bristly cat tail.

The half-beasts drew tighter together.

“What do we do?” a boar-headed outlaw asked through a tusked mouth. “These automa can't die. We'll never be able to beat them.”

Others grumbled in agreement, fear evident in their animal faces.

“We might not,” Mezmer said. Her black-tipped ears twitched as she looked at each of them squarely. “But know this, all of you. We fight not for the pleasure of Venetian vermin. We fight for something greater. We fight against the imperial doge and his corrupt empire. And when we die on their puppets' swords, we die knowing we struck fear in the doge's heart. We die with bravery, like the glorious knights of old Abaton.

“The doge tore our families apart and stole our freedom. But we hold no fealty papers. We have broken our bonds of slavery. We chimera are not puppets of the empire! We might never see Abaton's glorious shores, but our deaths will rally our kin to rise up against the doge.”

The half-beasts growled and cheered and clanked their weapons.

Pinocchio could not believe what he was hearing. He had thought these half-beasts were little more than runaway slaves who'd become common thieves. But Mezmer and her chimera seemed better than that. They were fighting for something greater: their freedom. Wiq and all the enslaved Abatonians deserved to be free—free from the hated doge and his empire.

Something stirred deep inside Pinocchio at Mezmer's words. This was all the doge's fault. He had enslaved these chimera. He had torn Wiq from his family. And it was this same doge who had ordered Geppetto's family murdered. Hatred boiled in Pinocchio.

The automa charged. Battle erupted. Pinocchio hesitated before running at Scaramouch to begin sparring.

The half-beasts turned out to be very different fighters from the automa. While Harlequin did his usual acrobatics and the other automa fought with showy flourishes, the half-beasts fought defensively, pairing off back-to-back or working together in small formations.

A few automa lost arms. One got his head bashed around backward by a spiked mace. But they kept fighting, unlike in the earlier performances. They weren't pretending to die when they got injured.

Punch signaled to Pinocchio. It was his time to turn against the half-beasts and help Harlequin. But how could he do that now?

The fox Mezmer's speech might have rallied her companions for glorious deaths, but Mezmer wanted to prove something to the doge first. She needed her chimera to fight well. Pinocchio knew he had to help them.

On his seven-league boots, he sprang over clusters of fighters until he found Mezmer. The fox growled when she saw him and nearly skewered him with her spear. But Pinocchio blocked and quickly grabbed Mezmer's spear, pulling her forward.

“Listen to me,” Pinocchio whispered urgently. “Your chimera have to stop Harlequin.”

“What?” Mezmer gasped, her orange eyes wide.

“He's the best fighter. He's the most dangerous. Take him out and you'll have a better chance at beating the rest!”

Harlequin was already somersaulting their way.

“Here he comes!” Pinocchio said. “Chop off his head. If his head comes loose, his body will stop working.”

He shoved Mezmer back before moving away to clash swords with Columbine.

“The heads, darlings!” he heard Mezmer shout to her chimera. “Take off their heads!”

Harlequin landed, striking out wide with both his swords. Sop ducked under one of the swings, but a weasel-headed chimera lost part of an ear to the other.

Mezmer launched herself at Harlequin. She was amazingly fast with her spear, spinning it to block every one of Harlequin's blows. But she wasn't fast enough to take off his head.

Scaramouch was surrounded by a group of chimera. The boar-headed half-beast spiked his mace into Scaramouch's leg, knocking the automa down. When Scaramouch fell, the bear chimera brought his ax down, popping Scaramouch's head off.

“Not bad,” the boar said, whistling from between his tusks.

“That's the way!” Mezmer said, struggling to hold back Harlequin. “Sop! A little help, darling. We've got to get this one pinned.”

The cat spun around from where he'd just sent an automa's head flying, but before he could run to Mezmer, a group of automa blocked his path.

The badger and the crocodile tried to help Mezmer but kept getting driven back. Mezmer was struggling. She equaled Harlequin in speed, but Pinocchio could see she was tiring fast under his unrelenting assault.