by Logan Jacobs
“Madame Gadzo said something,” I replied.
“Something even more surprising than everything else you’ve learned these last few days?” she asked. She had a worried look in her eyes as she studied my face, and I squeezed her hand to reassure her.
“She mentioned that someone was following me,” I explained.
“The Magesterium,” Sorcha said as she rolled her eyes. “I could have told you that. Did she really give you a reading, or just the usual nonsense they trot out for the locals?”
“Most of it wasn’t useful,” I admitted. “But the man she said was following me, he sounded like the man who killed my parents.”
Sorcha was silent for a moment, though I could see her try to work through the possibilities.
“But how long ago was that?” she asked. “He wouldn’t look the same now, and I doubt you really remember him as clearly as you think you do.”
“He has a distinct feature,” I explained. “He has one blue eye and one brown eye, and that’s what Madame Gadzo described.”
Sorcha seemed to freeze for a moment, and I nudged her gently on the arm just to be sure that a spell hadn’t been cast over her.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Did you say one blue eye and one brown eye?”
“It’s what I remember the most clearly about the man,” I replied.
“That is definitely memorable,” she said as she quickly looked away from me and stared at the musicians who had switched from a fast dance to an almost dirge-like song.
“You recognize that description,” I declared.
“It’s just... I don’t know what it is,” she finally replied.
“Do you know his name?” I pestered her.
“Not really,” she finally admitted. “I need to talk to someone.”
“Are you really going to hide more information from me?” I growled.
“No,” she said quickly. “I promise, I don’t know much. Just that if it’s who I think it is, he’s very dangerous, and it would be better if we didn’t encounter him. But there are people on the island who will know more. They’ll be able to provide you with all the information you need.”
I huffed in frustration, but Sorcha refused to say anything else. We stayed by the fire a bit longer, though neither of us spoke to the other the entire time. When Riley began to tell Sorcha about his fears during the battle, I excused myself and sauntered away toward the edge of the camp where Madame Gadzo had arranged a tent for the three of us. It wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, so I crawled inside, removed my boots and hat, grabbed a bedroll and a pillow, and tried to fall asleep.
I had eerie dreams all night, filled with grasping hands and people I would swear I’d never seen before in my life. There were strange buildings that seemed to sprout from the earth, and a great metal tube that flew through the sky. In the last set of images, I chased a figure through a grove of enormous trees. When I reached him, he turned around with a smile and called me son. Only it wasn’t my father, but the man with one blue eye and one brown eye. I jerked awake and sat up.
The other two bedrolls had already been folded and piled near the flap. I realized that there was daylight outside the tent, and with a groan, I threw off my blanket and crawled to the flap. I lifted it enough to stick my head outside and realized the sun had probably been up for a good two hours already.
“You’re awake,” a heavily accented voice noted.
I looked around and spotted the older man who had been outside Madame Gadzo’s tent the night before. He still had black hair, despite his age, and a mustache that covered his top lip. He sat on an old crate, with a knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. He had carved a vaguely horse-like shape from the wood, and judging by the pile of shavings by his boot, he’d been at it for some time.
“Madame thought we might have to leave you if you didn’t wake up soon,” the man noted. “She also said you would need new clothes. I left them by your tent.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not about leaving me, so I merely grunted. I spotted the pile of clean clothes, which I scooped up with one hand. I ducked back into the tent, changed into the clothes as best as I could, and then grabbed my boots, jacket, and hat. I crawled back into the sunlight and pulled on my boots, then stood up to examine my new duds. I was dressed in various shades of brown, which was a definite improvement over the brilliant purple, especially for someone who didn’t want to stand out.
“There’s still some bread if you want breakfast before we leave,” the old man said as he stood up. He started to walk back toward the remnants of the campfire, and when I hesitated, he stopped and waited for me to follow.
“I’m Hex,” I finally said when I caught up with him.
“I’m Oleg,” he replied.
“You could have just woken me up at sunrise,” I said as we dodged around a group of people who were taking down the camp.
“Madame said not to,” Oleg noted with a shrug. “She said you would need to see the images that were being sent to you.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say.
We arrived at the blackened spot that marked the campfire. The colorful chairs and bottles of wine from the night before were now gone, and only a few blackened pieces of wood remained. Oleg huffed as he looked around the area, then spotted a rotund woman with shockingly bright red hair near a small covered wagon painted the same color as her hair. Oleg marched over to her and the two held a heated discussion in the guttural gypsy language.
Both pointed at me at various points, and then the woman threw up her hands and ducked inside the nearby wagon. I sidled up to Oleg as the woman banged around inside the wagon. She stepped back outside a few moments later and handed me a thick roll slathered with butter and stuffed with bacon and a tin cup filled with orange juice. She sniffed as I started to thank her, then stalked away before I could finish those two simple words.
“She’s not really angry at you,” Oleg assured me. “She and her husband had a fight last night. Now she’s angry with everyone, but really only angry at him.”
“Do they fight often?” I asked around a mouthful of hard roll.
“Every night,” Oleg laughed. “But then they make up. So, all is well.”
By the time I finished my roll and juice, the camp was ready to move on. Horses and mules were lined up between the traces, while those on foot hefted their gear to their shoulders. I looked around and finally spotted Sorcha’s golden hair near Madame Gadzo. Sorcha had fresh clothes as well, though she was wearing a pair of forest green pants and a dark blue top rather than one of the brightly colored dresses that most of the gypsy women wore. Madame nudged the blonde mage when she saw me head their way, then marched off to issue some final orders.
Sorcha watched me approach, then handed me one of the satchels when I stopped next to her. We looked at each other for a moment, and I felt that connection between us again. She was worried about me, and happy to see me, and uncertain if I was still angry. Beneath that I could sense doubt and fear, and that somehow tied into my description of my parents’ killer.
“Riley already left,” she finally said. “He wanted to get back early to help finish setting up the new location.”
“And good morning to you,” I teased as I took her hand and tried to reassure her.
She finally smiled, and I felt the happiness that filled her when she realized I wasn’t angry at her any more.
“Madame Gadzo has offered to take us to one of the old bridges,” Sorcha reported. “She says it still reaches past the halfway point of the river, and its stable enough that we can walk on it without it collapsing beneath us. She also said that it's high enough that we can see right into the middle of the town on the other side, so we won’t show up in the middle of a swamp or something.”
“Is it possible that we’ll actually make it out of the city today?” I laughed.
“I hope so,” she replied. “But I won’t believe it until we’re safely on the other side.�
�
I nodded, then watched the last of the preparations as the gypsies started their own version of a drive. It was all familiar to me, and if it weren’t for the colorful clothes and the strange language, it would have been easy enough to believe that I was just on another drive to market.
“You seem happy this morning,” she murmured.
“You sound surprised,” I noted as I turned to look at her.
“I think your dreams scared poor Riley away,” she replied. “You thrashed around quite a bit, and while you never said anything, you did groan a couple of times. I wanted to wake you up, but Madame Gadzo was so sure we shouldn’t. The one time I was about to, one of her lackeys appeared and nearly dragged me from the tent.”
I called up the images that I could remember and then shook my head.
“It was all very strange,” I said. “I think some of it was from the lecture at the museum, when they talked about the flying machines. And there was some forest I’d never seen before with these enormous fir trees.”
“Those could be redwoods or sequoias,” she offered. “Those are found on the west coast.”
“Did they really try to drag you from the tent?” I asked.
“We yelled at each other,” she admitted. “Which seems to be a common occurrence around their camp at night, and then Madame Gadzo suddenly appeared. She finally said I could stay if I didn’t wake you. Though I’m not sure I could have. You slept through all that commotion without the slightest problem.”
“I do feel like I slept well,” I mused. “And even though the dreams were really disturbing, it feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”
“I guess she knew what she was talking about then,” Sorcha noted.
The caravan started to move forward, and Sorcha and I joined a small group of gypsies that followed along by the side of the road. The gypsies were a garrulous group, and Sorcha and I didn’t have to contribute much to the conversation to keep it going. With the sun shining overhead in a cloudless sky and the sounds of the caravan on the move, it was easy to forget that there was a Magesterium search party on our heels.
At noon, food appeared and was passed around, but the caravan didn’t stop. I thought at first it was because Sorcha and I were now part of the caravan and they were anxious to be rid of us before the mages found us. But it was soon clear that this was simply part of the routine of moving camp, and I let myself relax just a little more.
Not long after our quick meal, we reached a section of paved roads. The caravan was still noisy, but I noticed that everyone stayed close to the wagons and that the voices had lost some of their lightness. We started to see more locals as well, who eyed the caravan with an air of suspicion.
Sorcha and I stepped closer to one of the wagons, and the woman seated next to the driver picked through a bag at her feet, then handed a scarf to Sorcha. Sorcha looked at the woman in surprise until the woman pointed to Sorcha’s golden mane. Sorcha nodded and then wrapped her head with the scarf and carefully tucked her hair out of sight.
When we reached a busy intersection, the caravan came to a halt. Several of the gypsies around us muttered under their breaths about extortion and bribery, but this stop was apparently part of the regular routine as well. Curious, I inched my way forward until I could see the first wagon where Madame Gadzo rode. Oleg sat next to her, the reins held firmly in his hands. Both he and Madame Gadzo stared imperiously at a group of men who stood in the intersection.
“Madame Gadzo, it’s good to see you again,” one of the men called out. “How are you and yours doing this fine day?”
“We do well,” Madame Gadzo sniffed. “We will do better when we reach our campsite for the night.”
“I’m surprised to see you again so soon,” the man replied. “You just passed through here a couple of days ago. What happened? Somebody else already at the campground? I thought you gypsy folk coordinated all that stuff.”
“I had a vision,” Madame Gadzo declared.
“Uh-huh,” the man said dubiously. “Well, you know the cost. No exceptions, even for spiritual quests.”
Madame Gadzo ignored the man’s last comment and nodded to Oleg. Oleg tied off the reins and stepped down from the bench. While some of the gypsy men moved closer to the front, Oleg walked along the line until he reached a cart driven by a pair of surly looking brothers. The brothers opened a lockbox at their feet and pulled out a cloth bag, which they handed to Oleg. Oleg walked back to the front, where the gypsy men and the locals now watched each other with distaste.
“This looks good,” the local boss said as Oleg stopped in front of him and held out the bag. The man hefted it in his hand, then opened it and peered inside.
“Is all there,” Oleg snapped.
“I’m sure it is,” the local said as he closed the bag and grinned at Oleg. “Y’all have a nice day, now.”
The boss pumped his fist in the air, and the locals cleared the intersection. Madame Gadzo waited until every man was off the road before she gave Oleg a nod. He clucked to the horse, and the caravan started to rumble forward. I was happy to see that once the payment had been made, the locals seemed to lose interest in the gypsies. They stood on the sidewalk as the caravan passed by, but most soon turned their attention to other things of more interest, like the pretty girl in the red dress and the cart vendor selling hot chestnuts.
Everyone, that is, except the boss who studied the caravan as it trundled past him. He nodded to more than a few of the gypsies and clearly knew many of them by name. I tried to pull Sorcha to the other side of the wagons where he wouldn’t get a good look at us, but we got caught up among a pair of anxious mules, and the boss set eyes on us before we could disappear.
The boss squinted at us, then waved toward his men as he started toward us. We managed to untangle ourselves from the mules and we tried to slip casually between the wagons, but the locals brought the caravan to a halt by blocking the cart just in front of us. The first few wagons kept going for a short distance until one of the drivers let out a shrill whistle. I could hear Madame Gadzo’s angry voice all the way back to our spot, and I saw the boss flinch when he heard it as well.
“Who the hell are you?” the boss demanded as he stepped in front of me and Sorcha. He carried himself like a man who had survived more than his share of fights, and my spine stiffened in response.
“They are friends,” the driver closest to us replied.
The boss glanced toward the driver, then looked us over carefully.
“Friends, huh?” he snorted. “Since when do gypsies have friends? And don’t tell me these two are from a different tribe or whatever you call yourselves, because these two sure as hell aren’t gypsies.”
“As I said, friends,” the driver insisted.
I tried to think of something to explain our presence, but my mind had gone blank. I hadn’t thought about how unusual it was for someone outside the gypsy group to travel with them. Just our luck that the one authority figure we had come across this far out in Brook Island so far was someone who actually paid attention to the gypsy caravan.
“What is going on?” Madame Gadzo demanded as she stepped up to our little group.
“Who are these people?” the boss demanded.
“We are repaying a debt,” Madame Gadzo intoned as she turned the full power of her angry glare on the boss. He stepped away from her and curled up slightly, as if he expected her to strike him. Despite that, he never took his eyes from us, and I could see he was trying to remember something.
“That makes more sense than friends,” he admitted. “Just barely.”
“We have paid the appropriate fee,” Madame Gadzo declared. “So now we will continue on.”
She gave the boss another hard stare, but this time he ignored her. I had locked eyes with the man, and I saw a spark of recognition flare. Sorcha did as well, and she stepped between the two of us, and started to speak in her low voice.
“We are simple travelers,” she suggeste
d.
The boss turned toward her, and he seemed fascinated with her words. Sorcha started to speak again, but a small amulet around the man’s neck started to glow. The man shook his head, as if he had just woken up from a daydream, and quickly stepped back from the Irish mage.
“You’re the one the mages want,” he accused as he pointed a finger at me. “They sent a picture with a messenger bird, and you match him exactly.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally said as I started to edge my way toward the sidewalk.
“What is this nonsense?” Madame Gadzo demanded. “They are traveling with our group and we have paid their fee. You will let them pass.”
But the boss shook his head and drew his weapon, as did the rest of the locals that had sauntered up behind him.
“He’s worth a lot of money,” the boss declared as he pointed to me. “Arrest him.”
“You cannot do this!” Madame Gadzo insisted as she stepped in front of the boss. “This is a violation of our agreement.”
“Step out of the way or I’ll run you through,” the boss growled as he pushed the tip of his sword to Madame Gadzo’s stomach.
I wanted to leap to Madame Gadzo’s defense, or at least, pull out a revolver and shoot the men who stood between us and the bridge. But there were too many innocent people in the way, and the revolver would bring down even more trouble on this band of gypsies. We really only had one choice, I realized.
“Run,” I whispered to Sorcha as the Madame and the boss glared at each other over his sword.
The nearest gypsy driver must have heard me, or at least guessed what we would do next, because he suddenly let out a short whistle and jerked on the reins. The horse reared as high as it could go in the trace, then swung the wagon around in a tight circle that swept everyone out of the way.
While the locals scrambled to avoid the wagon and Madame Gadzo threw curses at the boss, Sorcha and I ran down the street, past the rest of the wagons, and deeper into whatever neighborhood we were in. I wasn’t sure how much of a head start we had, but it didn’t matter anyway once the bell started to toll. Sorcha glanced toward the sky, then tried to run faster.
