The Bones of Ruin

by Sarah Raughley

  “G-good morning,” Iris tried, lifting up a timid hand to greet them. It wasn’t what Henry was expecting.

  “Good morning?” Cherice spat. “Didn’t this dumb kid sic some tigers on you?”

  “Lions,” Henry corrected with a smirk as Mary bit her lip behind him. “We’re going up to our floor. Kindly mind your business.”

  Iris tensed as the two continued up the staircase. This boy couldn’t have been more than fourteen. But even he had something he was willing to risk his life for.

  “Your grandfather,” Iris said suddenly, freezing Henry’s feet to the steps. “I saw him at Whittle’s the other day. The toy shop, I mean.” Iris cringed at herself. Of course he knew the name of his own family store.

  “I saw you both too. And?” He was curt and straightforward. But as Iris looked closer, she could see beads of sweat lining his forehead. He wasn’t as confident as he seemed. It was a stressful situation for all of them.

  “What are doing?” Cherice hissed, but Iris tapped her arm to calm her.

  “You know, I’m not really interested in hurting anyone,” Iris admitted. “When I decided to become a part of the tournament, I knew I’d have to fight. I had a taste of it earlier.” She remembered the Sparrow twins. “But…” She shook her head. “I really don’t like seeing so many people get hurt,” she admitted. “It’s just that…” She paused. “There’s something I need more than anything.”

  “Money?” Henry guessed.

  Iris couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him of her search for self. Couldn’t tell him that even though she was terrified with each clue she learned, she wouldn’t stop until she’d gathered them all. She wasn’t just another Fanciful Freak like them. Her past connection to Granny, her battle with Rin, her breakdown at Belle Vue, formerly her personal prison—all pieces to the puzzle of her identity. She was right to be in this tournament. She’d never have had this opportunity otherwise.

  It was also why she was heading down to see if Adam was around—to ask for his father’s book: A Family’s Travels through West Africa. Somewhere between the words of those Temples, her own experiences, and her independent research, she would come to the truth of who she was.

  “There’s always something that matters more than money,” Iris finally said, and then looked at Mary behind him. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you before. But I’m so very grateful you healed my friend.”

  “She didn’t exactly have a choice, did she?” Henry spat, then gasped a little when he felt Mary’s hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” she said, avoiding Iris’s eyes. “I’ll accept your apology. You made a genuine one, after all.”

  Henry blushed a little at Mary’s touch, but his expression quickly soured. “What’s the point of acting all nice now when we’re in a tournament like this?”

  “I know,” Iris said. “I know it’s a contradiction. Everyone has their own reasons for being here. But I can’t stand the thought of people dying.”

  Henry pressed his lips together as if he was struggling with her words. Maybe he was. Maybe being in this tournament was an existential crisis any champion with even a hint of a conscience had to contend with. It was only natural. It should have been natural. But then—

  “Stop with the nonsense and get out of our way,” Henry barked. “And by the way, the next time you threaten anyone on my team?” His young eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ll regret it.”

  “Little pisshead,” Cherice growled as they went on their way. She hadn’t noticed Mary’s small smile of gratitude as they passed.

  “Cherice,” Iris said, looking at the girl. “Doesn’t it bother you too? That people are dying in this tournament?”

  “People have been dying, girly,” she answered. “Just that most of us aren’t important enough to mourn. I’ve seen plenty of corpses in my day. Starved. Diseased.”

  As she trailed off, Iris could see, just for a moment, the deep well of loss in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry though!” She slapped Iris on the back rather painfully. “When it’s just the two of us teams, we’ll find a way to split the pot. Hawkins has been thinking of a plan,” she added, lowering her voice. “We never leave our own behind. That’s our code.”

  Henry was right. The tournament could have only one winner. Being kind to the other teams felt pointless, but deep inside her heart, Iris still wanted to find a way. A way for everyone to get what they needed without playing into the club’s hands. Without any more tragedy.

  She just didn’t know what that way could be.

  * * *

  Iris couldn’t find Adam anywhere in the club. After Mr. Mortius let her know he was otherwise disposed at home, Iris and Cherice decided to go for a walk around the area. Both needed the air.

  Cherice was far more open today than the last time they traipsed around London. Iris told her about some of her favorite circus performances while Cherice told her about her older brother’s gambling habits, which she learned through years of seeing him lose money. Hawkins would watch Chadwick draw for hours while Jacob laughed at Max’s terrible attempts at coming up with stories for his pennies. They’d all tease their youngest when she wore dresses—except for when those dresses helped her get away with theft. Cherice’s hair was longer in those days, and proper English gentlemen never suspected girls of being capable of criminal activities until it was too late.

  “Stupid as hell, if you ask me. It’s like they’ve never heard of the Forty Elephants,” Cherice said, sighing wistfully at the thought of London’s all-girl crime syndicate. But they were a bit too big and organized for Cherice’s tastes. She liked the homey feel of a small gang of robbers.

  Iris was happy to hear all about Cherice’s friends. She was happy to make some friends herself, especially now when she needed them the most.

  Later that night, Iris felt comfortable enough to visit Cherice, hoping to ask if she had another one of her pig-bristle toothbrushes. But as she stood in front of Team Hawkins’s door, she heard light gasps and moans around the corner. She peeked her head around to see Hawkins and Jacob locked in a passionate embrace, Jacob with his head tilted in ecstasy while Hawkins’s lips traced his cheekbones, his hand firmly inside the shorter boy’s trousers, descending confidently, devilishly…

  Iris turned around quickly with a blush, her body suddenly hot as she remembered Jinn in their bedroom. Strange thoughts began to slip from her mind and down her body like warm honey. She wasn’t a Peeping Tom. She wasn’t. But for some reason, she couldn’t move.

  “Wait, Lawrence—”

  She heard the two separate.

  “What’s wrong?” Hawkins said, annoyed. “Isn’t this what you want?” Iris could hear the sudden princely arrogance in his voice when he added, “Always stealing glances at me like a love-struck puppy. Isn’t this what you’re desperate for?”

  “What’s that all about? I’m not now nor will I ever be desperate for anything—or anyone,” Jacob fired back indignantly.

  “Oi, oi, it was a joke.” Hawkins laughed rather nervously, but Iris couldn’t help feeling a little miffed on Jacob’s behalf. It reminded her of Jinn’s constant deadpan insults. Some men were so… “Come on. It’s been a while since we’ve had some time alone, hasn’t it?”

  “This is not funny to me,” Jacob said. He was clearly hurt. “And I don’t want to hear about me being love-struck, not from someone still in love with a ghost.”

  Silence fell upon the two of them just as Iris realized she’d been standing there for far too long. They’d catch her. This was a private conversation. Everyone had their secrets, their stories. But those stories were theirs to give. She was invading their privacy. They didn’t deserve that. And she wasn’t about to lose the friends she’d just made.

  Iris wasn’t sure if one of the boys would stomp off or if they’d choose to let their tensions subside, reconcile, and continue their night. She somewhat hoped it would be the latter, but Iris descended the stairs before she could find
out.

  28

  Rebmemer Lliw Uoy Yad Eno Tub. Nettogrof Evah Uoy.

  Niaga Ecno Emit Si Ti.

  “Iris!”

  Later that night, Iris awoke in Max’s grip, her throat sore as if scraped by a knife. Her wide eyes stared in blank horror as he knelt by her bed.

  “Iris,” Max said. “Are you okay?”

  Iris took a moment to catch her breath and then looked around the room. The sun was just beginning to peek through the closed curtains. Jinn was still fast asleep in the corner. If what Mary said was true, he would be fine soon. A needed solace.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized quietly. “Did I wake you?”

  At the sound of her voice, his hands loosened but remained on her shoulders. “I’ve been awake for a while. Still got my mind stuck on that first round, I guess.”

  The first round of the tournament. As much as Max continually insisted that she get a proper night’s rest, how could she after what she’d seen? Those two men—one a priest, the other a ghoul, both demons. The body parts littering the ground.

  And that Anne, who tried to reach out to her only to have a terrible riddle spring forth from her lips instead. A riddle that now haunted Iris’s dreams.

  “Are you all right?” Max took her hands. “You’re cold.”

  “As a corpse.” She laughed bitterly because she felt like one. “Fitting considering how many times I’ve died already.”

  “That you know of.” The corner of Max’s lips curled in mischief. “A woman who can’t die. You really could be an ancient queen for all we know. I hope you know that would make our relationship wholly inappropriate.”

  Iris managed a small smile, but it was the truth in his words that bothered her. Her past as a Dahomey reaper. Her capture by slave traders. Her own work as a raider…

  If those men hadn’t kidnapped Sister and me, then, child, you would have.

  That was it. Rin herself had been from a neighboring region, taken by the Dahomey in a raid and eventually trained as a warrior. What if Iris had meant to do the same to Granny and her sister all those years ago… only for all three of them to be kidnapped themselves?

  Iris’s hands trembled. A queen or a kidnapper? Certainly a monster. That was her life fifty years ago. But could she have had a life before that?

  “Come now, Iris, don’t cry.”

  Max’s words surprised her, because she hadn’t noticed it until then, but she really was crying. Tears silently streamed down her face.

  “Seeing you cry just makes me want to bother you even more—you do know that, right?” Max scratched his head impatiently. “Okay, hold on.”

  Quickly, he ran over to his bed, slipped something Iris couldn’t see out from underneath his pillow. He kept it hidden behind his back as he knelt down by her bed. Then—

  “Oh, it’s you again,” said Iris, her eyebrow raised.

  Max’s Don Quixote puppet was staring her in the face, chatting away. Telling awful jokes. Recounting old tales of glory. The moment Iris finally laughed, Max’s eyes lit up.

  “There it is.” Without looking, Max threw the puppet behind his shoulders and leaned in. “I really hate seeing girls cry. It’s why I stole that doll for Cherice all those years ago.”

  “You’d better not tell her that.” Iris wiped a tear from her eye with a sad smile.

  Max put his arm on the bed and thought, his eyes staring at the gorgeous lace of her covers. “Iris,” he started, but stopped. He shut his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath. “As for Cherice and the others… I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For not helping Jinn.” He looked toward the other boy, fast asleep in his bed. “For not helping you. You’re right. We’re supposed to be a team. But I…”

  As he trailed off, Iris’s hands tensed on her lap. Her anger last night felt like a distant memory. But as she thought of it now, as she tried to consider Max’s own circumstances, she couldn’t help but soften. She shook her head.

  “Max, they’re your friends,” she said simply. “They’ve been your friends for years. You’ve only known us for a few days.”

  “But I gave you my word,” Max insisted. “That I would help you. That means something. If not to anyone else, it does to me. I don’t like to go back on it. I’m not like him,” he added, and in that moment Iris knew he was imagining Bately’s smug face. “I won’t betray a friend.”

  The ticking of the clock filled the silence between them.

  “I felt like I betrayed her,” he said finally. “My sister. When we were separated. Mother had counted on me to keep her safe. She was just a child with no understanding of the world.”

  “So were you.” Iris could see the surprise in Max’s eyes as she placed a hand on the side of his face. “So were you, Maximo. So you shouldn’t blame yourself anymore.”

  As Max’s large eyes glistened, she felt suddenly much older. Well, she was older. She just didn’t know by how much. Maybe this was how Granny felt whenever she placed a hand on Iris’s face to stop her from crying after a bad show or an awful fight with Jinn.

  “If your sister’s anything like you, she’s learned to survive. And she’s out there. We will find her—together. I promise.” She smiled. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

  Max gazed up at her, saying nothing, for a long time. And then, “You really are beautiful, you know that? Inside and out.”

  A fast blush made Iris turn away, but Max had already pulled back. “I don’t want to see such a beautiful girl’s face twisted in horror. So you’ll have to have sweet dreams from now on. Okay?”

  Iris’s smile turned bittersweet. She looked down at the purple-and-blue sheets of her bed. “I did have a bad dream,” she whispered. “A very bad dream.”

  Max cocked his head. “Care to tell me what this dream was about?”

  Ghosts of the past. An unknown future. “Not especially.” She gave him a teasing grin.

  “How mysterious.” He pouted a little. “Well, it’s up to you, as it should be.”

  “Max.” Iris stared at her hands, remembering Anne reaching for her. “Sometimes I’m not sure this is all worth it.”

  “It is,” Max said. “It will be.”

  “This will all work out in the end, won’t it?”

  Max gave her a thumbs-up. It looked silly. Silence passed between them.

  “Doesn’t inspire much confidence, does it?” Max looked at his hand and rubbed the back of his head. “Well then, what about this?”

  Max pulled something from his trouser pocket. Something Iris hadn’t seen in a while—and didn’t think she’d ever see again.

  “The pocket watch.” The golden pocket watch from the auction. She remembered its tune before Max even opened it. The honey and romance. The quiet grief underlying it all.

  “Nicked it before we went out onstage,” Max said.

  Back when they were both chained and about to be sold.

  “You are a good thief,” Iris said, impressed.

  “I am.” He handed it to her, watching her listen to its music for a time before speaking again. “Soothing, isn’t it?”

  Iris nodded, holding the watch in both of her hands, letting the chain dangle in the air.

  “Keep it.” Max stood. “Every time you have a nightmare, listen to it. And don’t forget.”

  “Don’t forget what?” Iris said, looking up as he reached for her curtain.

  “You’re not alone.” He smiled sweetly before drawing the curtain around her bed.

  * * *

  Later that day she finally had the opportunity to meet Adam at Club Uriel. There in the gathering room on the second floor, she asked for his father’s book. He readily agreed to have someone send it to her immediately. But despite this, Iris was in a bad mood.

  It was the gentlemen in the room with them, watching the little champion who’d appeared before them so abruptly. Every now and then she’d catch one turning from her to gossip excitedly with his friends
like schoolboys.

  Adam had noticed too. With a sigh he leaned back in his red leather chair. “I hope you’re keeping well, Iris,” he said with genuine concern.

  Was he concerned? That so many were risking their lives in this tournament?

  “The second round won’t start for a while.” He eyed her intently. “Maybe you and I could play a round at the new Gossima parlor in town. A game of whiff-whaff should help you relax.”

  “You just keep up your end of the bargain,” she said. “By the end of all this, I expect to know the full truth about myself.”

  “And you will,” Adam promised. “Participating in the tournament. Finding my father. I promise you, by the time you’ve completed both tasks, you’ll know yourself completely.”

  Iris frowned. Telling her the truth would’ve sufficed, but he’d once said that hearing the truth all at once would be too much for her—and as she remembered her breakdown at the zoo, she couldn’t help but agree, though it pained her to admit it to herself. Then again, it was also clear that Adam wasn’t ready to give up this game between them. He picked up his wineglass and considered it with interest.

  “No matter what happens, Iris, I’m on your side,” he promised once again.

  “My dear Adam! I hoped I’d find you here, and here you sit.”

  Iris had heard that French accent before. Behind her stood Madame Bellerose, the French heiress, as Iris understood her to be. More important, she was the woman who had been willing to bid on Iris at the auction as if she were some exotic spice from overseas. Her burgundy hair was twisted in a bun at the back of her head, likely to make room for her wide-brimmed hat.

  “Madame.” Adam flashed her a practiced smile. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  Iris noticed, equally annoyed, that Madame Bellerose did not spare her a glance.

  “Why, I came to invite you to my soiree, my darling boy.”

  She looked extravagant in a red-and-pink triple-flounced skirt, its drapery following her as she walked around the red leather couch Iris was sitting on.