Although London, like any city, had had its tourists and travelers, he’d never noticed much of a change in the overall color or vibrancy of the place. He smiled, imaging that in less than an hour, Tamarasset would turn entirely blue.
The sun began to set as the first of the airships drifted carefully out of the cavern and into the now-clear twilight sky. Standing near the bow while the Vimana took its turn to slip out of the cavern, Twist was astonished by how hot, dry, and inhospitable the outside air felt to him, after so long in the cool comfort of the underground city. The last few rays of golden sunlight seemed strangely overbright and warm to him as well.
“Ah, that feels good!” Arabel announced, stretching her arms up into the air and closing her eyes to let the last of the day’s light fall on her smiling face. “We’re free at last!”
“It is nice to be free,” Idris mentioned languidly to Jeffery, the two of them watching her from the side.
Jeffery gave his friend a supportive smile and nod.
Standing nearby with Twist and Myra, Jonas smiled at Arabel but didn’t comment as the Vimana began to lift out of the hot air over the sand and into the cool, thin atmosphere higher in the sky. Now strong and steady, the airship sped on toward the northern horizon. Howell had told them that they would reach Paris the next day, where they would stop to drop off Rosencrantz and Guildenstern before continuing on to the gypsy camp somewhere in northeastern France.
Twist smiled at the thought of seeing Paris once again. As much as London would always be his home, Paris had also come to hold a deep sense of comfort and excitement for him. He imagined that it might be because he had passed through or over that city every time he’d left from, or returned to, England. Or it could have been his fond memories of great novels like The Three Musketeers and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, which had been set there. Even A Tale of Two Cities by Dickens had added to the mystique of Paris in Twist’s mind. Whatever the cause, Twist was once again quite happy to be bound for the French capital.
When Arabel declared that she was hungry, Myra joined her instantly in laying out the feast that the two of them had gathered. At their invitation, all of the Vimana’s crew and passengers sat casually on the open deck to see what the women had bought. There were apricots and almonds, as Arabel had mentioned, and two different kinds of the crumbly white goat’s cheese that Twist enjoyed. There were soft flatbread, olives, a little pot of yogurt sauce with cucumber, along with sugared dates and grilled lamb covered in spices. Arabel had also bought a box of sesame cookies, and Myra had made sure to procure a bag of mint tea for Twist, which together made for a lovely dessert.
Though she didn’t indulge in the feast herself, Myra spent great care on making sure that Twist enjoyed everything. She kept his plate full and his tea warm, with perfect diligence. Watching her silently tend to him, as she always did, Twist began to realize that the initial confusion and slight embarrassment he’d felt under her unnecessary doting had dulled away over the months to nearly nothing. He now accepted her actions and no longer questioned them. This was simply her way of showing him that she cared for him. He frowned in thought as he sipped his tea, wondering if he was starting to expect this treatment—or worse, take Myra’s care for granted.
As he pondered this question, he glanced to where Aazzi and Philippe sat together. Aazzi sipped at her usual glass of red wine—which Twist had always suspected as not actually being wine—while Philippe helped himself to the feast. Being a vampire, Aazzi didn’t need to eat food any more than Myra did, though she joined her husband at every meal. Twist couldn’t remember Aazzi ever serving Philippe at meals or paying his tea any attention at all.
Seated across from them, Idris took the role of caretaker for Jeffery, collecting treats that the baboon couldn’t easily reach from his seat beside the djinn. Jeffery thanked him politely every time but also pointed out things he wanted to try. Idris smiled warmly at his friend and didn’t seem in the least bit put out.
“Wow, these dates are good,” Zayle mentioned, savoring the one he was eating. He was sitting beside Arabel and turned to her with the box of dates. “Have you tried these?”
“Are they as good as the ones we got in Turkey?” Arabel asked, plucking one out.
“Better,” Zayle said, popping another sticky treat into his mouth and licking at his sugared fingers.
Arabel gave a happy tone, tasting a date of her own. “Good heavens, I think you’re right.”
“You two always eat like children,” Jonas said, shaking his head as he helped himself to a bit more lamb and yogurt sauce. “You’d eat nothing but sweets if you could get away with it.”
“Maybe that’s why Zayle’s a sweetheart and you’re a sour pill,” Arabel replied haughtily.
Zayle looked to Arabel with a surprised smile. Idris watched the others with obvious interest, while Jeffery seemed more interested in the chunk of lamb that he was eating with a tiny knife and fork.
Jonas seemed startled by Arabel’s remark, though his uncovered eyes didn’t approach Arabel’s even for an instant. “Why, Luca, old chum. I believe you’ve been replaced. Wasn’t it always you who was the sweetheart, in contrast to my sour nature?”
“Oh no,” Arabel said her tone chilling. “That lout,” she said as she pointed to Luca, “hasn’t been sweet for years.”
Luca stared back at Arabel, aghast. “You’re still mad at me?”
Arabel shot him an acid glare. “And when, exactly, do you think I should get over it?”
Even Jeffery now looked up at Arabel, as a stunned and anxious energy rippled through the entire group.
“It’s been years, Bell,” Luca said with a frown.
“Oh yes, it’s amazing how you never change,” Arabel replied.
Luca muttered something in another language and rubbed at his face with a hand.
“Do I want to know what’s going on here?” Twist whispered to ask Jonas.
Jonas shook his head decisively. “No. You already have a low enough opinion of gypsies,” he said very softly.
“Bell, dear,” Harman said gently to Arabel. “Is this really the time?”
“Yes, let’s just have a nice meal together, can’t we?” Howell asked just as gently. “It’s so rare that we’re all together like this at all, you know. Even Jon is with us tonight.”
“But don’t we always end up fighting at family gatherings?” Jonas asked with a smirk.
Howell shot him an ungrateful glance. Idris stifled his chuckle when Jeffery swatted at him for it.
“Has anyone tried these cookies?” Myra asked, holding up the box to Arabel with a sunny smile. “I can’t taste them myself. Are they nice?”
Arabel gave Myra a level look and then rolled her eyes and took a cookie. “Not bad,” she offered listlessly after taking a small bite.
“Can I try one, Myra?” Zayle asked brightly.
Myra offered him the box, and Zayle gave a very happy tone at the first bite of his own cookie. “Oh yes, these are lovely,” he said earnestly. “Do you remember those cinnamon cookies we found in Morocco?” he asked Arabel. “Those were a surprise, weren’t they?”
Arabel smiled at him through her suspicion but nodded. “Yes, I remember,” she agreed, finally seeming to allow the others to calm her.
The others relaxed to see this, and while Luca stared petulantly at nothing for a little longer, he too eventually seemed to forget the fight in favor of a lighter mood. Idris seemed to lose all interest in the conversation and refilled his tea. Twist shook his head silently, marveling at how difficult it seemed to be to live with one’s family. For once, he was rather grateful to not have one of his own.
“Well,” Howell declared in a lull of conversation, lifting his teacup in a toast as if it were a wineglass, “I’d like to thank Myra and Ara for having the foresight to get us such a nice meal.”
The others joined him in offering thanks, while Myra and Arabel smiled gratefully.
“I’m happy that you all enjoyed
it,” Myra said brightly. “But it was really Arabel’s idea.”
“I thought it might be nice to let someone else do the cooking for once,” Arabel said with a smile and a shrug.
“Well, you’re such a good cook that no one else would ever suggest eating anything but your lovely meals,” Harman said to Arabel with a kindly smile.
Many of the others spoke up to agree, while the rest nodded as well.
“Oh, you’ll make me blush!” Arabel said, clearly quite pleased with the praise.
“I wish I could cook as well as you,” Myra added to Arabel.
“Maybe I should teach you a few recipes some day,” Arabel offered, to Myra’s instant glee.
Jonas smiled and shook his head, watching Myra with a knowing eye. Following his thoughts easily, Twist could only shake his head as well. If Myra had a reason for wanting to learn to cook, besides it being another way to care for Twist, it certainly wasn’t obvious.
After Twist’s sleepwalking incident the night before, Myra was careful to lock the door to their cabin when she and Twist went to bed. Having dressed for sleep, Twist pulled back the bedcovers and sat down on the thin mattress. He wound his watch absently as Myra turned off the gaslights and came to join him, his mind growing restless as he tried to let his day slow to a close. Soft moonlight, the only light in the darkness, fell in through the slit in the curtains.
Myra sat close beside Twist, holding Skye’s necklace watch in her hands. “Darling?” she asked, opening the cage-like cover over the little watch face. “The hands stopped moving. Can you fix it?” she asked, offering it to him.
“I’m sure I can,” Twist answered. He took the watch from her and smiled as his Sight instantly told him what the trouble was. “You have to wind it, is all,” he said lightly.
Just as quickly, his Sight seeped even deeper into the watch, to the hidden mechanism that allowed the voices of people far away to talk through it. Twist’s mind filled with the shape and nature of the foreign technology, but his understanding couldn’t easily make heads or tails of it. He imagined he’d have to spend some time studying it before he could see how it actually worked. He also found it curious that the winding of the watch, or failing to wind it, seemed to have no effect on the hidden communication device.
“I have to wind it?” Myra asked. Her tone was so light and curious that Twist suspected that she really had no idea how to wind it at all.
“Here, like this,” Twist said, trying not to smile too widely at her charming innocence. He showed her how to wind the watch by the knob at the latch, listening through his Sight as the watch came back to life in his hands. “A watch is always running down, I’m afraid. I’d guess this spring will last for nearly two days, but it’s best to keep the tension more consistent, so you should really wind it whenever you think of it. But once a day is all right, as well.”
“Oh, I see,” Myra said, taking the watch back from him. She carefully turned the knob gently, seeming enamored to hear the gentle clicking as she did. “I didn’t realize that a watch needed to be taken care of like this.”
“Watches don’t ask for much,” Twist said with a shrug. He picked up his own pocket watch once again. “They just need a little attention from time to time.”
Twist put his own watch under his pillow. Myra watched him and then placed her now gently ticking watch under her own pillow. Twist nearly chuckled at her mimicry but managed to stop himself. After all, he wouldn’t want make her feel so self-conscious about her actions that she might stop doing them.
When Myra turned back to him, she put a hand on his arm. Expecting what she would do next, Twist turned his attention fully to her. He felt his Sight begin to show him her quiet emotions before her metal skin vanished from his vision and was replaced with the illusion of her true form. Her body once again turned to soft but cool flesh draped in flowing pink silk, showing him the childlike face she had worn before she had become a spirit.
“Are we still going to share a cabin once you’re cured?” she asked him softly.
Her voice was level and smooth, making it difficult for Twist to guess her feelings on the subject. As long as she appeared human to him, his Sight would offer no clues to her emotions. He took a moment to consider his response.
“Would you like to have your room back to yourself?” he asked lightly.
Myra looked down to her slender fingers lying on his arm. “Not really.”
“I see,” Twist said, smiling now. He reached out to gently lift her chin back up and caught her quiet, dark gaze. “Isn’t is customary for a husband and wife to share a bedroom?”
His heart fluttered gently with nervous excitement at speaking of Myra and himself in such a way. When Myra smiled warmly at his words, clearly quite pleased with the whole idea, Twist’s heart beat faster still.
“But we’re not married yet,” she mentioned.
“Well, you’re certainly not going to be sharing a room with any other man,” Twist said as sternly as he was able, given the circumstances.
Myra laughed lightly, her dark eyes sparkling in the dimness. “What about Jonas?”
“Certainly not,” Twist said, shaking his head. “He’s a scoundrel, after all.”
Myra laughed again. “No, I mean you and Jonas. You two often share a room together when we’re not traveling on the Vimana.”
“Oh,” Twist muttered. “Well, given the choice, I think that you’re a much sweeter sleeping companion, my dear.” To more directly convey his true meaning, Twist leaned closer and placed a kiss on her chilly cheek. A subtle waft of the sunny scent of fresh, thin air lingered on her pale skin.
Myra smiled at him and petted gently at his soft, black curls with one hand, sending a delicious chill down his spine. “Well, I’m very glad you think so. But you are such a gentleman, I was afraid that you might think—once your nightmares are gone—that we should go back to living more separately until we’re married.”
“You clearly don’t know how lovely you are to me,” Twist said with a heavy sigh. “And I fear that my sense of propriety is far from infinite.”
“Oh, that is very good news,” Myra said with a wicked tint to her smile. “I was beginning to worry that it might be.”
A sharp lick of surprise flashed through Twist’s mind at the implications of what she could mean, and he felt his sense of propriety struggle for air. “Myra, my love, be kind to me,” he said softly, struggling to banish his rather colorful thoughts.
Myra laughed again and pulled him into her embrace. “Always, darling,” she said, her sweet voice falling into a purr.
Helpless against Myra’s considerable charms, Twist let her wash away any notions of dragons, nightmares, or anything else but her grace from his thoughts. He eventually drifted off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep, breathing in the subtle, sunny scent of her skin.
The next morning, Twist woke early—and still in his own bed this time—feeling refreshed after a deep sleep. After getting dressed, he and Myra left the room in search of a cup of tea. They found Arabel in the ship’s small kitchen, humming brightly as she prepared a variety of things for everyone’s breakfast. Myra was instantly fascinated by Arabel’s skill and speed at cooking, and Arabel was delighted by Myra’s praise. Twist decided it best to get out of the way and left the women together as he went to the open deck of the ship with his hot cup of tea.
Jonas, Zayle, and Luca sat together on the bare boards near the bow, with Jonas’s portable music player lying close beside them. The strange metal box emitted a steady stream of sprightly, modern-sounding piano music from the metal grating on the front of it. The men seemed in a lighthearted mood as well, chatting together as the golden sun began to rise off of the horizon to the right.
Twist approached them curiously, gazing out at the wide, glistening Mediterranean Sea below and the misty pale-blue sky above along the way. He could just make out land ahead of them, stretching across the horizon and gilded heavily in the morning light, and assumed that t
hey would be passing over the southern border of France by the end of breakfast. Twist smiled, pleased that for once he didn’t have to check his pocket globe to know exactly where he was.
“Have a seat, Twist,” Jonas said, smiling to him as he approached. “You’re up early. Did you sleep all right?”
“Fine, thank you,” Twist responded, sitting down beside Jonas and putting his teacup on the wooden boards at his knee. “I’m just glad I didn’t wake up anywhere odd this morning.”
“Jon…” Zayle began with a warning air, “you’re not up to your old tricks again, are you?”
The others looked to him curiously.
“Remember what happened in Monaco?” Zayle asked leadingly.
Luca laughed at the memory.
“No, no, Twist just went sleepwalking the other night,” Jonas protested with clearly false innocence. “Come on, Zayle. It was just that one time.”
“Yeah, lucky me,” Zayle muttered, kicking at Jonas’s leg with a foot. “That pig seller nearly had me strung up!”
Jonas chuckled, deepening Zayle’s pouting expression, while Luca laughed again.
“Do I want to know what you’re talking about?” Twist asked carefully.
“This bastard,” Zayle said, hooking a thumb at Jonas, “got me blind drunk in Monaco once, waited for me to pass out, found a freight ship full of pigs that was docked for the night, and tossed me into one of the cages. I woke up with a splitting headache, with some Italian fellow hollering at me. And I don’t speak Italian!”
Jonas and Luca laughed brightly to hear this tale, while Zayle watched them both with a belligerent scowl.
“I just wanted to leave Zayle under that gruesome statue of Grimaldi in front of the prince’s palace,” Luca said, struggling to catch his breath now. “I thought you’d have a little fright, waking up with that bronze monk bearing down on you, but Jonny…” He smiled at Jonas in admiration as his words fell away.
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