by Laura Lam
I swallowed.
“At university, I had been kind and courteous to all around me. I was on my way to being a saint. And so I decided to become a demon.”
He leaned back on his elbows, the candlelight gilding his eyelashes.
“I had saved a small fortune from my allowance over the last year. But I stole money from my family as well. I took my mother’s jewels.” His mouth twisted. A blue eye peeked at me. “Some of them had been in our families for generations. I should have stolen their Vestige, or something that was valuable but not sentimental. My father was furious. My mother tried to be understanding – find me help. I kissed another boy at an afternoon tea, in full sight of everyone. I stole sensitive documents from my father’s study and made sure they made their way to the press. I was kicked out of university. I left a young girl with child.”
“You’re a father?” I gasped.
He shook his head, his eyes shadowed. “She didn’t carry to term.”
“Did she miscarry?”
“No. It would have been too scandalous for her to have a child. But it went wrong and she… died.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“I never heard about this.”
“If I could go back in time to myself at that age, I’d… I don’t know. But I can’t. And it’s why I left. They blamed me for leading her astray. Everyone knows it was an abortion and that I was the father. I was the monster.”
“No one speaks about it, except in whispers. But they all know.”
I rested my face on my hands, taking in his words.
“I hadn’t even loved her. She’d died, shamed and hurting, because I was trying to anger my parents and prove some stupid philosophy.”
I could go back. It’d be a scandal, but the life of Gene Laurus was not completely gone. But Drystan’s was, or he considered it so.
“You were young. You didn’t know that would happen. They’d take you back, surely?”
Drystan shook his head. “Not after what I did when I ran away.”
My stomach twisted. Worse than this? “What did you do?”
He ran a hand along the stubble of his jawline. This was not an easy story for him to tell. And that, in itself, was a test of trust.
“I ran away taking most of my mother’s jewels and heirlooms with me. I found the underbelly of Imachara,” he said. “And it’s dimmer and darker than you could imagine. There were many times when I could have died, and did not realize how close a line I walked…” He trailed off.
“That was where I found Maske,” Drystan continued, eyes downcast. “Maske was infamous in the card circles. It was how he survived after he lost the duel. He went by a pseudonym and wore a disguise, for as soon as anyone knew a magician was in their midst, he’d be accused of cheating.”
“And did he? Cheat?”
“Of course he did.”
Drystan himself taught me the rudiments of card cheating with Aenea when we took the train from Sicion to Cowl, but that was only for sport. Using the tricks to steal from others was another matter entirely.
Drystan, as usual, guessed my thoughts. “Do not pity those he stole from. They were Lerium merchants or Vestige arms dealers, pimps or gang lords. But they were a very dangerous group to steal from.”
My eyes widened. “And what were you doing with such a group?”
A side of his mouth tweaked. “I was one of them.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I looked at the boy I thought I knew. He was not that much older than me, but in that moment I felt so much younger.
“What did you do?”
“Lerium. I started using it at university, while I pondered the meanings of the universe.” The words were sardonic. “After I left, I used more. Most of my mother’s jewels went into the maw of addiction. When I ran out, I gambled to try and gain the money back. Lost far too much, and had to deal drugs to survive. I broke the habit and have not touched the stuff since.” But a strange hunger came over his face at those words, and I knew that, whether he partook of Lerium or not, the cravings remained.
“After being roundly beaten by Maske at the poker table, I knew he cheated. I can tell when someone’s lying. I could tell you were lying when I caught you in the circus tent.”
“I was a terrible liar then.”
“You’ve had more practice, now.”
That bit deep.
“Sorry, Micah,” he said, resting his hand on my arm. I nodded, not meeting his eyes. Drystan ran a hand through his hair, and continued. “I cornered him after the game. He probably thought I was going to throttle him. Instead, I asked him to teach me.”
“And he did,” I said, a statement rather than a question.
“He did. We rarely played at the same table, but we each did very well for ourselves. Too well, in fact. I never found out exactly who guessed our ploy, though I have my suspicions… I suppose it doesn’t much matter now. Maske was in a bad state when I found him. If I’d left him there, he would have died.
“I brought him back to this theatre and helped him back to health. We both left the dark parts of Imachara behind. When he was better, he promised me I could have whatever I needed of him. A life debt. I grew restless and joined the circus. And there I remained, until you found me.” He sighed deeply. “And that is the bare-bones tale of Drystan Hornbeam.”
He had left much of it out, I was sure, but he’d told me enough that I was touched by his trust. Drystan stared at me, but I was unsure what to say. He was still the one who had helped me.
He’s still the one who killed for you, a sneaking thought danced across my mind. And his actions unintentionally resulted in the death of a girl.
I put my hand in his. He turned over his palm, and squeezed my hand. I felt a thread of connection thrumming between us.
I sighed. “It’s late. Good night, Drystan.” I gave his hand, still in mine, a last squeeze before I padded to the bed on my side of the loft.
“Good night, Micah,” he said softly. “Sweet dreams.”
8
SHADOW OF A SHADOW
“A magician creates magic and mesmerizes the audience. But it is a pantomime, and the audience knows that it’s a ruse. It’s in the name: a “magic trick”. They play along when the magician tugs his sleeves to show there is nothing hidden within them, or that the top hat is empty of a rabbit, or eggs, or flowers. Beneath the façade there is only sleight of hand, wires and contraptions, misdirection at a key moment.
“But what the audience does not realize is that it’s not always trickery. Or at least, not quite.”
The unpublished memoirs of Jasper Maske: the Maske of Magic
“Sir, please, do you have a cigarette I could borrow?” I asked.
Drystan and I stood on a street corner, in full Temnian regalia, the Glamours humming beneath our clothes, so softly that only we could hear them. We unfurled a small Arrassian rug, arranged our props, and stuck up a sign saying: “The Magicians of Temne – Wonders and Delight from the Southern Archipelago”.
The man gave us a mistrustful look, but he patted the pocket of his winter coat and drew out a cigarette. His wife looked on.
“Thank you, sir.”
I rolled up my sleeves. Taking a pack of cards from the pocket of my cheap silk robe, I let the man pick it up to see it was a normal deck. When he passed it back, I tapped the cigarette gently against the top of the cards. Then, I made it seem as though the cigarette passed through the cards before passing it back to him, the cigarette completely unharmed.
“Fantastic!” the woman exclaimed.
I gave her a small Temnian bow. “Thank you, my lady.”
After that, Drystan and I amused them with more standard fare, such as presenting a bouquet of paper flowers for the lady. A small crowd gathered around us. Though we hid it well, we were both nervous that someone would stand at the wrong angle and see how the tricks were done, that they’d catcall derisively, or that we’d come across more rude policiers. But the group was apprec
iative, even if a few were wary and muttered about foreigners, and soon we heard the clink of coins thrown into our offering box.
Drystan called forth a man wearing a bowler hat who stood at the back, holding an open bottle of dandelion and burdock cordial. He asked the man for the bottle, which Drystan set on the ground. I licked my lips. This trick was complicated.
“Pick a card, any card,” Drystan said. The man pointed at one, and it was only then I had a good look at his face.
It took everything within me not to swear out loud, grab Drystan, and run.
It was the Shadow from the circus.
It was a face that would blend in anywhere and that stood out in its very sameness. The even features, slightly puffed with age, and bland smile. It was the man who wanted nothing more than to take me back to my parents for his hefty finder’s fee.
I held my breath as Drystan performed the trick. He shuffled the deck several times, the man cut it, and then Drystan leaned the deck against the bottle on the ground. People strained to see. Drystan waved his hands over the deck, murmuring a “spell” in Temri, which was really a list of random objects: “apple, butter knife, shoe, toothbrush”. The chosen card levitated out of the pack. We bowed to scattered applause.
Drystan performed the trick perfectly. I did not think he recognized the man when he originally picked the Shadow as our mark. But surely Drystan recognized him now? I’d been hit on the head, in extraordinary pain, half-mad with grief, and I still knew that face with a certainty.
Did he recognize us? He gave us a nod and threw a few coins into the box with the rest of the crowd, retrieved his drink, and ambled away.
Though we planned to perform for longer, we said our farewells and packed up our kit.
“We can’t go home first,” I whispered to Drystan.
“No,” he said.
We smiled genially at those who spoke to us after the show. A few tried to bribe us into explaining the trick, or performing them again, but we demurred, stating that a Temnian sorcerer would surely curse us if we did so.
When the last of them had scattered, we started toward the markets. We stopped at shop stalls every so often, feigning at browsing but watching our surroundings. I could not be sure if anyone pursued us.
“Lady’s nightgown, this is not good,” Drystan said, hefting the knapsack of supplies on his shoulder, as we wove our way through the throng of people.
“I know,” I said. “What are we going to do?”
“Hope he doesn’t follow us and that we can shake him.”
I glanced behind me. I couldn’t see a man in a bowler hat, but that didn’t mean anything. From far away, his face would blend into the crowd.
My heart in my throat, we turned corner after corner, winding a circuitous and aimless route.
We stopped short.
In front of us was the Shadow.
He clapped, slowly. “I wanted to congratulate you on a wonderful performance.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice even and my Temri accent flawless. “But I’m afraid the performance is over. If you please, we will be on our way.”
“Ah, but you’re still performing, Iphigenia.”
Moving with a tumbler’s speed, Drystan slid the knapsack off his back and hit the Shadow in the head, the coins clinking within. The Shadow cried out and clutched his face. But he managed to grab the back of my robe as I made to escape. I struggled, kicking backwards.
“Come on, girl, you’re only delaying the inevitable,” he hissed in my ear. His breath smelled of chewing tobacco. “I’m the best Shadow in this city – you can’t hide from me forever.”
“Fuck off, you prick,” I snarled, and then I kicked up and got him right between the legs. He crumpled. The few people on the street gazed at us in shock.
We ran like the River Styx flowed behind us, but we didn’t run far. Around the corner was scaffolding on one of the many crumbling buildings of Imachara. We climbed to the rooftops. I had to climb almost one-handed, for my healing arm was still weak.
As quickly as we could, we shimmied out of our Temnian robes, stuffing them in our pack. Underneath we wore Elladan clothes. We kept the Glamours on, because any disguise was better than no disguise. I cursed myself for not asking Maske to enter another disguise for us in the event something like this happened.
I peered over the rooftop, scanning the crowds below.
“What are you doing?” Drystan asked as he recovered his breath.
“Trying to find him so we can follow him.”
“Follow him? Shouldn’t we stay as far away as possible?”
“He’s not going to give up, Drystan. We have to beat him at his own game, it’s the only way. There he is!” I hissed.
The Shadow stopped and glanced around. I ducked back. I gestured at Drystan, who crept closer.
The Shadow limped away, slightly bent over. I hoped it hurt. I steadied myself and scampered over the slanted rooftops and Drystan followed me.
The Shadow headed toward the Glass Quarter. We jumped across another narrow roof. I landed on a loose shingle. I wobbled.
I fell.
Drystan cried out. The shingle fell into the alley below, clattering and breaking on the pavement. I grabbed the rain gutter, my legs swinging dozens of feet off the ground. The gutter groaned ominously. I forced myself to stay calm. This was just like a trapeze. A trapeze that could break at any moment and send me falling to my death.
I tried to pull myself up, but my grasp slipped, and I held on with my good hand.
I took a deep breath. I had a good grip. I would not fall.
Muscles straining, I clambered back onto the roof. I collapsed face down, hugging the slate to me. With a clatter, Drystan jumped across and landed on a sounder tile.
“Are you alright?” he asked me.
“Fine,” I said, still winded. “I hope we didn’t lose him.”
We crawled to the edge of the rooftop. The Shadow was far off in the distance, and turning right. We made our way along the rooftop until we climbed down a drainpipe, praying that nobody would look in the narrow alleyway.
I jumped onto the ground, knocking over a bin in my haste. Drystan and I trotted after the Shadow, ignoring the strange looks we received. No one would recognize us as the circus fugitives beneath our Glamour. So I hoped.
We saw the Shadow’s bowler hat far ahead, and we ducked and wove our way between the pedestrians.
The Shadow turned right again. As we rounded the corner, we slowed. He paused and peered over his shoulder. We darted behind a stall.
The Shadow entered a large granite tenement. The door swung shut behind him. We made for the tearoom across the road. Drystan and I hid under the shadow of the veranda and parted with enough of our remaining funds for two teas, our eyes never leaving the door.
“If he looks out, he’ll see us.”
“He might not expect us here. And now we know where he lives. Or might live.”
We sipped our tea as we watched the building, but we did not see the Shadow leave. Plenty of other people left and entered the apartment block – a man in a dapper pinstripe suit and purple handkerchief, but he was too large to be the Shadow. A girl in the starched uniform of a maid hurried back with overflowing bags of food shopping. A woman in a red dress struggled to hold the door open. A man on the street paused to help her. She pushed the wicker chair around, speaking to the child within. He was a small boy, long-limbed but with the unnatural thinness of illness. The boy clutched a blanket about his face, looking up at his mother.
I see a girl, no, a woman, in a wine-red dress. Her child is ill, eaten from the inside…
The words Maske spoke at the séance came back to me. The woman’s hair fell from her bonnet, obscuring her face. She thanked the man and continued up the road, her dark red dress swirling behind her like a waterfall of blood. I wanted to follow her, but what if it were only a coincidence and we missed the Shadow as a result? And how would I explain it to Drystan? W
e need to follow this woman I saw in hallucinations…
I shook my head.
We had lost the Shadow. He might have left through a back door, or slipped out when we were not looking. Or, most likely, he lived there and was having his dinner behind one of those windows. Watching us.
“We can’t keep sitting here. And we can’t perform publically until we’ve done something about the Shadow,” I said.
“I know.” He sighed. “I’ve been thinking. But I don’t think you’ll like my idea.”
He leaned close and whispered his plan.
He was right. I didn’t like it at all.
But it was the only way to catch the Shadow.
9
MIRROR MAZE
“I had to sell another of my automata today. Each time, I sell my least favorite, but that means that each time I part with the next, it grows harder. I sold the golden tamarind monkey, and it was a shame. I hope its new owner cherishes it.
“At least soon it will be the Night of the Dead, and I should have more bookings for séances. It will delay the date I must sell the next.
“I still have all of Taliesin’s automata. Those I shall never part with, no matter my finances. Someday I’ll figure out how he makes them tick. Then I’ll be one step closer to revenge.”
Jasper Maske’s personal diary.
I grew no closer to learning more about Maske.
My arm healed, until it no longer hurt to perform card tricks. Maske taught us magic daily, and he spent a lot of time in his workshop, the distant buzzing of saws and drills drifting down to us as we studied. I tried asking Maske questions, but he found a way to dance around them.
Drystan and Maske went out one day to play cards with some of Maske’s friends. I raised an eyebrow at that.
“They’re only Maske’s friends, and innocent ones,” Drystan told me. “They bet with buttons, not coins.”
I declined joining them. I had no desire to play cards with strangers while keeping up a false accent and disguise all evening. In any case, it was my “woman’s time”, which still made me feel… conflicted. Mostly, I felt more or less masculine, but during these times I felt more female.
