Maybe it was the gloom of the rain beating against the glass window behind her. How depressed she looked, staring out on the dark morning. I wondered if she was imagining me leaving her all alone in the middle of that endless jungle, filled with unknown evils.
But how could she be? She didn't know I was going to have to leave. I resolved myself to stop using sapience altogether. It wasn't worth it, not if I had to leave the only family I had.
She couldn't have known about me. I'd been so careful to hide everything from her. So what was bothering her? I tried to guess what she was thinking to make her look so sad. There was, of course, plenty to be sad about. Still, despite the fact that we were prisoners and abused orphans, and everyone in the castle was dying one by one, I couldn't help but feel that something else was bothering her.
Suddenly, I was struck with the feeling she was in danger. Over the rumble of my finisher, there was a clanking sound in the distance, like something metal had fallen to the floor. But that could have just been one of the girls, there were all due to arrive any minute. I looked around the room and didn't see anything out of place. I was being jumpy. Paranoid. That's how Henri would put it.
Is paranoia a symptom of going crazy? I hoped it wasn't, but made a mental note to check the entry on insanity in Natural History.
By all appearances, we were alone, but fear hung on the air like the stench of rotting fish. I was sure someone was watching us. I made eye contact with Henri and she smiled at me, that same tinge of sadness in her eyes that she carried everywhere with her now. Behind her eyes, I saw her mind turning, like the gears of a clanker. Truth was, I didn't know what was happening behind those eyes any more than I knew what was going on inside the clankers I had been working on for four years.
I felt an urge to tell her to be careful. But when I opened my mouth I realized I didn't know what to tell her to be careful of. How crazy would that sound? Paranoia, I reminded myself, probably a sign of going crazy.
So I said nothing. It had to be my imagination. I remembered thinking how great it would be to create whole worlds with just my imagination. On second thought, I don't think I would like to live in the world that was created by my imagination. That would be one scary place.
I smiled back at Henri, but figured my smile looked even less sincere than hers. What a pair we made.
A strand of hair fell in front of her eyes and I felt the urge to brush it behind her ear—the kind of urge I found myself feeling more often lately. Any excuse to touch her face.
There was a moment of complete silence in the room—a thick silence that felt like beetles were crawling under my skin.
Suddenly, Henri's face contorted in horror and she yelled. "Evan, watch out!"
Something behind me made a nasty ear splitting scream as icy cold fingers clasped around my ankle, yanking me to the ground. I knocked my shoulder hard on the torchlight by the finishing machine when I went down. Darkness swallowed us like the inside of a sea-giant.
I felt the wind from some unseeable shadow fly over me, then the crushing pain of what felt like a knee being forced into my chest. It seemed like the weight of an entire Clanker was pressing down on top of me.
One of my hands was pinned to the ground. I punched with my free hand where I thought his body was, but hit air. I shoved my knee up to get some space and squirm away, but he dodged to the right and pinned both my hands down even harder—he seemed to know what I was going to do before even I did. Despite all my new found strength, this thing was pinning me to the ground like nails to a cross.
His head stooped down by my left shoulder, and I felt his teeth sink into my skin. In an instant, pain filled my veins like nothing I'd ever felt. I yelled in agony. Something warm and sticky pooled beneath me. Blood. More of it dripped from his mouth onto my skin. I shoved again, but my arm wasn't working and pushing only made it hurt worse.
Light flickered somewhere. Feet pounded up the spiral staircase behind us. My eyes were wet and blurred, but I made out several shapes running onto the platform, carrying torches.
"Quick, somebody help him!" Henri screamed.
In the flickering light, I began to make out the shape on top of me, but still couldn't see his face. He seemed to sense time was running out and started punching me over and over.
"Take it back!" he yelled. "I don't want it anymore. Take it back!"
The voice sounded familiar, but thick and distorted. The shape was much smaller than I thought possible from its weight.
Yesler? He was about the right size.
Suddenly, Ballard's face flashed beneath a torch he was holding high in the air. His huge free arm swung down like an elephant's trunk, grabbing the shape. Continuing to beat me till the last moment, the shape slipped out of Ballard's grasp and dashed behind the Clanker. I was nearly unconscious, but heard Ballard call out. Mazol appeared, glowering over me—like it was all my fault. Like the only thing that bothered him about the situation was getting behind schedule.
Mazol waved at Ballard and the giant began lumbering around the Clanker where the shadow had hidden.
One of my eyes was swollen shut. Salty blood ran from my nose down into my mouth. Could it really be Yesler? Was he trying to kill me because of the delivery those men rode off with? Where did that strength come from?
My head pulsed to the point of bursting, but the world was slowly coming back into focus. Unconsciousness would have been my preference, but I didn't get a choice in the matter. Pain forced me to remember my arm, and I clasped it as best I could to stem the bleeding.
About twenty feet away, a shadow flashed between two clankers.
"Over there!" I pointed, then coughed up blood as penance for trying to use my vocal chords.
Before Mazol or Ballard could turn around, I saw the shadow again. This time he ran straight past me. By now, I was sure it was Yesler, though it was still too dark to see his face. I reached out, catching his scrawny arm, but he yanked away, causing me to spin around and fall on my face. I knew I should get up, but I was too dizzy to stand.
I looked up to see Yesler running. Running directly at Henri. My senses were so abruptly awoken, it felt like I was startling from a restless sleep.
It was now just light enough to see his dark silhouette jumping through the air, arms cocked like a hawk's talons, towards Henri. She was frozen in place.
But Yesler never reached her.
At the last moment, I jumped to my feet and swung my arm. I imagined striking him in the side of the gut. Despite being thirty feet away, the blow connected like he was standing in front of me. His body flew sideways and struck the stone wall. The only sound in the cavernous room was the empty-sounding thud his body made on impact, like a sack of sweet-potatoes dropping off the back of Marcus's cart.
I looked around. Everyone was up on the platform watching. A dozen pairs of eyes were staring—not at Yesler's body lying on the ground—but at me. And I recognized the look in their eyes. The same one they got when jungle animals got too close to the gates.
What must I have looked like to them? Bloody, swollen eyes, bruised. And what I did to Yesler.
They couldn't take their eyes off me.
The monster.
I had failed. Now they would all know the truth about me. As much as I tried to fight it, the sapience fought back harder. My true nature, the monster, was winning. Now, it had won.
I swallowed. I had to face it. I couldn't run from my own fate. I would accept it, do what I could to help them over the next 40 hours. And then I would disappear before the transformation was complete. I could finally see it; this was my only choice.
I felt the eyes on me again and came back to myself. First I had to deal with Yesler. At least he might be one less obstacle in my path. He should never have attacked me.
I looked at the misshapen mass on the floor as someone walked up with a torch. Glancing up, I expected to see one of the girls, or Mazol or Ballard, holding the torch over Yesler's body.
But it was Yes
ler holding the torch.
Who had I thrown against the wall?
Yesler rolled the body over with his foot, and I saw my attacker's face for the first time.
It was Pearl.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Claire
Thursday
6:29 am
40 hours, 20 minutes until the Falling
Anastasia was trying to ignore me knocking at the door. Moaning, she rolled over and pulled a feather pillow over her head.
"Ani..., Ani!" I yelled as I peeked through a serving cupboard into her room. "Cummon, Ani! Get up." I stood up and pounded on the massive double doors that led to Anastasia's bedchambers. When I was younger I used to sneak into her room through that small cupboard, but I was ten-years-old now and too big to fit.
"It's my birthday," Anastasia said into her pillow. "Let me sleep."
"If you don't get up soon," I said as I fell into a chair in the hall, "your birthday will be over." I kicked my feet against the wall. After a few moments, a click came from the door lock. I sprang out of the chair and flew into the dark room. Anastasia was stumbling back to her bed.
"The sun isn't even up yet," she said.
"It's been up for half an hour. Look." I ran to the windows, struggling to throw back the drapes that were at least three times as tall as me. Anastasia made a funny sound that reminded me of a milk-cow as she fell into her bed and pulled the blankets over her head. I couldn't help but giggle; I loved waking my sister up. Especially on mornings like this.
"The ships!" I yelled, pointing out the window. "Ani, they're here!"
Throwing off the bed covers, Anastasia ran to the window and slammed me aside—as if we both couldn't see at the same time. I shoved her back so I could reach to push open the window. The smell of salty sea water warmed by the sun-bathed-clay-walls of our home blew in—the breeze tickled my skin. Three ships with bright sails and flags flapping in the wind were rounding the mountains into the harbor. We were jumping up and down, probably behaving in a way my Mother would not approve of.
"Papa!" We waved at the ships even though I knew the sailors were too far away to notice. Anastasia ran into the dressing room to change out of her bed clothes while I scampered onto a nearby window seat, my face pinned to the glass. While I was watching the ships slowly bob into the harbor, my father's ship passed in front of my reflection. My face didn't look nearly as happy as I expected it should. I put my hand on my stomach. A knot was growing inside me.
I remembered the fight my parents had before Papa left, something about having to go away for a very long time. Maybe forever. I was used to Papa leaving for weeks, even months at a time, but what if he was gone for years? What if he never came back?
I would be all grown up when I saw him again, if I ever did. Papa was the only one in the world who really understood me. I hated it when he was gone. I didn't think I could survive if he left for good.
The knot in my stomach was getting bigger; I was beginning to think it might be better to not see him at all. I stood up suddenly, overcome with the need to hide somewhere. But just as I began to run for the door, Anastasia burst out of the changing room and pulled me with her.
We rushed down the stairs just as two of our handmaids with trays of hot pancakes, maple syrup, and spiced sausages were walking up to our rooms.
"Don't you want your breakfast, misses?" one asked.
The other added, "We made it up early 'cause we heard your Papa is coming home this morning."
The smell made my stomach growl. I was tempted to go with them, hide in my room, lock the door. Maybe then I wouldn't have to face the thought of Papa leaving again. But Anastasia's grip on my arm was too strong and I was forced to stumble along after her.
"Does it look like I want breakfast?" Anastasia said loudly without even looking at the women as she shoved passed them.
I made an apologetic smile over my shoulder, but then we were around the corner and they were out of sight. Yes, there was a part of me that wanted to hide from my Papa, but the part of me that wanted to see him was stronger. He was my only friend in the world. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until I knew more.
We passed several more servants and turned several more corners until, rounding into the entrance hall, we screeched to a halt. Standing next to the three-tiered fountain bath in the center of the room was an elderly servant named Duckie. She was always fussing about what we wore when we went out.
I looked down at myself, then at Anastasia. We were dressed in simple white chemises and petticoats. Sure, plenty of people wore those things in town, but none of them had the last name Amadeaus. Mother would boil like a kettle if we were caught.
"We better go put on a ruff and gown," I said with a sigh as I caught a glance of myself in a mirror. "Probably a hat too in this heat." There was a moment when the gurgling of the fountain-bath echoing through the marble-skinned room seemed to grow louder as Anastasia considered my advice.
"There's no time for that," Anastasia said finally, then raised her chin and marched for the front door. The last thing I wanted was to get left by myself with Duckie; spending time with her made sleeping on a bed of briars sound like a good time. I moved behind Anastasia, slinking carefully to keep my sister between Duckie and me. The old woman straightened her portly body as she saw us coming. Looking us up and down, she placed her hands firmly on her hips.
"I 'spect you're not thinking on going out like that young misses. Master Terillium won't like see'n his two daughter's look'n like ruffins."
"Run!" Anastasia yelled and took off running the long way around the fountain-bath.
"Jus' a min'it, if you please! It's not proper to go outside at this hour of the morn'n." Duckie yelled as she waddled around the other side to cut Anastasia off. She grabbed Anastasia's arm, but my sister was able to break free as I caught up. I looked back as we ran to see Duckie wobbling her arms and balancing on one leg for a second before flopping backwards into the fountain with a huge splash. I would have stopped to help her, but Anastasia wouldn't have waited for me and, well, I really didn't want to be left with Duckie alone.
Anastasia flung open the huge front door sending sunlight bursting past us into the house. I looked over my shoulder for the forth time as I stepped onto the porcadia; several servants were helping Duckie out of the fountain.
"Do you think she'll be all right?" I said as I hurried down the steps after Anastasia.
"Who cares."
"She's old. She could be hurt."
Anastasia looked at me with disgust, then flipped her hair with the turn of her head. "She shouldn't have tried to stop us."
"It's her job to make sure we're safe."
"I'm not some beggar's rat to be grabbed at by fat old servants!"
I decided Anastasia was right; she was two years older than me.
We stopped running when we reached the edge of another, much grander, fountain-bath that stood in the center of our estate's circular driveway. Under the searing sun, the fountain's spray reminded me of playing behind waterfalls during summertime vacations to the mountains above our town. I almost wanted to forget all about meeting Papa and go swimming instead.
But I was determined to face him.
I looked to the left towards the ships. If servants like Duckie had their way, we might have had to suffer the 40 minute walk to the docks. Exercise and good health and all that. But most of the servants didn't dare go against Anastasia. At the moment, everyone in sight seemed to be pretending that Anastasia and I didn't exist. So with no one to stop us, we sprinted for the stables.
As the horse barns came into view, a stable boy cut off a yawn and jumped up to meet us.
"My horse!" Anastasia said between breaths. The boy's shoulder's tensed at her request, he knew we weren't supposed to ride without our horsemaster, or a guard, or our Mother or someone to supervise us.
"Are you deaf?" Anastasia aimed a kick at him, but he was too quick and ran off. I stooped over, holding my
knees to rest for a moment until the boy came trotting back with Anastasia's Conemara. I smiled at him as he tightened the saddle and he started fumbling with the strap with a dumb grin on his face.
"Quit gawking at Clairȩ like a dumb crow and help me up" Anastasia snapped. The boy jumped nervously, then shot his hand out to help her into the saddle.
"I'm sorry miss," the boy said without looking Anastasia in the eye. "Here you are miss—" Before he could finish, Anastasia pushed his hand away, yanked the pony's mane and shoved her foot in the stirrup. She didn't get her foot in properly though and started to slip. The boy lurched forward to keep her from falling. After she got her footing, she whipped the boy across the face with the leather reigns.
"If you touch me there again, I'll have you lashed in the square."
"I'm sorry miss, I was jus—"
"Don't talk to me. What's your name? I'm going to make sure your family doesn't eat for a week because of this."
"Oh shut up," I said. "He kept you from falling on your butt. Can we go now?"
Anastasia gave me a look that made me shiver inside, but she wasn't going to do anything to me right then. She wanted to see Papa as much as I did. Or at least as much as I should.
Anastasia climbed onto the Conemara a little more gracefully this time and the stable boy turned to go.
"Where are you going?" Anastasia demanded.
"T-t-to get Miss Clairȩ's—"
"She can ride with me."
"But miss, y'r Conemara's not big 'nough for two."
"Do as you're told, stable boy."
"Yes Miss," he said and helped me onto the horse behind my sister.
"What is wrong with the servants today?" Anastasia said loudly, then kicked before I was ready and we jolted into a gallop.
"Hey!" I said, barely keeping from falling off the back, "careful."
Evan Burl and the Falling Page 10
