A thick silence fell as we waited for what was supposed to be the highlight of the evening. I folded my arms, willing myself to not be taken in by my Papa's charm. Little flames began to appear deep in the water of the fountain bath. Though the fountain was only a few feet deep, it appeared as if the lights were further away than the stars in the sky. Slowly, the flames grew brighter and brighter until the first fire lantern broke the surface of the water, sending soft circular waves out like raindrops in a puddle.
Everyone gasped.
The fire-lantern didn't stop. It emerged from the water, completely dry, and burning bright as it took flight and floated up into the sky above us. Soon a second, then a third and fourth fire-lantern joined the first until the sky was filled with warm flickering flames.
That, however, was not why everyone was holding their breath. They were still waiting for the best part. With a fizzing crackle, the first fire-lantern sucked in on itself, as if it had been swallowed by the night. Then, an eye-blink later, it burst with a gut shaking boom into a canopy of shimmering sparks that fell around the entire party.
Everyone cheered at the sight. One by one, each fire-lantern followed the first. They began to explode faster and faster until the sky was filled with every color. Shapes of flowers, and ships and scary creatures of the jungle devoured one another, falling like a fountain around us. The umbrella of light was so bright, it could have been noon on a summer day.
Then, right before the end, all of the ashes and sparks which had long since fallen to the earth, shot up together like beams of white light into the starless sky until the fire-lanterns themselves seemed to join the stars. And there the lights hung shimmering as everyone around me looked on in silent admiration. It felt like the party goers were sucking up every last moment as if it might be the last they lived.
They were all so impressed. Everyone except me. I wasn't even watching.
After a few moments, everyone around me finally roused from the trancelike state they had fallen into. The musicians started playing again. The ballerinas started dancing again. And the party entered the second half.
Anastasia was in her element: at the center of attention. And I was miserable.
I had to endure my sister dancing in the courtyard, playing in the garden mazes and under the stilts of the high-walkers, laughing at the clowns, and trying to distract the musicians from their sonatas—violin and bell melodies that sounded ghostly after what I learned about my Papa that morning.
Everyone was saying that Papa had outdone himself again. For most, it was the finest party they had ever been to, if not the finest party they had ever heard of. How could they all be so blind?
Inside the house, the guests' noise was muffled behind the thick stone walls. During the party, the house was off limits to anyone but our family's private servants, so Ani and I could have a place to rest. It was nearly time for the birthday cake when Anastasia decided she needed a break. She wanted to try on one of her presents and since I had received a matching dress, Papa offered to give us both rides up the stairs to my sister's changing room.
I refused, of course.
Instead, I walked slowly up the stairs ignoring Papa the whole time. When I reached the top, I slammed a door shut and ducked down at the same time, figuring he would assume I had left. I snuck back down to the edge of the balcony just as my mother walked in, hoping I would hear some clue about how I could stop my Papa from murdering Evan Burl. It was perfect timing. I could see and hear everything that happened.
The room was round, at least as tall as it was wide with a white paneled, arch ceiling. Oil lamps lined the walls; one black metal chandelier much larger than me hung from the center of the arch above where I crouched with hundreds of glowing little flames capable of filling the room with light. At this moment though, the servants had set all the lights to burn low so the room was quite dim and eire. The floors were stone, which helped keep the house cool, but covered with elaborately embroidered tapestries that Papa brought back with him from trips over the seas. Two wide staircases made from paneled wood and platinum detailed stone curved up each side of the round room meeting in the middle; that was where I was hiding.
Not 10 feet from me, standing next to a small hutch along the wall I could see my mother frowning at Papa. "Is that behavior really becoming for someone of your stature? And at your age? You could kill yourself."
"I was just having some fun with the girls," he replied. "You should try it sometime." Mother crossed her arms.
"I'm sorry," Papa said. "Let's not argue about that again tonight, alright?"
He smiled at her but she did not smile back.
"What do you want from me?" Papa asked. "You have everything you've ever wanted. You live in the finest mansion for a thousand miles, you eat the best food and drink, and you have a beautiful, healthy family. I return from months at sea, and you act like you didn't even miss—"
"If I wanted a fool to entertain me with platitudes, I certainly wouldn't marry one. You know why I'm upset."
Papa paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"I haven't decided yet..." he said.
"We can't keep living like this. You promised you would decide by the time you returned."
"It's not as simple as you think."
"Everyone is going to figure out that something is wrong eventually," Mother said.
Did she know what he was planning to do? Or was he hiding something else? My mouth hung open as I wondered whether murdering children was even the worst of it.
"I'm careful," he said without looking at her. "They won't figure it out."
"You're still giving the kids rides up the stairs and you're supposed to be ninety-years-old? What are you going to do when they start asking questions?"
"You sound just like my visitor today." Papa pulled a blade he often carried from his belt and placed it on the table. I had seen the knife before; it was something my father was very fond of. He always had it with him.
"Yes, I heard about him," Mother said as she eyed the blade. "I do not like that man." She pulled her eyes away from the knife, sighed, and leaned up against the white wood paneling below the banister. "What did he want anyway?"
"Oh, he never changes. He thinks I should give it all up. Just like you. I'm trying, but it's not that simple."
Mother's eyes shot up at Papa as he polished the blade on his sleeve.
"I'll never know why you don't get along with him better—you two agree on so much," Papa said.
"I won't let you hurt this family just to protect your secrets. I'd rather split up now than have to explain what's happened to you someday when you disappear without as much as a goodbye." Mother must know about the book. What other secret could they be talking about?
"You know I wouldn't do that. Besides, it wouldn't have to be for a long time."
"The day will come eventually, and when it does I'll be left with the mess," she said. Papa tested the blade's edge and drew a drop of blood from his thumb. I nearly gasped out loud, then clamped my hands over my mouth to keep from making any noise. I'd never seen Papa bleed before, even one time when he was bitten by a huge Doberman. Not even when a vagrant tried to murder him with a kitchen knife in the town square. People in town sometimes called him The Bloodless; Anastasia said she heard some of the captains on Papa's ship say they thought his veins were filled with the same stuff stars were made from.
"Would you stop that," Mother said, but I don't think she saw the blood. He wiped it off behind his back where only I could see. "Someone's going to get hurt with that thing."
I could see Papa's face through a three sided dressing mirror that sat on top of the desk. The look on his face seemed to say 'that's the point.'
"You would take the children's father from them?"
"You did that, when you married me without telling me the truth. Even now I wonder sometimes if I know everything about you."
Papa was silent.
"I guess that's my answer
," she said with a huff and turned to leave the room, but then stopped. "You used to love me... or was that a lie too?"
"Of course it's not a lie. I still love you. I love you more than—"
"If you really loved me then you would fix this."
"I've done everything I can." Papa stabbed the blade into the table to emphasize his point. "You think the stone walls I built around this mansion are just for beasts and cannibals?"
"I don't care about a fence."
"Well you should. You're as safe here in this house as you could be anywhere in the world, from danger or anything else."
Mother'e eyes narrowed and she spoke quietly. "What about secrets?"
"Don't make the mistake of thinking you care more about hiding the truth than I do."
"I don't think you do care anymore," Mother said. "You see how people stare. They're not admiring the cut of your coat. I know you can hear the whispering."
She turned and walked to the door, but Papa reached out and grabbed her hand.
"You're right." He paused. "I think you're right. I don't care as much anymore. But..., I made a decision while I was away. I know how to ensure your safety. Your's and the girls'. When this is done, I'll give it up for good." I knew what he was talking about. The one last thing he needed to do was kill Evan Burl.
"I don't think you can ever give it up."
"I will. I promise."
She looked skeptically at him.
"I just have to make sure this one last thing get's done. Then it will be over."
"I don't know..."
"You'll see. I'll be here for you and the girls forever once this is done."
She smiled at him, but her eyes looked cautious. "I'd like that."
Mother walked to the door, then turned with a grin. "It's time for the cake. Are you sure it's big enough?"
As she slipped through the door I heard someone outside say, "Mercer, your dress is lovely..."
I couldn't believe what I had just seen. She didn't even care what it was Papa had to do. She didn't even ask. Would she have cared if she knew he was planning to murder a boy?
Papa found his dark leather pea coat where I had draped it over a chair that afternoon and slipped it on. He felt in each pocket, one by one, but didn't seem to find what he was looking for so he checked them all again. Of course, if he was looking for the book, he wasn't going to find it. I had taken it; stuffed it inside the top of my stockings.
"Clairȩ!" he yelled, loudly, as if he was expecting me to be several rooms away. He strode towards the foot of the stairs; I knew he would spot me as soon as he got half way up the stairs. Looking around, I realized the flaw in my plan. There was no where to escape without being seen. I decided, rather than running, I would face him straight on.
What was he going to do? Kill his own daughter, like he was planing to kill that boy Evan?
I stood up straight, pulling my shoulders back as far as I could.
"Yes father." I tried to use the expression my Mother wore whenever she argued with Papa.
He startled, surprised I was so close. His eyebrows bent down the way they did whenever he was angry.
"Have you been in here this whole time?" He continued to walk up the stairs, slowly.
"Yes."
"And you heard what your mother and I spoke about?" He had reached the top of the stairs and was much closer to me than I hoped he would ever be again. I was beginning to wonder whether it was smart to confront a man who I knew to be a murderer, even if I was his daughter.
"Yes," I said, tilting my chin up, resolved to not show my fear.
He paused for a moment, then said, "We'll talk about that later."
He took a step towards me and I couldn't help but step backwards. "Tell me the truth. Did you find a little book in my jacket pocket today when you wore it?"
The book felt suddenly itchy against my skin. I wanted to scratch at it, but resisted. I tried to buy time, acting like I was thinking about whether I'd seen the book while I was really thinking about what was the best way to make sure he didn't kill me. I didn't need the book. He was so stern and I was scared. I should give it to him.
I reached down, about to pull the book from my stocking when I realized if he knew I had read the book he might need to get me out of the way. I would be a witness. I couldn't tell him the truth. I had to remember who I was dealing with. He wasn't Papa. He was a criminal.
"No," I answered coolly. "I don't think I found anything in your jacket."
I had never lied to Papa in my whole life. He was always the one I could be myself with and he never got angry with me, no matter how bad I had behaved. It seemed like I should say something else so I added, "Is it important?"
He eyed me carefully as if he could see straight through me. "Are you sure? I won't be angry if you tell me the truth. I just need that book back."
There was no turning back now. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He paused and considered me carefully. I was determined not to look away. I didn't even flinch. I just stared him in the eyes. I realized he must know I was lying. I was the only one who had worn the coat. He was going to call my bluff. He was going to demand I give it to him, and I knew I would give in. I hated lying to him, no matter who he was.
He opened his mouth to speak and I started to reach for the book. It was over.
"I believe you," he said and I think my mouth hung down a little in shock. I quickly snapped it shut and tried to act like I expected him to believe me.
"Come here child," he said, sitting on a chair at the top of the stairs. He beckoned for me to come sit on his lap. "I need to tell you something important."
I walked slowly to him, afraid if I sat on his lap he would realize the book was in my stocking. But there was no way around it. I sort of leaned against his legs, crossing my own awkwardly so he wouldn't discover what I was hiding.
"Yes Papa?" I said. My voice sounded more scared than I thought it would, but he smiled, not seeming to notice.
"Not everything is as simple as it seems when you are ten-years-old. This world is a scary place. Some people seem good when really they are not. Some are scary when really they are good. It can be hard to sort the scary people from the good ones. Does that make any sense?"
My stomach was tying itself into knot. I wondered where the knife was that Papa had been playing with. I couldn't help but feel that I was in danger. I wanted to call for mother, I wanted to run. But I held still. If there was a chance I could help Evan, I needed to stay. Maybe Papa would tell me something about his plan. Then I could try and stop him.
"Yes, Papa," I said, choking on my words.
He laughed. "Of course it doesn't make sense. You're only ten. You don't have to worry about these kinds of things. But someday you won't be ten."
I liked the sound of that. I wanted to have the chance to get older.
"I need you to trust that I know what's best. Can you do that for me little bell?"
"Yes, Papa."
He seemed like he was about to get up, but then he stopped.
"Just one more thing, Claire."
He paused, but I didn't speak for fear that I might scream instead.
"If you ever find that book, and if you read the letters that are written in it, I hope you'll understand that it needs to be done. It's for the best."
He knew I had already read the book. He was trying to make excuses for wanting to murder Evan Burl. I thought I felt his hand moving behind his back, like he was reaching for his knife.
"Just promise me this one thing. If, for some reason, I'm not able to finish what's written in that book, I want you to promise to finish it for me."
He was asking me to murder Evan Burl if he died? It was like a nightmare come to life. I would never have believed it was real, except I knew that it was.
"Will you do that?"
I nodded blankly, not knowing what else I could do.
"That's good." He patted my head. "If only I were young again like yo
u. A black and white world is a child's luxury that I can't afford. You'll learn this in time."
I stared at him blankly.
"Now don't worry about this anymore, all right? Go and enjoy the party."
I stood, as if in a trance. I heard his boots on the stairs as I shuffled to the bannister. One of the huge front doors to our home swung open, though I didn't see Papa touch it. I glanced down at the table, next to where my mother and Papa had been arguing. The knife that drew my father's blood was still sticking straight up out of the wood. I couldn't be sure if he never had it with him while I was sitting on his lap or if he had stuck it there before leaving.
I tried to make sense of what had just happened. Papa must know that I had read the book and now he was asking me to become a murdered with him. It was insane. He said it was hard to tell the scary people from the good ones, but it seemed perfectly obvious to me. I had never been as scared of anything than I was of my own Papa.
I thought about Evan Burl, wondering where he was at that moment. Did he know my Papa was coming for him? How was I going to find Evan in time? Then I remembered what Papa had said to mother. He was going to finish this one thing, then he would stay with us forever. For a brief moment, I could understand why my mother didn't want to know more. If I didn't know what my Papa was planning, I wouldn't have asked either. But I did know, and I was pretty sure I was the only person in the world who was going to try and stop him.
The front door swung in the breeze, creaking softly, and I could see the massive wall towering over the courtyard in the distance. I shuddered at the thought of the terrible evils that prowled in the jungles outside the city. There were dangers outside the wall and now, I realized, inside it as well.
Papa was right about one thing. It was a scary world.
Evan Burl and the Falling Page 15
