The Madness Project (The Madness Method)

by Bralick, J. Leigh

  Kor flicked his coat back to shove his hands in his trouser pockets, and leaned on the table.

  “Not what I expected,” he said, speaking over his shoulder to my father. “From the papers. I’ll take him.”

  My hand tightened convulsively. “Care to explain?”

  “Take you on. Teach you.”

  “What?”

  He grinned, savagely. “It’ll take some work.”

  I shot to my feet, kicking the heavy chair back an inch or two in the process. But I just glared at him and then passed him to confront my father.

  “What is going on here?” I hissed.

  “I asked Kor to get you ready for your assignment.”

  “My assignment? What assignment?”

  “You just asked what I needed you to do. I need you to learn from Kor. And then I need you to disappear. I need you to become one of them.”

  I recoiled, hard. “You brought him here to teach me to be…to be what, a slum rat? Is that what this is?”

  “Listen to me!” he bellowed. The walls rang the words back at us. “Listen carefully,” he added, low. “I need you to do this. Can you do it?”

  I just stared at him for a good minute, too stunned to answer. It felt vaguely like surgery or betrayal, this being excised from everything I loved. And yet…he trusted me. Me. He wanted me to leave everything I knew, everything I was, and become…something else. Become the very thing he had always taught me to hate. Suddenly I didn’t know what I felt, not a bit.

  “No one else is aware of this plan,” he murmured, with an earnestness that took me utterly by surprise. “I wouldn’t betray your secret. Not like that. And believe me, I would never have asked you to do this if I didn’t absolutely think it was necessary. Or if I didn’t believe you were capable.”

  I held his gaze and my tongue. In the back of my mind, I realized with an odd little sadness that, somewhere along the way I’d grown taller than him. I’d never stood close enough to him before to even notice it. There was something strange and discomfiting about looking down at him.

  “My men are going to keep looking for answers,” he said. “You have some time, but not much. Kor will teach you what you need to know. I’ve already told your other professors that you need to take some leave from their lectures. Kor is your only teacher now.”

  I shot a glance in Kor’s direction and found him staring straight at us, arms crossed, that same dangerous, half-mad glint in his dark eyes.

  “I don’t like him,” I said.

  My father stifled a smile. “Neither do I. But he’s the only one of his sort I trust. So you’ll work with him.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why do you trust him?”

  My father didn’t answer that. He just held my gaze for a long moment, then turned aside.

  “You’ll start working with him the day after tomorrow.” He started to walk away, then paused and said without turning, “That is the day the household will be removing to Lamanstal for the winter holidays. You will not be coming with us.”

  * * * *

  That night I dreamed of the bell tower. I dreamed I stood again on the ledge of the belfry, the wind tearing my hair, twining like fingers around my throat. I dreamed of fear in my heart and a rush of wild abandon tugging through my veins, the sickening twist of my stomach seeing the ground so far below.

  Every time I dreamed of the belfry, it always ended the same. It always ended with me throwing me arms wide to the world. It ended with my fall.

  Sometimes I couldn’t tell if that was a dream or a memory.

  * * * *

  In the morning I emerged from my bed chamber only to find Kor and Zagger locked in a staring match across the fireplace. Zagger’s hands drove dents in the leather arms of his chair, all his muscles knotted and ready to spring, but Kor just slouched there, legs crossed, twirling his black hat back and forth.

  I watched for about five seconds, then snorted and wandered back into my private room.

  Griff had been right—not that I’d ever admit it to him. I stood at my window and stared down at the white expanse of the garden, veiled in snow. I could only remember one other birthday where I’d seen snow, and that was the year I turned five. The year I discovered my gift.

  I couldn’t decide if I thought the snow today was an omen or a promise.

  After a moment I turned to my reflection in the armoire mirror, and stared hard at the image staring back at me. But I wasn’t trying to see myself, or make any profound judgments on my person at this momentous point of my life. I looked because I wanted to change what I saw.

  A few steps brought me face to face with myself. I set my jaw and focused on my reflection. Tried to remember how I’d made my face change when I was younger. As far as I knew, I hadn’t done anything. I’d just imagined.

  I closed my eyes and tried to create a mental picture of the face I wanted to assume. It was harder than I’d expected. I could look like anything I wanted, but I happened to be rather content with my own face, even if it was rather too sharp and somber.

  My eyes flashed open, and I gripped the edge of the armoire, breathing hard. What was I doing?

  I would become just like them.

  Unnatural.

  But I’m a man now. I can’t go back on my word.

  Even if it means losing myself? Will there be any turning back?

  I can’t do this. I’m not one of them. I can’t.

  “Your Highness? Are you all right?”

  My eyes flashed to the mirror—catching my own gaze before shifting to Zagger’s reflection. I sighed and straightened up.

  “I’m fine,” I said. I turned to face him. “Have you and Kor finished locking horns?” He opened his mouth to protest, but I waved him off and said, “He’s with me. He’s my…tutor. Understand? Treat him civilly, or I’ll have you stand down.”

  Zagger stared at me, somewhere between stunned and crushed. His mouth opened, but apparently he couldn’t think of a retort, because he just shrugged and studied his hands.

  “I wanted to wish you good fortune on your birthday, Your Highness.”

  I softened. “Thanks, Zag.”

  He hesitated a while there in the doorway, clearing his throat as though he had something to say.

  “That man is a teacher?” he asked finally, quiet enough that I knew Kor hadn’t gone anywhere. “What does he teach?”

  I gave him a sour look. “Embroidery.”

  Zag coughed. “May I?”

  He gestured to my room, and I gave him a dismissive nod. I trusted Zagger more than anyone in the world, but he knew his boundaries and never overstepped them unless I told him he could. He flicked one last glance over his shoulder and came into my room, dropping down onto the low wooden clothes chest edged against the near wall.

  “Your Highness…”

  I stopped plucking imaginary lint from the waistcoat Liman had left for me. “Do I have to tell you again?”

  “He doesn’t seem trustworthy to me.”

  “Luckily that isn’t your judgment to make,” I said. “If it’s any consolation, I agree with you.”

  “Then what—”

  I held up my hand, silencing him. This was already a nightmare enough. I didn’t need Zagger becoming yet another problem for me, not right now.

  “Your father’s chauffeur will be driving this morning,” Zagger said after a moment.

  Liman rapped at my open door and I waved him in, but he kept peering back into the outer room.

  To avoid more questions, I said to Zagger, “What about you? Seelar couldn’t drive a motorcar to save his life.”

  “I guess that’s not your judgment to make,” he said, shooting me a glance that was almost belligerent.

  Liman gaped at him in the mirror but I only laughed.

  “You’ll be there, though, right?” I asked.

  “I’m not exactly a member of the Honor Corps,” Zagger said.

  I frowned. “I want you there.”

  “What about him?�
� he asked, jerking his head toward the other room.

  “What about me?”

  We both snapped around to see Kor lounging against the dark wood of the doorframe, arms folded.

  “Get out!” Liman hissed, storming toward him like a diminutive thundercloud. “Out, out!”

  “Liman,” I said, studying my reflection in the mirror as I straightened my collar. “He’s not your concern.”

  “I felt left out,” Kor said.

  He towered over Liman, who wavered between helping me with my coat and throwing the intruder out. My room was my sanctuary, and Liman was even more jealous of it than I was. He didn’t even like it when I permitted Zagger to come inside.

  “Liman!” I said again, louder. “Leave it be.”

  “Still need help getting dressed?” Kor smirked.

  “All right,” Zagger said, shooting to his feet. “Get out.”

  He barreled straight up to Kor, and I could just see the horns coming out again. I sighed and tugged away from Liman and the waistcoat.

  “Zagger,” I snapped, grabbing his shoulder. “Get back.” Then, pointing at Kor, “You. Out. We have nothing to do with each other until tomorrow, understood? I don’t care what you do with yourself until then, as long as I don’t have to see it.”

  Kor measured me in silence for a moment. Then he gave me the vaguest hint of a nod, spun his hat back onto his head, and stalked away.

  My stomach curdled. I knotted my fists, then swore under my breath and strode after him.

  “Kor!” I called, stopping him at the door. “The deal’s off. I’m not doing it.”

  “Afraid?”

  “No! But this isn’t the solution. I can’t…I can’t become one of them. It’s not my life. It’s not what I am.”

  He arched a brow. “And letting your father down…that’s nothing, I suppose? Your pride is worth more than that?”

  “You lecture me about duty?” I asked, throwing my shoulders back. “What does someone like you—”

  “What does someone like me know about duty? A whole damn lot more than you do, apparently. It’s the only reason I’m here.” He tipped his hat to me. “Your Highness.”

  And then he was gone.

  I stared at the door long after it had settled shut behind him. It was impossible. My father was asking me to do the impossible. This couldn’t be the answer.

  Could it?

  I tapped my fist against the door, gritting my teeth. Finally I wandered back into my chamber, where Zagger and Liman waited for me—Zagger petulant, Liman fretting, arranging every chain and emblem on my jacket front with fastidious care.

  “I say! Horrible fellow,” Liman muttered. He actually breathed a sigh of relief as he bundled me into the waistcoat and jacket. Sometimes I imagined he took the same comfort in his services to me that some men took in gambling or drink. “What did he want here, anyway?”

  Zagger snorted and held his peace. I didn’t answer immediately, but stared at my reflection. In that formal jacket I looked far too young, even if the medals adorning it were the sorts of things given to children for academic and athletic honors, and not the military achievements they were meant to imitate. All I could think of was my father’s portrait that hung in the hall, stern and strong and festooned with military ribbons, and how little I resembled him.

  Finally I said, “You won’t have to deal with him.” And under my breath I muttered, “If I can help it, none of us will.”

  I would talk to my father. That’s all there was to it. I wasn’t a Jixy, not anymore, and I didn’t want anything to do with them. If he wanted my service, I supposed I’d help him in any other way I could.

  After a lifetime of imagining I’d been shackled, I was suddenly terrified of the idea of being free.

  Chapter 10 — Hayli

  “Hayli!”

  The tiny voice wiggled into my dreams, and somehow I realized I’d heard it four times already. I winced and dragged my blanket up over my eyes. Too early. Must have been some kind of new punishment Kantian had dreamed up for me, curse him.

  The gears on my curtain jangled.

  “Hayli!”

  “What?” I cried. “What d’you want? Let me sleep…”

  The curtain shook again, and I reached one hand to grab my blanket and the other to pin the curtain to my bedpost.

  Nobody opened my curtain on me. Nobody.

  “C’mon, we’re gannin’ to see the motorcade!”

  I pushed upright as my sleep-fuzzy ears recognized the voice—Pika, my little shadow, making me a liar. She was the one person who could barge in on me and I wouldn’t really care. I waved my hand out the side of the curtain. The grey cloth batted and danced, then a mound of fiery curls popped up alongside my bed.

  “Hayli Hayli Hayli! Come on!”

  “What motorcade?” I asked, patting the mattress.

  Pika shot up beside me and threw her wiry arms around my neck, the wool of her jumper raspy on my skin. “I missed you!”

  “I’ve not been gone, silly.”

  “Well, I div’n see you,” she said. “So I missed you.”

  “What!” I cried, feigning surprise. “I was out on the streets! Not possible that you missed me. You don’t miss anything.”

  She grinned and tugged on my arm. “Hayli Hayli Hayli, we’ve got to gan now!”

  “Right, what’s this about?”

  “It’s all the talk. Swear it is. The royal family’s gannin’ about on a driving tour through the city. It’s the prince’s birthday!”

  Prince Tarik! Here I’d almost got him in an accident just yesterday, and I’d grobbing forgot that today was his birthday. I scowled and tried not to think about him. He’d kicked me off the palace grounds, after all. Him and that infernal bodyguard.

  “They’re driving in a motorcar!” Pika exclaimed, bouncing beside me.

  I stifled a shudder. “Let me guess. You want to see it?”

  “I want to see it,” she said. Then, her voice all sing-songy, she added, “And you want to see the prince!”

  “What!” I cried. “What’re you on about?”

  She just smiled, blue eyes dazzling in the dim light. “I know Hayli wants to see the prince!”

  “Stop your singing! I’ll gan with you, but not to goggle at some gormless prince. Got it?”

  She laughed and tugged a rolled-up newspaper from under her jumper. “He’s awful pretty,” she said, waving it under my nose. “His friend’s rather fine too.”

  I scowled. “You’re too young for such talk. Lemme see that.” I snatched it from her hands and opened it up. “Oh,” I said. “Oh.”

  Because there on the front page I saw a photograph of the Prince standing with a boy all grimed with soot and grease. In the blurry background I just made out a billow of flames and twisted metal. Prince Tarik was glancing over his shoulder at the camera, but the wild-haired boy in the aviator jacket had his face turned to the wreckage. Some other faded figures crowded at the edges, but I couldn’t stop staring at the face of the Prince. He stared straight back at me, like he was accusing me of something.

  “What’s it say?” Pika asked.

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t even help her pick through the words like I usually did, but read it silently to myself.

  Defense Minister’s Son Survives Deadly Crash

  Brinmark, 13 of Marras — Griff Farro, 16, seen here with the Crown Prince Tarik Trabinis, survived a terrible crash in his Vissery Steam Plane at the palace aerodrome. The crash occurred on the twelfth of Marras, shortly after noon, but the cause of the accident is still unclear.

  Mr. Farro, the youngest pilot authorized to fly the Vissery aeroplanes, suffered minor injuries in the crash, but the aeroplane was unfortunately destroyed. An investigation of the crash is underway. Neither Mr. Farro, nor His Highness the Crown Prince, who witnessed the crash, were available for comment.

  So that was the pilot Scorch had almost killed. Tarik’s friend. A sixteen-year-old kid, no older than me. And it ha
d happened just moments before I’d met the Prince and Zagger.

  My stomach churned with regret.

  I scanned the story again, and studied the picture a while longer. Griff Farro. I couldn’t say why his name seemed so familiar to me. Maybe because he was Tarik’s friend, and probably I’d read other stories about him in the Herald. He sure didn’t look like any as I’d ever seen before.

  “Gan on, Pika,” I said, shoving the paper back at her. “Let me get dressed.”

  “Was it bad?” she asked, planting one finger over Tarik’s face in the photograph. “Sorry, Hayli. I div’n na. I thought you’d like it.”

  Poor Pika, she couldn’t know what the story said. I’d been teaching her best I could, but I didn’t know much myself and none of us had much time for schooling. So I just smiled and fluffed her hair. That always made everything jake for Pika. She giggled and dove back under my curtain, leaving me a moment’s quiet to get myself presentable.

  My shirt already hung off me in sleep-battered wrinkles, so I just pulled on my wool breeks, which would be cold but weren’t quite as manky as my trousers, and my old grey waistcoat. Coins had gifted it to me back last autumn after scaring away half its threads, but it suited well enough. He’d even given me the pocket watch to go with it, and though it was dead as a nail I still liked to wear it and pretend it made me look fine.

  I shoved my tweed cap down over my hair, combing the wispy strands over my ears so it didn’t stick out like a disaster. Then I whipped back my curtain and jumped when I saw Derrin standing there, one hand up like he’d meant to jangle the gears. He took one smooth step back, letting me get up.

  “Where’d you come from?” I gasped.

  He just flicked a glance to the side with a little gesture, like it was obvious. “Going out?” he asked.

  “Pika asked me to gan with her,” I said.

  “Where?”

  I scowled up at him. “You’ve never cared before.”

  “I was never responsible for you before.”