The Madness Project (The Madness Method)

by Bralick, J. Leigh

“Not much. What about the workmen?”

  I studied them briefly and shrugged. They were ordinary workmen: loud, crass, filthy. Was I supposed to notice how tired they seemed or how raw their hands looked?

  Kor leaned forward and said, “I’d see what fine boots they’ve got. How their clothes aren’t patched. How much food they’ve ordered. They probably work on the palace grounds, and so they might get paid a bit more than the average muck. If they’re dining here, they likely just got paid. I might choose to trail them when they leave and maybe pick their pockets when they’re distracted, because they’ve got a bit of coin for sure.”

  I wrinkled my nose.

  “You’ve got that arrogance,” he said, pointing a finger in my face. “Just wait till you’ve gone a few days without a scrap to eat. You’d be glad of anything you can get.”

  He settled back and folded his arms, waiting for me to get that through my head. I shot a glance at Zagger, silently begging him to drag me out of this mess, but he just met my gaze briefly and looked away.

  “All right,” Kor said, planting his fingertips on the table. “Next thing to think about. And you need to think about this one long and hard. Once you take on this person’s identity, once you make your move to become part of their world, everything you do will be a lie.”

  I shifted and said nothing.

  “Everything you do will be a lie,” he repeated, hammering each word. “You will lie to make friends. You will lie to impress. You will lie to make enemies. You will pretend to hate what you love. You will love and call it hate, and it will burn you up inside, all in the name of winning their trust. And you will make them trust you until they open up and pour out all their secrets to your friendly ears.”

  My stomach curdled. How could I lie, brazenly, just to eke out some bit of information that might or might not ever be useful? But maybe it wouldn’t be so hard. They were just Jixies, after all.

  Like me, the voice at the back of my thoughts whispered, pointing to my tattooed face. I shuddered.

  “They might ask you to do things you would never dream of doing,” Kor went on. “And you’ll do whatever they tell you, to keep them trusting. Especially at the beginning. Once you get entrenched, you might be able to stand up for yourself, but don’t count on it happening soon.”

  “Is it hard?” I asked.

  Kor stared at me a long while, eyes hooded, twirling that infernal coin near his face. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he said. “No one will be looking after you.” His gaze flashed to Zagger. “No one will be protecting you. No one from this life will tell you what to do, what not to do. And things can get really ugly down in the underbelly, believe me.”

  I scraped the table with my ragged fingernails. I could have imagined their gnawed edges away, but they were the one part of Prince Tarik that seemed to fit this new body.

  “I don’t think I’m ready to do this,” I said. I turned to Zagger. “Does my father even know what he’s expecting me to do?”

  “Of course he does,” Kor said. “You’re the only person he has who can infiltrate the Clan.”

  “Not you?”

  He snorted. “No.”

  “Why? Why me?”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. They don’t accept just anyone down there.”

  “They’re Jixies.”

  “Some are. Not as many as you’d think.”

  “Well,” I said, voice thin. “Then, they’re just the poor, right? They’re not exactly criminals, are they?”

  “Some aren’t,” he said flatly.

  Stars, I thought. I’m in so far over my head. This is going to be a disaster.

  * * * *

  Later, I stood at my mirror staring at the stranger who stared back at me. My stomach churned, and I wondered how Zagger had been able to look at me squarely all through the day. I couldn’t see myself. I saw a thug with a mean glint in the eye, more repulsive because of the white tattoo.

  Was this who I had to be now?

  Kor had made it all too clear—I couldn’t just wear this face like a mask. I had to be this person. Feel like him. Hate like him. And all to fit in with a bunch of slumdogs and Jixies that I wanted to hate more than anything.

  I caught Zagger’s reflection as he leaned on my door frame, and dragged in a thin breath.

  “I hate this, Zag,” I said, dropping onto my bed and burying my head in my hands. “I hope you know how much I hate this.”

  “I know.”

  “What are you going to do with yourself?”

  He shrugged.

  “You know you can’t follow me,” I said. “You’re in almost every picture the Herald has ever printed of me. I thought for sure that waitress was going to recognize you.”

  He gave a sort of laugh and studied the floor. “I won’t follow you, don’t worry.”

  “I believe that.”

  But it made me smile, all the same. I caught a glimpse of that smile in my mirror and shuddered. It was a cold, feral, mirthless kind of smile, speaking some darkness inside this person’s body. Maybe I was seeing myself—my real self. Stars, that was a horrifying notion.

  “Zagger,” I murmured. “Don’t let me lose myself out there. Please.”

  “I’ve been beside you all your life,” he said, watching me. “But I’m not sure I’d know it if you did.”

  I frowned up at him, trying to work that one out.

  “Kor called you a Mask,” Zagger said. He wouldn’t meet my gaze now. “You’ve only ever looked like yourself. Doesn’t make you any less of a Mask, though. I could always see it in your eyes. Like you were somewhere else, someone else. Putting on a show, hoping the world didn’t notice.”

  “Gad,” I said through a broken laugh. “You missed your vocation, Zag. You just psychoanalyzed my whole life in five seconds.”

  “Well, I’ve known you long enough.”

  “So has Griff,” I countered. “I rather doubt he’s ever thought twice about me like that.”

  “Griff’s head is too full of himself to have much room for anyone else.” He eyed me curiously. “Just wondering, what did you tell him about not going to Lamanstal?”

  “I said I was going for a bit of traveling.” I lifted my fist, feebly. “A fine thing for a p-p-prince to do after his sheventeenth b-b-birthday!”

  Zagger’s laugh didn’t comfort me. I’d almost expected Griff to reject my excuse, or—worse—ask to come along with me. But he hadn’t, and that made me feel strangely empty inside, as if he didn’t care a jot what I did. Of course, he’d told me then that he was staying in Brinmark to continue his flight training, and that Samyr didn’t want to go to the lodge because she thought it would be dull without the two of us. I never did find out if she had decided to go, but I rather hoped she had.

  I dusted my hands off on my trousers and got to my feet. Kor had sent me a set of ragged clothes for my debut on the streets, but I had yet to change into them. I had to get out of the palace first, which meant that, for the last time, Prince Tarik would leave through the front door and climb into his motorcar with Zagger, and head off on his grand tour.

  I packed the clothes into a threadbare case, and changed my face back to Tarik. I left my body Masked—I’d be wearing a greatcoat anyway, and no one would notice that I’d inexplicably shrunk an inch. I hoped. But changing my size and muscles had been too jarring, too painful, to do often, so altering only my face would have to be enough.

  When I finished unMasking, I stood up and faced Zagger. His mouth quirked in a sad little smile.

  “Well, this is the last you’ll be seeing me for a while,” I said. “Go get the motorcar.”

  He hesitated, then pulled me into a fierce embrace. “Take care of yourself, Your Highness. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, muting my surprise.

  Zagger was always so stoic; it made me strangely uncomfortable to see him so undone. So undone, in fact, that he would touch me, because that was something he never
did.

  PART II: ADRIFT

  Chapter 1 — Tarik

  Two hours later I stood inside an abandoned storefront, tucked away in some desolate corner of the city, choking on dust and shivering in the glacial cold. The only thing occupying the back room with me was my traveling case, but I couldn’t contemplate changing my garments just then. Not without a proper fire to thaw my fingers and—maybe—my thoughts.

  I took a few steps into the room, my feet chasing clouds of dirt into the dark corners. The rough floorboards whined and groaned, threatening to collapse beneath me. A rank, musty smell clung to the air, but the only window had been boarded over long ago. Covering my mouth with my coat sleeve, I kicked my luggage case over to sit on it, then changed my face because there was nothing else to do.

  The back door of the shop slammed open.

  I was on my feet before I realized it, heart hammering, my new muscles bunched and ready for anything. It had to be Kor, but in this part of town, I couldn’t count on it. I sank back into the darkest corner of the room, holding my breath against my panic. Closed my eyes; concentrated on not being seen, as if sheer force of will could save me.

  Two pairs of feet stomped and thudded through the hallway without even the barest attempt at stealth. My thoughts went crazy. Maybe I’d stopped at the wrong building. Maybe Kor was waiting for me somewhere else. Maybe he had betrayed me.

  “I dan’ na why I thought it’d be warmer in here,” a voice muttered.

  One of them kicked open a door out in the storefront.

  “Cold enough to freeze a witch’s warts off,” the other said; a higher voice, childish. I thought a young boy, or maybe a teenage girl.

  The older one huffed a laugh. “Not an ounce of wood to burn. Damnation. Never liked gannin’ back empty-handed, but looks that way…”

  “Hey, what’s that? Looks like someone was here.”

  I flinched back, drawing a shallow breath. A slim, small figure darted into my room, fixated on my battered case. A moment later a larger man followed, dressed in rags, barefoot, limping. Even from my distance I could see the purple and blistered swelling of his feet, frostbit if nothing else.

  “Oh, sweet stars. See what a treasure we scored, Zip.”

  The boy stomped forward. He had boots at least, but he wore only a threadbare homespun shirt and tattered trousers. His hands shook as bad as mine as they reached for the case, fumbling at the latch.

  I watched, helpless, hating myself for hiding. Stars, I hated it. But…I knew nothing at all. Nothing that could keep me safe here, without giving away what I really was. Royalty. Outsider. And, in this world, both of those equated to enemy. So I held my breath, and watched the child exclaim over my things with all the joy of a kid at the festival of Kalethelia.

  And I’d thought Kor had given me the worst clothes imaginable. I wanted to feel contempt, but I only felt ashamed.

  The man held up my shirt against himself, measuring its arms against his, feeling its thickness. Then the boy Zip squealed and pulled something out.

  “Papa, look!” he shrieked, bouncing up and down.

  “Praise the unseen,” the older man murmured, and took my boots and woolen stockings from his son’s hands.

  “Except they’re not for you,” another voice said.

  They both jumped and whirled around, and my heart sank. Kor stood in the doorway—filled the doorway—and I could feel their terror seeping across the floorboards. I would have let them take the clothes. Kor would never stand for it.

  “Put ‘em away and scram, and I’ll forget I saw you pawing through my things,” Kor growled.

  “Oh, what,” the man said. “What’s a bloke need with two pairs of trompers?”

  “One to wear, and one to kick you with.”

  The man flinched and set them down, slowly. “Please let my boy keep the hat though. His ears are apt to fall off any minute now, look!”

  Kor hesitated. His gaze flitted around the room, but I couldn’t tell if he hadn’t seen me, or was just really talented at pretending he hadn’t. Then, to my surprise, he nodded.

  “Fine. Keep the cap.”

  I bit my lip. My heart was screaming at me to step out and tell the man to keep the boots too, but I couldn’t make myself move.

  I’m a coward…I’m a coward…

  The man tugged the cap down over the boy’s curly dark head, then clapped him on the shoulder. The boy followed him out, looking wistfully over his shoulder at the boots the whole time. Then they were gone.

  Kor heaved a heavy sigh and glowered at the case.

  “You could have just let him have them,” I said. “We could’ve gotten more.”

  Kor spun toward me, spewing out every swear word I’d ever heard and some I hadn’t, ending with,

  “Damn it all, Your Highness! Where did you come from?”

  I smiled—that would be one of the only times Kor had ever shown me the courtesy of calling me by my title.

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t see me standing there this whole time.”

  He stared at me. “Go back where you just were.”

  I shrugged and ducked back into the corner. He kept goggling at me, disbelief in every line of his face.

  “I can see you plain as day! How come none of us saw you half a minute ago?”

  “Maybe because you didn’t expect to see me?”

  “Like hell I didn’t! I expected to see you, not a couple of tramps filching your clothes out from under your nose.”

  I bowed my head, shame flushing my face—Tarik’s face—while the thug’s face was cold and pale as ever.

  “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Kor shook his head, more like he was trying to clear his thoughts than answer.

  “You have no other magery gift?” he asked finally, rubbing his finger back and forth over his chin.

  I flinched. “What do you mean?”

  “I stared straight where you were standing, and I didn’t see you. It’s like you weren’t even there. Like a Cloak.”

  My blood churned into a cold still mess. “One is too many as it is.”

  “I’m serious. Have you ever noticed another gift?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve got one already,” he said, peeved. “Having two wouldn’t make you any more one of them than you are already.”

  I kicked the toe of my shoe against the rotting baseboards, watching the wood splinter into dust with morbid satisfaction.

  “I told you, Kor. I’ve only ever known of one.”

  “There are Jixies who have more than one gift, you know.”

  “How nice for them.” I shivered and glanced at the furnace. “No chance of a fire?”

  “Not unless you want Pops and twenty more brats mobbing you for warmth.” He kicked the case toward me. “Go on and change. I’ll find you a new cap.”

  He headed out, slamming the flimsy door behind him as he went. My muscles twitched with another shiver. For endless long minutes I stood staring at the case, its contents half-spilled on the ground. Then, because I had to do it eventually, I stepped out of my Tarik clothes and into the threadbare garments.

  When Kor got back, I’d given up trying to avoid the dust, and had planted myself in the corner of the room on the floor. I couldn’t stop shaking; I must have looked like a whipped dog huddled there, with my knees pulled up as if that could somehow keep me warm. I’d left my greatcoat with my suit jacket and slacks, because I knew Kor would never stand to see me wearing it.

  And I was miserable.

  Kor smirked when he saw me and flung a filthy black cap down at my feet. “Having fun? Glad to see you know how to unbutton your own shirt.”

  I shot him a two word reply that would have made Griff blush. Kor just laughed and sat down against the wall beside me.

  “So, what do I call you?”

  I hugged my arms against my chest and glared at him. He’d asked me before what name I’d picked, and I hadn’t had an answer for him then. I still didn
’t.

  “Why don’t you just pick something for me?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ever heard of wandering babes?”

  I shook my head; Griff would’ve made a smart comment.

  “That’s what they call infants that end up on people’s porches, or the hospital steps, or any other place a little baby isn’t apt to get to on its own. Some people take them in. Most of them end up at the Place of the Innocents. Heard of that?”

  “Isn’t it an orphanage?”

  Kor grunted. “Used to be. Used to be the finest orphanage in the north, let alone Cavnal. Got put on the Ministry’s watch list and had to fight so many rules that it near shut down. Now it’s little better than the slums. Most kids escape when they turn seven or eight, figuring they’d rather chance it on their own than fight for scraps with twenty other squalling brats.” He shot me a long glance. “Most of them have never had a name by the time they get out. Most of them name themselves.”

  “So…” I frowned at my hands. “I need a name I might have given myself if I’d run away from an orphanage…slum.”

  “Something like that.”

  I thought for a minute, but everything I came up with seemed completely idiotic. Finally I threw my hands in the air and thudded my head against my knees.

  “Creativity’s not my strong point, apparently.”

  “Mm,” Kor said. “It will need to be, if you’re going to survive.”

  “Aren’t you going to help me?”

  He laughed, mirthless. “No. Well, I’ll be helping you as I can. Look, I can teach you some things, but you can’t just hide out in here for a month expecting me to teach you everything you’d learn in a lifetime on the street. You’re just going to have to dive in and do your best. Learn from me what you can. And the rest, let the streets teach you.”

  “Kor,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as fragile as I felt. “I don’t even speak their language.”

  “Well, start with this. You’ve got to stop thinking and talking like you’ve ever seen the inside of a school,” Kor said. “I guarantee—you open your mouth and talk that smartsy way you normally talk, and everyone who hears you will laugh at you first, and cut you up second. There’s no room for prissy words and fine grammar out there.”