The Madness Project (The Madness Method)

by Bralick, J. Leigh

  “Figure you’re right.” He tapped his felt hat onto his head and straightened his coat, as though he were heading out for a dinner party. “Smart, too,” he said. “I heard about the riot. Good thinking, using those workers to kick up a scene. You did a fine job.”

  My stomach knotted, and I could only stare at him in sick disbelief.

  Finally I managed to say, “Right. A fine job.”

  “Say, something I’ve meant to ask you.”

  I shrugged and gestured at him to keep talking.

  “Can you impersonate someone?”

  I let out my breath in a thin hiss and turned away. “No,” I said. “I can’t. Why does everyone always ask me that?”

  “Just thought it would be a useful talent. I was going to suggest, if you could do it, you might consider impersonating someone at the palace. Someone who might get the ear of the King. The Prince, maybe. You could learn some valuable information. Since you need to be in hiding anyway, it might be a good use of your time.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said, backing up. “It’s impossible.”

  “You’re saying you can’t make yourself look like him?”

  I tried not to laugh at the irony. “Oh, no, I could make myself look like him. That would be easy. But taking on someone’s persona…it’s not just about wearing their face. You have to move like them. Act like them. Talk like them. And know everything and everyone that they know. It’s not possible. Not on this short of notice. Maybe if I had a year, or two years, I could learn enough. But not now.” I took another step away. “I’ll go to the palace, though. I’m sure there are plenty of roles I could slip into. Maybe I’ll dig up some intelligence for you anyway.”

  He nodded, a strange, savage little smile on his lips. “Good,” he said. “That is good.” He reached out and clasped my arm. “Fine work, again. I knew I could count on you.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m real proud.”

  I turned before he could say anything else, and escaped deep into the back alleys outside the Hole. My thoughts raced, chasing my heartbeat, and somewhere deep inside I could feel how Tarik was furious, and scared out of his wits. Hayli was right. They’d decorated Brinmark with the accusation of my crime…and yet, I wasn’t even sure I’d been wrong.

  Shade’s reckless voice in my head kept urging me to keep up the fight, to forge ahead while the public was in an uproar…but Tarik knew that patience and a little time would pay off in the end. A fire once kindled would be easier to stoke, even if I let it cool a bit first. Shade couldn’t even show his face in public right now without risking imprisonment…or worse.

  I’d sworn to Hayli I wouldn’t leave and hide, but I had enough sense to know I’d been wrong. I had to get off the streets, at least for a time. In a few days the air would clear, and the vigilance would fade, and I’d become just another topic of mild interest in society.

  I just didn’t know how to escape. Part of me wanted to believe that Zagger would come for me, that he would know, that he wouldn’t abandon me. As I wandered through the dark and frozen alleys, I kept listening for the sound of his voice, saying my name. Finally, numb and hovering on the verge of desperation, I made my way up north to Astel’s diner. The front of the restaurant languished in darkness, but through the windows I could just make out the hint of a light back in the kitchen, where the staff would be getting a start on the day’s baking and cooking.

  I headed to the back of the diner and pounded on the staff’s door, then sank to a crouch against the wall with my knees pulled up tight. For a few moments nothing happened, then I heard a voice shouting,

  “What’s the what, Holley? Can’t find the doorknob wi’ your eyes piked?”

  The door flew open and Astel stormed out onto the stoop, hands on her hips. I breathed a sigh of relief, because if someone else had come out, I didn’t know if I’d have had the mental energy to Cloak. Astel scanned the alley a moment, scowling.

  “Some jape, that,” she muttered, and turned to go back inside.

  “Astel.”

  She jumped a good two feet back and peered into the shadows. I knew she wouldn’t be able to see my face where I sat, so I sighed and got to my feet. The light from the kitchen washed over me, and her jaw dropped.

  “Oh,” she said, eyes round. “Oh, doll.” She swept toward me and took my face in her hands, giving me a hard look in the eye. “You all right, love?”

  I stood motionless, dropping my gaze from hers. “I’m jake,” I said. “Just needed a place to go. I don’t want to get you in trouble, though.”

  “Malarkey,” she said, and released me to pull the door shut behind her. “‘Course you can come here. Don’t worry about it. But is it true? Did you kill that sergeant? Stars, he was a fine fellow.”

  My breath hitched. “I didn’t kill him.” I clenched my jaw and gave a sharp nod. “He was a good man.”

  “I know, doll,” she said. Something on my face must have betrayed me, because she frowned and wrapped her arms around me, saying, “Oh, you poor love. Wish I knew what happened, but I know this ain’t jake.”

  I wanted to pull away, but she had a fierce grip on me. If she thought it would comfort me, I supposed I could endure it. So I let her hold me, and tried to drive back the pain and fear and grief that threatened suddenly to overwhelm me.

  “What can I do?” she asked after a moment. “Tell me how I can help.”

  I cleared my throat and gently extracted myself from her grip. “I need Kor. Need to talk to him.”

  She nodded several times. “You need Kor,” she said, and nodded again, decisively. “Of course. Think I can help you there. What should I tell him?”

  “Tell him…tell him I need to walk the world a while. He’ll understand.” I smiled faintly. “I hope.”

  “Sure thing, doll. You want to come in, get warm? No one’ll bother.”

  “No,” I said. “Thanks though. I’ll wait out here.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen, and I could hear her shouting to the staff. A few moments after her voice died, laughter and the buzz of conversation replaced the silence. I sank down onto the stoop and buried my head in my arms, letting the wind tear through me. I dozed off a few times, sleeping fitfully after that troubled night when I’d discovered my fourth gift. Fourth. My head throbbed with pain and everything inside me shuddered as if the world were fracturing around me.

  I must have slept longer than I thought, because it seemed like mere minutes had passed when someone laid a hand on my shoulder and sent a static charge down my arm. I jumped, heart pounding, only to find Kor crouched beside me.

  “Hey, kid,” he murmured. “Stars, you look like hell.”

  I unlocked my arms from my knees and dropped my head back against the wall, but couldn’t seem to find my voice to say anything at all. I kept waiting for Kor to rebuke me for what I’d done, so when he just wrapped an arm around me and dragged me up, I pulled a step away from him.

  “What’s wrong with you, Kor? Why aren’t you blaming me for what happened?” I asked, trying to stand tall and steady, when I only felt folded in on myself, small, torn.

  Kor studied me in silence, his hand still poised between us. After a moment he lowered it and said, “Think you’re already getting enough of that from yourself.”

  I snorted and turned aside, my hands in angry knots at my sides.

  “You don’t need this burden,” he said. “Things happen when you do this kind of work. You have to just move on. You can’t let it eat you up or it will kill you.”

  “Forget what I’ve done?” I asked. My skin crawled, cold, numb. “And lose my humanity in the process?”

  “Sometimes you have to accept that you have to lose so others can live.”

  I backed another step away. “Not like that. I can’t accept that.”

  He shook his head and waved me toward him. “Don’t make a peck of difference right now. Come on, kid. Let’s get you off the streets.”

  He tossed a soldier’s canvas
rucksack at my feet. I crouched down to open it up, and found one of Tarik’s suits rolled up in neat bundles inside, along with a pair of shoes, a hat, and an overcoat.

  “Zagger got that together for you. He’s waiting with the motorcar at Gibbs Crossing.” He turned around, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “Go on, unMask and get changed. I’ll make sure no one sees you.”

  I nodded, though he couldn’t see me, and closed my eyes, focusing on calling back Tarik’s face and body. As soon as the last shreds of pain faded, I dressed in the suit and hat and button up shoes, fingers shaking in the wind.

  The kitchen door behind me creaked and clanked. I grabbed the rucksack and scuttled back into the shadows, hissing, “Kor!”

  He spun around and planted himself in the doorway just as the door swung open.

  “Where’s the lad?” Astel asked. “He set off already?”

  I pressed myself back against the wall.

  Kor took a step back from the door, shrugging. “Yeah. Already lammed off. Sprouted him for some coin.”

  “Poor thing,” she said and stepped out into the alley, flicking one glance over the shadows, right over me. “You take care of that one, Kor. Hear me? He’s something special.”

  “Don’t worry. Thanks, Stel.” He swung away from her, heading in my general direction and saying over his shoulder, “I’ll drop in a bit later.”

  She nodded and disappeared inside, and I let out all my breath in a slow exhale. I fell in step beside Kor, only the clap of my heeled shoes too loud in all the silence.

  “You’ll want to stay this way for a while, I imagine,” Kor said finally. “Wait till the fuss dies down.”

  “You’re not going to ask me what happened? Why I got involved in a workers’ riot?”

  “Nope.” He dropped a hand on my shoulder and pushed me forward. “Keep walking.”

  We reached Gibbs Crossing and found Zagger with the motorcar, waiting just outside the pool of light from a nearby streetlamp. As soon as he saw us he climbed out of the cab and circled around to my door. He didn’t say a word, but he studied me with a frown and reached out to clasp my arm. I jerked my gaze away and climbed into the car.

  The street lamps outside the palace were still lit against the long winter night when we drove up, and inside the foyer I could see one low light burning on the wall. It might have been early enough that even the servants were still asleep; I had no notion what time it was. Kor opened my door for me and walked with me up the steps. A guard heard us coming and stepped out of the guard post—not the guard I was accustomed to seeing as Shade, but an older officer I’d known much longer. He came to sharp attention when he saw me, saluting smartly and staring straight ahead.

  The door opened at almost the same moment, and Pont himself appeared, looking rather ruffled as though he’d dressed in a terrible hurry.

  “Your Highness,” he said, ushering me inside and taking my coat and hat. “It’s very early yet. I’m afraid everyone is still asleep.”

  I could never tell with Pont if he was at all curious about my late arrivals. I’d learned long ago, the first time I’d crept back into the palace in the wee hours of the morning, that he’d never let me see any surprise or curiosity in him, if he felt any at all. At first it had disappointed me, then I simply took it as a matter of course. Now I wondered if he ever talked about it to anyone. If the servants ever gossiped. If they ever speculated on my character, wondering if I’d been out doing things I’d never actually consider. Back then I might have laughed at the notion, and decided it would make a delicious scandal. Now it only made me ashamed.

  “I don’t require anything,” I said. A few weeks ago I might have left it at that and walked away, but this time I studied him a moment, seeing for the first time the dark circles under his eyes and, deep inside them, worry. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  He froze, just, and then gave me a gracious bow. “Thank you, Your Highness. It’s nothing.”

  I nodded and headed up to my apartments, leaving Kor to go his own way. Zagger was already in my sitting room when I arrived, kneeling on the ground in front of the fireplace to stoke the fire himself. I flicked a glance at the clock on the mantle—half past the eighth hour of the night. Only four hours past midnight. I’d had no idea just how early it was. And I’d gone and woken Kor, and Zagger, and dragged them out into the cold night to rescue me, and neither of them had given even a murmur of a complaint.

  “Go to bed, Zag,” I said. “You’ve done enough.”

  He clenched his hands at his sides. “Don’t see that I could sleep any more tonight,” he said.

  I gave him a look and he dropped his head in a nod. Without waiting to see if he’d actually do it, I retreated into my bedchamber and dropped onto the bed without even taking off my shoes.

  Chapter 17 — Tarik

  I woke some hours later to the clock chiming on my mantle. It was early yet, but, tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep any more. I rang for Liman, bracing myself for him to fuss over me when he appeared. But he just smiled and brought out my shaving kit. Eventually, I realized, I would have to unMask long enough that I would need to shave, or he’d only grow suspicious.

  “Shall I ring for breakfast or will you be dining with your family?” he asked, pulling out a dark tweed suit and jumper. “And will you be doing anything in particular today?”

  “I’ll dine down,” I said. “And no, that will do perfectly fine.”

  Once he’d gotten me presentable, I went down to breakfast in the west parlor. My mother and Trabin had already started eating, and they both stopped and stared at me when the footman opened the door for me. My mother got up immediately and came to meet me, clasping my hands in hers.

  “Oh, Tarik,” she murmured. “When you disappeared again, I had no notion how long you’d be away.”

  I’d made plenty of appearances in society since the Kalethelia ball, but I’d avoided Trabin as much as possible, and as a result I hadn’t seen my mother either.

  “I just had some things to take care of,” I said. I kissed her on both cheeks. “I hope I find you well.”

  She smiled and led me to the table with her hand on my elbow. “We’ve only just sat down,” she said, and flicked a glance at one of the servants waiting in the shadows.

  He bowed and disappeared, and I took my place across the table from Trabin. He had already returned to his meal, but he met my gaze evenly as I sat down.

  “Did you ever give those newshawks their interview?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “It was a dreadful bore.”

  Perhaps I should have said that I’d been a dreadful bore. Such a bore, in fact, that I never read about the interview in the Herald, which had been precisely my intent.

  Trabin arched a brow as he slathered his scone with strawberry preserves and clotted cream. A servant brought me a plate of eggs and biscuits and fried hash, and another poured out a glass of light wine. My stomach rumbled fearfully, and, after weeks of canned vegetables and half-stale bread, I wondered if I’d ever really taken this for granted. I couldn’t even imagine what Hayli would say about the spread. The mental image I got of her goggling wide-eyed at my plate made me smile, and I had to duck my head before Trabin or my mother saw and asked me what I was grinning about.

  The silence at table had never bothered me before, but somehow today it made me unbearably twitchy. I had nothing to say, though—or at least, I had nothing to say with Trabin present. So I held my tongue and savored my meal, and when Trabin finished his last scone, we all moved into the east salon for tea. The yellow and white room gleamed with the early daylight, bright for once with a rare sun. While my mother read over her private correspondence, Trabin asked me again if I needed to report anything. I was on the verge of giving in and telling him how close I was to an audience with Rivano when the footman stepped into the room.

  “Your Majesty, Mr. Farro is here.”

  “Griff?” I said, startled. “What in the world does he want at this hou
r?”

  “Let him in,” Trabin said.

  A moment later Griff hurried in, holding a rolled up copy of the Herald under his arm. His hair stood almost straight on end and he still wore his aviator jacket and breeks, looking like he’d just returned from some bizarre hunt in the skies. He kissed my mother’s hand and bowed to Trabin.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. He caught sight of me standing near the window, and lifted his hand in an absent kind of wave. “Oh, hullo Tarik. Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

  “Farro,” I said.

  “What’s this about, Mr. Farro?” Trabin asked, folding a hand behind his back. “It’s rather early for a social call.”

  “I was actually looking for my father. He isn’t here, is he?”

  “No, not yet,” Trabin said, studying Griff sternly. “He’ll be along later, after we’ve had our tea and begun our day properly.”

  Griff turned bright red at that, and bowed again. “I’m sorry. I did ask the footman if I might possibly get an audience with you, if my father weren’t here yet.”

  Trabin flicked his fingers at him, dismissing his apology. “Well? What is it you find so urgent?”

  Griff unrolled the newspaper and held it out to Trabin. A little cold knot twisted in my stomach, harder and tighter as I watched the blood drain from Trabin’s face.

  “What am I looking at, Mr. Farro?”

  “That fellow there? He led a workers’ riot—or, an anarchists’ riot, not sure which—yesterday down at Macallum Mill.”

  “And?”

  “I’ve seen him around the palace before. I know that bloke. Proper mage, always coming around on business with some bald gentleman who works in the east wing.”

  My mother’s head snapped up, her face turning terribly pale. She flicked a cautious glance at me, which Trabin must have caught. For a moment he stood staring at the paper, then suddenly he slammed it down on the corner table and spun toward Griff.

  “Thank you, Mr. Farro. That will be all.”

  Griff shot a step back, frowning and confused, but as soon as one of the footmen moved toward him, he bowed and retreated from the room.