Julia Unbound

by Catherine Egan

  “Come on,” I say, grabbing her wrists. The duke gives her an indelicate boost from behind and I pull her up, so that we are squeezed on either side of the great bronze head of some dead nobleman.

  “Stay there!” he shouts at us. “I’ve got to find my mother.”

  His broad back disappears into the surge of bodies.

  “What on earth…?” gasps Dafne. “What is happening?”

  The hall clears, a sea of rats streaming behind the fleeing aristocrats.

  “Witchery!” I hear somebody shout from outside, and another voice takes up the cry: “Witchery!”

  Mrs. Och’s house is dark except for a glow from the front parlor window. The roof is spiked with roosting crows. One of them swoops low over our heads with an angry squawk as Dek and I approach.

  Mr. Faruk opens the door almost the instant I knock. He is dressed in traditional Eshriki garb—a white robe embroidered with gold thread and open at the chest. I remember seeing the rich dressed this way in Eshrik, and it seemed quite natural there, but it is rather startling in Mrs. Och’s foyer. He greets us cordially and leads us into the parlor, where a lamp is blazing.

  Lady Laroche is at the tea table in front of a game of Conquest, puffing on a cigar.

  “What a pleasant surprise!” she says. “Julia, you do look fine! Csilla knows her business!”

  My ribs and feet are aching from the press of the corset and the pinch of my shoes. I went straight from the opera house to the Marrow to find Dek. We ate supper with Wyn and then came here. I haven’t even been back to report to Pia yet.

  “What’s with all the crows outside?” I ask.

  “Prudence,” says Lady Laroche. “It’s better that visitors don’t know what a full house we have.”

  “What do they do? Peck people’s eyes out?” asks Dek.

  “They give warning. Mrs. Och certainly was prepared for unwelcome visitors. Did you know there are tunnels in the cellar with enchanted doors? We’ve been searched once already, but as far as the Fraynish Crown knows, Professor Baranyi has returned to Spira City to claim the house Mrs. Och left him in her will, along with her fortune, and he still employs Mrs. Freeley, and they live here alone. Do sit down, please.”

  “Mrs. Och left Professor Baranyi the house?” I say, surprised.

  “She left him everything,” says Lady Laroche. “He paid your friends what Mrs. Och promised them, by the way, and they have generously put those funds toward the revolution.”

  “He hates me, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. But he is grieving, and sometimes it helps to hate somebody.”

  “Is he here now?”

  “No. He is dining at the university, and I hope winning some of the literati to our cause. The princess and Gennady have both gone to bed. I was about to go to bed myself, since the game is at a stalemate.” She gives a theatrical yawn and grinds her cigar out in the ashtray. “You’ve only just caught us.”

  “You know what’s funny?” says Dek, settling down on the sofa as if she hasn’t just said she’s going to bed. “We’ve come from the Edge, and we didn’t see a single rat on the way over here. That part of the city is usually crawling with them.”

  Lady Laroche raises a thin eyebrow.

  “And yet,” I say, “the opera house is still full of them. And the parliament buildings, and half of West Spira.”

  The opera never took place. Everybody fled, but the scene outdoors was chaos too, more rats than I have ever seen in my life, traveling in swift packs, dark-furred and malevolent-looking, biting ankles and climbing up suits and dresses and into hackneys. Having grown up in the Twist, I’m hardly squeamish about rats, but I confess I didn’t think twice about getting out of there.

  “Did you witness it, Julia?” Lady Laroche asks eagerly.

  I describe the scene at the opera, and she laughs, clapping her hands, girlish in her delight. “I wish I could have seen it!”

  Mr. Faruk manages to give the impression of rolling his eyes without actually doing so, then holds up a porcelain pot and says, “Coffee?”

  “Don’t you have anything stronger?” asks Dek.

  “I’d like coffee,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs. He elbows me back.

  Mr. Faruk glides out of the room to fetch extra cups.

  “I am glad you’re here, Benedek,” says Lady Laroche. “We’ve found a doctor at the university who will take a photograph of the inside of your chest tomorrow. Difficult to imagine, I know, but I’ve been assured it works. Then we will be able to see where the poison is attached. This doctor will analyze the photographs and see if there’s anything to be done.”

  “Hounds. How do they photograph my insides?” asks Dek. “Is it magic?”

  “Not at all! It is a new technology,” says Lady Laroche.

  “Casimir’s mechanic was quite sure nobody but him would be able to take the poison out without killing Dek,” I say anxiously.

  “We won’t do a thing unless we can be sure it’s safe, but we ought to have a look,” says Lady Laroche. “They may be bluffing. Suppose there is no poison at all?”

  “They opened up his chest,” I say.

  “I’d like to see a photograph of my insides, anyway,” says Dek. “See if my heart is as black as I think it is.”

  “Getting at Casimir will be the more difficult part,” says Lady Laroche. “I tried to have him assassinated and failed—and that was before he employed a witch of such legendary power.”

  I think of Pia, and my insides quake. I don’t want anybody to die for me, or suffer a fate like hers.

  “I think an assassination plot is probably pointless,” I concede.

  Mr. Faruk comes back in with cups and pours us coffee.

  “Thank you,” says Dek, and then he adds to Lady Laroche, “And thank you for helping me.”

  “You are Ammi’s son,” she says simply. It is as if a mask drops away for a moment, and her ironic flair is gone. “I wasn’t able to protect Ammi, and I will live with that sorrow for the rest of my life. If I can help her children in any way, it will make me very happy indeed. I loved her dearly.”

  “But you sent her to kill Casimir,” I say. I don’t mean to accuse her. Or at least, I don’t think I do. But I can’t help saying it.

  “No,” she says, startled. “I did not know what Ammi intended. I would never have sent her on such a mission. She was too dear to me.”

  That surprises me. I’d assumed my mother was acting for the coven. Lady Laroche only sent Pia, then. Pia, dear to nobody.

  “Casimir thinks you were behind it,” I say.

  “I’m sure he does, but he is wrong. Oh, I certainly wanted him dead. But I never asked Ammi to do it.”

  Mr. Faruk studies the board and makes a move.

  “Blast,” says Lady Laroche, glancing at it. The mask comes back up, sardonic and amused. “Blast,” she repeats, more emphatically. “You’ve cornered me.”

  “Three moves,” says Mr. Faruk, smiling.

  “Yes, I see. All right, I surrender.”

  She turns over the king with an index finger and sighs. “I’ve yet to beat Idir at this game. One day!”

  “So are you part of the Sidhar Coven?” I ask Mr. Faruk, since I haven’t figured out how he fits in. I’ve been assuming he’s a man-witch, now that I know such creatures exist.

  “No,” he says. “I was the princess’s tutor in Eshrik for a few years. We kept in touch after she moved to the monastery in Tianshi. I came as soon as I received word that she was on her way to Frayne.”

  “Word from who?”

  “From Princess Zara. She sent me a letter from Xanuha saying that she was with a group of Fraynish revolutionaries on her way to claim the throne. I wrote to Lady Laroche and came immediately to see if I could be of service.”

  This is the most I’ve heard
him speak yet.

  “So…you’re not a man-witch, then?” I ask.

  “I am a witch,” he says. “We are rare, but nonetheless we favor witch over man-witch.”

  “Oh.”

  “Idir is part of a sect that believes the first Eshriki Phar Marike is still alive,” says Lady Laroche laconically, and I choke on my coffee. “He is waiting patiently for her return to power, but is granting us his company while he waits.”

  Dek gives me a hard look, but I ask anyway: “Why do you think Marike is still alive?”

  “The evidence,” he says simply. “The witch executed as Marike by the Sirillian Empire claimed to be a farmer’s wife from Vassali, and indeed it was discovered not long after that a farmer’s wife from Vassali had gone missing. There have been many credible reports from those who harbored Marike afterward.”

  “A thousand years ago,” scoffs Lady Laroche. “Pretending to be Marike is quite a popular pastime among a certain kind of witch. I can’t tell you how many Marikes I’ve met in my time.”

  “Have you heard of the Ankh-nu?” I ask them.

  Mr. Faruk says, “Of course. The vessel Marike made to bring the Gethin into the world.”

  “My mother had it,” I say in a great rush. “She used it. Not long before I was born, she used it to bring Lidari back into the world from Kahge.”

  Lady Laroche is looking at me like she’s suddenly realized I’m completely mad and must choose her words carefully. Dek is quietly seething next to me.

  “Lidari,” she says. “That’s a familiar name.”

  Mr. Faruk laughs. “Modern Fraynish witches tend to neglect their Eshriki history. A mistake, if they aspire to power themselves!” To Lady Laroche, he says: “Lidari was the first among the Gethin, but he too lived in many bodies and stayed by Marike through the centuries.”

  “Until Casimir killed him and sent him back to Kahge,” I say.

  “So Casimir claimed, yes,” says Mr. Faruk.

  I’m thinking of the vision I had of my mother in Ragg Rock with the Ankh-nu—less a vision than a memory, but it was Lidari’s memory, I’m sure of it. I’ve got it, she said. So had she lost it? Or am I on the wrong track?

  “My mother brought Lidari back to the world,” I repeat. “Mrs. Och thought she put his essence in me. I saw one of his memories.”

  “A vision that could have been planted by a witch,” interjects Dek.

  “No.” I shake my head. It’s easier to pose this theory to two strangers than to Dek, so I look at them rather than him. “This witch was looking through my memories, and one of them wasn’t mine. It was Lidari’s. But inside my mind. The creatures in Kahge thought I was him too.”

  For the first time since I’ve met him, Mr. Faruk looks intensely interested. He has gone stiller than usual, like a cat poised to pounce.

  “I found Ko Dan in Tianshi too,” I say. “But he claimed he didn’t put the Book of Disruption fragment in Theo. He was held prisoner, and someone took his body. Who do you know that can borrow bodies and take them over?”

  “You think it was Marike,” says Mr. Faruk softly.

  “Yes.” My hands are shaking, and I clench them together. “Si Tan thought that our ma…that Ammi was Marike. She had the Ankh-nu because it was hers. She got her old friend Lidari out of Kaghe and went to take revenge on Casimir. Then years later, she borrowed Ko Dan’s body, like a disguise, and used the Ankh-nu to put Gennady’s part of The Book of Disruption into Theo.”

  Lady Laroche bursts into amazed laughter. “Ammi? No. It is impossible.”

  “That’s what I said,” says Dek.

  “But how can you know that?” I’m nearly shouting.

  “If Marike were alive, why borrow the body of a monk in Yongguo? Why not just do what she wanted directly?” says Lady Laroche, leaning closer to me. She is glamorous from a few feet away, but up close I see the frayed skin around her fingernails, the chewed edges of her lips.

  “Gennady would never have agreed to let Marike work magic on him or get near The Book of Disruption,” I say. “All three of the Xianren considered her an enemy. Ko Dan was an excellent disguise.”

  “You don’t believe it, though,” says Mr. Faruk to Dek.

  “No,” says Dek stiffly. “I know that my sister is my sister. I know that my mother was my mother. All this about Marike and Lidari…no, I don’t believe it.”

  “It is rather far-fetched,” says Lady Laroche. “But perhaps…if I could get a besilik mirror, I might manage a memory retrieval. That would answer the question.”

  “A besilik mirror!” exclaims Mr. Faruk. “You are full of surprises.”

  “I have a friend who could get me one, I think.” Lady Laroche gives me a feral sort of grin. “Would you like to do a bit of digging through your memories, Julia, and see if we can find traces of this Lidari?”

  “If there’s something inside me, I want to know,” I say unsteadily.

  “Come back tomorrow,” says Lady Laroche, suddenly brisk. “I will go into the city first thing in the morning for the mirror. You don’t approve, Benedek?”

  “I don’t like the idea of more magical prying inside Julia’s brain,” he says. “But it’s up to her.”

  “I see the best of Ammi in both of you,” she says.

  That seems to make Dek uncomfortable.

  “Can we get back to the rats for a minute?” he says abruptly. “I’m not clear on the point of having them swarming all over West Spira.”

  Lady Laroche grins. “Just giving the denizens of West Spira a little scare.”

  “And people say I have odd hobbies,” he says.

  Her eyes glitter, and she says, “Every witch must reckon with what she is, alone and terrified, before she finds her people. I know the aristocracy, I grew up among them. I had servants and governesses, I was dressed in silks and lace, I was taught how to sit, how to stand, how to speak, how to tinkle a pretty tune on the piano, how to laugh and, also important, how not to laugh, and every moment felt like drowning.” She pauses, a faraway expression on her face. “My mother had a cabinet full of very fine old ceramics on display—a gift to our family from the Brezhian queen. When I was five years old, I went downstairs in the middle of the night, broke into the cabinet, and smashed them all to bits.”

  “I’ll bet you were whipped,” says Dek.

  “Oh, I was,” she says, almost fondly. “My father beat me within an inch of my life. But I had tasted something akin to freedom. That same evening, I set fire to the house. I was locked up for months after that. I learned, over the years that followed, that they would go to any lengths to subdue me, to tame me, and I knew that they would break me if they could. I got older, wilier. I learned the art of pretense. I learned how to seem to be what they wanted. By the time I knew I was a witch, I was already adept at keeping secrets. I married a rich idiot and lived the life of a fine lady for a time, intending to burn the aristocracy down from within. Still, I cannot describe to you the relief when my identity as leader of the Sidhar Coven was revealed. I never had to pretend again—and I have never forgotten how it felt, the tremendous joy that could not be whipped out of me when I smashed those prized ceramics—my first act of true rebellion. What I mean to say is that I am not squeamish about destruction. If you want to change something, the easiest and fastest way is to destroy the thing that is standing so that something new can be built in its place. And I have always been partial to fire.”

  Mr. Faruk is carefully placing the Conquest pieces back in their starting positions on the board. Dek and I are frozen in our seats as Lady Laroche continues, a look of terrible elation on her face.

  “West Spira has kept all the ills of the city away with money and force. They cocoon themselves in luxury and throw their wealth behind the slaughter of witches and the oppression of the lower classes. What happened at the opera today was a messag
e. A new day is dawning in Frayne.” She smiles, her face relaxing. “The Rainist overlords can get behind us, or they can be eaten by rats.”

  It’s late but Lirabon Avenue is still busy, people spilling out of bars, and everywhere talk of the rat invasion of West Spira.

  “Terrifying, isn’t she?” says Dek—referring, I assume, to Lady Laroche. He grins. “I quite like her.”

  “I can’t imagine how she and Mrs. Och would ever have worked together,” I say. “No wonder Mrs. Och didn’t seem too cut up when we thought she was dead. Well, and vice versa.”

  “I can’t decide if we should be cheering her on or staying well away. I’ll see this doctor of hers tomorrow, in any case. Will you get that thing out of your arm now, Julia?”

  “Not yet,” I say, though I’m tempted. The itching and burning under the skin has moved into my upper arm. I can wait a few more days, I tell myself. If Lady Laroche can’t find a way to help Dek, I’ll take the nuyi out, and I’ll…what? My heart stalls.

  “I’m frightened for you,” he says—the fellow with the poison next to his heart. “Suppose you miscalculate and let this thing—the nuyi—get too far? And honestly, I’m afraid of the way you’re latching on to these ideas about Marike. People, like Mr. Faruk, who think Marike is still alive…they’re a bit mad, if you ask me, obsessing over a long-dead half-mythical witch. Fanatics.”

  “Mr. Faruk seems the farthest thing from a fanatic,” I say. “And Marike isn’t half-mythical. She’s a historical figure.”

  “Well, I mean, the stories about her. Who knows what’s true anymore?”

  “But it makes a kind of horrible sense, doesn’t it? Why did Ma go after Casimir, anyway? Marike had a grudge; she had a reason to try to destroy him. Casimir had killed Lidari and sent his essence back to Kahge, and he was behind the rise of the Sirillian Empire that set out to kill her as well.”

  “Any witch had a reason to go after Casimir, especially a Fraynish witch,” says Dek. “Julia, don’t you remember her? How could you honestly think you might be Lidari or she might be Marike? Remember the rag doll you used to carry everywhere? You sucked on its hand when you were going to sleep, and when you lost it in the river you cried for weeks! Remember Ma burning porridge or combing your hair or doing the washing up or scolding us for getting filthy? You talk like none of that means anything, but it’s the truth of who you are and who she was.”