The Wooden Prince

by John Claude Bemis

  Pinocchio shoved her away. He reached through the panel and clasped Wiq’s hands.

  “Please, Wiq,” he cried.

  “I’m sorry,” Wiq whispered. Then he called to the fox. “You have to keep Pinocchio safe. You can’t let the doge’s soldiers capture him. He’s…he’s too important. Do you understand?”

  Mezmer nodded.

  Wiq squeezed Pinocchio’s hand. Tears beaded on the fur on his cheeks. “Good-bye, Pinocchio,” he said. “If you find your father…if he rescues Prester John…maybe His Immortal Lordship can find a way to save us.”

  He shut the panel and was gone.

  “Wiq, don’t!” Pinocchio cried.

  It took Mezmer and Sop both pulling Pinocchio to get him up the stairs and into the alley. “Hush, lad! We have to go.”

  Pinocchio felt his eyes burn as if hot steam wanted to erupt from them. He slumped to the ground while Mezmer spoke quietly with a small group of the remaining chimera. She clasped each of them by the forearms and said, “You’d have made magnificent knights, darlings,” before the group turned and disappeared down the alley.

  Mezmer pulled Pinocchio to his feet. He staggered in a daze as she and Sop led him away. It was only a moment later he realized that they weren’t following the group.

  “Where are the others?” he asked.

  “Wiq was right,” she said grimly. “If we all stayed together, we’d be caught. They are providing a necessary distraction, so we can hopefully get away.”

  “But what will happen to them? Will they be captured again?”

  “Some. Most will fall in glorious battle against the imperial guards.”

  “I don’t understand,” Pinocchio said.

  Mezmer stopped and placed a paw to his shoulder. “It is like with your friend Wiq. When friends are loyal and true, they are willing to help one another no matter the cost. Come. Let us not have their sacrifice be in vain.”

  Pinocchio felt the smallest bit of understanding penetrate the fog of grief encompassing him. Mezmer was right. He couldn’t let Wiq down. So he followed her and Sop as they made their way through the darkened streets of Siena.

  As they rounded a corner, the muffled sound of musket fire echoed off the buildings, illuminating the night in brief bursts. Distant voices shouted. Then the sky filled with airmen streaking toward the commotion.

  Mezmer pulled Pinocchio and Sop into an alley to take cover.

  “They found our brethren,” she said, looking up worriedly at all the airmen. “Now we have to hope they won’t find us.”

  Pinocchio’s thoughts had been consumed by leaving Wiq, but now the sight of the airmen and the sound of the gunfire finally woke him to their present danger.

  “So how are we going to escape?” he asked, sticking close to Mezmer’s side as the three slid from alleyway to alleyway.

  “When we get to the wall,” Mezmer explained, “Sop will first make sure there are no guards. He sees better with his one eye than most do with two. Then you’ll start to scale the wall, strong automa that you are. We’ll hold on to your legs, and Sop will give a special tap if he spies trouble—”

  “What should the tap be?” Sop interrupted. “Maybe…” He made a bop-ba-bop, bop-ba-bop rhythm with his paws. “Or what about a birdcall? It could be…” The noise sounded more like a distressed toad than any bird Pinocchio had ever heard.

  “Wait!” Pinocchio sputtered. “Are you saying we’re just going to climb over the wall and hope we don’t get spotted by airmen?”

  “That’s the general plan,” Mezmer replied, her attention focused on the skies and the streets ahead.

  “That’s a terrible plan!” Pinocchio said.

  “Well, it’s the only one we have at the moment,” Sop said, pushing Mezmer and Pinocchio into a doorway as a trio of airmen streaked overhead.

  Pinocchio wondered if going with Mezmer and Sop was a huge mistake.

  “I’d give my good eye for a sword right about now,” Sop mumbled. “Or better still, a chameleon cloak.”

  “A what?” Pinocchio asked, Sop’s words reminding him of something.

  Mezmer pulled him after her. “Doesn’t much matter, does it, darling? As we don’t have—”

  “Do chameleon cloaks disguise you as your surroundings?” he asked. “I know where we might get some.”

  “What?” Mezmer stopped running and fixed Pinocchio with a surprised look.

  “The men who brought me to Siena wore them,” Pinocchio said. “But I don’t know if they’re still here.”

  “Do you know where they stay in town?” Mezmer asked.

  “Not really,” Pinocchio said.

  Sop hissed. “Then we’re wasting time! Let’s just go.”

  In the street ahead, Pinocchio spied a banner with an eagle emblazoned on it. He’d seen banners like that when Rampino brought him to Al Mi’raj’s. Each of the neighborhoods of Siena seemed to display a different banner. And Rampino had been staying in the neighborhood where the banners were…

  “Snails,” he murmured. “We have to find the snails.”

  “The snails?” Sop looked at Pinocchio like he was completely insane.

  Pinocchio hurried down the alley. “Just follow me.”

  Mezmer shoved Sop forward. “Let’s see what the lad is onto.”

  Pinocchio led them down several streets until they reached a neighborhood with rhinoceros banners. “This isn’t right.”

  Sop groaned, but Pinocchio set off in the other direction, and soon they spied panther banners. Yes, he remembered those. Weaving down the narrowest streets and sticking to the shadows so as not to be spotted from above, Pinocchio eventually reached a square with the snail banners.

  “Snails,” Sop said, giving a nod of understanding. “So where are they?”

  “Hopefully in those stables over there,” Pinocchio said.

  The square was a large one, and crossing it would make them more exposed than they had been in the narrow streets.

  “I can handle this,” Sop said, adjusting his eye patch. “Wait here.”

  Sop crossed the square, moving from one shadowy spot to another with surprising stealth, especially for a cat as pudgy as he was. He disappeared into the stables.

  Pinocchio held his breath. If Sop woke Rampino’s men and a fight broke out, the airmen would notice for certain. But a moment later, Sop slipped back across the square, his arms bundled around not only three chameleon cloaks, but also a pair of swords and a spear.

  “Excellent, darling!” Mezmer said, giving the spear an experimental twirl.

  Pinocchio threw on the cloak and tested the feel of the sword. Not bad.

  “Sleeping off too many bottles of wine, that group was,” Sop chuckled, buckling the sword belt and pulling the cloak around his shoulders. He blended in perfectly with the shadowy stone wall behind him. “How do I look? Invisible?”

  “Not exactly,” Mezmer said. “I can see you when you move. But we’ll be invisible enough from the sky.” Then she added, “Hopefully. Off we go.”

  “Wait!” Pinocchio said. “We have to find Geppetto. My fa—I mean, my master is somewhere in the city. He’s in danger.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, we’re in danger too,” Sop said.

  “Listen, dear,” Mezmer said to Pinocchio, leaning on her spear. “I swore to your friend I’d help you get away, and that’s what I’ll do. If your master was looking for you, he’ll have discovered by now that there’s been an escape from Al Mi’raj’s theater. The best thing for us to do is leave this city and hope your master comes after you.”

  “But how will he find me?”

  “Not our concern at the moment, dear,” Mezmer said kindly before pulling up her hood and setting off.

  Musket fire had woken most of Siena. Faces peered out of illuminated windows, but none seemed to notice the three as they made their way to the north gate.

  A night guard stood before the closed portcullis. He narrowed his eyes as they approached. “Who goes there?”
he called.

  Pinocchio really hoped this was going to work. “Rampino,” he said in the most gravelly voice he could muster.

  “Awful early for you,” the guard chuckled. “Where are the rest?”

  “Sleeping,” Pinocchio said. “These idiots…uh, dropped a bag of coins at our last camp. We’ll be back later.”

  The guard cocked his head toward the sounds of the airmen. “Seems suspicious you leaving with these imperial airmen in town.”

  Pinocchio stiffened and slid a hand to his sword.

  The guard burst out laughing. “I don’t even want to know what kind of pickle you’ve gotten into with the imperials, naughty Rampino. Just keep finding us more like the Magpie. I’ll keep quiet that you came through. Hurry before you get in trouble.”

  He opened the gate, and the three headed out onto the steep lane that zigzagged down from Siena. When they reached the main road, Pinocchio looked back at the city. Was Geppetto still there? Would he find a way to escape? If his father had tracked him down in Siena, he had to hope he’d be able to find him still. But now, dawn was coming, and the gunfire was getting worse. They had to get away.

  He turned and found Mezmer smiling down at him.

  “Nice work back there, darling,” she said. “My, aren’t you full of surprises. I never imagined puppets could be so clever.”

  “I’m not a puppet,” Pinocchio said.

  Mezmer rubbed her furry chin. “No, I suppose you’re not. But what are you, exactly?”

  Before Pinocchio could answer, Sop said, “Quit yapping and move,” as he jogged down the road.

  “That must be the djinni’s theater,” Geppetto said.

  Lazuli crouched beside him on the dark rooftop. They peered across at the massive building that bordered the city’s central square.

  “How are we going to get inside?” Maestro chirped.

  Lazuli looked around. “The guards are all below. They’ve left the terrace at the top unprotected. I can get onto it.”

  “Why aren’t there guards on the roof?” Geppetto asked. “It looks too easy.”

  “You think it’s a trap?” Lazuli asked.

  “But for whom?” Geppetto murmured.

  The doors to the theater opened down on the street. A djinni emerged, and the guards began barking orders and shouting in anger.

  “What’s happening?” Lazuli asked.

  “I don’t know,” Geppetto said. They hid in the shadows beside a chimney.

  Flying Lions and airmen emerged from atop the Palazzo Pubblico, taking flight and spreading out over the city.

  Maestro flicked his antennae. “Someone must have escaped from the theater,” he said. “Do you think it could be Pinocchio?”

  “Maestro,” Geppetto said, fixing the cricket with an urgent gaze. “You have to go look for him!”

  Poor Maestro trembled nervously, but in the end, Lazuli could see that his devotion to Pinocchio overcame his fear. With a spring, he disappeared into the dark sky.

  Lazuli and Geppetto waited as gunfire erupted somewhere across the city. Shouting voices rose and fell. Lazuli gritted her teeth. Whatever was happening, this was about more than just Geppetto’s automa.

  Finally Maestro returned, landing on Geppetto’s shoulder. “I saw him. At least I think it was Pinocchio and maybe two others. It was hard to tell, since they were wearing chameleon cloaks. I only glimpsed them for a moment before the cloaks shifted—”

  “Which way did they go?” Geppetto growled.

  “Out the north gate,” Maestro said.

  Lazuli glanced toward the gunfire on the south side of the city. “Someone’s creating a helpful distraction.”

  Geppetto began to rise from the rooftop. “If we hurry, we can—”

  A thump sounded behind them, someone landing, cracking terra-cotta tiles.

  “We meet again, fairy,” the airman said, aiming his musket at them. “Funny. Your uncle doesn’t look like any Abatonian I’ve ever seen.”

  He stepped forward, and his face emerged from the shadows. Lazuli recognized him right away.

  “Master Geppetto,” Captain Toro said. “You never said you had blue-haired family.”

  Lazuli looked side to side for a way to escape off the roof. She might manage it, but Geppetto couldn’t. They were trapped.

  “You played a fine trick on me back at that tavern,” Captain Toro snarled. “Toro the fool. Toro who has spent his years in this frontier wasteland, when he should have been serving in Venice as an imperial officer of the Fortezza Ducale. Well, you’ve made a fool of me too many times, traitor!”

  He surged toward them. Geppetto backed to the edge of the roof. Lazuli stepped in front of him, her hand on her sword.

  “Drop the weapon, fairy,” Toro ordered, aiming his musket.

  She’d been trained well. She was fast. But not against a gun. There was no escaping Captain Toro this time.

  Lazuli slowly unsheathed the sword and dropped it to the tiles.

  “You must have had a good laugh,” Captain Toro said with a crazed smile. “Back in San Baldovino. On the aqueduct. And then the other day. You must have split your sides thinking you’d fooled me for a third time.”

  “We thought nothing of the sort, Captain,” Geppetto said.

  Captain Toro didn’t look as if he believed him. The rage and satisfaction on the captain’s face was terrifying. “Thought I’d quit after embarrassing myself so many times before the doge and my comrades. But I never quit! I won’t fail this time. This is my victory. Tonight, when I bring the doge the traitor Geppetto Gazza, I will show them all that Captain Toro is a hero of the empire!”

  Lazuli waved a hand and a roof tile flew at Captain Toro. The airman spun sideways, and the clay tile shattered on his armored forearm.

  She reached for the sword at her feet. But before she could grab it, Captain Toro brought the stock end of his musket down, cracking it against her temple.

  She staggered toward the edge, nearly falling over. Her vision was swimming with flashes of light. She felt heavy and disoriented, as if she might pass out. Not now, she tried to tell herself.

  Captain Toro had Geppetto by the elbow. “I’ve got you this time, traitor.”

  Geppetto met Lazuli’s gaze. She tried to get her eyes to focus on him.

  “Go,” he barked.

  Still holding Geppetto, Captain Toro swung the musket around one-handed and aimed it at her.

  Lazuli had no time to weigh her options. She had only an instant to decide. And in that instant, she reached out a hand. A whirl of wind shot her sword into her grip, and she lunged at Captain Toro.

  The musket thundered. Pain exploded across Lazuli’s chest. She flew backward from the force of the impact, tumbling from the rooftop and down to the cobblestone streets below.

  A peal of thunder echoed across the Tuscan countryside, low and ominous.

  Pinocchio sat on the roof of a crumbling mill, hoping to spy Geppetto coming over one of the hills. But besides the steely purple wall of storm clouds blotting out the dawn, nothing out there was moving. Even the skies were finally empty of airmen this morning.

  Where were his father and Maestro? When would they come? Now that the doge’s fleet had flown off for Venice and the patrols of airmen were gone, they might even be able to sneak back into the city and rescue Wiq. If only his father would get here.

  Pinocchio twisted the bracelet of jasmine vines around his wrist.

  Mezmer and Sop were asleep below inside the mill. They had found the ruined hiding place a few days before. Although Sop and Mezmer had thought they should keep moving, Pinocchio insisted on staying. If his father was looking for him, they should wait somewhat close to Siena.

  Mezmer had warned that they’d be captured if they remained in the mill. And she had almost been right. Twice now patrols had searched the mill, but he and Mezmer and Sop had covered themselves with the chameleon cloaks and hidden in the forest until the soldiers moved on.

  Watching the black st
orm as it drew closer, Pinocchio heard Mezmer and Sop beginning to stir below. They were most likely starting to warm a breakfast of the food they’d plundered from gardens on their escape from Siena. He thought about going down to join them, but didn’t want to leave his post.

  Sop’s voice wafted from the window. “The puppet’s kept us here long enough.”

  Pinocchio sat up straighter, listening.

  “Don’t call him that,” Mezmer said. “And I gave my word I’d help the lad.”

  “You did!” Sop contended. “You helped him escape Siena. It’s time we move on, before a patrol catches us by surprise.”

  “He still thinks his alchemist is coming,” Mezmer said. “You’ve heard him up there, humming that tune every night as he waits for his master.”

  “It’s depressing, if you ask me,” Sop said, clanking around as he worked on breakfast.

  Pinocchio hadn’t realized they’d been able to hear him humming Maestro’s “Orpheus.” And it wasn’t a depressing song! Humming it was the only thing that gave him an inkling of hope.

  “Look, Mez, I like the kid. You’re right, he’s…no ordinary automa. But we can’t let him go on thinking this alchemist is going to come, when clearly he’s not.”

  “I know,” Mezmer said, with a heavy sigh. A moment later, she asked tentatively, “Back when we were leaving, did you hear what Wiq said, about the alchemist being the lad’s father?”

  “I heard it. Ridiculous, right?”

  Mezmer was silent.

  “What!” Sop spat. “You’re not serious? Do you honestly think an alchemist could love one of these pupp—I mean, an automa?”

  “I think Pinocchio loves this alchemist. Why else would he be acting this way?”

  “Puppets don’t work like that. Puppets don’t feel anything.”

  “Stop calling him that.”

  “Sorry, Mez. But really, now! No one would want an automa as a son. It’s preposterous!”

  Pinocchio felt anger burn his face.

  Mezmer was quiet before saying, “The boy Wiq…he seemed genuinely upset when Pinocchio left, like they were true friends.”

  “True friends,” Sop scoffed. “Probably just sad he missed his chance to escape.”