“That’s better,” Dan said. He sat down across from Nicholas and gave him a stern look. “Now, boy, why didn’t you tell me you had magic?”
Nicholas stared at him, stupefied. “I don’t.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Dan said, and there as a warning underneath the words. “I felt it. Everyone in the place felt it. Thought any moment there would be a clap of thunder. Every hair on my body stood up, and I could see a fair few of the lads wanted to run.”
“That was him.” Nicholas gestured at something nebulous in the air. “That was the Rabbit. He has magic and it was everywhere. What kind of a name for a man is that, anyway? Rabbit? Makes him sound like something that hides and runs.”
“He’s not the sort to hide and run, but I think you figured that out already,” Dan said. “Yes, it’s well-known that Rabbit has some magic. It’s just as well-known that he’s always seeking more. He likes to be cloaked in power, does our Rabbit. And you showed yours to him as plain as your eyes are grey.”
“But I didn’t,” Nicholas said. “I don’t have magic. We don’t have it in our . . .”
He was about to say “family,” and then he remembered that Bess had a touch of the Sight. He also remembered how certain he’d been that Rabbit had two knives, and how he could even picture them in his mind, and how clear it had been, how Nicholas could see what Rabbit would do next.
Was that magic? Do I have the Sight, too?
“Remembered something, have you?” Dan asked.
His face was twisted up in something that Nicholas thought at first was anger before realizing it was worry. Dan was worried—for him.
“I don’t think it’s magic like you’re thinking of,” Nicholas said slowly. “I don’t think I can cast spells and whatnot. But my grandmother has a touch of the Sight, and just when we were downstairs I felt very sure that I could see what Rabbit was going to do next, and how he was going to do it. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I only thought I was seeing what would happen next the way I do in a fight sometimes, the way you can sense which direction the next blow will fall.”
“You’ve done this in fights?” Dan asked.
“Well, not on purpose, like. It just sort of happens. But I thought that every fighter did it, and that it was just the way you learn to read the other fighter’s cues, the tensing of his muscles or the shifting of his weight. And you know where he’ll strike and so it’s easy to dodge.”
Dan frowned. “It’s true that a good fighter learns those sorts of instincts. And I have always thought yours were exceptional, especially for a young fighter. But perhaps it wasn’t instinct at all.”
Nicholas felt the first twinge of panic. “You won’t turn me in, will you?”
Dan had been staring into his whiskey glass like it was a crystal ball. Now he glanced up at Nicholas and gave a sharp bark of a laugh.
“Turn you in? Whatever for? Do you take me for a fool?”
“Oh. Well, it’s only that magic is illegal in the City. Everyone knows that.” Nicholas felt very foolish at that moment, very young.
“Rules and laws are for the New City,” Dan said. “Remember that. They make the laws, but they don’t come here to enforce them. It’s illegal to whore, too, and to murder, and to steal, but all of those things and more happen here every day and those posh bastards never look down their noses long enough to take notice. I don’t care that you’ve got some magic, boy. I only care that Rabbit knows about it now.”
“Do you think he’ll call off the fight?” Nicholas asked.
“No,” Dan said. “He’s got too much money in this. And anyway, he might think he’s got a better chance to make more now that he knows what you’re made of. A boy with some kind of magic might actually have a chance against the Grinder.”
“I thought you did think I had a chance,” Nicholas said, stung.
“I did think that, though my reasons were different. I didn’t know about the Sight,” Dan said. “What I’m saying is now Rabbit thinks it too. The whole point of this match is to give the nobs a good show, isn’t it? They’re tired of seeing the Grinder wear every fighter to a nub in ten minutes or less. If Rabbit knows you’ve got some kind of spark in you then he’ll have realized you’re not like the usual fighter. You’ll stand up to the Grinder and give the rich bastards what they want. That’s what he came to find out, anyway, though he didn’t expect to discover it just that way, I’d say.”
“If he’s got magic of his own then he’ll know that I’m not like him,” Nicholas said. “And anyway, isn’t it like cheating to use the Sight during a fight?”
“Cheating?” Dan looked flabbergasted. “Is it cheating to use your natural-born gifts? The Grinder is the size of a mountain. That gives him an unfair advantage, but nobody says he’s cheating. If you’re faster than another lad, or your punches are sharper, do you say that you’re cheating?”
“No,” Nicholas said. He understood what Dan was saying—that he’d been born with this Sight and it was foolish not to use it if it would help him win. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like it was cheating. There couldn’t be many fighters with his sort of gift.
“I wish I’d known sooner,” Dan muttered. “You didn’t know you had it yourself, so you haven’t been training it the way we trained the rest of your body. If I’d known . . . but we still have a week. There’s still time to develop it as much as we can before the fight.”
“What are you going to do, bring in a witch to guide me?” Nicholas said.
“I just might at that,” Dan said seriously. “Though not a woman. We can’t have a woman in the club distracting all the men. Besides, she’d make everyone ask questions, and I don’t want them all to know about your Sight.”
Nicholas frowned. “But you just told me that everyone in the club could feel what was happening when I looked at the Rabbit.”
He didn’t know why he kept thinking of the man as “the” Rabbit. Something about his name felt more like a title, Nicholas supposed.
“I can put the word around that it was only Rabbit’s magic,” Dan said dismissively. “You know how it is. People see things, feel things, but after a while the memory fades and a well-placed word can change it, make someone certain they’d seen something they never had.”
“If you say so,” Nicholas said.
“I know so,” Dan said. “And I think I know just the person to help out with your special skills. The only thing is he’s a little, erm, noticeable.”
“More noticeable than a woman in the club?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes. We’ll have to keep his visits to very early in the morning or late at night, and clear the club of anyone but you and . . .” Dan paused, thinking. “Mick would be best, because he won’t blab to the others. And he’s been a good partner for you. And Pike, of course, but he’ll never talk. All this assuming the bloody little bastard will come at all, that is.”
“Who is it?”
“He calls himself Cheshire,” Dan said. “Try not to stare.”
* * *
Nicholas was trying very hard not to stare. He was trying harder than he’d ever tried at anything in his life, but there were so many things about the little man to stare at.
For starters, he wore the most flamboyant purple coat that Nicholas had ever seen. Even in a place where every gangster wore bright colors and flashy metals this man would stand out. He was also very small, much smaller than average, but something about him—an aura?—gave the sense that he was much larger.
He had bright green eyes, eyes that seemed unearthly, eyes that winked like jewels.
And his manner . . . well, Nicholas wasn’t certain how to describe it. It was as if Cheshire wasn’t entirely tethered to this world, that his body was present but his mind and soul went away somewhere else part of the time.
Nicholas stood uncertainly before the little man, flanked by Mic
k on one side and Dan on the other. Cheshire looked Nicholas up and down, gazed closely at Nicholas’ eyes for a few very uncomfortable moments, then nodded and turned to Dan.
“There’s something about him. Oh, yes, there is something about him,” Cheshire said, rocking back and forth on his feet and speaking in a very dreamy tone. “I’d like to have his story, when it’s all written out. I think it will be quite a tale.”
“But can you help the boy?” Dan asked. Nicholas heard the bite of impatience, barely suppressed, in his voice.
Cheshire shrugged. “Who can say? I can help him if he wants to be helped, but perhaps he doesn’t want to. He’s not quite comfortable with all this, you know. He didn’t know he had fairy dust sprinkled on him, that he was one of the blessed.”
The way Cheshire said “blessed” was not a compliment. It was something sweet and sour at the same time, a juicy apple with a worm inside.
“Or perhaps it’s only that he’s not quite comfortable with me,” Cheshire said, opening his eyes wide.
His smile stretched across his face and it somehow had too many teeth.
Nicholas felt he ought to say something to this, but it wasn’t his nature to tell polite lies, so he didn’t speak.
Cheshire laughed then, and his laugh careened crazily around the mostly empty room. “Oh, I like him, even if he doesn’t like me, even if his future is painted red like my roses.”
At that Nicholas started, and he saw a strange flash. Himself, holding an axe, and his breath was hot and all around him was a field of blood.
Dan blew out an irritated breath. “Can you teach him how to use the Sight or not?”
“Nobody can teach unless the student wants to learn,” Cheshire said. “Do you want to learn, bloody Nicholas?”
“Yes,” he said.
Cheshire leaned forward and shook his finger at Nicholas. “Thought you weren’t a liar.”
Dan looked from Nicholas to Cheshire and back again. “What’s all this about lying? You want to win the fight, don’t you, boy?”
“Yes.”
“But he doesn’t want to cheat,” Cheshire said. “He thinks it’s cheating.”
Nicholas didn’t know how Cheshire knew this, but the fact that the little man did made him uncomfortable. Was this what Magicians could do? Could Cheshire read his mind?
Cheshire laughed again. “I’m not seeing into your thoughts, silly boy, but into your face. You have such an honest face. A face that tells everything a person could want to know if they only look right.”
He leaned forward then, his hand on one side of his mouth, and whispered, “But don’t worry. Most people don’t know how to look right.”
That, Nicholas felt, was no comfort at all. Something about Cheshire made him feel like a book that the other man was thumbing through, picking out his favorite bits to read.
“Not this cheating business again,” Dan said, exasperated. “I told you, boy. It’s a gift, and you’d be a fool to waste that gift.”
Cheshire gave Nicholas a sly, sideways glance. “Perhaps he’d rather be ground up in the ring. He’ll be broken and mutilated, but at least he’d have his noble pride.”
Nicholas felt his blood rising in his face. “It’s not about my pride,” he muttered.
“Do you want to win or not?” Dan asked. “If you do, then you’ll do whatever it takes.”
Whatever it takes, Nicholas thought. Would it truly be crossing some criminal line to use the Sight—what Sight he had?
Then he thought of the girl, the blue-eyed girl tied to Rabbit’s wrist. Maybe, just maybe, if he won the match he could . . . but that was foolishness, and something for another day. He’d have to win first.
Winning was the thing. Without it then his dreams were just that—phantoms that existed only in his mind.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll try.”
Dan clapped him on the shoulder, and it began.
Cheshire wasn’t a very helpful teacher, Nicholas discovered. He stood on the side of the ring and watched Nicholas and Mick spar for several moments without saying a word, his jewel-bright eyes following their motion like darting birds.
At first Nicholas was self-conscious about the new audience, and second-guessed every thought that bubbled up, wondering, Is that the Sight? Or did I just read Mick’s little movement? It distracted him so much that Mick got the advantage of him several times.
After a bit Dan called a halt to the proceedings. He scowled at Nicholas. “What’s the matter with you, boy? You’re acting like a greenhorn out there.”
Nicholas swiped his forehead with his wrist and looked uneasily from Cheshire to Dan. “Sorry.”
“I think,” Cheshire said, “that we are going the wrong way about the thing. And everyone knows that the right way to go about a thing is to follow the right path.”
Mick, Dan and Nicholas stared at the little man, who took no notice of their obvious confusion.
“Dan is a fighter, and so he thinks the answer is in your hands. But it isn’t there. And you are suspicious, Nicholas, so you think the answer is up here.” Cheshire tapped the side of his head. “But Sight doesn’t come from your body or your mind. It starts in your belly and flowers in your heart. Your heart is as tightly closed as your fists.”
“Well, you’re not telling him what to do,” Dan said angrily.
Cheshire gave Dan a mild look. “I don’t believe it’s my place to tell him what to do, as you put it. I can only guide, and it’s not my fault if he doesn’t follow me on the path.”
“Can’t see that you’re doing any guiding to speak of, either,” Dan said. “You’re just standing there and somehow you’ve got the boy all mixed up. Yesterday he was as perfect a fighter as ever was, and today he looks like a newborn.”
“The only person who can mix up Nicholas is Nicholas himself. I’m not responsible for those silver fish darting around in his head.”
That’s what they feel like, too, Nicholas thought. Fish wriggling inside his brain, flashing from idea to idea.
“I brought you here to help him!” Dan exploded. “He’s going to get killed if you don’t.”
“That,” Cheshire said very clearly, “is none of my affair. And don’t get above yourself, Dagger Dan. I’m only here because of my own interest. If this play stops being interesting I can just as easily find another one to watch.”
It was strange, for Cheshire’s tone was mild as milk, but Nicholas was certain there was a threat buried inside it.
Dan appeared chastened, and that shocked Nicholas more than anything, for he’d never seen such an expression on Dan’s face before.
Cheshire clapped his hands together twice. “Take a walk with me, boy Nicholas. I think we ought to have a word or two out under the sky, such as it is. Sometimes you can’t see the sky here in the Old City, only the plumes of smoke and the crooked buildings, their faces bent over us like unfriendly giants.”
Nicholas looked at Dan, who nodded his assent and then abruptly went into his office, slamming the door.
“Guess I’ll get myself some breakfast then,” Mick said, rubbing the back of his head.
Nicholas dried his upper body with a rag and then put his shirt and waistcoat back on. Cheshire stood by the club entrance, whistling an odd little song. Half the notes were off-key, but Nicholas had an idea that this was purposeful. Something about it touched a chord of memory inside him, a hazy thought of a dark-haired woman rocking him back and forth.
Not Bess, though. Bess never had dark hair like that since I knew her.
His mother? He’d never seen her, or didn’t remember seeing her. She’d left him with Bess before he could walk or talk. Whenever Bess spoke of her it was always anger mixed with sadness, and she’d cut him off before he could ask too many questions. He’d learned not to bother asking them. It didn’t matter anyhow. She’d never
returned for him, not even to make sure he was still alive.
He’d walked to the door while he was thinking all these things, only half aware of what he was doing. Cheshire was watching him again. Nicholas thought he saw a brief flash of pity, but decided he must have imagined it. Cheshire didn’t seem like the kind who had a pitying heart.
The little man procured a wood walking stick from Pike’s care. The stick was lacquered so it shone even in the dim light, and the top of it had been carved into an intricate rose. He spun the stick around like a baton twirler in the circus and then pointed it toward the door.
“Off we go then, young Nicholas, out into the world to see what we shall see,” he said.
Nicholas followed him without a word. It had been a long time since he’d felt so unsure of himself, but something about Cheshire made him a tongue-tied schoolboy.
Cheshire seemed content to stroll along in silence. This was the hour when Nicholas usually had his run. He liked the quiet time when all the denizens of the night had retired—all the gangsters and the whores under covers until late afternoon, when they emerged like moths from their cocoons. Some of the sellers were setting up their carts, putting out fruit and fish and meat. The warm scent of bread drifted from a nearby bakery, and Nicholas’ stomach rumbled so loudly that Cheshire heard it and sent an exaggerated double take at Nicholas’ midsection.
“It appears I have undertaken to feed you since I took you from your lair,” Cheshire said.
“Oh, no, don’t bother about it,” Nicholas said. “I’ll eat when I go back. Dan says I’m always hungry, anyway.”
“And so you are, for you are a growing boy and growing boys have so many wants,” Cheshire said. He’d lapsed into that half-dreamy tone again. “Yes, boys need so many things. Thick slabs of bread and thick slabs of butter and thick slabs of meat on a plate. Shiny silver buttons and silk shirts and pretty girls tied on a string.”
Nicholas halted, and Cheshire stopped immediately, almost as if he’d expected Nicholas to do just this.
Looking Glass Page 17
