by Amanda Jay
"Rosie?" he asked. It wasn't a wail this time, or even a shout. It came out as a tremble, a breath, a whisper of the sum of all his fears rolled into one, single word.
"Rosie?" he tried again. But she remained lifeless; her perfect little head lolled to a side.
Please, he pleaded again with the person he didn't know. Please. Not her. Not this. Anything, anything but this.
And then something came over Ezra that he had never felt before. He couldn't give up. It wasn't an option. Things were not going to end this way. And he started pumping again. He pumped and pumped and pumped until he was out of breath himself.
It might have been minutes, it might have been hours, as far as he knew, he just kept pumping. And he was about to pass out himself when Rose spluttered.
It was the most welcome sound Ezra had ever heard in his life. He held her up as she vomited out all the murky water she had swallowed and after she had finished he just held her tight. She shuddered and trembled but he just continued to hold her, rocking her back and forth, and being so very, very thankful.
"You’re okay. You’re okay," He told himself as much as he told her, over and over again, giddy with relief, sick with fear of what might have been.
"See Eswah, I told you you would save me," Rose finally said, in between wheezes. And Ezra finally let himself cry.
The sun was low in the sky when they finally made their way back to the farm-- Ezra carrying Rose the whole way, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to let her out of his sight. He let the enormity of what almost happened wash over him in waves, trying not to think of the what if.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't notice anything amiss until he was almost at the back door. There were people inside. Apart from the very few neighbours who hardly ever visited, even on holidays, the Orsons never had people over.
But there were people inside. Many people. And there was the sound of sobbing coming from some deep corner of the farmhouse. Ezra hesitated at the door. Every instinct in his body told him to turn around and go back to the creek. To go back to that dark place he just escaped from because whatever lay ahead was going to be much, much darker.
But he didn't leave. Still clutching tightly onto his sister, he made his way inside. People moved to let him through. He couldn't recognise any of them. Some whispered, some stared.
Then suddenly his father was there. Only it wasn't his father at all-- just a man who looked like a shadow of him, shaking and red-eyed.
"WHERE WERE YOU BOY?" he bellowed, as he caught sight of his son. This wasn’t right. Ezra had never heard his father raise his voice. Not once in his eight years. A man came up behind Senior and put a hand on his shoulder but that didn't stop him from bellowing again.
"I SAID WHERE WERE YOU? YOUR MOTHER NEEDED YOU. D'YA HEAR? SHE NEEDED YOU AND YOU WEREN'T THERE!"
"Come now, Mr. Orson. It wasn't the boy's fault. No one could have stopped what happened."
"DON'T YOU TELL ME THAT!" Ezra noticed the veins in his father's neck standing out in a way he had never seen before. "DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT! SHE SPENT HER WHOLE LIFE TAKING CARE OF US. AND SHE HAD TO DIE ALONE."
She had to die alone? She?
Ezra understood. He let Rose finally slip out from his grasp and tried to regain his balance. He must have not done a very good job because the next thing he remembered, he was sitting on the floor.
Please. Not her. Not this. Anything, anything but this.
The words echoed through his head like the buzzing from a bee. The irony would only strike him days later. The Twin Gods he was too young to believe in were cruel. And yet, he had said the words, didn't he? His father was right. It was his fault. His sister barely escaped death, his mother was not quite so lucky, and it was all his fault.
TOM
"This is absolutely insane. There's no way that any of this is real," Tom thought to himself for possibly the thousandth time that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he half-believed that the boy would have disappeared when he opened them again. Tom's head pounded with new questions every few minutes and he had to stop himself from padding across the room to wake the sleeping boy and demand his answers.
Skii had stopped him the first time, laying a patient arm on him. It turned out that the boy wasn’t shaking from fear or the cold as Tom initially suspected but from a fever. Judging from his extra pounds and well-made clothes, he was probably not used to being by himself in the Underbelly.
His father had been arrested and he had been in search of Tom for the past week or so, he had said, shortly before going in and out of consciousness in a fit of shivers. Skii had managed to coax him down onto Tom’s mattress and to cover him with his now bedraggled overcoat and had even opened one of their emergency supply cans of onion soup for him. Tom felt a prick of something when he saw her do that-- even though he couldn’t explain what it was. Skii had always been kinder than him. More compassionate somehow, despite the fact that her knife was half a tick away from her at any given time and Tom had never known her to come out worse in a scuffle. Skii always stood up for the other pests who worked at the Wheel when the higher-ups tried to push them around. The rust and grime of Mliss hadn’t eaten away at her like it had everyone else. Tom supposed this is why she put up with him for so long. Twin Faced God knew he tried her patience more than enough.
Tom shook his head again, wondering if sleep would ever come at this rate.
He had never given much thought to his birth family while growing up. There had been an instance when he saw a little boy once, holding the hand of his mother while walking into an ice cream shop and Tom had wondered what his mother might have been like. Would she have been kind? Would she have looked like that lady holding her son's hand so tightly? But then Skii had showed up with two sticky buns and Tom had abandoned his thoughts. They were each other’s family and it was more family than most of the Underbelly street pests had. Tom never thought himself to be unlucky. He had never really thought himself to be anything, actually. Thoughts like that were a luxury not fit for those who fought every day just to survive.
But still, a brother... No wait, a twin. At least that was what Skii had reckoned and Tom had to admit it made sense. How else could they have looked exactly alike? Twins were rare in Mliss. In fact, they were thought to be a blessing. A gift from the Twin Faced God himself. The thought still made Tom’s head turn somersaults. I wonder why they separated us? I wonder why... The choking feeling was sudden and gripping. I wonder why it was me they gave away?
And underneath all of that, Tom couldn't shake the fact that this boy would be dangerous to have around. Living in Mliss was a delicate balance and a boy that reeked of wealth and trouble would definitely bring about his share of problems. Tom couldn't put Skii in danger.
He sat up, sighing. Sleep was definitely futile. He stole a glance out of the window to check on the Eyes. In a pitch black city, it was easy to spot the green and blue glow of its face. It told him there were two more hours till Lights On. He thought about risking a walk outside but decided against it. The streets were dangerous and more so now that the Jamous Frankly’s city guard were patrolling to keep uprisings at bay.
Tom re-lit their candle and again his eyes drifted towards the figure sleeping on his mattress. No wonder I can’t fall asleep, Tom thought, grumpily prodding Skii’s lumpy blanket that he was trying to sleep on.
Felix, on the other hand, slept soundly, a gentle snore escaping his lips every so often. The sleep of someone who never had to guard his bed or his life with a broken-handled knife. Skii had placed the heavy case and his leather boots next to the mattress and Tom was overcome by yet another urge of curiosity. He glanced over at Skii. She seemed to have finally fallen asleep.
Well, she told me not to wake him not to see if I can’t learn more about him, he thought.
He stood up and soundlessly crept across the small space. His leg was stiff but then again, it was always stiff, and he tried to ignore it the best he could. He sa
t down next to the mattress and fiddled with the boots. Glancing over to make Skii was still sleeping, he slid a foot into the shoe. It felt heavy and alien to him. He turned his attention to the case instead.
Tom ran his finger over the dark leather. It was probably the most expensive thing Tom had ever touched. The two brass latches on the top could have used a bit of polishing but as far as latches went, to Tom they were absolutely exquisite. They sprung open when he pressed on them and Tom carefully lifted the side of the case.
Some sort of machine gleamed at him from the inside--black with ivory coloured round buttons. Each button had a different letter stamped on it and when Tom hesitantly pressed on a button, a long arm sprang up and left an imprint of the inscribed letter onto a piece of paper rolled onto the machine itself. Tom supposed he had seen machines similar to this in the office buildings he and Skii sometimes broke into but those usually were large and box-like, with heavy-looking levers to turn. None were as beautiful or as impressive as Felix’s machine.
There was something else inside the case-- a bundle of papers folded in half and tied together with a piece of string. Tom pulled it out and shifted slowly towards the candle to get a better look.
The sheets of paper were covered with imprints like the one he had made moments ago. Letters forming words which formed sentences. He rubbed his fingers over the ink, watching it smudge slightly, and held the papers to his nose to breathe in their scent. They were beautiful, the fuzzy-black imprints against the wrinkling parchment. It reminded him somehow of the photographs he collected.
Tom was so caught up in the bundle of papers that he didn’t notice Felix staring at him with a look of panic in his eyes.
"Shouldn’t read those... P-P-Private," he whispered, shakily.
Tom’s reverie was broken. His armour was back on.
"Don’t need to worry about that. You get back to sleep now," he replied, defensively glaring at the boy, as Felix simply nodded and drifted off again.
The boy had no way of knowing that Tom couldn't read, but it irked Tom, all the same.
He felt that pang again and his heart beat heavily. The papers were suddenly not beautiful anymore. They seemed to burn against his fingers and Tom hated them. He hastily stuffed them back inside the case and shut it. It was then that he saw an inscription in gold lettering on the black leather.
Tom couldn't make sense of letters but he could copy down what he saw with the small stub of pencil they kept around somewhere. And he couldn't wake Felix up to get answers but he knew he could get a head start on his own. Who knew if this boy would even be honest with them? Why did he even show up after so many years? Was this some sort of trick? Would he lead the City Guard to their attic?
He couldn't risk this, he told himself. No, it was far better for Tom to get a head start on figuring things out. And he might as well make his move now, before Skii woke up and forced him to be rational.
EZRA
Ezra watched the dizzying crowds with awe, trying both to blend in and find his way without being run over by the stampede of city dwellers. He looked up at the clear blue sky and tried to remind himself that it was the same, that he wasn't in some other world.
But he might as well have been. This was about as different from life on the farm as Ezra imagined. He had never seen this many people in one place before. And he was not complaining.
Ezra was nineteen now and had left his overalls and his regrets firmly behind with all those potatoes. Finally, after eleven years, this was his new beginning. He breathed the city air in deeply and tried choke back the cough which creeped out of his throat.
So the air wasn't as fresh as it was on the farm, he told himself. But that wouldn't change anything. New beginnings do call for certain adjustments and he was happy to make them.
Still clutching firmly onto his case, he squinted down at the small sheet of paper on which he had printed as neatly as he could--
The National University of Mliss
Department of Mathematics and Sciences
287 Main Street
Northern Quarter
Ezra had the address memorised from reading it over and over again throughout his journey but that didn't stop him from checking one more time, just to be sure.
The Town Centre was to his right so he knew that he must be heading in the correct direction but the sheer number of buildings and streets, and by Bearoux, the sheer number of people, left him completely overwhelmed. Thankfully, he was able to spot the large sign on the brick gate post.
National University of Mliss- City Campus, it read, the copper letters sturdy and formidable. Ezra swallowed. He must not appear nervous, he told himself. He must look worthy. After all, it was a great honour. Probably the only noteworthy thing he would achieve in his whole life.
Sticking his chest out a little, Ezra strode purposefully down the cobblestoned path to an even more formidable looking building. The building was -- Ezra tried to think of a word which would clearly describe it, and finally decided on -- gargantuan. All brick and steel, it was easily the biggest building he had ever set foot in.
He tried not to look too awestruck as he approached the woman behind the reception desk.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Terribly sorry to disturb you. My name is--"
The woman held up a finger abruptly which made Ezra stop. She had not looked up at him yet, her attention focused on a pile of papers in front of her on which she was making angry marks in red ink. Ezra hovered a moment, chest deflating slightly, when she finally looked up.
She was wispy and frail looking, her dirty blonde hair straining against her hair clasp and already forming a ring of frizz around her head. She wore a monocle that she held as delicately as a teacup, with her pinky finger extended and her face was arranged into an expression which was as irritable as the ink marks on her papers.
"Yes?" she sighed.
"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, ma'am. My name is Ezra Orson and I'm new here. I was just wondering, if it's not too much trouble--"
"Ezra Orson," she interrupted him for a second time. "Up the stairs, take the first right and then it's the second door to your left." And with that, she went back to her papers.
"Stairs, right, second door to left," Ezra repeated but the lady didn't look up again so he made his way over to the staircase at the back of the room.
Ezra's footsteps echoed loudly on the stairs so he tried to step softly even though he was convinced that the pounding of his heart was far louder than his footsteps could ever be.
"First right, and second door to the left," he repeated to himself, just to be sure he didn't forget and get lost, or worse, have to go back down to re-check with the receptionist. He found himself in front of a door with a neat plaque reading: Professor J. R. Muriel- Department of Mathematics.
There was a rhythmic tapping sound coming from inside and Ezra was hesitant to disturb whatever it was that was going on but after about five minutes of standing outside with no signs of the tapping coming to an end, he decided to knock on the door.
"Come on in," a jolly voice called out and Ezra smiled shyly as he cracked the door open.
The office was not well lit and rather cramped, though not particularly because it was small but because it was stuffed to its ceiling with books and papers. It took Ezra a moment or two to get his bearings amongst the teetering piles of books but he finally located a large wooden desk at the back of the room. He started making his way in that direction, carefully pivoting himself and hoping against all odds that he wouldn't knock anything down.
"Oh, don't worry about those silly old things now. Bearoux knows I should clean up this place every once in a while," the voice called again, definitely from behind the desk, although Ezra couldn't yet see to whom this voice belonged. On the desk was a huge contraption that Ezra had never seen. It looked like a box of sorts but there was a sheet of white paper protruding from it and it was definitely the source of the tapping sound.
The tapping did stop, howe
ver, when Ezra eventually reached the table.
"Professor Muriel?" Ezra asked. A head popped out over the machine, beaming.
"Yes, my good fellow. Ezra Orson, isn't it? What a pleasure to finally meet you!"
Ezra had to tell himself not to stare. Professor Muriel was, well, there was no other way to put it really, definitely the strangest person that Ezra had ever met. He wore a goggle-like contraption which held a monocle over each of his eyes, giving Ezra the distinct impression of an owl and his full moustache was styled into two magnificent handlebars. Professor Muriel was also extremely short. So short, in fact, that Ezra noticed that he was seated on pile of books stacked up on his chair in order to reach his desk. But probably the most impressive thing about him was his voice. Deep and melodic, it reverberated to fill up every empty corner of the room, making the whole space as warm and inviting as himself.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, sir," Ezra finally managed, smiling after what felt like years.
"I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place. These city streets can be a little chaotic to someone who isn't used to them. But not to worry, not to worry, they will feel like the back of your hand in no time at all. Now please, do take a seat."
Ezra had to move a few books around, but finally settled comfortably into a chair.
"On behalf of the board and the faculty, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the National University of Mliss. The Builder's scholarship is a great honour, as I'm sure you know. One we haven't awarded in twenty two years on account of the board simply not finding an applicant who was worthy enough."
Ezra's chest involuntarily puffed up again. It had been a while since he received any type of praise and he liked it. But it was as if the Professor has read his mind.
"Now don't let that get to your head," he jibed, pleasantly. "The Abstract Mathematics Course we offer here is by no means an easy one. But I'm sure you will figure that out on your own. Go through the subject list first, and--" Professor Muriel trailed off as he shifted papers around his desk, apparently searching for something.
