Magpie's Song

by Allison Pang

  “You’re not wrong,” he concedes, staring into the distance. “There’s one more piece of it, but we’ll have to wait until tomorrow for me to show it to you.”

  “Do tell,” I drawl, nudging him hard with my shoulders. “You’re nearly as bad as Molly with your vague hints.”

  “I’m sorry. Old habits.” He flushes, glancing down at his hands. “You remember I mentioned recruiting you to unite the Moon Child clans? The truth of it is, I’ve already started the process. At least with the Twisted Tumblers. They’re the ones working on the way to force open the Pits so you can escape.”

  I gape at him. Of all the things I was expecting, involving another clan wasn’t one of them.

  “My negotiations with them have stalled somewhat,” he continues ruefully. “Not sure they trust me all that much—my being clanless and all. But I’m scheduled to meet with their leader tomorrow night, and I want you to come with me.”

  I’ve seen Josephine in passing but only during Tithes when she and Rory would hammer out temporary truces between our clans. The Twisted Tumblers are tinkers, making bastardized versions of Meridian tech with scrap the Banshees provide them with, and then they sell their devices in the thieves’ market.

  It said a lot that Rory had never attempted to cheat her. I shudder. “Not sure they’ll be too happy to see a former Banshee in their territory.”

  “Oh, but you’re so charming.” He smirks as I whistle something rude at him.

  “So what now? Fancy a trip to the sweetshop? I’ve always wanted to break into it and stuff myself sick.” It’s a halfhearted suggestion, and it fills me with melancholy. Without Sparrow there to enjoy it, the whole idea is suddenly hollow.

  Ghost holds a hand out to me. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  He pulls me to my feet, his callused fingers against my wrist. “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Just around the chimney.”

  We creep over the rooftop to the other side, the shingles sending chills up my naked toes and into my knees. A skylight nestles there, a twin to the one in my room, and he opens it easily, slipping inside with a simple grace.

  I follow, descending onto the beam below and then onto the mantel and into a room much like mine. It’s sparse, though—not nearly as lived in as I expected it to be. There’s a bookshelf stuffed with papers and leather-bound volumes, but the rest of the space isn’t particularly impressive.

  A single bed leans against the wall beside the empty fireplace. Ghost is already there, lighting the tinder with a sparker rod that materializes from his pocket.

  “A clever bit of Meridian tech, that.” I hover over his shoulder to take a closer look at it.

  “Nipped it off an Inquestor. It’s a smaller version of one of those wands they use during the Tithes.” He grimaces and passes it to me.

  I roll it between my fingers. It’s longer than a standard cigarillo and the width of my thumb, a jeweled blue button at the base. I press it, and a burst of lightning sparks from the tip. “If they catch you with one of these . . .”

  “Now you sound like Lucian. Besides, you’re one to talk, Dragon Girl.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Lucian?” I hand the miniature Tithe wand back to him and squat beside the fireplace to capture a bit of the warmth in my hands, rolling the name on my tongue.

  “Dr. Barrows. That’s what I’ve always called him.” Something in the way he says it seems overly familiar, as though the two men have known each other for a very long time indeed.

  The dragon uncoils from my neck and I pet it, one finger stroking its head. “He’s a Meridian, isn’t he?” The words hang there, thick and tight and terrible, and I almost wish I hadn’t said them. Almost.

  “Yes,” Ghost says, his voice ragged. “And my brother.” A weary relief settles over his face, as though he’s set free something inside himself.

  His answer rocks me to my bones. Sparrow would have been enraptured by the idea, but the whole concept makes me uneasy. For all my longing to reach Meridion, the citizens themselves seem so far out of reach as to be some sort of dream. Knowing I’ve been breaking bread with them for the better part of a month . . . It’s a bit like discovering your dog can suddenly speak.

  “But . . . how can a Moon Child be a Meridian?” I ask it slowly, trying to wrap my brain around the concept. “We’re half-breeds by nature. That would mean . . . what, your mother was from BrightStone?”

  “No. I was born on Meridion. Same as Lucian. We had the same mother. Same father, as far as I know. Same glittery skin at one point.” He smiles wryly. “It’s something to do with living on Meridion itself, I think. When you’re gone for too long, the glowing effect fades. That’s what happened to the Inquestors. Once Meridion stopped sending transport ships, they were just as trapped as Lucian and I were.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, pondering over this bit of information. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re a Moon Child.”

  He shrugs. “And I have no answers for you. Lucian and I left Meridion under . . . bad circumstances. I was only about six or seven, and we had no choice but to disguise ourselves until the skin effect wore off. And then when I turned twelve . . .” He sinks to the floor to lean against the wall. “Well, it was a shock to both of us, let’s just say.”

  I tug on my hair. “Explains your familiarity with the ink.”

  “My brother spent the first few years of my change trying to hide what I’d become, so sure he would be able to find a way to reverse it if he just worked hard enough. He’s given up on that account. Mostly.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s really ready for it,” I say softly. “My only saving grace was that Mad Brianna had seen it so many times by then that she knew how to wait it out until it was done. After that, she sold me off to Rory. I was a right bargain, to be sure.”

  He leans against the wall for a moment before pulling something out of a dresser drawer and pressing it into my palm. “I meant to give this to you earlier. Days ago.”

  I turn over my hand. It’s Sparrow’s necklace, made of tiny, green, teardrop crystals strung on a bit of leather.

  “Oh,” I choke out, my voice gone thick. Grief is such an empty emotion, and yet it’s a bottomless cup, filling me to the brim. I slip the leather strap around my neck, fastening the clasp with numb fingers. It hangs at the hollow of my throat. It feels wrong that it’s there at all, but it could strangle me to death for all that because I’ll never take it off.

  “Thank you.” I turn away from him, holding back a quiet sob as I’m reunited with this last piece of Sparrow’s past, clutching it like a talisman.

  He’s good enough to allow me a bit of time, poking at the fire with a piece of kindling until I manage to regain a sense of myself. “I’ve something else for you, too, if you want it?”

  His words pull me from my melancholy. “Aye?”

  Papers scatter everywhere as he riffles through the bookshelf. “Lucian really does have good intentions, but sometimes he can be a bit of an arse when it comes to thinking he knows what’s best. You should have seen him fret when I moved out of his rooms and into this one. He’s overprotective, which makes sense, I guess.” He sighs.

  There’s so much I want to ask him, as though the reveal of this particular secret of his has somehow unlocked an odd curiosity inside me. What must it be like to have had a family before the change to Moon Child? I might even be envious about it on some level, but I cannot help but feel a twinge of relief that my own mother was long gone before I’d become what I am now.

  “Ah. Here we go.” A thin volume materializes in his hand. “Lucian’s probably right about you not understanding it, but I’ll help you read it, if you want.” A wry smile captures his mouth as he gives it to me. “He wasn’t technically lying about not having a copy, though, since it belongs to me.”

  I squint at the title, but I already know what it is, even as my lips move to try to sound out the words.

  D’Arc’s Manifesto.
<
br />   A pocket full of promises

  Too dark for me to keep

  Lay me down in the cold, cold ground

  To dream, perchance to sleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  “‘. . . and thus the Meridian sin of arrogance has been made very clear to me. Even I am not free of such an emotion, which has given rise to both my biggest success and most terrible regret . . .’”

  Snowflakes drift past the window, a slow blur of white and silver against the darkness. Ghost and I sit beside the fireplace in his little room, poring over D’Arc’s Manifesto. It’s a short piece—about twenty pages or so—but there’s a rhythm to the words that unfurls around me with quiet precision, even as Ghost guides me through it.

  “Sound out this word here,” he says. “Like this.”

  I try, wanting so much to get it right.

  “Not quite. It’s a longer o sound.” He sounds it out for me again.

  He’s being oddly patient about my mistakes, and I’m grateful for it. Not that Dr. Barrows hasn’t been considerate, but there’s always a tension when he tries to teach me. I hadn’t understood it before, but now it seems clear to me that for all his lofty ideals, what he really wants is to protect his brother. From the Inquestors, or the Pits, or just life as a Moon Child maybe. In some ways it feels cowardly, but was I any different when it came to Sparrow?

  I stare at the pages for a few minutes more, but my eyes are drifting as my thoughts slide away, and I yawn. We’ve only gotten partway through the book, but it’s not a bad start.

  A light scratch at the door has us both glancing up, resignation flashing over Ghost’s face. To his credit, Dr. Barrows merely sighs when he sees me.

  “I might have guessed I’d find you here when you weren’t in your room,” he says.

  “She deserves to know what we know,” Ghost says firmly, but there’s a hint of something darker in his voice.

  “I suppose it’s only fair.” The doctor’s expression becomes pained when he sees the book in front of us. “Just do me the favor of keeping it in this room. Best not to tempt fate more than we already are.” His pleading gaze catches mine. “I’d prefer for Molly not to know we have this particular volume, if it’s all the same to you.”

  The dragon huffs at him, and I nod, understanding he’s given me a potent bit of information. If I were so inclined, I could have him arrested for its possession. The fact that Molly doesn’t know fills me with a sudden rush of power, but it’s short-lived.

  “Aye,” I say finally, shutting the book and handing it to Ghost. “I was about to leave anyway. It’s been a long day, and I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

  “I’ll have Copper Betty bring up something,” Dr. Barrows offers, holding the door open for me. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak to Ghost alone for a bit, though.”

  Ghost gives me a nearly imperceptible nod when I glance over at him, and I take my leave, emerging into a narrow passage that leads to the third-floor hallway. Ghost’s door has been covered up with a tapestry so I hadn’t noticed it before, but it’s across the hall from the doctor’s room and directly next to my own.

  Odder and odder that he would be concealed away like that, but perhaps it’s only privacy he desires and nothing more. Or maybe Dr. Barrows continues to try to hide his brother away from the world, even in the place they live.

  My room is chilly when I close the door behind me. The window has been left open, and a puddle of melted snow sits on the sill. I shut it with a sigh, grateful the acrid stench of the ink is gone at least.

  I pause in front of the mirror, blinking in astonishment again and trying to reconcile the reflection with myself and failing miserably. Perhaps my brain will make more sense of it tomorrow, but right now I’m mentally exhausted and too tired to think on anything else.

  A change of clothes and a stirring up of the fire leaves me dozing in the overstuffed chair, the dragon behind me. Copper Betty comes and goes with a bowl of soup and a bit of cold chicken, which I quickly wolf down.

  I spare a brief thought about trying to listen through the wall to hear whatever Ghost and Dr. Barrows are saying, but my gaze falls upon the map scrolls on the mantel. I unroll them on the floor, holding each corner down with one of the doctor’s many books. As maps go, it seems fairly simple. Most of the chambers are squared off—some are labeled as sleeping quarters, mess halls, equipment rooms, and the like. Archivist Chaunders hadn’t mentioned how long the miners stayed below during their work with the Meridians, though her father’s notes would surely hold such answers.

  For now, I simply trace each section of the mines with my finger over and over, lining it up with the gated entrance to the Pits. I can only imagine miles upon miles of inky blackness without a bit of breeze, and for a moment I don’t think I can bear it.

  I reach up to grasp Sparrow’s necklace, sucking in a deep breath. “For you, aye. I’ll do it for you,” I whisper, curling up on the floor around the map.

  Eventually my eyes drift shut, and I dream of finding my way through the darkness, shadowed by the fates of the other Moon Children who have gone before me.

  “Another moment, if you would?” Dr. Barrows asks me.

  I cross my arms but remain standing on the scale as he scratches out a new set of numbers in his notebook. He smiles up at me, pleased with my apparent progress this morning.

  The scale creaks when I step off it and hastily throw on a loose sweater. “Eating enough for you, now?”

  “Well, you’re still dreadfully underweight, but it’s a definite improvement.” He moves to examine my face, lifting my lips to prod at my gums. “Still fighting some borderline malnutrition, but that’s not unexpected given your circumstances. I’ll inform Molly to include some additional vegetables in your meals. Don’t want you getting scurvy, now do we?”

  “As long as it’s not rotting, I’ll eat anything.” I don’t have the faintest idea of what scurvy is, but I probably don’t want it.

  “Well that’s good,” Ghost mutters from where he’s sprawled on my floor, flipping through one of the miner’s notebooks. “How do you feel about rats? There are instructions in here on how to make snares.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” I shrug, ignoring the way Ghost pales. I roll my eyes. “Joking. Even as bad as things are here, I’ve yet to stoop to eating rats. Though I’ve thought about it awful hard a time or two,” I admit ruefully.

  “It’s more of a pest-control entry, but seeing as we don’t really know how the food situation will be, it might not hurt.” Ghost waves me over, choosing to ignore that last bit of my response. “And you might want to take a look at these.”

  I peer over his shoulder at some pictures. “Mushrooms?”

  “Yes. There are a few different types that grow in the caves beyond the mines proper. Some of them appear to be poisonous, so memorize it carefully so you can avoid those.” He bookmarks the page for me.

  “How reassuring.” My mouth purses. “Suppose it’s a good thing Archivist Chaunders gave us those books, aye?”

  “Indeed.” Dr. Barrows stretches, his gaze growing distant. “I took the liberty of paying a visit to her this earlier this morning. Fascinating lady, to be sure. Perhaps if I’d gone there in the beginning, we wouldn’t be where we are now.” He catches himself a moment later and shakes his head. “Well, there’s no use on ruminating over the past, is there?”

  Unexpected irritation skates through me. “Probably depends on your past.”

  Ghost flips to another page, glancing over at his brother. “Molly know you went?” he asks, wisely keeping the conversation focused on the problem at hand.

  “Of course.” The doctor gathers his things. “I’ve two patients to see to this afternoon and dinner with Chancellor Davis this evening, so I don’t expect to be home until very late.” His brows rise in sudden enthusiasm. “Hopefully with some of this new information, I might convince the Chancellor of our progress.”

  “Dinner with the Chancellor, aye? Som
eone’s fancy.” I mock curtsy at him, my wrists arched in a little flourish.

  “Fancy is as fancy does,” he retorts. The Mother Clock sounds out the hour in the distance and the doctor sighs. “Duty calls. I’ve left you some exercises on basic sums, Mags. See if you can’t have those finished for me tomorrow.”

  “Aye.” I give the sheaf of paper a sour look, resigned to what will probably be a long afternoon. The doctor snorts at my expression, exiting swiftly a moment later.

  Ghost watches him go and then moves to follow. Disappointment swells in my belly. I’d hoped to at least have his company for a bit longer. The presence of another Moon Child soothes me, if nothing else.

  “Are we still on for . . . tonight?” I ask, thinking of his meeting with Josephine.

  He doesn’t answer right away, peering out into the hallway before nodding at me, mischief flaring deep in his gray eyes. “Meet me up top when the Mother Clock strikes the eighth hour.”

  “Rooftop dancing, is it?” A little thrum of excitement ripples over my skin. “I’ll be there.”

  The fog is thick this evening, frost nipping the air and sliding over my skin with icy fingers. Whatever snow we had earlier today is gone, but slick patches shimmer on the slate roof, glittering with the promise of a slip and a broken head if one should take the wrong step.

  I wrap my coat tighter around my shoulders, foot tapping with impatience until Ghost finally appears just as the Mother Clock bongs out the time. He’s got his cap pulled down on his head, a few wisps of brown hair sticking out near his ears.

  He laughs when he sees me. “I suppose there’s no need to ask if you’re ready.”