Daughter of the Burning City

by Amanda Foody

  “Thanks, anyway. Sorry to bother you.”

  “Don’t tell anyone about Zhihao,” he says and then jabs his finger into Luca’s chest. “Not a word.”

  We climb down from the caravan into the darkness of the Downhill. There are three hours left until sunrise, which gives me just enough time to gather up the illusions, explain what’s happening and brace myself for staying up all night.

  “So your plan is to keep yourself awake all day, alone in your tent?” Luca asks.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You could easily fall asleep,” he says. “I’ll stay up with you.”

  “At my tent?”

  “That’s where the illusions are, is it not?” He bites his lip and digs his walking stick into the dirt. “Besides, I know you have questions to ask me. I can see it all over your face.”

  “I’m wearing a mask.”

  “Yet I still find you rather easy to read.”

  I consider this. I do have questions to ask Luca, about his life before Gomorrah and why Nicoleta thinks he’s dangerous. Not to mention continuing our conversation from earlier. We’ve moved rather quickly from Luca needing time to him staying with me, alone, all day.

  Regardless of how awkward that might become, the idea of staying up all morning in our tent by myself, waiting for the killer to pay a visit, sounds terrifying. Even if Luca is a better target than a swordsman, just having another person there will reassure me.

  “Thank you,” I say. “You don’t mind skipping sleep this morning?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not from Gomorrah. I’m still somewhat accustomed to staying awake while there’s sunlight.”

  The walk to my tent is quiet, and my head swarms with dozens of different thoughts and emotions. Making the illusions disappear requires me to tell them that I think they’re in danger. That Blister was definitely murdered.

  Then I can’t help but imagine what follows, after Luca and I are alone. I think back to his words earlier, that he wants things with me he never thought he would want. I want to be patient. I want to give him the time he needs. But our entire conversation was so vague, and I’d still like some more concrete answers. I’d like to know if he thinks of me the way I think of him, even if that means telling me with words rather than showing me through action.

  When we reach my tent, everyone is home except Venera, who Hawk said dressed for a good time and left three hours ago. Usually she returns home by sunrise.

  The rest of us gather together in the tent, including Luca, who sits off to the side, stiff with all the eyes on him. With his expensive clothes and pale features, he looks like an audience member we’ve allowed backstage.

  “This is awfully formal to be meeting some boy,” Hawk says. “Do you really like him or something?”

  “Um, this isn’t about that,” I say, reddening. “It’s about Gill and Blister.”

  The room sobers immediately. Nicoleta peers up at me with round, warning eyes. I know this might start a panic, but I can’t help that. The best way to protect everyone is to make them disappear, and, for that, they need to be informed so they won’t be constantly fighting me to get out.

  “I’ve been working with Luca for a while, trying to figure out how Gill and Blister died, as well as with Villiam,” I say. “Because of some things we’ve discovered, we think it’d be best if, while in Gentoa, we keep you protected. And the best way to protect everyone is to keep you locked in my head.”

  “The entire time we’re here?” Hawk screeches. “I have things to do.”

  “Like what?” Du says.

  “Things.”

  “What is significant about being in Gentoa?” Nicoleta asks.

  “Well, Gill died in Frice, and Blister died in Cartona,” I say, stumbling over my words. I wish I could explain things as logically as Luca. “If there is a pattern of some sort, we want to take precautions. It’s better safe than—”

  “So you’re saying Blister was murdered?” Unu nearly wails. “You’re saying there’s someone after us?”

  “I’m not sure,” I lie. “But it’s still better to be safe, isn’t it? You’ll be out for the shows, and during the morning so you can sleep. Other than tonight, anyway.”

  “You can’t just lock us up for everything but our performances,” Hawk snaps.

  “I’d like everything to at least appear normal. And it won’t be like that. After tonight, you’ll be under the watch of the guard. Your time locked up will be minimal.”

  “Normal is Unu and Du playing the drums until sunrise. Normal is Venera yelling at me while trying to comb my hair. Normal is chaos,” Hawk says. “Everyone will notice if we’re being quiet.”

  “Everyone would probably be grateful,” Nicoleta mutters.

  “You’re not going to let her do this, right?” Unu asks Nicoleta, the unofficial mother of the group. You’d think it would have defaulted to Crown because of his age, but this entire time, all he has done is keep his head down.

  “I think Sorina’s right. Better safe than sorry,” she says. “How would we all feel if we woke up tomorrow morning and found you two cut right down the middle?” She means it as a joke, but the morbidity does not suit the situation. Unu pales.

  “At least I’d be free of him,” Du grumbles, earning a slap in the face from Unu.

  “Then it’s settled,” I say. “While we’re in Gentoa, you all get some extra sleep.”

  One by one, I concentrate on them disappearing. To accomplish this, I have to locate each of the illusions’ Strings, the thin bonds between them and my mind. I untangle one illusion’s Strings from the jumble and then reel them in like a fisherman with a fresh catch. The Strings and the illusion go into a Trunk, a mental compartment where they’re safe, which makes their physical form disappear. They each vanish one at a time, leaving the room empty, except for me and Luca. My head feels heavier, and there is a constant knocking on each of their Trunks like the pounding of several headaches.

  “This is going to be exhausting,” I say. And Venera isn’t even here yet.

  “I have faith in you,” Luca says.

  It’s strange to see him sitting at our table, where Unu and Du’s lucky coins are spread out across everything, including dirty plates and brushes for stage makeup. “Do you want something to eat? We have kettle corn and...” I glance into our food trunk. “Kettle corn.” Guess Crown hasn’t been feeling up to cooking or buying more food since we’ve gotten to Gentoa.

  “Go right ahead,” he says. I fill up a bowl and place it on the table.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have any gin.”

  He smiles. “I’ll manage.”

  “Is this the part where I get to ask you questions? Where I get to find out the gossip-worker’s secrets?”

  “I’ve made up my mind to tell you anything you ask.” His tone is light, but the expression in his eyes shows the weightiness of this statement.

  I blush and look down. “You don’t have to share anything.”

  “No. I want to,” he says. “I’ve been living in Gomorrah for almost a year now, collecting other people’s secrets, and not once have I told anyone mine. I’m not usually comfortable enough to do so.”

  “I make you feel comfortable?” I’m absurdly pleased at the thought but try not to show it.

  “Yes.” He pauses. “And no.”

  I sigh. “Before you start getting vague and confusing again, I’m just going to ask my two questions,” I say. He nods. “What was your life like before Gomorrah?”

  I expect him to wait a moment before launching into his story, but he doesn’t hesitate. He wasn’t kidding about telling me everything. He does, however, talk at his usual breakneck pace that’s difficult to follow. I wonder if he’s been practicing this speech.

  “My life before Gomorrah see
ms so long ago that it’s almost hazy. I lived in a small city known as Raske, and my family was the wealthiest in the town. We owned the clock tower, the church beneath it and the library. My father was an engineer, and he taught me about clockwork, about everything behind the face that makes a clock tick. He had—and I have—a similar approach to people. He had to figure out everything beneath someone’s surface before he felt comfortable enough to trust them.”

  My hand is lying palm up on the table between us, an invitation to hold it, if he wanted. An invitation that feels terribly dangerous. At first, I’m not sure if he hasn’t noticed it or is ignoring it, but then, to my surprise, he slides his hand into mine. The rushed way he does it doesn’t feel natural—it feels forced—but his smile looks genuine.

  He pulls out his pocket watch. “This used to be my father’s.” He turns it over in his hand wistfully. “My father knew I was a jynx-worker for years. I hurt myself badly once when I was young but healed instantly. He wasn’t a particularly religious man, not like my mother and the rest of the town. But it didn’t occur to him then it was jynx-work. He just thought I was blessed.” Luca laughs. “Gomorrah visited my town once when I was ten, and I remember thinking then how much the people fascinated me. The jynx-work that my town refused to acknowledge because it was unordinary. And I started to wonder if that’s what I really was—a jynx-worker. Or a devil-worker, as my town would say.

  “My family lived on an estate outside of town, and when I was seventeen, it was struck by lightning and burned to the ground, with my entire family and all of our servants inside.”

  He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

  “Naturally, I survived. With no burns or injuries, despite being dug out of the rubble. The rumors spread around town that I had come back from the dead, that I’d made a pact with the devil. So I grabbed what remained of my family’s possessions in our clock tower and fled. I found Gomorrah several weeks later. Bought a caravan. Conjured a performance. And figured out a way to make money to survive.”

  “You could have chosen dozens of different jobs,” I say. “You’re brilliant. Villiam would hire you to help him run Gomorrah. You could help with—”

  “I asked him, when I joined,” he says. “I don’t know whether it’s because I’m an Up-Mountainer or if he genuinely disliked me, but the only space he would sell me was in the far corner of the Downhill where I now reside.”

  “I could talk to him.” Even if I have no idea what I would say.

  “I like my show, believe it or not. I like the thrill of it.”

  “The thrill of dying?”

  “The thrill of horrifying my audience. The thrill of being a freak.”

  Normally the word would bother me but not from him. He went from being an outcast in his city for his jynx-work to becoming a sort of outcast here because he’s not as lustful for Gomorrah’s sexual pleasures as others. Freak may be the only word to describe a misfit in an entire city’s worth of misfits.

  There are footsteps outside the tent. I instinctively lean myself closer to him. “I wonder if that’s Venera.” It’s past sunrise. She should be back by now. Venera out, alone, partying in the Downhill has never been a safe endeavor. But now, if there really is a pattern to these killings, she could be an easy target.

  The footsteps disappear down the path.

  “I could go find her,” Luca says. “But I also don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t, but...what if she’s—”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” he says.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No, I don’t, but I don’t think getting worked up is going to solve anything.” He scoots closer toward me until our shoulders touch. I work up the nerve to lean my head into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, and I wonder how many times a sword has sliced through this area to decapitate him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t tense at my touch, and he doesn’t let go of my hand.

  “Do you have any other questions?” he asks.

  “Only one.” I’ll give Venera a few more minutes before my worry grows. “Why does Nicoleta think you’re dangerous?”

  He laughs. “Probably because I know a lot of assassins. That’s not much of a stretch. Dangerous by association.”

  “Then what were you talking to the bartender about last night?”

  “He wanted me to track down a woman he met once.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m entirely serious,” he says. “He gave me her description, and I found her. She’s a shadow-worker, lives in the Uphill, helps manage an orphan tent. Quite personable. Too good for that man.” Even though I’m not looking at him, my head is against his shoulder, and I can feel his cheeks move into a grin. “I could tell you a lot about Gomorrah’s estranged lovers and family drama.”

  “How interesting.”

  “I think it is. I’ve always found people’s romantic lives rather baffling. Like everyone was gushing about a song that I’ve never been able to hear.”

  “You’ve never felt interested in...anyone?” I ask.

  “Not really. Nothing beyond a passing thought. Then again, I wasn’t close with that many people as a child. And I don’t have any acquaintances whom I could truthfully call a friend.”

  I smirk. “Not even Ed, the Leather Viper?”

  “We occasionally have tea, but I’ve found most people I meet with prefer to tell me their problems simply because no one else will listen or no one else cares. They tend not to reciprocate. Ed normally rambles on about a man he’s in love with who barely knows his name.”

  It would be difficult, in my opinion, to not notice someone who goes by the name “The Leather Viper.”

  “I guess I don’t just look at someone and think...attraction,” Luca says. “It takes, I don’t know... I have to care about the person first.” His gaze flickers to me, and I’m amused to see that his cheeks are red. He clears his throat. “That’s probably everything important about me that you didn’t know. Unless you have further questions.”

  “No. I’m good.”

  He moves his thumb in circles on the inside of my palm. “Is there anything else we can do to pass the time until Venera gets back? Now that I feel so very exposed?”

  I rack my brain for something to do. What does my family do for fun? Mainly bicker with each other and complain about there not being enough food around. Or practice our acts. Lucky coins is more of a fierce competition than simply fun.

  “I can show you my bug collection,” I say.

  “Is that a euphemism?”

  “I have over two hundred different species from all over the world. Including a Giamese tortoiseshell moth.”

  “You have me convinced. A ‘Giamese tortoiseshell moth,’” he says. “Am I supposed to have heard of that?”

  “It’s very rare. Legends say it can produce an elixir of youth from its venom. That isn’t true, but the venom does make the skin puffy and hard. Ladies sometimes put it around their eyes to get rid of wrinkles.”

  I stand up and lead him to my section of the tent, made up of my bed, some clothes strewn about—both mine and Venera’s—and the chests full of my bugs. Luca glances around, particularly at my bed.

  “Are you positive ‘bug collection’ isn’t a euphemism?”

  “I’m starting to think you want it to be.”

  “Hey, I’m quite interested in this moth. I swear.”

  I lift open the first trunk and find the Giamese tortoiseshell moth on the top.

  Luca peers into my crate of preserved insects. “I thought most girls collected jewelry.” He narrows his eyes. “Did that one just move?”

  “Of course not. They’re frozen,” I say, though there have been times when I swear I’ve seen some move, as well. “I like bugs because you can learn somethi
ng different about each one you have, and they’re specific to different regions—”

  “Like, I don’t know, dried flowers, perhaps—”

  “I can remember each city we’ve visited because of an insect I’ve found while there.”

  “You are a complete hypocrite,” he says.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You yell at me for killing cockroaches for my performance, and yet you sleep next to a giant chest full of dead bug carcasses that you keep for your own viewing enjoyment.”

  “They’re not dead,” I say. “They’re petrified. They never felt a thing.”

  “Nor will they ever again. So much for the nectar they could’ve eaten or the wind they could’ve felt between their little wings—”

  There are footsteps in the main part of the tent. My heart leaps into my throat. Is it Venera, or someone else?

  Luca puts his fingers over his lips and then peeks his head out of my room.

  Venera shrieks.

  “There’s no need to scream,” he says. “Honestly, you’re the one wearing green lipstick.”

  “You must be Luca.” Venera pushes aside the tent flap and peers in. “Where is everyone?” Her gaze falls to the moth in my hand. “And, really, Sorina, there are more creative things you could be showing off back here besides your bugs.”

  “The Giamese tortoiseshell moth is quite a sight,” Luca says.

  She smirks. “I’m sure it is. Now, where is everyone else?”

  “We had a family meeting. While in Gentoa, everyone is getting locked up in here.” I tap my forehead. “Except for shows. For protection.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Just trying to take precautions.”

  “And who’s going to protect you? Isn’t this the one whose head you caught rolling off a stage?”