Clockwork Twist : Trick (17 page)

For the first time since leaving London, Twist caught himself looking forward to a destination out of simple selfish, curiosity.  Even though they were headed to Paris for a very important reason, Twist now found that he actually wanted to see the city, all on its own.

It was with a heavy heart that Twist turned the final page of the book of poems that he'd brought with him from London.  He knew that it could be a very long time before he came to a country where he could buy another book in English to ease the quiet between destinations.  He could easily think of book after book that he would love to read.  He'd always liked novels and poems, and had never run short of titles that he wanted to read one day.  He gave a heavy sigh and put the book down on the small table beside his couch.

The observation car was essentially a car of glass.  Wide windows filled both walls, while couches, small tables, and overstuffed chairs ran along the center of the car, sitting back-to-back and facing the windows.  Brass and frosted glass gaslights hung between the windows, nestled between heavy velvet curtains, and glowed gently in the twilight.  Outside, the landscape had turned cold and mountainous.  Huge, majestic bluffs reached into the darkening sky on all sides, while fingers of snow reached down to the train as it flew quickly through the valleys.  Wide, smooth, deep blue lakes would occasionally appear at the feet of the mountains only to disappear again into green meadows.

The train had slowed down slightly when they began to enter the Alps, but now it felt to Twist as if it were running just as quickly as before.  Whenever trees or villages would pass close beside the train, he could again sense its true speed, but he tried not to.  He also tried not to think about the fact that the train hadn't touched the ground since the night before.  The whole thing was just too ridiculous for him.  He was slowly beginning to realize—to his continued amazement—that he preferred airships to every other mode of travel.

“You don't like Shelley?” Idris asked, sitting down beside Twist on the couch with two glasses of wine.  He offered one of them to Twist.  Twist stared at him and the glass of wine.  He'd left Idris in deep discussion with Myra over the differing merits of changing a tea cup into a nightingale, as opposed to a ferret.

“I'm sorry?” Twist asked, taking the glass after another offering gesture from Idris.  Twist gave him a nod in thanks and took a sip.  Though it was a deep, rich, red, it tasted almost as good to Twist as the golden wine he'd had in Venice at Carnival.

“Well, you didn't seem very happy to finish that last page,” Idris said, nodding to the book on the table.

“Oh, no,” Twist said. “I'm just sad to be done with it.  I don't think I will be able to buy another book for a while.  I like to read, but I never have enough books.”

Idris grinned knowingly at his wine. “I thought I smelled a wish on you.  Come on, let's hear it.  And please, don't just wish for one more book.  That would be awfully dull.”

Twist took another sip of his wine and bought himself a moment to consider.  He knew from experience that the djinn had incredible power.  If Twist could think of an entertaining or challenging wish, he might just be able to get it.  He thought of the source of his problem, and tried to imagine the most unique way to solve it.

“It would be cumbersome to travel with a load of books,” he began, still working it out.  “But I hate to finish a book, only to be without anything else to read.  I know which ones I want to read, I just don't have access to them.  All right,” he said, turning to Idris now. “I wish I had a book that I could change into a different one, once I'm finished reading it.”

Idris made a thoughtful tone and swirled the wine in his glass. “I haven't heard of anything like that before.  It's tricky,” he added, smiling at Twist. “Let me see that book,” he said, gesturing to Twist's book of poems.

Twist handed it to him and waited hopefully.  Idris took a drink and then put his glass down on another table.  He turned the book over in his white hands—Twist had liked the size and weight of the book, along with the pleasant musty scent of the pages and the fine brown leather binding.  Idris flipped through the pages and then closed it again, looking at the cover with its title printed in gold on the bare, smooth patch of pale-blue leather.

“Ah ha!” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers.  A brass ink pen appeared in his hand out of thin air.  Idris used it to scratch something onto the cover of the book.  As Twist watched from beside him, the dry tip of the pen seemed to smudge and move the gold lettering until a totally new title appeared in its place.  Idris handed him the book proudly.

“How's that?”

Twist read the new title, “
A Thousand and One Nights
,” and saw that the author was also noted as “Scheherazade.”  He opened the book to the first page and found that it had also changed to reflect the cover.  Flipping through the first few pages was enough to show him that the printing throughout had changed as well, into a completely new book.

“This is fantastic!”

“It's a good book too,” Idris said, toying with the brass pen in his hand, flipping it over his long white fingers in playful little arcs. “There are lots of tales in there of my people getting the better of yours.  Just skip the one about Aladdin.  I didn't like that one.”

“And it's in English too,” Twist mentioned.

“Well, I wrote the title in English,” Idris said, still considering the pen.

“This is wonderful,” Twist said. “Thank you so much.  I'll really enjoy this new book.”

“You'll enjoy more than just that one little book,” Idris said, as if somehow slightly offended. “Here,” he said, handing Twist the pen as well. “Use that to write another title and author on the cover, the way I just did, and it will change again.  You can read as many books on those pages as you like, as long as you write a title and author that exist.  It will translate them all into whatever language you write the title in as well, even if they've never been translated by anyone before.”

“You mean, even if you're not around?” Twist asked softly, staring at the pen.  His Sight made it shimmer slightly in his fingers, as if he couldn't get his inner eye to focus, but he could not recognize it as anything more than an ordinary pen.

“Of course,” Idris said.

Twist looked to him with true wonder in his eyes now. “Someone gave me a metal globe the other day that has a map of the world on it, and can point out wherever it is in the world.  Quay gave me a walking stick that uses electricity as a weapon, and it has lit my way in the dark.  But this,” he said, looking to the book and pen, “this is the best thing I've ever been given.”

A wide grin appeared on Idris's face. “Good.”

“I'll never be bored again!” Twist said, smiling as well. “How can I thank you?”

“You just did,” Idris said, taking a sip of his wine.

Twist understood his meaning easily and nodded. “Well, thank you,” he said, opening the new story to the first page. “This is simply brilliant.  All I need now is a cozy little nook to sit in, and an endless list of titles to kindle my imagination.”

“I gave you the book,” Idris said. “You've got to find those other things on your own.”

As he spoke, Twist heard the pride in his voice.  As impassive and aloof as Idris could be, it was easy enough to get his help.  A challenge, something entertaining, and a bit of flattery were all it took.  Twist silently hoped that he could still get some kind of help from Idris, should things go badly in Paris.

Twist and Myra sat beside each other on the edge of the bed in Jonas's compartment, while he sat on the floor, surrounded by small, black, wax cylinders.  His music player was beside him, emitting a sound unlike anything Twist had ever heard before from the small grating on the front of the metal box.  A deep, dark, haunting sound throbbed rhythmically, below a strange pattern of mechanical-sounding tones that suggested a kind of melody that had nothing whatsoever to do with any musical instrument Twist had ever heard of.

“Are you sure it's not broken?” Twist asked after a moment.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Jonas said with a sigh. “It's supposed to sound like that.  It's a new Italian style called 'futurism.'  They replicate prerecorded sounds instead of playing traditional instruments, to create music.  They also push the boundaries of the established concepts of melody, harmony, and rhythm.”

“I think I kind of understand it...” Myra said, staring hard at the empty air as she listened.

The door to Jonas's compartment opened, and Idris stared into the tiny space with mild disdain.  He looked at Twist and Myra huddled on the small bed, and at Jonas sitting in the tiny space beside the bed, on the floor.  He shook his head.

“This is no good,” he declared. “One of you, wish for this room to be bigger.”

“That's not a very clever wish,” Jonas mentioned.

“I'll make an exception,” Idris said.

“I wish this room was bigger,” Twist toned uncertainly.

“Thank you,” Idris said, snapping his fingers.

In the space of a single blink, Twist suddenly found himself sitting on one end of a very long and very comfortable, padded couch, in a large, high-ceilinged room with elegantly carved relief in the top of the smooth, dark, wood-paneled walls.  A deep, soft, red carpet—as large as a small town's plaza—covered only half of the waxed wooden floor.  There was a huge marble fireplace on the wall behind him, complete with a lively, crackling fire.  Myra now sat on the other end of the couch with him, well out of his reach, while Jonas was sitting on a large cream-colored cushion on the floor, still surrounded by his music collection.

The single, small window in the wall to Twist's right had not changed and looked tiny, surrounded by the tapestries and paintings of djinn and women in colorful saris that covered the walls.  Idris entered through the same door that had been there before, and flopped down lazily on another couch that sat at a right angle to Twist and Myra's.  There was a potted palm tree that sat in the corner of the two couches, that didn't reach very near the ceiling at all despite being ten feet tall.

“That's better,” Idris said with a deep breath.  Sitting on the floor beside the couch there was a tall blue glass vase that had a number of long cloth-covered pipes looping in and out of it from various places.  Idris took the end of one of the pipes and placed the narrow ivory tip of it into his mouth, taking in a long breath.  Removing the tip of the pipe, his breath came out again in curling blue smoke that smelled of roses. “What is that noise?” he asked, frowning at Jonas's music player.

“Futurism,” Jonas said proudly.

Idris gave a thoughtful tone and took another puff from his pipe.  Twist got up and took a few steps to cross the room and look out the tiny window, seeing southern Germany still streaming by it at a rapid pace.  As he did this, Myra also got up and opened the door to reveal the exact same bit of the train hallway still outside.

“Can you stay with us forever?” Myra asked Idris with a wide smile as she came back around his couch.

“What's that?” Idris asked lazily in another stream of blue smoke.

“Look at this place!” she said happily, gesturing around. “We haven't left the train, but now we're in a palace!  You're fantastic!”

“Why, thank you,” he replied with a warm smile.

“Uh oh,” Jonas said, looking to Twist earnestly. “You'd better be careful.  Myra seems quite enamored of our gold-eyed friend.”  Idris gave Twist a wickedly delighted grin.

Myra turned on Jonas in a flash of indignation. “And just what are you implying?” she snapped at Jonas angrily.

Jonas grinned at her with all the innocence of a fox caught in a chicken coop.

“Don't pay him any mind, my dear,” Twist said with a sigh as he took his seat again on the couch.  Idris laughed to himself and shook his head—blue smoke swirling around his face.

“You're right,” Myra said, moving to join Twist. “He's just silly.”  A startled laugh fought to escape from Jonas, while Idris clapped his approval.

“Exactly,” Twist said, struggling to contain his own smile.

Myra sat nearer to Twist than she had been before, and reached over to slip her fingers around the back of his neck.  The touch came so unexpectedly that he froze, his skin prickling with the crisp, bright, connection to his Sight, as she pulled him closer.  Before he fully understood what was happening, Twist found himself lying down on the couch with his head on Myra's lap, staring up at her, totally bewildered.  She smiled gently and petted idly at the soft black curls at his brow, brushing them to the side with her cool, smooth, fingertips.

The sensation of this gentle, utterly foreign, and deeply comforting touch washed over Twist in a wave of warm shivers, and his eyes closed softly.  He felt his body ease in ways he hadn't realized it was tense.  His heartbeat slowed smoothly, and his breath deepened.  It was a long moment before his Sight managed to catch his attention again, but when it did it only showed him warmth, care, and pride.  He stayed perfectly still, focusing on the feeling of her fingers on his skin, fearful that she might stop if he moved.

Idris and Jonas were talking, but Twist didn't listen to them.  Myra spoke now and then too, but her hands never left him.  The music changed from the rhythmic pulsing, into a pleasant, lilting dance of cellos and violins.  Myra's emotions shifted from mild interest, to warm silence, and into sparkling moments of joy, wafting over Twist's Sight like the arms of a willow in a breeze.  It felt like a long time, and yet not nearly long enough, when Twist heard her say his name.  He opened his eyes to find her smiling down at him softly, her hair falling like a glimmering shower of rich color around her face, shielding his eyes from the world outside.

“I didn't know you were so tired,” she said. “Shall we all go to bed?” she asked, glancing up at the others.

“Sure, I guess,” Jonas said, as the song came to an end and then left the room in silence, save for the soft crackling of the fire.

Twist sat up easily, finding the muscles all along his spine to be loose, supple, and totally relaxed.  The moment Myra's hand slipped off of his shoulder, the whole world seemed to turn chill and dim.  His gaze hung on her for a moment longer before he looked to the others.  He caught Jonas watching him with a grin, though he said nothing.  Idris stood and stretched himself, looking about the room he'd made.

“I suppose you'd like your room back to normal, then?” he asked Jonas. “Or would you rather sleep on one of these couches?”

“Just for the sake of reality,” Jonas said, placing the last of his collection back into his bag, “I wish my room was back to normal.”

Idris gave a shrug.  In a flashing instant, they were all crowded together, back in the small train compartment once again.  Twist and Myra were sitting on the bed again, while Idris and Jonas stood in the small space left between the bed, the wall, and the door.  Jonas jerked at the suddenness of the change and looked around to find everything exactly where it had been before.

“It's just so easy for him,” Myra said to Twist with wonder flashing in her blue jewel eyes, and a gesture to Idris. “Just a word, and poof!”

“Real magic is as easy as breathing,” Idris said as he opened the door. “Anyone who claims differently is just a magician.”

“You know, we met a very nice magician, just the other day,” Jonas said as Idris stepped out into the hall.  Myra and Twist rose as well, shuffling out of the room one at a time.

“Yes, and she did wonderful magic too,” Myra said brightly.

Idris gave a mirthless bark of a laugh. “Human magic...” he muttered, shaking his head. “Well, pleasant dreams, mortals,” he said with a wave as he walked away.

Myra wished him goodnight and watched him walk down the hallway as Twist left the room behind her.  Jonas leaned against the frame of the doorway.  Myra turned back to Twist and Jonas with an admiring smile to both of them.

“You know the most interesting people.”

“You included, poppet,” Jonas said.

Myra giggled, and then reached out for Twist.  He froze once again at her touch, unsure what to expect.  She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer to him, leaving a cool, feather-light kiss on his cheek before moving on. “Good night, gentlemen,” she said, walking down the hallway to her own door a few steps away.

“Sleep tight,” Jonas said, while Twist could only manage a wave.  His words had evaporated in that instant of affection, leaving him somewhat lost.

“Twist?” Jonas said, the moment her door
shut.

Twist turned to look at him, and found Jonas's eyes a deep, rich, purple, staring into him from very near.  The buzz at the back of his neck rose sharply, grabbing his attention like solid ground in all of his dizzy thoughts.  Jonas stared into his eyes for a moment, and then smiled and blinked, his eyes lightening back to green.

“Good,” Jonas said, his voice just low enough to not be heard through the other doors along the hallway.

“What?” Twist asked, feeling the buzz in his neck subside but still hang at the corner of his mind: cool, familiar, and steady.

“Just checking,” Jonas said, shaking his head. “Sometimes I forget that … well, you know,” he said, nodding vaguely in direction Myra had gone.  Twist blinked a few times and looked at him quizzically.  Jonas gave a sigh, looking away for a moment before looking back to Twist. “No one's ever touched you like that, have they?”

Twist shook his head, his gaze falling.

“Yeah.  I felt you tense up,” Jonas said.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Well, when she grabbed you,” Jonas said, his hand reaching for the back of his own neck absently. “Your emotions tensed up and didn't exactly relax, so much as go numb.”

“You can feel my emotions when you're not looking in my eyes?” Twist clarified, sounding more surprised than he meant to.

“Just like you can without touching me,” Jonas said with a shrug.  Twist's face betrayed his shock, making Jonas smile again. “Look, you might be pretty good at seeing through people's charades as a rule, but I've been fooling my own family for years.  Even so, you've known I was worried when no one else in the room knew.  It wasn't that hard to figure out what you were doing, when I can do it too.”

“Oh,” Twist said distantly, his mind flying over every strange detail of the mysterious way that his Sight and Jonas's seemed to interact.  So far, everything they had each experienced had been mirrored exactly in the other.

“Are you all right, then?” Jonas asked.  There was an honesty in his voice, a subtle sense of understanding that Twist only heard on rare occasions.  He felt an instant compulsion to respond in kind.

“I think so,” he said, nodding. “But...”  He paused to look over his shoulder, towards Myra's silent door. “Has anyone ever touched you like that?” he asked, trying to make his voice level and emotionless.

“It's called comforting,” he answered. “And yes, it's supposed to feel that nice.”

Twist nodded. “Right.”

“Get some sleep,” Jonas said, giving his shoulder a pat. “See you in the morning.”

“Right,” Twist said again, hardly feeling the flash of cool, white calm that followed the pat.  He went into his own room, closed the door behind him, and found a deep, heavy breath ready to leave him the moment he was alone again.