Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2 (6 page)

Three men jumped out of the cart, two of them greenskins. This was all wrong. They're supposed to come on Sunday. They're supposed to drop the goods in the gatehouse. Where's Dravus?

The men took turns with a jug of brown liquid as they pulled canvas sacks off the cart and stacked them on the road. One man, at least 7 feet tall with arms as big around as my legs, threw his jug into the air as another shattered it with a whip. Another pulled a second jug from inside the cart and took a long drink.
 

Pearl cut a wide path around them, but the greenskin with a thick red beard spotted her. She headed for the longgrass. The man dropped a sack to the ground and staggered after her. He yelled something. Pearl changed direction. The other two cut her off. She tried to shove past them, but they pushed her back. The red bearded man caught her. She screamed.
 

I limped toward the nearest door.
 

Ballard appeared, holding a steaming loaf of banana bread. "Look what I found."

My stomach turned over from the sweet smell. I kept moving.

Ballard took a bite. "Aren't you hungry?"

I passed him.

"Where are you going?" he said.
 

I shoved open the door to the courtyard. Stumbling toward Pearl, I picked up speed—pushing the pain from my mind.
 

"Whaz your name, litt'l girl?"

Another yanked her arm. "Be a good girl now."

The bearded man covered Pearl's mouth, stifling her screams. She bit his thumb. He yanked back, cursing. He never saw me coming. I barreled into him. We crashed into the cart. He hit his head on the cart's iron wheel and fell motionless to the ground.
 

Huge sticky arms wrapped around me from behind. I smelled sweat and beer and pipeweed. A fist flew at my face. I ducked, wriggling free. One of the men lost his balance and fell. He rolled onto his back. I jumped on his chest. The first thing he saw was my fist crushing his nose. I got in four punches before the third man pulled me back by my hair. I swung my arms, but he held me easily out of reach. The other two men rose to their feet. One grabbed a shovel from the cart.
 

"Hold him still for me."

He aimed at my face and swung.

I winced.

A crash. I opened my eyes and saw the man with the shovel flying through the air. The one holding me by the hair let go. I spun around. Ballard stood behind me. He caught the other two men and knocked them together.
 

The bearded man ran toward the gate. The other two pulled themselves up, managing to jump into the cart. Circling around, they whipped the horses into a gallop.
 

The bearded man yelled, "You can forget 'bout the rest of this delivery." Blood dripped from his face where I knocked him into the cart. He jumped on the cart as it sped by. "Dravus will hear about this. No one from Queen Anne will ever come here again."

Pearl ran into the castle. I rolled onto my back, moaning. I heard Ballard slam the gate shut. A flock of ravens circled overhead, cawing.
 

A moment later, Ballard's huge face appeared over me, still chewing a bite of the banana bread. "What were you thinking, coming out here all alone?"

"I had to do something... she was going to die."

Ballard leaned down and lifted me into his arms. I winced when he touched my back.
 

"Oh she was, was she?" He smiled.
 

"I should have done more."

"Don't you worry about that now. Let's get you inside."

I shut my eyes. In my mind, I watch Yesler, not Pearl, being attacked by the runners. But I have to stop imagining things that aren't real. If I'm not careful, I might start to lose track of what's my imagination, and what isn't.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sometimes, after dreaming about the falling, I wake in a hallway I don't remember falling asleep in. Or a room I've not been in for months. Henri said it's just sleepwalking.

I found myself wishing I could make it happen to me today. I wanted to fall asleep, wake in the entrance hall with Henri, and pull her down from the chair, into my arms. Into my dreams. To wake in the bedroom we shared, cuddled under a blanket whispering secrets to each other until we were too tired to even mumble. To find ourselves in the cottage by the sea, to a place far away where we were safe, where we didn't have to work, where Little Saye was alive again.
 

But I am in the Caldroen. And this is not a dream.
 

Everywhere I looked, sunken red eyes stared back at me—eyes ringed by pale and grief veined skin, sucked tightly around small boned children. As the Roslings worked the clankers, they choked back tears. Some gave in, sobbed a little, until one of the warts told them to shut it. Little Saye had departed us. Roslings aren't supposed to die. But could they be murdered?

Instead of crying, my jaw grew tight. My teeth set. My back stiffened. I watched the Warts for signs of their guilt. I thought about Dravus, how he acted last Sunday. What did he know?

Mazol didn't mention the incident with the runners, not after whispering about it with Ballard. It must have cost Mazol a fortune, the runners left with almost all the supplies. Why wasn't Mazol more angry with me? They all watched me. The Warts. The Roslings. Their eyes darted away whenever I looked, but I knew they were watching.

I thought the day would never die, until finally, long after the sun had retired, I stumbled to my room and fell face first onto the pile of blankets. The smell of Henri filled my senses. A tear rolled from my eye. The room felt cold without her. A fly buzzed somewhere nearby. Like my mind, it refused rest. I rolled to my side, wincing. Hugging my shoulders, I imagined Henri's arms around me, but I couldn't dream away the image of her standing in that unlit room all alone.

Waves crashed on a beach in my mind, beckoning me to join them on the shore. Would we wake tomorrow to find another body tapping against the window? Sitting up, I found a tiny wooden doll beside my bed and the sack of trinkets Dravus discovered in the castle. I dumped the contents of the sack into my palm. A few pieces of twine, a silver chain, and seven onyx iron cast models with clasps, like bracelet charms. Each had the word
rubric
engraved on the base.

"Be careful with these." Dravus placed them in my hands, clasping his old fingers over mind tight. "And don't ever let Mazol or the Warts know you have them."

Something about the rubrics made me feel butterflies whenever they touched my skin. I rubbed each between my thumb and my forefinger for a moment: a flat star with six points, a lotus flower, a tiny elephant with its trunk raised, a model clanker, an hourglass vialus with whirling smoke inside, a crescent moon, and a human skull. Little Saye wore the lotus rubric the night she died, hanging from the thin silver chain around her neck. It was Dravus's idea; he said it might help with the nightmares she'd been having—the last thing he said to me before leaving Sunday morning. I remembered his words when we found Little Saye's body—'don't let Mazol find them'—and managed to slide the necklace off her just before Mazol found us.

I tucked the star, the twine, and the doll into my pocket, then grabbed a cane. I lifted myself up. Every muscle in my body begged me to lie back down. Peeking outside, I looked twice in both directions. I never felt alone here. The Warts had a way of appearing whenever and wherever I least expected it.

I limped down passage after passage, until I came to the entrance hall where Henri stood lonely on her stool. I stared at the door, confused. I thought I was going to see Pearl, to check on her after the attack, see how she was getting on with Little Saye gone. Crying came from the other side of the door. I began to turn the handle. Then, somewhere in the drab behind me, snickering. I thought of Yesler, hiding in the shadows, waiting to see if I went to Henri. The belt in his hand. I pulled back from the door.
 

I couldn't go to Henri. I couldn't.
 

I forced myself to move on. Turning to the left, I shuffled down a long passage. To the right, up a flight of stairs, to the left again. I tried to account for all my time that day. Had I fallen asleep, even for a moment? Was I ever alone? Just when Ballard left to get the bread. What if I'd fallen asleep? I might not have stopped the runners from attacking Pearl. I might not have woken until it was too late.

All day long I'd been wishing I could fall asleep, then wake somewhere new. I thought through each moment, but it was impossible to recall them with any precision. Time didn't pass in the Caldroen. Moments turned to days. Days turned to years. Remembering the life that passed in that cursed room was like pouring rain back into the sky.

My feet carried me to Pearl and Anabelle's door. On the other side, the sound of rustling bed sheets. I pushed the door. Anabelle lay on a four-post bed in the center of the long, sunless room.

I approached. Her eyes closed, she tossed, talking to herself. Her forehead was wet with sweat. I shook her. She lurched. Screamed.
 

I wrapped my arms around her. "It was just a dream."
 

She fought against me.

"It's me, Evan."

Finally she squeezed me tight. I stifled a cry from the pain in my back as her hands brushed my skin.

A voice from the shadows. "She's been doing that for half an hour."
 

I pulled back, staring into the blanket that enveloped the room. "Pearl?"

The ten-year-old girl glided ghostly out of the mist. "I tried to wake her."

"It's alright now." I helped Pearl climb into the bed. "Do you want to see a magic trick?"

Anabelle nodded, her eyes glossy cold, like she'd nearly run out of tears.

"I suppose." Pearl smiled, but it was cast in bronze. That was the best anyone could manage after Little Saye.

I pulled a bit of cloth from my pocket and lay it over my fist. Pausing for effect, I lifted the cloth dramatically.

"Nothing's there," Pearl said.

"Oh?" I checked my hand, turned it over. "I must have done it wrong. Let me see." I winked at Anabelle, placed the cloth back on my hand, peeked under it, then put my finger to my lips.

"Shhhh. You have to be very quiet for the magic to work." I waited another second then said, "You pull it off this time."

Pearl lifted the cloth up slowly, as if something underneath might bite her. In my open palm was the star, fastened to the twine, and the doll. Pearl snatched the doll and hugged it tight, and I slipped the bracelet onto Anabelle's wrist. They kissed me.

"Now time for bed."

Falling back, they pulled the bedsheets up to their chins. I smiled as widely as I could without making my face crack. "Keep that little star safe and it will keep the bad dreams away." Where had I heard that? Dravus?

She nodded, playing with the ebony metal star. It glowed with silvery brilliance.

"The star is cold," she said.

Tucking her in, I noticed a rash on her neck. "What's this?"

She scratched. "Don't know. Bug bite maybe."

"Does it hurt?"

"Just a little itchy."

My chest tightened. I kissed her on the forehead and went to the door.
 

"Tell me if it gets any worse?"

"I will," she said sleepily.
 

"Night."

Neither responded.
 

I shut the door, holding the handle so the latch wouldn't make a sound.

Where had I been all day? Was I sure I didn't fall asleep? Was I sure I didn't let the monster out? Images flooded my mind of Little Saye's body tapping against the window. And on her neck, a rash.
 

CHAPTER NINE

Sometimes I make the letter from my father disappear, like the pages of that little leather book get stuck together. Or like they've been wiped clean. Then, the letter is back again, like it's been there all along. Like it was just hiding for a spell.

After visiting all the Roslings, I let my feet take me where they wanted for a while. Eyes drooping, I found myself turning down a narrow hall that sloped upward into the heart of the castle. My feet were worried. They were taking me to the Elusian—the one place Mazol and the Warts could never find me. The place where the book was hidden.

My feet wanted to know, would I find the letter if I looked tonight?

The sound of footsteps echoed behind me.

I stared back. Alone—at least, alone as I ever was in this place. Always lonely—never alone. How can you be truly alone if you have a terror living inside you? Rain echoed on the roof, tiny chanting voices or marching feet—that's what I must have heard. Just the rain.

Stepping inside the broom closet at the top of a long, steep stairwell—more of a ladder really—I shut the door and felt the back wall. A bronze switch protruded at the base. I stepped on it. A small door swung outward. Air whistled through the gap below the door behind me as wind whooshed past.
 

I had found nineteen hidden rooms in Daemanhur. Some were entered through fireplaces. Others, through the ceiling of the room below. A few, through furniture like towerclocks or false dressers. Entrance sometimes required codes or combinations or piano keys struck in just the right order. One of the trickiest was accessed by stepping inside a claw-foot tub, drawing the curtain and turning the hot faucet to the left. Instead of water squirting out, a door in the tile wall opened, barely large enough to crawl through.
 

But the Elusian was the best discovery of them all.

Long and tall, the room was capped by thick wooden trusses and beams. The only light came through high gable windows jutting out of both sides of the roof and a flickering, humming light I couldn't explain that hung from the wall—tiny red glowing tubes formed letters: the word
Elusian
in large script, and below it, smaller script,
Fine Spirits.
The room sealed perfectly from the rest of Daemanhur; Mazol wouldn't have heard me yelling if he stood in the closet I'd entered through. Equipped with a hidden firewood elevator, it was possible to stock wood from a small basement six floors below without carrying it through the castle. And there was a rickety ladder that led to the roof entrance I had intended to use the night Pike died.