Family

by Emily Thompson

  “The Astronomical Research Station at Echuca, in Australia,” the voice within the watch replied. “A civilian named Storm would like to speak with you. Will you accept the call?”

  “Oh, Storm!” Myra answered. “Yes, thank you. I’ll accept the call.”

  “That’s very strange,” Twist mentioned, stepping closer to Myra. “Storm appeared in my nightmare.”

  Myra looked at Twist with surprise.

  “Myra?” Storm’s young voice called out through the watch, sounding concerned. “Where’s Twist? Does he have his watch?”

  Myra seemed to find this question to be just as odd as Twist did. Twist frowned at the watch in her hand.

  “Yes, Storm. I’m right here, and I have my watch in my pocket. What’s all this about?”

  “Well, where was it?” Storm’s voice asked sharply. “Twist, you can’t go to sleep without your watch. It’s not safe. Anyone might find you!”

  “Wait a minute,” Twist said. “I just had a dream about you. Was that actually you, Storm? I thought your Sight couldn’t find my dreams. I thought you could only find Jonas’s dreams.”

  An exasperated sigh rose from Myra’s watch. “Are you being serious right now?” Storm’s voice asked petulantly. “The charm on your watch keeps me from finding your dreams, the same as it keeps me from being able to see you. I can find Jonas because he doesn’t have one.”

  Twist sighed as well but tried not to let the sound of it travel through Myra’s watch. He remembered the boy’s strange little game of pretending to be unable to see or hear Twist at all, without the help of a curious contraption—a single goggle lens and a earphone, supposedly enchanted with magic—that the boy had built. He had no idea that Storm would go to these lengths to keep to his fantasy.

  “Of course,” Twist said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. “I remember now.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one who might find you, if you sleep without your watch,” Storm’s voice said. “You should be more careful, Twist.”

  “I will, I promise,” Twist said soothingly.

  “You’d better,” Storm’s voice said sourly. “Holy hell, Twist. Just the other day, you nearly got yourself killed by vampires! Are you trying to worry us all to death?”

  Twist nearly asked how the boy could possibly know about Twist’s recent activity in Ghana, when the answer suddenly occurred to him. Storm watched Jonas’s dreams, nearly every night, if not every single night. He’d said that people usually dreamed about things that had happened to them in the day. And since Jonas had feared that Twist would die at the hands of Aazzi’s vampire family, he might have dreamed of it, as well.

  “I survived that,” Twist pointed out.

  “That’s not the point,” Storm’s voice snapped. “You have to be more careful, Twist. I know your life is exciting, and you’re traveling around a lot and all, but please. At least try not to die, all right?”

  Myra looked at Twist pointedly, as if quietly agreeing with the boy.

  “Thank you for your concern,” Twist said to the watch, struggling not to grumble. “I will be careful. Please don’t worry about me, Storm.”

  “All right, I’ll try,” Storm’s voice said with great patience. “You sure don’t make it easy, though. I just wanted to make sure you still had your watch. Keep it on you, all right?”

  “I will,” Twist said, finding no reason not to.

  “Good-bye, Twist,” Storm said. “Give Jonas my regards.”

  Twist and Myra both said good-bye to Storm before the connection was cut by a decisive click, followed by a soft, rain-like sound. Myra closed the watch, silencing it, and let it hang over the heart again.

  “What a funny little boy,” she said with a smile.

  “Yes, funny indeed,” Twist said flatly.

  Myra smiled at him and put a hand on his arm, spilling her usual warm, sunny light into his Sight. “He cares about you, you know, in his own odd little way.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t,” Twist muttered.

  “I can’t blame him,” Myra said, her emotions growing a bit warmer along with her smile. “You’re very easy to care about, darling.”

  Twist would have mentioned that he didn’t mind her care quite so much, but then the fact that she seemed to care a little too much gave him pause. Instead, he held on to his smile, hoping it looked convincing enough. Thankfully, Myra didn’t seem to sense anything beyond it.

  “Come along, now,” she said, taking his hand and turning for the door. “Jonas is waiting.”

  Even in the absence of sunlight or any indication of natural time in the underground city, half of the electric streetlamps were still shut off during the early morning hours, creating a simulated night. Twist guessed that this was an effort to conserve electric power while most of the city inhabitants were sleeping. A few people still roamed the streets, and some cafes and drinking dens remained open throughout, but the city seemed all but abandoned as Twist, Jonas, and Myra got off the nearly empty train from the airship cavern.

  As promised, they had all gotten themselves ready for the day. Twist wore his black frock coat and matching trousers with a silver waistcoat and soft blue shirt, with his sturdy black boots and silk top hat, holding his walking stick casually in one hand. Jonas wore his usual rugged browns and whites and still wouldn’t wear a hat or button up his chocolate waistcoat for love nor money, but as always, he wore his black goggles nestled in the front of his messy, short golden hair.

  Myra looked the best of the three of them, the gleaming copper finish of her clockwork form complemented nicely by the rich purple and silver of her flowing sari. Her long, maroon-colored hair of thin wire lay braided down her back under the silver-accented edge of her hoodlike sash. Twist walked proudly with his princess, pleased to be on the arm of such a stunning young woman.

  Jonas led Twist and Myra quickly to one particular establishment, which he said was his favorite in the city. Apparently, he’d found it on a previous journey through Tamarasset and could highly recommend their felafels and drink selection. Though he wasn’t sure what a felafel was, Twist went along with Jonas easily. He was somewhat surprised, however, to find the place to be a small, simply furnished, and wholly uninspiring tavern just off one of the smaller park-like plazas. Knowing Jonas’s usually good taste, Twist didn’t comment on this.

  He, Jonas, and Myra sat at a small, low table near the open front of the building, on threadbare but still colorful cushions, and let Jonas place their order. There were a few other patrons around them, but they all seemed to be passed out from drink or simply asleep at other tables. The waitress brought Twist and his companions three small empty glasses and a plate of food that Twist had never seen. There was a pile of small, brown balls of some kind, a bowl of what looked like another fascinating yogurt sauce, and some sliced cucumbers as well.

  “I can’t believe Storm called you,” Jonas remarked, once Twist had related the events of the morning to him. “How did he even know that Skye gave Myra her talking watch?”

  “He’s still watching all of your dreams, it seems,” Twist mentioned uneasily.

  Jonas gave an irritated grunt.

  “Skye said she registered this watch to my name,” Myra answered. “She said it made it easier to contact me.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” Jonas mentioned. “Do we want every magpie with a talking watch to be able to pester us whenever they like?”

  “I’m sure they all have better things to do,” Twist offered, as the waitress returned to place a dark glass bottle on the table.

  “I certainly hope so,” Jonas said, taking the bottle. He filled two of the empty glasses with amber liquid and gave one to Twist.

  “What is that?” Myra asked Jonas.

  “Rum,” Jonas announced happily.

  “Of course,” Twist said with a smile. “How reassuring.”

  “There’s nothing better than a glass of rum to clear away any black thoughts,” Jonas said, raising his own
glass to tap it against Twist’s before taking a draw from it.

  Twist banished all thoughts of impropriety at drinking alcohol so early in the day and took a drink from his own glass. He was startled by how round, rich, and delightfully spicy the flavor of this rum actually was. Next, he tried one of the fried balls on the plate and found that it was a tightly-packed nugget of grain and spices, which was nutty and surprisingly creamy in flavor, with a delightfully crisp yet soft texture. Twist felt comforted to see that Jonas really did know all the best places, no matter what they might look like on the surface.

  Whatever was left of Twist’s fear and confusion after his sleepwalking episode was washed utterly away as he talked with Jonas and Myra and let the rum he sipped at gently smooth his mood into calm. The drunks around them didn’t stir but occasionally and didn’t seem at all interested in anything but falling back asleep when they did. Twist and the others, chatting on lightly, idly watched the sparse passersby. Not but a handful of people moved on the streets at this early hour, giving the city a tranquil air.

  “Isn’t that Jeffery?” Myra asked suddenly, pointing out into the street.

  Twist and Jonas both looked after her gesture, and Twist instantly recognized the small, blond baboon that was currently strolling down the nearly empty city street. He walked erect and proudly on his hind feet, and he wore a smart tweed suit with a little bowler on his head and a monocle over one yellow eye. Twist smiled at the sight of the gentlemanly monkey, fondly remembering the morning abroad the Orient Express when Myra had wished him into existence.

  Their friend, Idris the djinn, had happily granted her wish, changing the coffeepot on their breakfast table into Jeffery—who was created with diction and decorum to comply with Twist’s anxiety at what the other diners might think of finding a baboon suddenly among them. Every time Twist had met Jeffery Simian again, he had always been beside Idris. This time, however, the baboon seemed to be alone.

  Myra called out to Jeffery, waving with a smile. The monkey seemed to be deep in thought as he walked and turned with a start at the sound of his name. Then, his fur-covered, short-snouted face broke into a smile and he hurried closer to them.

  “Princess Myra!” he declared in amazement, and with a crisp Cambridge accent, as he came to stand beside their street-side table. “And if it isn’t Twist and Jonas, as well! Good heavens, it’s a pleasure to see you all,” he said, tipping his hat genteelly.

  Jonas laughed—mostly at the still-absurd image of a baboon with such good manners, Twist suspected—and offered Jeffery his hand. Jeffery took the handshake with his small but strangely human-looking hand and a pleasant nod as Jonas and the others greeted him with their own pleasantries. Myra insisted that he join them at the table, and Jeffery accepted with bashful grace, stacking a couple of the thin cushions on which to sit, so that he could see over the edge of the table with his significantly smaller stature.

  “But what the devil are you doing here in the middle of the Sahara?” he asked, once he’d placed his hat on the cushion beside him and accepted the offer of a glass of rum from Jonas.

  “We’re waiting out the sandstorm,” Twist answered, smiling to the monkey. “We’re on our way to France.”

  “Oh, are you?” Jeffery replied. “It seems to me that you three are very often on your way to France,” he added with a suspicious look to his yellow eyes.

  Twist laughed lightly and nodded, remembering that they had been traveling from Constantinople to Paris the first time they had met Jeffery.

  “If I were you,” Jeffery went on, “I would buy a nice little house in some delightful banlieue and save myself the trouble of going back and forth.”

  “Maybe we should look into that,” Jonas said with a grin.

  “What about you, Jeffery?” Myra asked pleasantly. “What brings you here? And isn’t Idris still with you?”

  “Ahh, yes,” Jeffery said, his voice taking on a new weight. His smile faded for an instant as well before he put it back on. “Yes, Idris and I have been having wonderful adventures for quite some time. We’ve done amazing things. I swear, some day I shall have to publish my memoirs,” he added with a thin laugh. “We were passing through this country, after having a lovely time with a tribe of delightful people in the savannas south of here. We were planning to head to Morocco next,” he said before stifling a sigh. “But I suppose we’re all stuck here through the storm,” he added with forced brightness.

  Myra glanced to Twist with a worried expression, while Twist’s own concern for Jeffery grew.

  “Is everything all right, Jeff?” Jonas asked, his tone softer than before.

  “Oh, certainly,” Jeffery said with a fuller smile. “Never better.”

  Jonas took a thoughtful breath, looking at his glass knowingly. “Where is Idris right now?” he asked Jeffery, his tone leading.

  Jeffery gave a sigh, his gaze dropping mournfully to his hands, clasped on the edge of the table. “He’s here. He’s just…” Jeffery shook his head and looked to Jonas stoically. “He’s been in an opium den for a few days now.”

  This revelation struck Twist, and clearly Myra, as surprising, but Jonas only shook his head disdainfully, as if he’d expected as much.

  “I know that he’s in no danger, of course,” Jeffery went on quickly. “He’s not human, after all. As far as I know, nothing in the world could threaten his health. But I still can’t help but worry for him,” he added on a heavy breath. “When I speak to him, he doesn’t seem to hear me. And once, when we were in Hong Kong, he stayed in that dazed state for nearly a week.” Jeffery gave a halfhearted laugh. “I found ways to entertain myself, of course, but still…I must be honest, I find I miss him when he’s like this.”

  Myra gave a soothing tone, looking at Jeffery in sympathy. Jeffery gave her a tight smile, clearly uncomfortable with her concern. Twist dearly wanted to offer the forlorn baboon some kind of aid or comfort, but couldn’t imagine how he might.

  “He’ll stay forever in places like that, if you let him,” Jonas said darkly. Jeffery looked to him in surprise. “We were shipmates,” Jonas explained, “under Captain Quay. Idris always had a strong inclination to various inebrieties then, as well.”

  “I see,” Jeffery said, seeming somewhat relieved to hear this. “Well, I suppose I’m not failing as a companion as badly as I thought I was,” he added with a slight smile.

  “I’m sure you’re not,” Jonas said kindly. “You know Idris can’t abide boredom. I guess that sometimes lucid entertainments just aren’t enough for him.”

  “I don’t understand how he can get bored when he can do anything he likes,” Myra said with a frown.

  “He needs someone to wish for what he wants before he can have it,” Twist mentioned. “Even so, I agree. I don’t think I’ve gotten honestly bored once since I left home.”

  “Maybe we should travel with you more often,” Jeffery said with a smile. “But goodness knows I’m never bored on my travels, either. I don’t understand why Idris falls into such melancholy sometimes.”

  “He’s a prisoner on this planet,” Jonas offered with a shrug. “Not having one’s freedom can darken anyone’s mood.”

  “Very true,” Jeffery said with a nod.

  “Well,” Jonas said with a sigh, looking to Twist, “what do you say we try to go wake up the old opiomaniac, before he gets himself captured.”

  “Captured?” Jeffery asked with new alarm.

  “He’s an unbound djinn,” Jonas explained. “All it takes is a container and a simple spell to capture him. Anyone can do it, if they know how. Then they could make him grant any wish they wanted, whether Idris wants to grant it or not. And with an addled brain, he’s easy pickings. That’s how Quay captured him when they first met. Sure, he released him later to get Idris to willingly join the crew, but not everyone would have that kind of goal.”

  “Good heavens!” Jeffery gasped. “I never realized he was in danger of being captured. Yes, could I implore you fine gentlem
en to help me rouse him?”

  “Of course,” Twist answered without hesitation.

  Jonas nodded as well, while Myra smiled to Jeffery supportively. Jeffery thanked them profusely for their kindness, prompting them all to respond politely in kind. They paid their bill and left swiftly, following Jeffery to the den where he’d left the djinn. Twist was silently thankful that he hadn’t had too much to drink himself and felt that he still mostly had his wits about him.

  As they walked, Twist recalled all of the wonderful things that Idris had done for him. Before Twist had finished repairing Myra’s puppet, Idris had given Myra’s crystal heart back to Twist after the pirate Quay had stolen it. He had given Twist a magical book that never ran out of stories, which Twist still carried with him and read from wherever he traveled. The djinn had helped free Myra from a Rook fortress—before the Rooks had later become their allies—and he had also helped Twist and his friends to escape from a Cypher airship, as well.

  Twist knew that Idris had been sentenced by his people to suffer one hundred years on Earth, only able to use his magic in granting the wishes of others, as payment for some crime that Idris would never name. Criminal or not, after all that the djinn had done for Twist and his friends, it felt only honorable to lend him some aid in return, now that they had been given the opportunity.

  The opium den instantly reminded Twist of the place in Hong Kong where Passepartout had found himself detained by the conniving Policeman Fix in Verne’s novel, Around the World in Eighty Days. The square building was fully enclosed from the electric lights of the city outside and seemed unreasonably dark, stuffy, and warm. While the roof above was supported by posts rather than dividing walls, hanging curtains of thick, dark-colored fabric cut the large space into nothing but small cubbys.

  There were divans and large cushions in each nook, on which men lay in a silent, unmoving, half-alive state. Thin, silver wafts of sweet-smelling smoke rose from their long pipes and lingered in the stagnant air. Candles burned near each of them in small, textured tin lanterns that threw shifting shadows over all, but there was no other illumination in the whole of the space, giving the den an even more eerie and mysterious quality.