The Real Boy

by Anne Ursu

  Like raising their eyebrows.

  “Look me in the eye, boy,” Madame Mariel snapped.

  Oscar flinched. Her words echoed in his mind, multiplied like shadows. The shadows stretched back through the years, took on the color of an old bruise. Bodiless hands grabbed his chin and forced it up: Look me in the eye, boy.

  Oscar swallowed and looked down at the counter.

  Madame Mariel let out a Wolflike laugh. “If Caleb is such a master magician, why didn’t he get a normal boy for his hand?”

  Callie was still standing in the corner, arms folded, watching Madame Mariel. Her gaze shifted to Oscar, and she rolled her eyes.

  Flushing, Oscar looked quickly back at the healer, who seemed to have grown several inches in the last minute. He was not doing this right. What was it Wolf said to customers when he was working the shop and pretending to be a mere pup?

  “What . . . what do you want?”

  No, that wasn’t it.

  “I need Caleb,” said the healer.

  “He’s not here,” Oscar said.

  “But I need him,” she said.

  “But he’s not here,” Oscar repeated.

  “But I need him.”

  “But . . . he’s not here.” Oscar frowned. This seemed like it could go on for some time.

  “You—” The healer raised her hand.

  “Madame,” Callie said suddenly. “Do we need more rue?”

  The healer turned. “Of course we don’t. We have rue coming out of our nostrils. What’s wrong with you?”

  There was a flash of something on the girl’s face, but before Oscar could identify it, it was gone, and she simply shrugged and tightened her cloak around her shoulders.

  Madame Mariel turned back to Oscar, and Oscar’s gaze darted away. “Would you tell Caleb to come see me as soon as he gets back?” the healer said, each word a sigh. “And really, little hand, if you’re going to be out with the people, you should go to Master Julian’s and have him do something with your hair. He is quite gifted, and I think even that”—she pointed to Oscar’s thicket of black hair—“is within his power to control.”

  Oscar opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

  Madame Mariel plucked two packets of chamomile from their places on the shelves and slid four gold coins across the counter at Oscar. On the way out, Callie looked back at him, eyes wide, eyebrows up. Her cheeks puffed out and she blew air from them. This apparently meant something, too.

  Oscar missed the cats.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. One customer was plenty; Wolf could come back now, and then Oscar could dive back into his pantry and never come out.

  The shop door opened again, and it was not Wolf, but rather Master Julian himself, followed soon after by two villagers Oscar did not recognize. Three customers at once—it felt like the shop was being invaded. The villagers bowed their heads slightly at Master Julian and stepped back. The magic smiths wore cloak pins with trees on them (courtesy of Mistress Alma, the silversmith), but no one from the Barrow villages needed a pin to identify them. Even the small children of the Barrow could recite all thirty names like a song—Madame Alexandra, tanner; Madame Aphra, cloth maker; Master Barnabus, butcher; all the way down to Master Thomas, blacksmith—and would whisper and point whenever one was near.

  The customers poked around the shop—Master Julian in front of the tinctures, the villagers by the small wooden charms Caleb carved. Some invisible nagging presence was poking Oscar in the side, tugging at his sleeve, telling him he should be doing something now.

  But he had no idea what that might be.

  After a few minutes, Master Julian approached the counter.

  Look him in the eye, Oscar told himself. He lifted his gaze up to Master Julian’s face, and then suddenly his whole body rebelled. His eyes snapped away, his heart pounded, his throat went dry. He gripped the counter harder.

  Master Julian cleared his throat. “Are you Caleb today?” he asked.

  “What?” Oscar started. “No! I’m Oscar!”

  “Now, now,” Master Julian said, lifting up a hand. “It was just a joke. Easy.”

  Oscar exhaled. He could feel the magic smith’s eyes on him. He rubbed his arm. The other villagers murmured to each other by the potions. Master Julian made a small “Hmmm” sound and then handed him a tincture of lavender and three gold coins.

  It was a good thing the customers knew how much things cost.

  Villagers kept coming into the shop, looking for things to help them polish their magical blades, keep their fires burning longer, protect their homes against thieves. They said the strangest things, and the words jumbled up in Oscar’s head and he couldn’t put them in the right order. They asked for things, and Oscar dropped vials and tore the packets he’d so carefully prepared. His hands had turned into bread loaves.

  The cats kept peeking their heads out of the back room. First Crow, then Bear, then Pebble, one after the other. They were expecting him downstairs. He was expecting himself downstairs.

  “How much are these?” called a woman, motioning to the cleansing powders.

  “Four coins?” Oscar asked.

  “That’s absurd,” she said. “How about one coin?”

  Oscar chewed on his lip. “All right?”

  She smiled. Another customer turned and held up one of Caleb’s own special herbal decoctions—Prosperity Powder. “How about one coin for these?”

  “All right?”

  Soon everyone was naming prices and taking things off the shelves, things that Caleb usually sold to only the shining people—special decoctions and potions, charms for luck, gleaming amulets, and carefully carved cameos that changed to suit the tastes of the beholder. They bought enchanted dice, remarkably accurate arrows, mirrors that showed you your allies, mirrors that showed you your enemies, mirrors that revealed your true love, crystals that could show you all three. They bought glass globes with little china figures inside that danced whenever you played music, little figurines of napping cats that actually purred, even little glass houses with tiny plants inside—miniatures of the real thing, since people could not see it for themselves.

  They bought all these things and more, handing Oscar coins while he stared at their hands, and leaving, with the shop door banging loudly behind them.

  Where was Wolf?

  And then the City people came, with their glowing skin and perfect hair and preternatural eyes. They came in their clothes made from magic cloth that would never fray or fade and leather boots that would never wear and jewels that kept fortune smiling upon them. They wanted things to sprinkle on their money to make it grow; they wanted things to curse their neighbors, things to protect them from their neighbor’s curses. They wanted magic to get other people to do them favors, to win disputes, to slow aging, to ensure success in financial endeavors. They wanted pretty little enchanted things, better ones than everyone else had. But Oscar could not help; he could not even look at them. They left and took their coins with them, the shop door banging behind them.

  There’s a reason Caleb keeps you in the basement, Wolf had said.

  One lord lingered in front of the jewelry for some time—an impeccably coiffed man in a green cloak. He had a little girl with him, a perfect little girl with black ringlets and full cheeks and impossibly big eyes. As Oscar fumbled around, the lord kept stealing glances at him. Oscar could feel each one like a poke.

  “I am Lord Cooper,” he said finally, approaching Oscar. “Might I ask who you are?”

  Oscar’s mouth opened. “Uh . . . Oscar?” He kept his eyes on the lord’s shoulder.

  “Do you work for Master Caleb?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eleven.”

  The answers were right—yes, he was all those things—but they still felt wrong.

  Something pressed against Oscar’s cheek. His eyes flicked over to the little girl and then darted right back. She was standing perfectly still, inhuman eyes fixed direct
ly on him. And though he looked away, the pressure did not waver.

  “I see,” the lord said. “That’s very interesting. Thank you. Might I ask, how long do you remember being here?”

  Oscar frowned. “Since this morning?”

  “No, I meant—well, never mind. Thank you, Oscar.” Lord Cooper turned to the girl and smiled. “I want to pick out an amulet for Sophie,” he pronounced, gesturing at her. The wall of amulets that Caleb fashioned for the City people glittered behind the girl. They’re infused with the magic of the Barrow, Caleb would tell the shining people as they handed over their coins. You are a blessed people, after all.

  Lord Cooper’s voice suddenly filled the room. “My girl is five now. I want to get her the best one. Which is your finest amulet?”

  “I—they’re all the same,” Oscar said. The little girl’s brow wrinkled.

  The lord frowned. “Ah. Well. Thank you, young man. We’ll come back another time.” He whispered something to his daughter, and they left.

  Oscar did not understand. He did not understand the questions people asked or the way they looked at him or why every time he tried to look them in the eye he felt like he was being chased by seventeen angry Wolfs.

  Maybe Wolf had been right. Maybe Oscar really was all wrong, somehow.

  Oscar was buzzing. His mind felt like a lantern turned too bright. Yes, Wolf had been correct. He could not do this, he was not made for this. He was a fool, a freak. Oscar needed the apprentice to come back now, so he could go back into his pantry and never come out.

  But where was Wolf?

  And then, just as night was falling, the door burst open. Master Robin, the guardian, came rushing in carrying a sack with what looked like a bundle of logs inside.

  “Where’s Caleb?” he said.

  “He’s not here!” Oscar said. “What is that?” he added, pointing to the bag.

  Robin dropped the sack. It made a slight splurching sound when it hit the floor. “That,” he said, motioning to the sack, “is Wolf.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Sack

  Robin stared. Oscar stared. The sack was still.

  “Is he all right?” Oscar said.

  “No,” Robin said.

  Oscar turned his head and looked as far away as he could.

  “I have a new apprentice,” Master Robin said softly. “She did not come back when I was expecting her. After the last . . . incident, I developed ways of tracking my apprentices. And so I found the two of them in the north of the forest. Or at least . . .” He motioned to the sack.

  “Your apprentice?” Oscar whispered. “Is she all right?”

  “No.”

  Oscar swallowed. Behind his eyes, a flash of red capes.

  “Where’s Caleb?” Robin said.

  “He’s not here,” Oscar said, for the thousandth and worst time that day. “He went to the continent. He said he would be back in a couple of days. I don’t know anything more. I don’t know anything more. I don’t know anything.”

  A hand on his shoulder. A hard squeeze. Robin, staring down at him. Robin was so big, the biggest man in the Barrow, his hands were the size of Oscar’s head, he was the biggest man Oscar had ever seen. Oscar closed his mouth so the words stopped coming. But his mind did not stop speaking them: I don’t know anything.

  The cats had gathered. Oscar could feel them in the back room, eyes moving in and out of the shadows.

  “Why don’t you go downstairs,” Robin said. He put his hand on Oscar’s shoulder again, but now it felt very soft.

  “I don’t know anything,” Oscar said.

  “I know. It’s all right. I can send him a message. Just”—he looked down at the sack at his feet—“tell him to find me when he comes back.”

  “Do you . . .” Oscar’s eyes darted to the sack and then quickly away again. “Do you know what happened?”

  Master Robin shook his head. “Not yet. But I will find out. You don’t have to worry.”

  That night in his room Oscar sat on the bed, legs pressed against his chest, arms squeezing them even closer. He was all folded up, like an envelope.

  Pebble’s small orange head kept nudging him. This was what her head did sometimes when he was huddled up in bed hiding from the afterimages of a nightmare. Come back, come back, she said. Whatever place you have gone to, this place is better, because there are kittens here, kittens who really wouldn’t mind having their ears rubbed. But though Oscar felt the soft pressure of her head, heard her forest-rumbling purr, it did not seem like something that was really happening to him, now, here. He soon noticed that he was rocking a little on the bed, like a boat on the waves.

  Eventually, sleep reached its long tentacles out and pulled him close.

  This night it was the sky’s turn to haunt him. Bright and blue, it threatened to suck him in, drown him in its vastness. No, it was something more than the sky. A creature. A monster. Great and blue and bottomless. It dazed you with the sun, battered you with the wind, and then it wrapped wispy cloud fingers around you, pulled you in, and ate you up. The monster was ravenous, always, and would never be sated.

  Of course. Something as big and empty as the sky must be so very hungry.

  He woke up with his heart pounding, with his blanket tangled, with his hair wet. Cat was in the doorway, thumping his tail loudly against the floor, golden eyes fixed firmly on Oscar.

  “Did Caleb come home?” he asked. Cat just gazed at him. But Oscar knew the answer. He could feel it in the house. He was still alone.

  “What am I supposed to do now?”

  He could close the shop. He could put a sign up: Closed. Master Gone. Apprentice in Bits. He could close the shop and then go back to his small room and sit on his small bed and be as small as possible.

  He sat on his bed for the next three hours—hours he should have been spending bringing in the water, getting the bread (for it was Wednesday), preparing his work for the day. But he just sat there telling himself again and again, I could close the shop.

  Then it was nearly time for the shop to open, just like all the shops of all the magic workers in the marketplace. Oscar unfolded himself from the bed, washed, and got dressed, and then dragged himself through the cellar toward the stairs. Pebble followed him into the back room, where they split a piece of stale bread.

  As he ate, Oscar stole glances at the shop through the kitchen door. Maybe no one would come today, he thought. Maybe news of Wolf’s fate would have spread through the villages already, maybe even up to the City. People were always looking out for bad omens. What could be a worse omen than an apprentice in a sack?

  And then, knocking on the door.

  Customers.

  Early.

  “You’ll stay, won’t you?” Oscar whispered to Pebble.

  He walked into the shop, half expecting to see the sack of Wolf still in the middle of the floor. The customers could step over him. What’s that? they would ask, walking carefully around the bag.

  Oh, just Wolf. Step around him. He won’t mind.

  But, no, the floor was empty. Wolf was gone. Robin must have taken him—somewhere. Maybe he dropped him off the edge of the world.

  Oscar unlocked the door and then darted for the cover of the counter. A moment later, a man and woman from the village came in. The man strode up to Oscar and glared down at him. Oscar’s breath caught, and he fixed his gaze on the counter.

  “You know something,” the man said.

  A pause. He seemed to be waiting for an answer.

  “No.” Oscar shook his head. “I don’t know anything.”

  “No, there is something strange about you. You look like you’re hiding something.”

  Wolf: No, you are just strange.

  “Imagine that,” the woman interjected. “Two apprentices killed! The girl was brand-new, of course. But you would think an apprentice of Master Caleb’s would be able to defend himself!” She shook her head. “They just don’t come like they used to.” Her eyes landed on Oscar. The
y seemed to be trying to grab something from him and pull it out.

  The man stepped closer to her. “He’s hiding something,” he half whispered, indicating Oscar. “He looks shifty. Doesn’t he look shifty? He won’t even look at us.”

  A flash of orange down below, and suddenly Pebble was there, tucked neatly in an open cupboard, crumbs on her whiskers.

  “Let me try something,” the woman half whispered back. She turned to Oscar, and a smile contorted its way along her face. “I am Mistress Jane,” she said. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

  Oscar chewed on his cheek.

  “So . . . do you know where the apprentices were going?” she asked. “Did they say what they were doing? Maybe trying some new spells, or boar hunting, or . . . ?”

  “I . . .” Oscar could barely remember. “Very important business,” he said finally.

  The man and the woman exchanged a glance. “You’re right, Buford,” Mistress Jane said. “Shifty.”

  In the meantime more villagers had come in. And Master Julian was back, along with the perfumer, Master Charles. The room was crackling—Oscar could feel it, just as he could feel the force of everyone’s attention directed at the counter. The customers whispered to one another, though this time so quietly Oscar could not hear.

  Oscar caught sight of a head of curly black hair near the healing potions. Callie, studying a piece of paper in her hands. He had a strange desire to wave, though he did not know if that was all right to do.

  “Nothing human could have done that, you know,” one woman said loudly.

  “I bet it was a bear,” said another. “There are some very enormous bears out there, you know.”

  “I don’t think it was a bear,” Oscar mumbled. He glanced down at Pebble. Yes, there were bears in the woods, and some of them were enormous. But they were friendly, if you knew how to talk to them.

  Mistress Jane’s head snapped back. “You do know something!” she said.

  “No, I just—”

  A villager stalked over and handed him a sachet. It was a defensive ward, to be worn next to your skin: cockscomb, burdock, foxglove, agrimony.