by Danny Lasko
“It’s beautiful,” says Annie coming up behind me. “Nine holes along the top.”
“Is that odd?”
“A flute has seven. A recorder has eight, counting the thumb hole, a clarinet has seven main holes. A piccolo maybe four or five—”
“So yes.”
“Yes. Very.”
“I need to learn to play it.”
It feels like I can hear the tears welling up in Annie’s eyes.
“Annie, come on, this doesn’t have to be a thing, does it? Yes, I realize that I need to learn to play the thing that raises broken boats into the sky.”
“With your eyes closed?” she asks playfully, trying to will away the choke in her throat.
“You can help me.”
“Yes, I can. Come with me.”
Annie leads me across the deck and to what must be the rear of the ship as the fresh breeze of the open sky immediately gives way to a scent of must and age.
“Don’t open your eyes,” she warns.
“Where are we?”
“Hook’s cabin,” she says. “But they can’t know what you’re doing.”
“Hook’s cabin? What’s it look like?”
“Like a really old pirate captain’s cabin.”
“Right.”
Annie lets go of my hand, and I hear a creaking of aged wood, as if she just sat down on a chair or a stool. I hear paper rustle and then set down on something in front of her.
“One of Pock’s notes?”
“Come sit here with me,” she asks, leading me to a short bench with just enough room for the two of us.
“Pock tells us the reason we’re on this ship in his first note,” Annie explains. “The ship contains an Aire.”
“Another song? Like the one we found in Baum’s chandelier. How many of these are there?”
“Four.”
“So where is it?”
“Right in front of you—no! Don’t open your eyes. Feel.”
I reach out my hands and discover a flat, smooth surface, interrupted by seams about every inch or so, with long bars protruding up from each of them. I instinctively press down on it, releasing a tinny tone that floats up and away.
“A piano,” I say.
“A harpsichord,” Annie says, bursting. “Hook’s harpsichord. His most prized possession. And at least one key still works.”
Suddenly, many more notes burst their way into the air as Annie presses each note. I can’t see it, but the joy on her face must be absolutely stunning, playing this fabled instrument in this fabled cabin. I’m tempted to take a peek, but if she caught me, I’d never hear the end of it.
“I was afraid of this,” she says.
“What?”
“After so long, it is terribly out of tune. Amazing that it still works, though.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Okay, here, take the music pipe and listen.”
She plays a sequence of single notes, each of them more awkward than the one before.
“Wait, was that the—what’s it called—the Aire?”
“Sort of. The note has a series of symbols that match symbols someone drew on the harpsichord keys. That’s what I played.”
“It was bad,” I say. “Did the one at the river sound that way when I played it?”
“What do you mean, you didn’t hear it?”
“My mind was on other things.”
“No,” she says, a smile in her voice. “It was amazing. Raysh, when you play this pipe, you don’t just hear the notes, you feel them. You didn’t notice that?”
“Sorry.”
“Well, this isn’t going to work. I can’t just tell you this–” she plays an offkey sound, “–is supposed to be an A flat. Alright, I got an idea. Stay focused.”
“What do you mean?”
I hear her stand up and walk behind me. Next thing I feel is Annie’s arms wrapping around my neck and shoulders, pulling the music pipe into position.
It takes every ounce of will power in me not to say something. She seems to appreciate this.
“Okay, I’m going to move your fingers over the right holes, and then sing the note. Then you play it.”
“You’re going to sing the note?!”
“And then you’re going to play it!”
“I make no promises.”
I feel her cheek brush up against mine and listen as the air is drawn in to her lungs and then a mixture of breath and song swirls outside my ear before I will it in. I feel it wash over my neck and down my back, letting it chill me and warm me all at the same time. I do not allow myself to admit it’s over until long after the sound fades.
“What?”
“I said play it.”
“Could you do it again, please?”
“Raysh!”
“Seriously, I need you to sing it again, cause I was distracted by the other stuff.”
She whispers the note again. I fight the urge to simply let it take me and focus on the sound itself.
“Your fingers are in position. Play the note.”
I rest the pipe on my lips, and stop. I lower it again. Suddenly, the full weight of how much is at stake and how little I’m prepared to succeed hits me like a swinging mainsail.
I don’t get to wallow for long. Annie wraps her soft fingers around mine and leads them to position.
“Soft, like before, blow into the pipe.”
I obey and hear a long crisp note that dances around us before it bursts through me giving me a jolt. Feeling the note, Annie said. She wasn’t kidding.
“You have to listen to each note as it escapes,” Annie explains, pulling her breath back, “learn how they love to dance with your fingertips, to be touched. Listen to the notes. Learn how they love to be played. You’ll learn what they like best, and when you do, they’ll repay you a hundred times. Listen to the notes.”
“You make it sound like they’re alive.”
“They are.”
She whispers another note, perfectly full and gentle. My fingers move with hers along the holes and the second one releases into the air. I try different strengths with different notes, letting the feeling of each one direct me.
We run through the twelve notes. They aren’t perfect, but it’s a start.
“Now you.” As Annie sings the first note, I fiddle with my fingers and, with more hope than faith, surprise myself by matching it perfectly. The second and third are just as accurate, while the fourth and fifth I hesitate to find, but I do. On the seventh note, I begin to think about the pirate ship, wondering what it must have been like in its best days instead of this beaten and salty heap. I imagine its hull, black with a thick line of red trim, gold painted railings, and masts with billowing and brilliant white sails. A master of the sea and skies.
“Wow,” says Annie, awestruck.
“Doesn’t take much talent with you guiding me.”
“You did it yourself.”
“What?”
“The last half of the song. You played it without me. The light, like before...Horatio, it’s been changed.”
“What’s been changed?”
The door suddenly bursts open, slamming against the wall. I whip my head around, but Annie’s hand on my arm calms me enough to keep my eyes closed.
“What happened?!” shouts Linus.
“What happened where?” I shout back.
“The ship!”
“Are we under attack?” I ask, standing.
“Attack? No, we’re … better. Just come out here.”
His footsteps fade away before Annie takes my hand to lead me.
“The door’s not squealing anymore. Did Linus bust it off the hinges barging
in like that?” I ask, trying to use my other senses.
“No,” says Annie cryptically, leading me back onto the deck.
“Guys, what’s going on?” I ask.
“You fixed it,” Annie says.
“Fixed what?”
“The ship, son,” says my dad. “It’s brand new.”
I stretch out my hand, hoping to find a surface of the new ship, just to quell the intense curiosity. I fight the urge to open my eyes, but I’m losing. Suddenly, Annie grabs my arm and pulls me to the ships railing. I run my hand along it’s new smooth surface, trying to imagine its changed facade. The smell of fresh paint zips through my nose.
“What’s it look like?” I ask, needing to see.
“It’s incredible,” answers Linus.
“Details! Everything!”
“Black with a thick red trim and gold-painted railings and gold masts and sails so white you can’t look at them without hurting your eyes. Horatio, you did this!” cries my father.
“Boy, you are coming together,” says Annie, kissing my cheek. To keep me from looking, I run my fingers over the music pipe still in my hand, again and again. I wonder what the other Aires—four of them, Annie said—I wonder what they do. The first made the ship fly. The second restored it. I wonder if they work only on the Jolly Roger or if they could help … elsewhere.
“I...did this?”
“The music pipe did this,” corrects Linus.
“Guys,” calls out Jayce from the wheel, “we’re here.”
I nearly look over the edge, but Annie places a gentle hand on my shoulder. This is madness. The one thing I do best is the greatest threat to our safety. I wonder if they can see my flashes, too.
“Okay, look,” says my dad. “Your grandfather’s power, do you know it?”
“His memory.” It has to be his memory. The way he would describe things of the past, down to every detail. Sometimes too much.
“Not just his memory. He can feel when something in his environment has changed. He’ll remember what your presence felt like, even seven years later. He just won’t know the long hair.”
I run my hand through my hair by reflex.
“Once you’re in, I’m guessing you’ll have fifteen minutes if you’re lucky before they figure out where you are, so try hard not to look at anything, you know, recognizable.”
“It’s time,” says Linus, joining us. “I’ll take her down about a half mile away from the western rim to a small clearing. It’s up to you from there.”
I reach back to make sure my sword is in its sheath. I think back to how many times I had to use it in the last couple of weeks. Dexter was right. He did save my life. More times than he’ll ever know.
“You be careful,” Annie says, pulling me back from the side. I feel the sun push on the left side of my face. It’s getting late. I can’t open my eyes, but I conjure an image of Annie standing at sunset, the way the light reflects off her hair that warms everything around her. I reach out and stroke it twice in the time it takes her to continue with her warning.
“This isn’t Revolution or even the coast with a few bad guys hunting you—even if one of them controls the tides. These inmates are villains. Many of them are honestly insane. Who only want to see the world as miserable as they are. Monsters. Monsters who’ll tear your flesh off with their teeth if they get a scent of the outside on you. Disgusting mobs of—”
I press my mouth against hers so quickly that she barely has time to gasp. Her concern, the image of her and the sunset, the warmth of her hands on my chest. The fear of facing all the things she just described. And the need for courage. And the way she kisses me, I could lift mountains.
“I’m coming back,” I say.
I drop over the edge and slide down a rope, falling the last ten feet. I have nothing with me but my sword and the promise to return. I wait until nightfall before I open my eyes and start to move. The big trick that all of us know and no one wants to talk about is how to escape before the Synarch shows up. I’m counting on surviving fifteen seconds at a time—more if I can find a way to see multiple moments as I did fighting agent Farr at the wood’s edge. Maybe if I can do that in here, I’ll make it.
I’m really not sure why Granddad would know about second sight when none of the Children seem to know. But he always knew more about anything than anyone. It’s not the reason I’m here, though. Sure, I need his help. But I’m here to get him out.
I remember the last day I saw him. He was tall and olive-skinned like me, with salt-and-pepper hair and thick arms. Like how farmers looked back when there were farmers, before the Synarch’s technology made them obsolete. A lot of days in the sun. A lot of cold nights. Some of my favorite times were sitting on an old stump in a nearby field, chewing on long strands of dry yellow grass while Granddad told me that no matter what, as long as the grass was still free to be chewed, we have hope.
I still remember how out of place he seemed that last day. He looked worn and old, not something I was accustomed to. And he wasn’t smiling. When I offered him a long strand of grass and he didn’t take it in his mouth, I remember feeling so worried that I had to ask him if the grass was still free to be chewed.
He just said in a gruff and grave voice, “I hope so.”
He tucked me into bed that night, wished me sweet dreams and a better world, then kissed my forehead. I then heard the front door squeak open and clank shut. And he was gone. I never saw him again.
I’m up on the edge of the Rim before I know it. The pit is dark with an odd smattering of light at the bottom. Night fell about ten minutes ago. I keep low and undercover to stay out of sight of the guard tower standing about 50 yards away. I try not to look at it. I take a deep breath, because from here on in, I’m gonna have to see where I’m going.
The clock’s ticking. I have two advantages. One, there isn’t a Synarch base within a thousand miles of here. The only Synarch soldiers here are those who were in the way or needed to be punished. The second thing is maybe, maybe they just want to see what I’m up to.
I run along the edge of the Rim, glancing down every so often. The bowl-shaped walls ripple with brown, uneven ground. Odd that nothing has grown on the Rim, especially as it sits surrounded by lush woods. Rain is falling. That might slow me down a bit, but it’ll also help my cover.
I pass by the first guard because he’s too small. I’d never fit. I sprint the half-mile separating it from the next one. Yeah, he might do. I scale the tower and pop my head over the floorboards from the rear. He’s big, but maybe not as tall as I am. He’ll have to do. Seconds later he’s crumpled on the ground and I’m wearing his uniform. The pant legs rise a little high but still cover the rim of the boots. Besides, I don’t plan to talk to anyone long enough for them to notice.
The rain pelts the ground, turning it to a sloppy mud. I kick out a large piece of the wall of the guard tower and slide it up to the edge. Just like when you were a kid, I tell myself. I pull in my duster, fasten my hat, lie down on the plank, and push off.
It’s nothing like when I was a kid. When I was a kid, the hill was short and tame, and there was snow on the ground. This cascading cliff is rough and long and gets mud in my face. I nearly lose it on a massive mound of mud that launches me in the air, angling to one side. I can’t steer and I can’t slow down. All I can do is hold on.
Suddenly, I realize the terrain is about to change. I’m going from the refilled mounds to the unfilled holes. I flash forward, but it all ends the same way. Eleventh hole in, I’m going to eat it.
I jump from the board just as its nose tips into the eleventh hole, veering off to the right, just as my vision told me. I roll and stand, unharmed but wet and muddy. No one’s around. Looks like they only dig until dark or until it rains. Either way, it appears I’m alone.
And that doesn’t feel ri
ght. Finally, I whirl around, unsheathing my sword at the same time to see an olive-skinned man with shocking white hair and arms as thick as I remember. Maybe more. He’s dressed in gray canvas, in reasonable shape for being here for seven years.
“Now I know your mama raised you better than to stand in the wet all night.”
“Granddad.” The wizards will know where I am. Now it’s a race.
He takes me into a side tunnel, one of a thousand burrowed out of the sides of the Rim, where the cells, warden’s quarters, halls, and other needs for a prison are.
“We don’t have much time. The—”
“We got a few minutes,” interrupts Granddad. “The inner guards have their hands full with a riot about seven tunnels away. Course, I started it. As soon as you laid into that guard up at the top, I knew you were here.”
“You saw that?”
“Not exactly saw,” he says scanning the rough-hewn walls. “Noticed is a better way of describing it.”
“It’s good to see you, Granddad,” I say.
“Good to see you too, boy.” He stops and looks back. “Don’t know why you came or what you think you’ll get out of it, but it’s good to see you. How in the world did you find me?”
“Lizzie,” I say. “Second sight.”
“Second sight?” he says, coughing out a laugh while he scuffs along the tunnel. “Lizzie? I held her all of twice before I left. Huh. Guess that’s enough. I’ll have to remember that. What am I saying? Of course I’ll remember that.”
“I need your help.”
“With what, son?”
“The Call has come.”
My granddad pauses for a moment and rests his hand against the wall before glaring at me.
“You?” he says. I nod.
“And you’re being followed.”
“By another second sight.”
“So … you know about the wizards.”
“I do.”
“And about me.”
“I do.” Granddad York bows his head a bit while walking up the tunnel. “The Garden is destroyed,” I tell him. “They’ve been tracking me. How can we keep from getting tracked?”