Fireworks and Darkness

by Natalie Jane Prior

  ‘Stop it,’ said Casimir helplessly. ‘Please. Stop it.’ As he spoke, he realised what a ridiculous thing it was to have said, for clearly Simeon did not even recognise he was there. But though his father’s expression did not change, Peter Circastes stopped his murmuring. With his arm still around Simeon’s shoulders, he turned and looked at Casimir.

  ‘If this could have been stopped, Cas, believe me, I would have done it twenty years ago. I’m not here because I want to be.’

  ‘No,’ said Casimir. ‘You’re the one who had the choice in this. You made this happen. You forced Simeon to come here. And you knew I would come, too, because he’s my father. Because I wanted—’

  ‘To say goodbye.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because you parted on bad terms.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And because you love him. Most of all, you came because of that.’ Circastes paused. ‘In which case, you’ll understand why I’m here, too. And why I, equally, have no choice in the matter.’

  The comparison silenced him. Outmanoeuvred, Casimir groped for an appropriate response and found none. He had expected some mummer’s devil in a black suit, streaking fire and pyrotechnic flames, not this quiet man with his gentle manner and dark curls, and the sad, compelling eyes. Circastes made him feel as if there was nothing he could say, and probably, there wasn’t. The magician knew him too well. For the past three days he had had free access to every thought inside his head, shaping his hopes and his fears, and all this time he had been seeking out the heart of him, like water finding its level. Then he and Christina had used this knowledge to push Casimir and Simeon inexorably apart, even to this reckoning in the darkness. It was easy to be frightened of Circastes, but not so easy to hate him. Hate was not a complicated enough word to describe how Casimir felt.

  ‘Cas.’

  ‘Don’t call me Cas.’

  ‘Casimir, then. I don’t expect you to understand why I’m doing this. All I want you to believe is that I take no pleasure in it. I’m not a monster. Whatever garbled stories Simeon has told you, this is not about revenge. It is punishment.’

  ‘This business has wrecked my father’s life,’ said Casimir. ‘Simeon’s punished himself every day, for the last twenty years. What more do you hope to win by doing this?’

  ‘You,’ said Circastes simply. ‘Because you’re the one I’ve always really wanted. Ever since you were a tiny boy and I found out that you existed, in that mining camp at the back of Skelling. Your uncle didn’t tell you the entire truth about that, Casimir. It’s true, I did befriend your mother, and I turned her on your father. But it wasn’t Joachim who stopped me. It was you. You came out from behind a curtain and started punching and kicking me in the back of the legs. I could have killed you then, or taken you with me, but I didn’t. You were too young, only six or seven. Instead I made Simeon promise to give you over to me, when you were old enough. I didn’t expect him to keep his promise, but I fully intend to hold him to it.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘You mean, you don’t want to. Nevertheless, it’s true. Think back over the last few days, Casimir. I came to the shop in a boy’s shape without your even knowing who I was. You asked me in, we talked together, I could have done whatever I wanted to you at any time since then. Yet, I never harmed you, and when the Queen’s Guard came, I saved your life. Look at the scar on your chest and tell me I’m lying.’

  ‘You tried to kill me in the park.’

  ‘No. I forced Simeon to stop pretending and admit what he was. And what you can be. If he had given you to me then, when I asked him, it would have stopped there. We could have found another way of doing what Christina wanted. But your father refused. He’s not an honourable man, Casimir. Any promise he’s ever made me, he’s reneged on. Let me tell you what I found when I came home, that night, twenty years ago. I found my elderly father, lying on the floor in the dark. As far as I could make out, he had been there for three days, exactly where Simeon had left him. The door was open, the fire had gone out, he could not walk or even get up off the floor, and he was almost dead from dehydration and cold. It was as if someone had abandoned a newborn baby. That is what your father did to mine, Casimir. It was not enough for him simply to destroy my father’s mind. He left him to die as well.’

  ‘If my father was so dishonourable,’ said Casimir softly, ‘I wonder why it is you would want me.’

  He lifted his eyes. Across the cellar where the firework boxes were piled three deep against the wall the firework boy stood, face out in a jumble of dismantled set pieces, regarding him through catherine wheel eyes. The memory of the inconsequential pride he had once felt in what was now, in the scheme of things, such an insignificant achievement, made something ache in Casimir’s marrow. In five short days his life had been so completely changed he could scarcely remember how the person who had set off for the firework display had felt. Even if he escaped Circastes and got out of the cellar alive, he could not go back now. Too much had happened to him, and too many people had died that he might live. His future had been too dearly bought, with blood and fire, for it to be ever entirely his own again.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘What do you want of me?’

  Circastes had his answer ready. ‘I want you to give me the power of your name. And I want you to come with me. Willingly. Not because I force you to by magic or other means, but because you acknowledge that it is right.’

  ‘And if I can’t do that?’

  ‘Then you are free to go. But your father stays. Here, in this cellar, right until the end, with his memory and understanding restored him. In the full knowledge of what he has done and why he is here.’

  ‘Fair enough. But what about the people in the palace?’

  ‘You’re worried about them? I’m afraid there is nothing I can change, there. That is our commitment to Christina, it cannot be broken. But I will be frank, Casimir: as far as my family is concerned, your acquiescence will wipe out Simeon’s debt. If you agree to come with me, if you give me the power of your name, I promise, Simeon will be sent away safely—say, to somewhere where his skills with gunpowder would come in useful. In fact, with my niece’s permission, he could even become a Captain of the Ordnance here in Starberg, with a view to rapid promotion. To have one of our own kind in such a position would have distinct advantages.’

  ‘Simeon won’t agree to that,’ said Casimir flatly. ‘You’re wasting your time if you think he will.’

  ‘We’d have to ensure his loyalty, of course.’

  ‘Yes. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ensuring loyalties. If I come with you, I need to know I’m making my own mind up. Under the circumstances it’s a bit hard to be sure of that.’ Casimir felt tired. ‘I don’t want to come with you. I don’t want to be a magician. It’s never brought my father any joy, and I don’t imagine it will bring me any, either. But I’ll agree to what you suggest, on two conditions. The first is, that you don’t take away my memories. I want to remember my father and who I am. The second—’ he broke off, gathering the strength to say it, ‘—the second, is that you make sure Simeon doesn’t remember anything about me.’

  ‘That would defeat the purpose of what we’re doing,’ said Circastes softly.

  ‘That’s too bad, then.’ Casimir stood up, stiffly, and brushed the gunpowder off his clothes. He could hear voices talking, very faintly, somewhere in the background, but could not make out where exactly they were coming from. ‘Because it’s the only way I’ll come with you. Unless you choose to take me along by force. Chances are you’ll do that, anyway, but I think that would defeat your purposes as well.’

  ‘Wait.’ Circastes stood up, too. A fist banged on the main door. Then Ruth’s voice called out, unmistakably, from the stairwell outside.

  ‘Casimir! Casimir, it’s Ruth. Can you hear me? Are you there? What’s happening?’

  ‘Don’t answer her.’ Circastes looked at Simeon, and a strange expression passed over his face. ‘A
ll right Casimir. I agree to your conditions. If you mean what you say, give me the power of your name, now. All you have to do is say it.’

  Casimir drew a deep breath. ‘I, Casimir Runciman, give you the power of my name.’

  As the words left his lips, there was a sharp crack and a sound of splintering wood. A small keg of slow composition fell from the stack in front of the main door. Its lid came off and a flood of powder hissed like sand onto the floor.

  ‘Your uncle is trying to break down the door,’ said Circastes. ‘I suppose he thinks he has nothing to lose. He’ll have a hard time getting past those heavy barrels.’

  ‘You agreed to let Simeon go,’ said Casimir. ‘He can leave with Joachim and Ruth. Wake him up now. I want you to keep your promise.’

  ‘In a moment.’ Circastes nodded towards the door, and the stack of barrels came tumbling down. There was a crash and the bolt gave way. The last barrel of gunpowder toppled over and Joachim pushed through the gap, a coal shovel in his hand.

  ‘Wake up, Simeon,’ said Circastes casually, and Simeon stirred. There was a confused, exhausted expression on his face, but for the first time his eyes were sane. He looked at his hands, at Casimir, Circastes, and Joachim standing in a sea of gunpowder. Ruth was close behind, scrambling over the obstacles in the doorway. When she saw Simeon she stopped uncertainly, and lifted her hand to push away her hair.

  ‘They’re all here, Simeon,’ said Circastes. ‘Just as I promised you they would be. Your brother-in-arms, your lover, and your son. Only Cas is coming with me, I’m afraid. He’s given me the power of his name.’

  Simeon closed his eyes. ‘Oh, Cas,’ he said. ‘I warned you. I told you not to trust him.’

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ said Casimir. ‘But he said he’d let you go if I gave him my name, and I had no other choice. It will be all right. I know it will be all right.’ As he said the words, he desperately willed this to be so, willed Simeon to understand exactly what he had just done. He took a step towards his father. Simeon reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder. Casimir felt a prickle of electricity, as if some last remnant of magic had discharged through him, and then the warmth of his father’s touch through his wet shirt. It was real and solid, and in that moment he sensed they had both reclaimed something. In his head, he heard words distantly spoken, and felt a gentle eddy as Circastes’s magic passed him by.

  The magician’s right hand was lifted in a gesture of power. He was holding the black wand Simeon had stolen from Ezekial Circastes, and he looked faintly foolish, as if he did not entirely understand what was happening. He had called on Casimir’s name, and found there was no power in it. Casimir, who had expected this, looked at Simeon and saw realisation dawning in his dark eyes.

  ‘Ah.’ Simeon started to laugh. ‘I see. Indeed, indeed, I see.’

  ‘I gave him my name,’ said Casimir simply and then Joachim burst out laughing too, for like Simeon and Casimir, he understood the trick. Though he used it for convenience, Runciman was not Casimir’s name. His parents had never been married, and legally, he was a Leibnitz like Joachim and Jessica, the illegitimate son of a wild redhead who had hung out in the artillery train of the Ostermark army and run off with her brother’s friend. Jessica’s name was the only legacy Casimir’s mother had left him, the only part of her time or memory could not efface. And the proof had gone up the kitchen chimney with his birth certificate.

  Simeon laughed again and the sound made Casimir rejoice. Casimir knew Circastes had probably spoken the truth about what Simeon had done. But he alone knew that in the years since then his father had learned much and abjured more, and though the dark and twisted turnings of his life were full of regrets and mistakes and might-have-beens, if there had been no Ezekial Circastes, Simeon would never have grown into the flawed, troubled man who was his father, and whom he loved, and Casimir himself would never have been born at all.

  All this passed through Casimir’s head in a flash. He had not noticed Circastes creeping slowly forward to the firepot. It was Simeon who saw and lunged at him, too late.

  ‘No!’ Circastes’s foot connected with the pot, kicking the coals into the mess of powder at their feet. With a sizz! the gigantic powder trail ignited and started running in circles around the floor. Casimir gave a shout and stamped at the sparks with his bare feet, but for every trail he extinguished another two sprang up, doubling at each fork in the pattern and running across the floor in effervescent circles. Then his feet flipped out unexpectedly from under him. Casimir fell backwards and started skidding across the floor on his backside. A green glow formed around his body and Circastes’s hand grabbed him by the shirt collar and wrenched him in a single savage motion to his feet.

  ‘Let me go!’ The words locked in Casimir’s throat. His muscles were frozen, as they had been at the top of the firework machine on Friday night. The green glow swelled around him. He smelled pine trees and snow and heard the waterfall, and then Circastes gave a yell of fury and the green light vanished abruptly. Joachim had grabbed the magician from behind and lifted him bodily off his feet, breaking his contact with the ground.

  ‘Simeon! Do something! I can’t hold him much longer!’ Joachim shouted. Casimir slipped from Circastes’s grip. Simeon was scrabbling at his bootlaces, but they were tied too tightly to undo quickly. He lurched to his feet. His weight came down on Casimir’s bare shoulder and he shouted a single, guttural word.

  A surge of power exploded through Casimir’s body. He screamed and writhed but Simeon’s grip only tightened, clamping down on his shoulder like red-hot metal. Again and again Simeon cried the word, the magical energy passing through his body into Casimir’s, through Casimir’s bare feet into the stone floor. Casimir reeled. Stars burst like fireworks in his head and his heart felt as if it were about to explode. The magic was burning him away, scouring through his body until there seemed nothing left of it but a thin wisp of flesh. Only Simeon’s hand on his shoulder kept him standing.

  There was a rumbling in the river passage and a blast of magic stench like the smell of electricity before a storm. Filthy river water poured into the cellar, sloshing around the walls. Ruth screamed hysterically. Dimly, Casimir saw Joachim and Circastes still struggling near the passage door and then the light went out and the cellar was completely dark.

  A huge wave picked Casimir up off his feet, tearing him from Simeon’s grip and bouncing him across the cellar floor. Something hit him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He went under and swallowed water, felt the current sucking back out down the passage to the river. Casimir found himself being dragged towards the door. A piece of wood bumped into him, and he flailed and grabbed hold of it.

  ‘Simeon! Simeon!’

  But with his grip on Casimir, Simeon had lost control of what was happening. Casimir could hear him shouting, but could not tell whether the words were magic, cries for help, or merely a name, repeated over and over until it cut off abruptly and there was silence.

  As violently as it had arrived, the receding water began to calm. Casimir surfaced, still clinging to his piece of wood. He saw a pale glow appear on the surface of the water, a prickling of bubbles. A box of roman candles floated past him in the direction of the passage.

  ‘Simeon!’

  There was no reply. Water swirled past him, carrying with it a flotsam of wood, red cardboard and gunpowder. A single, dark-haired figure staggered to its feet near the cellar door. Casimir saw that it was Joachim, clinging to the firework boy like a life buoy. He glimpsed a dark shape bobbing under the water. But the glow around it was already fading and after that there was only darkness and the lingering scent of magic and gunpowder.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When the Queen’s Guard raided the treasurer’s cellar in the early hours of the morning they found a large number of sodden fireworks, a dozen smashed kegs of gunpowder and a sea of river water which had inexplicably flooded in and was unable to drain away. The explosives were traced to Simeon Runciman the
firework maker, who was already being sought on suspicion of conspiracy and black magic. A warrant was issued for his arrest. But when the officers of the Queen’s Guard went hunting for them, Runciman, his son, and the man known to have been staying with them had disappeared. No-one had seen them leave the city and an exhaustive search of their known haunts and the roads leading out of Starberg proved inconclusive.

  It was not until several weeks later that the badly decayed body of a dark-haired man was discovered jammed up against the grating at the far end of the river passage. One side of the head had been smashed against a firework mortar in what the procurator’s surgeon identified as the death wound. In the absence of other evidence the body was presumed to be the missing firework maker, but there was an element of uncertainty in the identification, for two other men with similar colouring were known to have been in the cellar with him on the night of the plot. The taint of magic as well as treason hung around the whole incident. On the procurator’s orders, the body was taken from the Undercroft and hanged in chains as a traitor, then ceremonially burned in the market place. Later, when further information had been laid and the report was written up, more secret recriminations were ordered against another person who had left Starberg for Osterfall around the time of the attempted attack. But by then the ashes of the supposed magician were lying at the bottom of the Ling, and the whole affair, a nine days’ wonder, was already beginning to be forgotten by most of the populace.