Evan Burl and the Falling

by Justin Blaney

  "Don't be a ninny," Anastasia said over her shoulder. She kicked the pony on even faster and we surged forward.

  I pulled myself closer to Anastasia, wrapping my arms tightly around her as I silently warned myself not to push her too far. I had seen how twisted Anastasia could be: torturing animals, commanding the servants' children to hold still while she cut their skin; even telling them to cut themselves just to see if they would. She made me call her Terisma whenever she did those sick things. It was a side of herself that Ani was careful to hide from Mother and Papa.

  But I knew how far I could push her without waking Terisma. Papa was coming home so Ani was in a good mood, which meant I had a little more slack than usual.

  I felt the wind sweep through my hair. There was nothing more wonderful than riding. To sit astride something so powerful and beautiful, sprinting across the ground like I weighed no more than a feather; it was as close as I imagined I would ever get to flying.

  I looked up at a flock of geese passing overhead and risked taking my arms from around Anastasia's waist to spread them in the wind.

  "If I could fly," I said above the clacking of hoofs on the cobblestone road, "I would carry you with me above the clouds, and we could go see Papa anytime we wanted."

  "If you could fly," Anastasia said, "it wouldn't matter that you were so bad at riding." I stuck out my tongue, but Ani didn't see.

  She clicked her mouth and squeezed her legs to push the pony even faster. The great wall that kept us safe from the jungles outside our estate blurred by as the Conemara's hooves pounded the pavement. Soon we rode through an arched, gated passage that led to a much larger walled-in area called the Palisades—it stretched for miles, all the way to the city. And the beach.

  When we reached the shore, we veered off the street and rode down onto the hard sand, splashing into the surf. Clear green-tinted waves lapped up onto the hot white shore, but as the city and docks came into view, I felt the knot of worry growing even larger in my stomach.

  Why did Papa need to leave all the time? It wasn't fair. Was he really planning to leave for so long, or even forever? What was so important that he would abandon his family? Didn't he want to be a part of my life?

  I tried to shake the bad feelings away. I knew Papa loved me, I could see it in his face whenever he looked at me. I was excited to see him. I was. I was. I was.

  But no matter how many times I repeated it to myself, the knot kept getting bigger.

  After a minute of riding in the surf, we rejoined the stone road where many more people were also making their way to the wharf. When we climbed several wide steps to the boardwalk, the sound of the pony's hoofs changed from clacking on stone to thumping on wood. I saw dozens, maybe hundreds, of Papa's men busying about, getting ready for his arrival.

  The largest of the three ships was nearly to the docks when we arrived. Written in large green letters on the starboard hull was the ship's name, Elandian. It was nearly twice the size of the other two barques. Men yelled back and forth as the crew on the ship threw ropes over the side to those waiting below. A dozen men heaved on the ropes as thick as my legs and guided the ship the last few feet into the wharf.

  The hull groaned as its shiny, perfectly cut timbers ground against the dock. Finally it stopped, bobbing gently up and down. I imagined Elandian was a wrinkled old rich woman, weary from a journey to the ends of the world and back, but happy to finally be home. A long ramp was raised. When it clanked on the deck of the ship, everyone stopped what they were doing all at once.

  I could see at least a hundred servants, and huge crowds of men, women and children standing quietly, facing the ramp. I realized that, of course, Anastasia and I were not the only ones excited to see the ship and all its crew come home.

  After a short wait, a man, about sixty years old stepped onto the ramp. The workers all remained respectfully silent, but the rapidly growing crowd of townspeople cheered at the sight of him. It was their master. The Great Lord Terillium—it always seemed strange for me to think of him that way. He looked exhausted, even worried, but waved and smiled to the crowd.

  "Papa!" Anastasia and I yelled, slipping off our pony. We ran, nearly knocking him over when we jumped up to cover him in hugs and kisses. With one arm around each of us, we walked the rest of the way down the ramp. I was beaming so big I felt like my face was going to split into two pieces. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Now that we were together, I didn't see a trace of the weariness he showed when I first saw him come off the ship.

  As soon as the three of us reached the wharf deck, the employees went back to work, and the noise of the dock-work filled the air again. Once the ship was properly put in, the crew would pour down the ramp and the whole place would be filled with happy families, just like mine.

  Except, as the excitement of seeing my Papa began to wear off a little, I felt that knot in my stomach come back again. It was even worse than before.

  I imagined the other families hugging each other, knowing for sure how long they had together, or at least knowing whether their fathers or husbands would be leaving again soon. And if they were leaving, how long they would be gone.

  Sometimes I felt sorry for the sailors' families. But sailing was their job. They had to go away to earn money to feed their families. Papa didn't have to leave. He had enough money to last forever.

  I looked up into Papa's eyes as we walked along the docks, and he grinned down at me. This wasn't the same weary smile he showed the crowd at the top of the ramp. This was a real—I love you more than anything—smile. I squeezed him as tightly as I could, as if to make sure that he was real. If Papa loved me that much, he could never leave me forever. I was sure of it.

  "I've got something for you," Papa said with a straight face. He stopped and turned us around bracing himself momentarily on a rail for balance. His feet were still getting used to the steady ground. After getting his footing, he put his hands in his jacket pockets and pulled out tightly clenched fists.

  "What is it? What is it?" we asked, jumping up and down.

  "Pick a hand," Papa said.

  We each picked one, and he unfolded his long wrinkled fingers revealing two bright silvery brown bracelets covered with all different types of beautiful trinkets. There were miniature elephants and shiny gems that shone like stars and huge beads painted in colors I had never seen. I looked more closely at the elephants and for a moment thought they were actually moving. One of the trinkets, an engraved oval locket, felt prickly and soft at the same time as I touched it with the tip of my finger.

  "Pretty!" Anastasia said and tried to grab the bracelet from his hand.

  "Now hold on a minute," Papa said and pulled his hands back. "These are made from malledeum. It's very rare and very expensive." He twisted the bracelets in his hand as if he himself was impressed by them.

  "And these aren't just any trinkets," he continued. "They're called rubrics. Each is one of a kind. I've brought them halfway around the world just for my two princesses, even made a few modifications of my own. But I want you to promise that you'll take good care of them before I give them to you."

  "Yes, yes, we will."

  "Well, let me see your wrists." After he put them on, he stepped back and admired us. We beamed at each other, but then I had a terrible thought. What if he was giving us these bracelets as a way to smooth over the news that he would be leaving again? Would he do that?

  I touched the locket hanging from my bracelet again, wondering if some secret was locked inside. Maybe it held the secret of what my father did while he was away for so long. I wondered how it could be opened.

  "Each of your bracelets can only be worn by you," Papa said. "They sting a little bit when other people try to touch them."

  "I don't want to hurt anyone," I said, and Papa chuckled.

  "Don't worry," he said. "They don't hurt bad. Just enough to keep people from trying to take them."

  He lifted mine and beckoned to Anastasia.

  "Here,"
he said.

  She tentatively held out her finger, and when she touched it she pulled her hand back quickly.

  "Oww." Anastasia looked at her finger suspiciously and then put it in her mouth.

  "See," Papa said. "It's not so bad. It's just a little trick I learned in my travels."

  —That was how he explained everything that wasn't ordinary—

  "It hurts more when someone's trying to steal it, but not much," he finished.

  "Why can you touch them?" I asked.

  Terillium laughed again. He was in a good mood—he didn't act like he was going to leave again. "Well, because I'm your father. You can trust me not to take them, can't you?"

  "Mine won't open," Anastasia said with a whine as she pried at the side of the locket. I thought she sounded younger than a twelve-year-old ought to.

  "That's something else that's special about them. They only open when you need them to." He smiled again. "There's a lot more to these bracelets than you might think. You'll see."

  When would we see? When he was gone forever? I couldn't take not knowing; I had to ask.

  But what if he just lied to me? Adults were always doing that, saying things that weren't true just because they didn't think I was old enough to hear the truth. But I was good at knowing when people were lying. Papa was the easiest of anyone. His eyes always had this twinkle to them, like on his insides he was really, truly happy no matter what was happening. But when he lied, the twinkle disappeared. I would ask him for the truth and watch his eyes.

  That gave me an even worse thought—what if he did lie to me? That might be worse than not knowing. Suddenly I wasn't sure if I should ask him anymore. I would rather not know than to know he lied to me about it. Before I could decide what to do, my thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind us.

  "Two of the most beautiful girls in all of Maṣr, my lord," the voice said. I turned to see a man wearing a big smile and expensive clothes walk up to us.

  "Good to have you back with us, sir," the man said. Papa had so many workers it was hard to remember many of their names, but I recognized him as one of my father's most important servants.

  "Good to be back, great in fact," Papa said, but there was no twinkle in his eyes. My heart sank. He wasn't happy to be back. He was worried about something, but what?

  "And just in time for my little Anastasia's birthday party," he continued. "It's going to be a grand party. Most of the town will be there, I think."

  "And more than a few foreign dignitar—"

  "I'm not little," Anastasia said without waiting for the man to finish speaking.

  "Of course not dear. You're growing so fast, I keep forgetting."

  "You whine like you're little," I said and jumped out of the way before Anastasia could shove me.

  "Very good, sir, very good," the man said quickly. I thought the man was acting like he needed to say something, but was avoiding it. I wanted him to go so I could ask Papa about whether he was going to leave or not.

  Finally, after another moment's pause, the man said, "Begging your pardon sir, but you have a visitor. He arrived just before you did. Wanted to speak with you immediately after you came to land."

  "He did, did he?" Papa said. "Well, he'll have to wait. I haven't seen my girls in months."

  That was good. In another minute, we would be alone and I would ask. I finally decided knowing the truth was better than just hoping for the best. My heart started to quicken as I rehearsed exactly how I would ask. I had to be direct, but not too direct.

  The man looked over his shoulder nervously and Papa followed his gaze. He must have seen who was waiting for him because Papa stiffened his back.

  "Oh, I see," Papa said. "Well, perhaps I should take a few minutes to meet with him after all. Did he say whether he wanted to see the family?" My stomach lurched with disappointment. I was about to lose my chance again.

  "He didn't say, sir."

  "That means no, I suppose. Let him know I'll be along in a minute."

  The man turned and left while Papa crouched down. He lifted my chin and looked each of us in the eyes in turn.

  "Don't worry. I'll be back to the house as soon as I can. Run along and I'll see you again before you know I'm gone."

  I moaned and clung to him.

  "Why don't you stop by Santo's on the way home," he said. "Pick out a big tangerine flavored lollipop and get an extra for me. I've been craving that man's sweets for six months." He handed Ani a coin, but neither of us moved.

  Anastasia looked at the coin in her hand like it didn't impress her. "We have a whole box of Santo's lollipops at home," she said. I couldn't believe my sister. How could she be worried about lollipops at a time like this?

  "Hmmm, well I heard he has a present for you. Maybe you can get a chance to shake it and figure out what's inside."

  "Presents!" Anastasia yelled with a wild look in her eyes. She tore off down the road to Santo's candy shop without even saying good-bye.

  With Ani gone, suddenly I realized I was completely alone with Papa. But when the moment finally came, I found I didn't have the courage to ask after all. I couldn't bear the thought of him lying to me, and asking would just give him a reason to.

  I stared nervously at my feet. "I missed you Papa," I said quietly. "I'm glad you're back."

  I gave him a hug and turned to go, but then stopped. Lying or not, I just couldn't leave without knowing. Turning back to him I grasped for every bit of nerve I could find

  "What is it?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

  "I was just wondering..."

  "Go ahead. You can ask me anything."

  I felt more confident; I knew Papa would tell the truth. He wasn't going to be leaving and he had no reason to lie about it.

  "I was just wondering if you were going away again." I spoke so quickly, he got a puzzled look on his face. I silently begged him not to make me ask again, but finally he seemed to put it together. He paused, the kind of long terrible pause that leaves a very long time to worry about what someone is going to say.

  "Yes," he said slowly, "of course I'm going to have to go on trips again. What do you mean?"

  "Not just trips. I'm talking about leaving for years." I paused, then blurted out, "Forever."

  "Forever?" he said with a chuckle. "Why would you think I was going to leave forever?"

  "I heard you and Mother fighting about it months ago, before you left the last time."

  "Ahh, well that would be why you're not supposed to eavesdrop. You might get the wrong idea."

  He hadn't really answered the question. He was being evasive. For a moment I thought I would just leave it at that, let him avoid it, but I knew I would be dying to know the truth the moment he left.

  "Well are you?" I pushed for a direct answer. "Leaving forever?"

  "You remind me of your Mother," he said with a smile. He paused again and looked me in the eyes as he said, "Of course not. You're my little Bell. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you forever."

  I watched him carefully. He didn't seem like he was lying—the twinkle was there, but something was still bothering him. He was telling the truth, though, and that was what mattered most. I smiled and hugged him as tight as I ever had.

  "I love you Papa."

  "I love you too little Bell." He pulled off his coat and put it around my shoulders. "Wear it home for me, won't you?"

  It had always been my favorite thing to do when Papa came home—wear his old leather coat. I smelled it and smiled. I loved the way Papa's clothes smelled like tool oil and fresh paper.

  I looked up at him and was about to leave, but caught something in his eye. Something bad. What was bothering him so much?

  He rubbed my head and then turned to go.

  I walked to the edge of the dock where I looked over my shoulder and saw Papa talking to the man who had come to visit. They looked like they were arguing about something. They were a long way off, but the man looked familiar.

  I hadn't seen Papa in
months. Why did he need to go talk to someone right after he got back? I didn't feel like riding back so I just kept walking. With a big sigh, I shoved my hands deep into the coat's pockets. When I came to the beach, I turned in the direction of the house.

  I found myself thinking about Papa's strange coat as I walked slowly in the surf. I could never get him to explain how it worked. Somehow the coat made me cooler when it was hot outside and warmer when it was cold. His explanations were always something like: "It's probably just your imagination," or "Not sure what you're talking about. It's just some old thing I picked up in my travels." That was how he described everything that was out of the ordinary.

  I looked down at the coat and played with the flaps over the pockets. As I flipped them open and closed, I saw a small seam under the right flap where it looked like the leather was torn. I stopped to examine it more closely and found that it was another pocket. A hidden pocket. I felt inside and found a tiny leather bound book. I flipped the pages open, but they were all blank. Except the first few.

  Most of what I read didn't make sense, but there was one line at least I understood perfectly.

  You must execute the boy as soon as possible.

  The book dropped out of my hands into the sand at my feet.

  I discovered what was bothering Papa. He was carrying a note that ordered the execution of a boy. Was he delivering it for someone else? Who had written it?

  I scanned the note for a name. An author.

  Then I saw it. At the bottom.

  Terillium Amadeus

  Papa wrote the note. My heart clenched with pain.

  This was much worse than finding out Papa was leaving forever. Suddenly, it didn't even matter whether he was staying or going.

  In fact, I wanted him to go.

  My Papa is a bad guy. No, worse. He's a murderer.

  But who was he going to murder? I looked at the note again and saw a name.

  Evan Burl.

  I felt my whole body shaking.

  I'd read stories about men who killed people. I just couldn't believe that my own Papa was one of them.

  Didn't he know what side he was on?

  I hated Papa for making me choose between being good or being on his side.