Magpie's Song

by Allison Pang

  A steaming furnace blazes at one end, enveloping us in a thick wave of heat as we approach. Piles of tech and gears are scattered about on benches and the floor, like scavenged bones in the cave of some mechanical predator.

  “What did you bring me this time, Ghost?” Josephine asks.

  He fishes in his pocket, pulls out the miniature Tithe wand, and tosses it to her. “Thought you might be interested in one of these.”

  She snatches at it in midair, a sudden eagerness in her expression. She presses the button, and a fork of tiny electrical pulses erupts from the business end. “Impressive.”

  I raise a brow at him. “So you steal Meridian tech for Josephine?”

  “Steal is such a harsh word.” Josephine turns a knob on her goggles so they light up, and she peers at the wand as if she’s mentally dismantling it. “Ghost ‘acquires’ things I have need of to fulfill my contract with the BrightStone Chancellor. And in return, I allow him passage into my territory and the occasional bits of information I pick up here or there.”

  I study my fingernails. “Contract?”

  “Of course. There’s a rebellion coming. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. The only chance we have of winning is to beat the Inquestors at their own game. That means taking apart their tech to see how it works and developing our own weapons from it.”

  Anger seeps through me. That Rory had never mentioned such to me or the others means nothing. He might not know or he’d simply chosen not to share the information. That’s his right as clan leader. What bothers me now is how many intrigues my current housemates seem to be involved in and what they’re not telling me.

  Josephine watches me process this new bit of information with an appraising eye. She reminds me of Molly, the way I can see her mind whirring with thought. “But it begs the question, what have you to offer me? You’re clanless, yes, but that doesn’t mean you have free rein to trot about my territory. There’s a price to be paid.”

  “She’s with me,” Ghost snaps. “We’ve been through this; if you want something from her, say it.”

  Josephine grows quiet for a moment and then dismisses Tin Tin, waiting until he sourly disappears up the hallway. She raises a brow at me. “So you’re the one they’ve suckered into this little adventure, aye?”

  “For whatever that’s worth, aye,” I say. “Not that you sound like you approve much.”

  “I approve of the plan to overthrow Meridian rule. Just not the way you’re all going about it,” Josephine tells me.

  Ghost rolls his eyes. “Well it’s not like you’ve come up with anything better, anything that would actually work,” he retorts. “Stealing a ship and cutting through the chains anchoring Meridion to the ground so it floats away is not our goal. Not to mention those chains are impossibly thick; we’d never manage it with the tools we have now.”

  My gaze darts between the two Moon Children. This is clearly an old argument and not one I have any desire to involve myself in. Yet I snicker at it anyway. “Well maybe we hold that one in reserve, aye?”

  “At least you’ve got an open mind,” Josephine says begrudgingly. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Assuming we go with the original idea of sneaking you into a Tithe . . .” She gestures toward me and pulls the hair from the nape of my neck to take note of my brand. “It might take a bit of work to convert this to one of ours, but one of my clan has a similar number. I’ll make sure she’s offered for the next Tithe, and we’ll do a last-minute switch before she’s taken to the Salt Temple. And with a bit of luck, you’ll be on your way.”

  My stomach twists into a sickening knot. How quickly these last few pieces have fallen into place. Whatever brave words I might have said to Ghost or Dr. Barrows or Molly feel so terribly hollow. To be discussing an actual brand change and a Tithe?

  It seems my fate is sealed.

  I sigh. “Tell me something. I’ve never quite understood how can you be so cavalier about offering up one of your clan to the Tithe. You seem to care about your people, far more than Rory ever did about us.”

  The other woman grows very quiet. “I hate it,” she asserts. “With every fiber of my existence. That’s why I do my damnedest to ensure my clan doesn’t get tapped any more than they have to be. Have you never wondered why the Banshees have so many of their number offered for Tithes?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured the Inquestors hated us more, maybe.”

  She snarls, mouth crooked. “No. Because Rory allows it. He’s grown too used to the kickbacks from the Inquestors. As long as his creature comforts are seen to, what does he care how many of you are sent to the Pits?” Her eyes narrow. “And I was just as happy to let him do it. After all, each Banshee chosen was one less of mine.”

  The bluntness of her words strikes me hard, but honesty is like that sometimes. “I wish I knew that the last time I ran into him,” I mutter.

  Josephine’s eyes grow intense, staring deeply into mine. “I am curious, though. What could have possibly convinced you to take on this particular challenge? Altruism doesn’t exactly run rampant among Moon Children, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Ghost’s mouth opens as though he’s about to say something rude, but I wave him off. “I owe him and the others a life debt,” I tell her. Technically it’s true, even if that’s not really the reason I’m doing it, but it’s one she’ll understand.

  Something a bit like respect flickers across her face, and she abruptly turns away. “Fair enough. Both of you, come with me. I need to show you something.”

  Ghost and I share a puzzled look. Josephine ignores us, tapping a button beside the furnace. A panel in the wall rumbles, sliding sideways to reveal a smaller room within. She pats down her apron, her jaw stiff.

  I crane my head, eyes widening when I see what she’s hidden away. It’s some sort of harness, fitted with leather shoulder straps attached to a metallic engine. Pistons and cogs and what look like brass . . . feathers?

  “Wings,” I breathe. “You’re building wings?”

  Ghost slips past me to inspect the harness more closely. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Josephine thrusts out her chin. “Do you have a better idea for getting up to the top of the gates to unlock the Pits? If so, I’d love to hear it because I’ve been beating my brains out on this issue for months, and right now, this is the best I’ve got.”

  “But you actually know how the locking mechanism works?” Ghost’s voice takes on an excited tone.

  “Aye. It’s simple enough from what I can tell—nothing that a blowtorch won’t cut right through. I’ve been studying it from a distance with a scope during the Tithes, and really, it’s just the issue of getting up there that’s the problem.” She rolls her eyes. “The Inquestors are sloppy as all shit, but that’s arrogance for you.”

  I reach out to touch the webbing of one the wings, my skin burning with a flutter of longing. What would it be like? Not to simply leap from rooftop to rooftop, but to take to the air in truth . . . “They’re amazing.”

  She turns toward me. “You must understand. I’ve nearly got it working, but I can’t get the thrust quite right.” She points at the dragon, nonplussed when it bares its teeth at her. “If I could study that, figure out how it’s put together . . .”

  I still beneath her scrutiny. A terrible desperation fills her eyes, and for a heartbeat, I can see past the rough facade to the woman beneath. Somewhere along the way she’s been backed into a corner from which she can’t escape.

  Would I be any different?

  “Study it, how? You aren’t going to dismantle it, are you?” I nearly take a step away from her, but she lets out a bark of laughter, tempered with all the gentleness of grinding bricks.

  She opens a metal box from beneath the forge and unlocks it. “That won’t be necessary. I found one just like it years ago, but it’s too fragmented for me to try to repair.”

  Ghost and I peer into the box, its contents a mishmash of bits of glass and metal. It takes a moment, but I
recognize them as the scraps of the other dragon, the broken one, I found near Architect Jacobs. “Where did you get it?” I ask.

  “Stole it,” Josephine says brusquely. “And don’t ask for the details. It was stupid, and a lot of people were killed for my arrogance . . . But some things are worth the sacrifice. And that’s what that dragon is: freedom.” She runs her callused fingers over the bent curve of one of the wings of her device.

  Ghost looks at me. “Mags?”

  My gut twists. “How long will you need?”

  “I want to sketch out its structure and observe how it actually flies. I won’t hurt it, if that’s what you’re asking. I could even fix that wing if it lets me.” Her mouth quirks up slightly. “A couple of hours, at the most.”

  It only takes me a few moments to decide, brutal practicality winning out over whatever sentimental attachment I seem to have acquired to the dragon over the last few weeks. Regardless of how I get into the Pits, making sure the others have a way to unlock the gates is the only way I’ll have to get out. If a few hours here helps me to that end, then I’ll take it.

  I unwind the dragon’s tail from around my neck, ignoring its growl of protest. “Done.” The dragon squirms between my fingers, but I tap it on the nose. “Hush. You go with her now.” It huffs at me and jumps out of my hands to land on the harness, its ember heart flaring hot.

  Beside me, Ghost shifts uncomfortably, and I can tell he’s not entirely sure I’ve made the right call, but what harm could it do to let Josephine study it for a short while?

  Ghost gives my hand a tight squeeze before turning to Josephine. “We’ll wait until you’re finished, if it’s all the same.”

  “I expected you might.” She gives me a smile as she pulls out a charcoal stick and notepad of parchment. “We’ll even feed you, if you like. I’ll have Tin Tin escort you to the Rookery proper, shall I?”

  The Rookery is apparently on the roof of the Brass Button Theatre—or at least that’s where Tin Tin takes us. From here we can see the whole of the square and the surrounding buildings, and lights shining down below. It’s easy to watch the familiar rhythm of the city unfolding. From a distance, chaos becomes nothing more than patterns, groups of people moving in clusters, alighting from place to place like squawking birds.

  But it’s nothing Ghost and I haven’t seen before, and it doesn’t hold our interest for long. From up above, everyone looks the same anyway. Equality in size, if nothing else.

  The rooftop itself is ornate, a gilded crown of statues and lights encircling the top of the theatre. It’s enough cover to prevent anyone below from noticing the goings-on and that suits me fine. Not that it’s my clan, but old habits die hard and Moon Children tend to be more secretive than most. It’s rare to find a place where we can simply . . . be.

  Moon Children linger in every corner, eyeing us with quiet caution, but I don’t sense any of the animosity that Rory would undoubtedly show if the tables were turned. Tin Tin gives us a cheery nod and leads us to a large cooking pot perched above a merry fire. He passes each of us a bowl and ladles a serving of what appears to be stew and a hunk of bread into each one. I don’t have to be asked twice, and Ghost and I find our own perch on the rooftop, sitting to eat our meal with an eagerness that surprises me.

  “They must be doing well,” I muse, sipping straight from the bowl. “Looks like they’ve even got real vegetables.”

  “Not common fare for the Banshees, I take it?”

  “No. Oh, every once in a while Rory would open the larder, but usually we were on a daily food stipend, and it wasn’t much. We’d have to come up with the rest ourselves.” I glance around at the other Moon Children, noting that they seem far less gaunt than the members of my former clan.

  “We’ll have to tell Lucian about our meeting with Josephine,” he says. “He’ll be pleased about Josephine’s progress. Might be less happy that I brought you here with me, but given how close we are to enacting our plan, I suspect he’ll overlook it. All that’s really left is changing up your brand, and Lucian will do that once Josephine gives us the right design. He should be able to give you something to make most of the procedure painless.”

  “Yeah. Painless.” An emptiness washes over me, the future seeming to hurtle forward with uncompromising clarity.

  “Are you scared?” He snorts softly when I don’t answer. “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid question.”

  “Maybe.” A sad little laugh escapes me. “I’m a simple person, Ghost. I’m not used to thinking beyond where my next meal is coming from. A shag and a smoke and a nipped bit of ale—that’s my life. Nothing more. Protecting Sparrow gave me purpose, but without that?” I shake my head. “Maybe that’s really why I took you up on your offer. It sounded better than living in the shadows, always wondering if I’d be caught. At least this way I might control my destiny a bit, aye? If I throw myself off a cliff, well . . . at least no one can accuse me of tripping.”

  His expression turns pensive. I can’t look at him anymore as a wave of bitterness sweeps into my belly. I don’t know why admitting to any of this bothers me so much, but showing any vulnerability in BrightStone is usually an invitation for trouble.

  Keep your head down or you expose your throat to the wolves.

  It’s an old saying that Mad Brianna used to cackle at Sparrow and me whenever we would leave to work the streets. But if you don’t look at anything other than your feet, sometimes it’s too easy to get lost.

  A light touch on my hand pulls me out of my woolgathering. He gives it a small squeeze, his mouth opening as if to say something, but he seems to think better of it. What was there to say, really? Platitudes fill my belly no better than flattery.

  “How long were you watching me and Sparrow? Before, I mean.” The question slips out before I can stop it, but it’s been eating at me for quite some time.

  He’s quiet for a bit, and then he sighs. “Off and on the last few months. Like I told you before, I was looking for recruits anyway. I simply happened to stumble across you more than once and took advantage of it.”

  “Oy. Stumbling, aye? More like spying, I’ll bet. I see how it is.” I poke him in the ribs with a sly grin. “Sounds like something one of you perverted Meridians would do.”

  He flushes. “It’s not like that. We couldn’t tell just anyone what we were planning. You two seemed to be the most . . . I don’t know. Willing to go against your clan leader?” Troubled, he frowns at me. “You have to trust me when I tell you I never wanted either of you to come to harm over it.”

  A deep furrow takes root across his brow, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. How much guilt has he carried since Sparrow was killed that night? We had been headed to the Conundrum anyway, but I’m not Mad Brianna; I can’t read the future in the fog. In the end, things are what they are.

  “Trust is a bag of cats,” I say slowly. “It’s all tangled up in knots, and I don’t know how to untie it or if it will bite me if I do.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry for that. And maybe there was more to it than mere recruitment,” he admits. “I’m lonely, Mags. For all my brother’s attempts to protect me, for all the sacrifices he’s made, there’s a part of him that resents me.” His eyes fixate on my hand, brimming with a loss I’m not sure I understand. “I’m a Meridian. I’m not . . . not supposed to be like this.”

  “You certainly seemed cozy enough with Josephine,” I point out.

  “It’s not the same thing. That’s a business transaction, and one set up between my brother and the Chancellor. I’m their go-between so the Chancellor doesn’t implicate herself directly if any of this information surfaces. Hells, Josephine’s never invited me up here before. But one introduction to you and here we are.”

  “Infamy has its perks.”

  “Maybe.” He shakes his head. “You know, I tried to convince Lucian to let me go into the Pits myself, back when he started planning all this. Told him I could dye my hair, steal a mask and a robe, and sneak into a Tithe as
a Rotter.”

  “I imagine that went well.” Given what I know about Lucian’s protectiveness of Ghost, there wasn’t a chance he’d allow it unless the situation in BrightStone was so dire they had no choice.

  Ghost snorts. “Of course not. And he had a point, even if rubs me wrong to admit it.” A crooked half smile turns up one side of his mouth. “I’ve never had the chance to be part of a clan as just myself, to know who or what I’m truly supposed to be. I’ve got no inner knowledge of clan politics, no cultural background. If there are any surviving Moon Children below, they aren’t going to trust me. I don’t belong anywhere.”

  I nudge him gently, taking his hand. “Makes two of us, aye?”

  His fingers entwine tightly around mine. “Aye.”

  Stew bowl now empty, I lean against him, content to eat the last of my bread. Without Sparrow these last few weeks, I’ve been drifting. How could I explain the loss of someone who had been the other part of my soul, a sister beyond blood?

  I tug on her necklace, grateful beyond measure to have it, though it’s a pale substitute for the way her presence drifts through my memory. I side-eye Ghost. His name is oddly fitting, considering the circumstances.

  A soft, lonely sound carries over the breeze—mournful strains of a fiddle from the other side of the rooftop. The other Moon Children go silent as they listen. I can’t see who’s playing from here, but it doesn’t matter. Living above an actual theatre obviously lends itself to an intrinsic knowledge of music and dance.

  But the song . . . Oh, the song. It’s not one I know by name, but the vibrato of it rolls deep and thick in my bones. It’s not quite a dirge, but there’s an undertone of regret and loss, and a hunger that stirs something in my gut.

  Beside me, Ghost exhales sharply. I don’t need to look at him to know he feels it, too. One would need to be made of ice not to.

  He takes my hand again, and this time an electric jolt skims the surface of my palm. Our fingers thread together, and a breath of regret slips through me. The music fades away for a moment, and the tension builds all around us, expectant. Perhaps a clan ritual, then.