by Lam, Laura
6
SYRINGE
I lost another one today. My third loss. I need to do something soon. I have to save them, or there will be none left. What will my patron say?
— From the personal diary of the Snakewood Royal Physician, DOCTOR SAMUEL POZZI, while abroad in Byssia
A week passed. Our cuts and bruises healed. My mother still did not wake up.
Cyril went to visit her every day at the hospital, but I hadn’t been able to go back and face the sight of my fierce mother reduced so small.
Our small troupe had stayed indoors for the most part, venturing outside only for food and newspapers. The temporary sign proclaiming ‘No Shows Until Further Notice’ remained on the door.
We heard sirens call more often. More Forester protests occurred almost every day. I never heard the word Kashura. Riots broke out in the Penny Rookeries, the poorest part of town. Some demonstrations even took place within the noble sectors of the Gilt and Glass Quarters, at least until the Policiers arrived to break them up. Rumours circulated of the nobility fleeing to the Emerald Bowl, far away from the riff-raff. I remembered that some Foresters had still gone to the forest of the Emerald Bowl, throwing bricks at one of the estates. They were now building higher walls and hiring security.
Within the city, Banshees and other Vestige security tripled in price on the black market overnight. Food was already creeping up in price, as traders from the other islands of the Archipelago hesitated to bring their wares to Ellada’s ports. The streets were nearly empty, some of the windows boarded. Imachara was a ghost town, holding its breath and wondering if the Celestial Cathedral attack was the first domino to fall.
If Ellada looked weak, the other islands would use that to their advantage. Ellada had, after all, subjugated them on and off for centuries as the former head of an empire. Yet it had only ruled through the perceived threat of superior Vestige that made any war against them useless. Vestige was breaking down. All knew this. The other islands were well aware that this threat was now rather empty. Byssia, Linde, Northern and southern Temne, and Kymri all watched and waited.
I hoped this was only a brief period of unrest as people came to terms with what had happened in the Celestial Cathedral. Imachara, the sprawling metropolis and head of Ellada, had always been wild and a little dangerous. It had never felt so unsafe to me that I needed to take a weapon with me whenever I left the house, but now I kept a little dirk inside my boot, just in case.
Though a dirk would do little if there was another explosion.
The Foresters were quick to say that they had nothing to do with the explosion. Timur gave no public speeches, almost as if he were no longer a part of the party. A woman named Lorna Elderberry spoke for them now, claiming that their primary aims were still to reform government, and that they had no political stance on these so-called Chimaera. There was still no mention of the Kashura in the papers. They kept that name to the shadows.
The Palace had offered no proof that the three who spoke to the square were actually Chimaera. All mention of them so far focused only on their physical differences. Surely the Royal Family must know of their other powers. Or perhaps some Theri didn’t have powers. Did Lily’s son? I’d thought of that little boy often. He was the only other Chimaera I knew of, now that Juliet and the others were gone. Anger and grief for those three haunted me. I’d wanted to connect with them as I had with Cyan.
Cyan had told Maske what Oli had done. It was strange, knowing he would never again enter the Kymri Theatre. He had been taciturn and rarely said more than two words unless he truly had something to say, but I’d liked him. He’d seemed steadfast, so the fact that he had been so easily swayed by Timur rattled me. If he could turn Oli, Timur could probably convince a great many others to do his bidding. Now, Oli was in prison, and likely would be for a long time.
Cyril went back to his apartments to meet his university friends occasionally, but for all intents and purposes, he had moved into the Kymri Theatre, at least until Mother woke up. Maske didn’t mind, nor did Cyan or Drystan. I was ecstatic. Poor Drystan might have been a little put out – I spent every spare moment that wasn’t magic and séance practices with my brother, catching up on the last few months. We filled each other in on the details of our lives; I told him about how I’d met Drystan, and he told me about a girl in one of his lectures he fancied. It made me realize just how much I’d missed him. My protector. My brother. My friend.
Cyan kept to herself, processing the loss of Oli, wrangling with her guilt. She wished she’d seen the signs, done more. She thought she could trust him. Her thoughts drifted to mine more often, almost as if her mind quested for reassurance that I was still a friend. Each time, I let her in. She’d leave a glow in my mind and retreat, and that was all the comfort she needed. Cyan would recover, but she would be even slower to trust.
All too soon, the week had passed. My energy, so briefly returned to normal, took a sharp downturn again. A low fever returned; my bones were heavy.
Despite my apprehension, it was time to go back to Doctor Pozzi.
Doctor Pozzi tapped the syringe, popping any lingering bubbles. The dark green fluid in the glass looked ominous. Even since that morning, I’d grown weaker, to the point that I’d had to lean on Drystan as we walked across town.
Forcing myself to watch as Pozzi pressed the needle into me and pushed the plunger, I felt better almost immediately. I wondered whether it was really working, or if my mind played tricks on me.
As soon as he took out the needle and applied a bandage, I pushed my sleeve down. Drystan was in the front room again, drinking tea. He might even have had a chance to pick the lock on the spirit cabinet and pinch some Elixir, like Anisa had asked us to.
Pozzi asked me questions about how I had been feeling, the normal clinical observations between patient and doctor. And then he surprised me.
‘I heard about your mother.’
Of course you have.
‘Have there been any improvements?’ he asked.
‘Not really. My brother has gone to see her frequently.’
‘But not you.’
‘Not me.’
‘I know one of the coma specialists at the Royal Snakewood University. I’ll write him a letter and he will examine her if he hasn’t already.’
‘You’d do that?’
A wave of the clockwork hand. ‘Of course. If – when she wakes up, you should speak to her. I remember what she looked like when she held you in her arms for the first time. There was love there.’
I looked away. ‘She didn’t look at me like that later on. But thank you for writing to the specialist. I know my brother will appreciate it.’ This was not a conversation I wanted to have with him. Any favour came with strings attached.
I changed the subject. ‘What do you think about the Celestial Cathedral attack?’
‘I think it made quite a statement.’
‘Surely you have more opinion than that? Three Chimaera were killed. Did you know them?’
A shake of the head. ‘No, I’d not seen them before. I wish I’d been able to meet them, see if they would permit me to make an examination.’
‘Do you think they had extra abilities or were ill?’
‘That’s what I would have determined. I mourn the loss of such a valuable dataset.’
Yet he didn’t seem to mourn the loss of the lives themselves. Was a life only research to him? I shivered. Tentatively, I tried to reach out to him with my mind. For a brief moment, I sensed something, just beyond reach. It was gone. I wanted him to open up to me, to prove I could trust him, that he wished me no harm. Yet his mind was as inscrutable as his blandly polite expression and smooth voice.
Pozzi didn’t seem to have noticed anything. ‘This attack has toppled the delicate balance of Ellada, no question about it,’ he continued. ‘The Royal Family, all the Twelve Trees of nobility, anticipate this is just the beginning.’ The Twelve Trees were the most powerful and noble families in Ellada. M
y own adopted family, the Lauruses, were members, but their influence had waned over the last few generations. With the money Pozzi gave my parents when they adopted me, the Laurus family had risen again.
‘They really think there’ll be more attacks?’ I asked.
‘They’ve put the Princess in hiding in the palace. She’s not to see anyone she doesn’t know. She can’t venture out, not that she did often before. All her food is taste-tested. She must be kept safe. There have been threats against her life.’
‘Against the Princess Royal? She’s only seven!’
‘She’s the heir to the throne. Her age does not matter.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Surely it was all confidential.
‘I assumed you would find it interesting. Do you not?’
‘I do. You must be one of the few that can see her, being her physician.’
‘This is correct. I’ve tended her since she was a babe, except for the time I was on sabbatical. She’s already lonely. She only sees me and the Steward, and one or two closest friends, though I’m hoping the Steward will allow her more freedom soon.’
I’d had only a taste of that cloistered life as Iphigenia Laurus, and it’d nearly suffocated me. I wondered how many friends the Princess had, and if she could trust them. Many said the Steward wanted nothing more than to hold on to the throne as long as he could.
‘Do you think it was the Foresters?’
‘It seems that way, though they’re careful not to claim credit. The attack was partially shielded, but several still died. Those who fear the threat of Chimaera still seem to be flocking to them, all the same.’
‘Why hate something that they aren’t even sure is real?’
‘Because they don’t understand it. The idea that something could exist so far beyond their ken means most will fear them.’
‘Even if they said they meant no harm?’
‘Even so.’ Pozzi looked me over again. ‘Have your magic shows begun again?’ This time it was his turn to change the subject.
‘Not yet. We’ll be performing tomorrow night.’
He hesitated.
‘Why?’ I asked, frowning at him.
‘You know, your manners haven’t improved much since I first met you.’
‘That they haven’t. What’s that look mean?’
‘I don’t know if such a rude person deserves what I’d offer.’
It took me a moment. He was teasing me. How very bizarre. Fine. Two could play this game.
‘Please, my most prestigious of royal physicians in all of Ellada and the Archipelago, what, pray tell, does that considering look mean that you are planning?’ I asked, deadpan.
He broke into a laugh and I found myself almost smiling in turn; then hardened myself against him as I remembered how cold his eyes had looked upon waking from my fever dream. It would be dangerous to grow to like him, when he’d hired Shadows to find me and kept so many secrets.
‘I was thinking of asking the Steward if he’d allow entertainment for the Princess Royal. If I vouched for the performers.’
And that time I understood.
‘You would ask us to perform for the Princess Royal again?’
‘And whatever members of the court are let into her coterie of trust.’
‘All of us?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Why?’
‘You really are a suspicious one, Micah Grey.’
‘Yes, well, I’ve had need to be.’
He sobered. ‘That you have. I remember how Princess Nicolette loved watching you perform at the duel. Keeping her happy keeps the Steward happy, and that keeps me content.’
Curiosity got the better of me. I’d only spoken to the Princess Royal once, after the duel. And she’d been a sweet girl, delighted by the performance. I’d like to see her again.
‘It’s not my decision, but Maske’s. But if he’s amenable, then of course we’d be delighted to perform for the Princess.’
He nodded. ‘You ask Maske, and send me a missive with his answer. Then I’ll speak to the Steward and let you know, perhaps at next week’s appointment.’
Pozzi was genuinely pleased. His thoughtfulness for the young Princess was touching, but I still didn’t trust him. This was the man who had hired Lily Verre to spy on us for months, for who knows what purpose.
Lily hadn’t come to the Kymri Theatre since my illness, for which I’d been grateful. But I knew she wouldn’t stay away for long. We needed to know where she had been, and why she was bringing her son to Pozzi for treatment. He must be ill, like me. My thoughts strayed to Cyan. She said she was fine, but it was difficult not to worry.
Doctor Pozzi’s hand – the human one – rested on my forehead, startling me. ‘Are you feeling all right, Micah? You’ve gone cross-eyed.’
I tried to slow my racing thoughts and find the words. The Elixir was hitting me, hard.
‘I’m fine. There’s just been . . . a lot on my mind lately.’
I’m sure there has.
‘Is there any other treatment?’ I asked, determinedly speaking aloud.
‘No, you’re all done for today, Micah,’ Pozzi said. ‘Are you feeling normal?’
‘Normal as possible, I suppose.’
‘Right. Keep track of any unusual side effects.’
‘Like what?’ I said, my stomach tightening.
‘Strange dreams, new abilities you haven’t experienced before, any physical changes. They should be minor, but I might be able to adjust the dose to lessen any you experience.’
Great, so I could sprout horns by next midweek.
‘Horns are unlikely, Micah.’
Styx.
‘I’ll see you next week, Micah.’
I pulled on my coat. ‘Yeah. Next week.’
I walked through the dark streets of Imachara. My strides were long and soundless, my cap pulled low over my forehead, my coat tight against my shoulders. Should anyone see me, I was nothing but another shadow, flitting through the city.
I reached the cemetery, the wrought iron gates imposing. The guard was on the other side, in the shelter of the gatehouse. He smoked a pipe, the blue-grey smoke curling around his head, his lantern the sole speck of yellow in a world of black and grey. Carefully, so carefully, I picked the lock, looping the chains back. Pouring a little bit of oil into the lock, I eased open the gate and slipped through. Keeping to the darkest shadow under the ivy-covered wall, I crept closer to the guard.
Sleep, I thought at him. Sleep deep. Dream of what you want the most. Dream you are far away from this place of death.
His eyelids grew heavy, his head falling to his shoulder. The pipe fell to the ground, extinguishing in the grave dirt.
I smiled.
I hadn’t brought a shovel. There was one here – there always was. I took the key from the sleeping guard’s pocket and opened the guardhouse, taking the shovel and making my way to the freshest grave.
For a long time, there was no sound but the soft fall of dirt onto a rising mound to my right. I sank deeper into the ground, closer to my prize. I had no love of the work, no anticipation of the grisly task aside from what it could give me. The end result. The shovel hit the coffin with a thunk.
‘One.’
I awoke in the dark, curled around Drystan with goose-flesh prickling my skin. As I burrowed closer to him, he made a sleepy sound of contentment. I stared towards the dark stained-glass porthole at the end of the loft, thinking over my dream. I knew it was no night-time vision, but more like I had tapped into someone’s psyche, perhaps as a result of the recent dose of Elixir.
I tried to fall back asleep, but every time my eyes closed, I saw the grave being dug into, the body being lifted out. I shuddered. Why was someone out there stealing corpses? And how was I seeing them do it?
7
FLAMES AND RAIN
You want to know what I think of the growing Forester situation? I think they’ve the right idea about these Chimaera. I know they sai
d they didn’t do it, but we all know the truth. There were those three monsters, and the Lord and Lady showed them what they thought of their kind, right in front of their own church. I think the monarchy is a lump of phosphorous, and the Foresters are the rain.
— Anonymous unprinted letter to The Daily Imacharan
I slept late the next day.
I might have slept badly, but still almost skipped with energy. I took the stairs two at a time. We’d be starting our magic show again tonight, and I was annoyed that they’d let me sleep through the morning practice.
I skidded to a stop in the kitchen. At the table sat Lily Verre, talking to Maske about the Foresters, spreading butter onto a slice of bread. I tried to school my features into faint surprise, but I could feel the blood draining from my face.
Lily Verre.
Drystan and Cyan sat at the table, putting on their best performances of acting a little bored. Cyril was there as well, but I hadn’t told him anything about Lily. We also hadn’t confronted her. We weren’t sure of the best way to do it. And so we hesitated, frustrated but frozen.
Maske had fallen in love with Lily Verre, or the Lily she pretended to be around him. It made her betrayal of spying on us for Pozzi hurt all the more. We didn’t know what they wanted from us, and that also made our next move difficult to calculate.
‘I say, Sam, are you feeling quite all right?’ Lily asked, the knife hovering above the bread. ‘You look so terribly pale.’ She called me by my false name of Sam Harper, though she must have known my other names.
I sat down, pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. It was only lukewarm. ‘I’m fine. Just a little under the weather, I suppose,’ I said, hoping my voice was even. Shielding myself as much as I was able, I reached out to Cyan. She’d recovered from the worst of her injuries, though she still limped a little and she’d shown us the rather nasty cut on her ribs. Can you get anything from her now that you know?
Not a thing. She’s still shielding herself with a bunch of mindless chatter that’s impossible to break through. It must be so difficult for her to keep up.