The Trilogy of Two

by Juman Malouf

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Train Graveyard

  CHARLOTTE RAN THROUGH THE GATE AND ZIGZAGGED among the broken-down railcars. She tried to remember pieces of music she used to play, but they all blended together in a tangle of notes. The smell of frying, canned meat stank in the alleyways. Hanging wires and cables crisscrossed in a tangled mess overhead. The sound of a television blasted from one of the windows.

  A pair of drunks swayed arm in arm, singing. Their eyes looked bloodshot in the dark. One yelled, “Hey, girlie! Give us a coin!”

  Charlotte’s heart raced as she squeezed past them. She had never been out alone at night. She quickly scanned the numbers on the cars. She stopped in front of one. A metal “717” hung from a nail on the door. It was the compartment Jack Cross had said was his home.

  Charlotte hurried up the stoop and tripped over a pile of empty bottles. They clinked and clanked and rolled into the street. A dog howled. An old woman in a pink hairnet stuck her head out of the train car opposite and shouted, “Scram, Scrummagers!”

  Charlotte stared at the door. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if he wouldn’t believe her? She could not worry about all that now—his Talent was at stake. Charlotte took a deep breath in and knocked.

  Nobody answered.

  She knocked louder.

  Footsteps shuffled inside.

  “Who’s there?” a voice shouted.

  “I need to see Jack Cross!” Charlotte yelled back.

  “You a Scrummager?”

  “No. I’m a—I’m a friend.”

  The door finally opened to reveal a haggard woman holding a crying baby. Four dirty children stood behind her, rubbing their sleepy eyes.

  “Do you know what time it is? You’ll wake the whole neighborhood with your banging!”

  “I need to see Jack Cross. It’s urgent.”

  “Jack don’t live here no more.” The woman bounced the baby up and down. “He left to that school in Rain City. Got a scholarship.”

  “Are you sure?” pressed Charlotte.

  “Of course I’m sure! He’s been gone near three hours now.” Mrs. Cross shook her head. “Took off and left me with these little blighters,” she muttered. “Just like his father.”

  “It’s too late,” Charlotte murmured. She covered her face and sat down on the steps. “They’ll do it to him, too.”

  Charlotte heard footsteps rapidly approaching. She looked up, bleary eyed, and saw Tatty and Sonja. “He’s gone,” she moaned. “He’s gone.”

  Tatty dropped down next to her. “Uncle Tell’s going to find your Talents. He’ll help Jack Cross, too.”

  Charlotte blinked. “You really think so?”

  Tatty wiped Charlotte’s eyes with the hem of her robe. “I’m sure of it.”

  Tatty was right. If anyone could get their Talents back, thought Charlotte, Uncle Tell could.

  A light flashed above them, and a man yelled from his window, “Get out of here, you circus freaks!”

  The old woman in the pink hairnet now stood at her front door holding a yapping poodle. “We don’t want none of that hocus-pocus!”

  “You’d better be goin’,” warned Mrs. Cross. “Before someone calls them Enforcers.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” apologized Tatty, helping Charlotte stand. “It seems my daughter’s grown attached to your son.”

  The woman’s face softened just a touch. “Wait.” She shouted at the children to be quiet as she went back into the train car. She returned with a little package wrapped in a crumpled piece of paper. “Here.” Mrs. Cross gave it to Charlotte.

  The door closed firmly just as the trembling girl said, “Thank you—”

  Charlotte unfolded the paper. Inside was Jack Cross’ musical note pin. He had left it for her. He still wanted to be friends—even after he had seen her performance. She flattened the scrap of paper and read:

  Dear Charlotte,

  I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye. Please write to the address below. Enclosed is my most prized possession after my violin in the hopes that you’ll try to return it to me one day in person.

  With deep respect, Jack.

  Charlotte pressed the letter against her chest and let out a soft cry. If only her Talent had not been stolen. If only he was not going away to school. If only they had met before. She clipped the pin to her jacket and stuffed the letter into her pocket. She would have to act fast if she wanted to help him. She would write to him tonight.

  Dark clouds thickened over the Outskirts, and fat drops began to fall. Suddenly, the rain came down hard.

  “We’d better get out of here,” said Tatty. She sheltered the girls under her robe and they retraced their steps to the circus.

  Once they reached the caravan, Charlotte burst inside and rummaged for a scrap of paper. She wrote in a frenzy while Sonja stared blankly at the musical instruments lying on the table.

  Tatty put her hand on Sonja’s shoulder. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “How’s that possible?” Sonja said flatly. It was the first time she had spoken in hours. Her fingers twitched restlessly.

  Tatty sighed. “I don’t know. But I can tell you one way to lose for sure: give up.” She pulled Sonja out of the chair and led her to bed. Charlotte followed them, pressing a licked stamp onto an envelope. She might still be able to save Jack Cross, she thought. She hoped she could. She never wanted him to feel as empty as she did now, without her Talent.

  Tatty pulled off their wet clothes and wrapped warm towels around them. She gave them each a clean pair of pajamas and a mug of hot water.

  Monkey was still asleep. The events of the night had not disturbed him in the slightest. The twins got under the covers. The caravan jerked forward, and the convoy began to make its way onto the road.

  “Where are we going?” asked Charlotte. She tucked the letter under her pillow. “I need to post this immediately.”

  “To visit Alexandria and Arthur.” Tatty sat on the edge of the bed beside the twins.

  Sonja frowned. “I don’t think this is a good time to be making social calls.”

  “Uncle Tell believes Alexandria can help us find your Talents.”

  “How did our lives change so much in such a short time?” said Sonja. “I was happy the way things were.”

  “Sometimes change can feel unbearable.” Tatty stroked her hair. “When I joined the circus, I cried every night. Everything was strange and scary—but think of it: if I had stayed where I was, I wouldn’t have found you, my darlings, the light of my life.”

  Tatty kissed their heads.

  “Anyway,” she said, blowing out a candle, “it might be good to be ordinary girls for a while.”

  Maybe, thought Charlotte. If we find Jack Cross.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Arthur Bloodsworth

  THE CARAVAN STOPPED WITH A JOLT. THE HANGING marionettes rattled in the rafters. Sonja’s eyes snapped open. Her chest ached, and her ears rang. The sun blasted through the dusty windows. She felt uneasy—and then she remembered what had happened. Sonja groaned and turned over. How were they ever going to face the day?

  “Finally!” a voice squawked. She looked up. A scarlet parrot was perched on the bedstead staring at them.

  “It talks!” yelped Charlotte, sitting up.

  Sonja rubbed her eyes. Was she still dreaming?

  “Of course, it talks,” snapped the bird. “What’s wrong with these girls?”

  Sonja frowned. Whether she was dreaming or not, she had no tolerance for impoliteness. Even from an imaginary bird.

  “Tatty,” Charlotte said hesitantly, “what’s going on?”

  “Dottie’s Alexandria’s bird,” explained Tatty. Monkey watched from her shoulder and sucked on a piece of stale popcorn. “I was just introduced myself.”

  Dottie ruff
led her feathers, annoyed. “All parrots can talk. Well, the smart ones anyway.” She looked from one twin to the other. “They’re a little small for their age. What’ve you been feeding them?”

  “Mostly pancakes,” said Tatty.

  “No wonder. Well, you girls better get dressed. The old man went ahead. He wants you to follow him.”

  Sonja groaned. “How could this get any worse? Not only do we have to see Alexandria, but now we’re taking orders from a talking bird.”

  Charlotte stroked Dottie’s feathered head. “You’re so colorful,” she said dreamily.

  The parrot shifted from one claw to the other uncomfortably. “If you wouldn’t mind: don’t pet me. It rubs me the wrong way.” Dottie turned to Sonja. “As for you, you don’t need to worry about seeing Alexandria. She’s not here. She left Arthur again. I’m babysitting him, of course. He can’t take care of himself.”

  Sonja slunk out of bed, slouching. She looked out the window and pressed her face against the glass. They had parked in the middle of a field of yellowy grass and withered trees. The twins had made up a name for the few, rare plots of dying land dotted here and there across the Outskirts. A Lonely Patch. Sonja imagined her insides looked exactly like this dreary landscape.

  Charlotte handed Sonja the locket. “It’s your day to wear it. It might bring you luck.”

  “I doubt it,” grumbled Sonja. Nothing mattered to her without her music. To her, it was her whole identity and, somehow, the link to their past.

  The bird eyed the locket as Sonja clasped it around her neck. “Come on,” she chirped. “We don’t have all day.”

  “You girls better eat before you go.” Tatty set down a plate of pancakes. She had a bandage taped across her cheek where Chestnut Sabine had scratched her face.

  Charlotte smothered raspberry jam onto a pancake and folded it in half.

  “What about you, Sonja?” asked Tatty.

  “I’m not hungry. I’m too depressed.” She put on her jacket over her pajamas and stuck her bare feet into a pair of boots. What was life without music anyway? An infinity of silence? Her fingers had not stopped twitching since she had lost her Talent. They missed playing music, too.

  “Aren’t you at least going to change your outfit?” asked Tatty. “Look at your sister.”

  Charlotte was already dressed in a pink flower-printed skirt with a blue ribbon tied in her hair. She had polished her shoes until they were shiny. It was just like Charlotte to try to see the bright side of things, thought Sonja. Well, not me. “I’d rather wear pajamas,” she muttered.

  Charlotte stuffed the letter to Jack Cross into her pocket, and the twins followed the parrot out the door.

  The other circus members were getting on with their day. The Fat Lady was hanging a dress out to dry (which any other three people could fit into at the same time), the Snake Charmer was taking Alfonso for a slither through the grass while doing her daily exercises, and Pershing was helping the clowns set up the circus ring with the Miniature Woman on his shoulders. Sonja felt a pang of jealousy. Nothing had changed for the other circus members—but everything had for her and her sister.

  Dottie flew a little ahead of the girls as they walked through the field. Most of the trees had been cut down to short stumps. The few that still stood had dry, brittle bark, and their leaves were laced with little holes.

  “Used to be an orchard here,” remarked Dottie. Sonja kicked away rotten apples scattered along their path. “It’ll all be gone soon enough.” Sonja knew that what the parrot said was true. The cities were growing bigger and bigger, and eventually, there would not be any land left between them.

  They reached a cluster of tents pitched on the edge of Block City’s Outskirts. Families huddled, picking at dinner scraps. Loitering men smoked cigarettes. A rat nosed through the rubbish. Sonja watched Charlotte mutter a little prayer before she popped her letter to Jack Cross into the slot of a rusty mailbox.

  Charlotte turned to her, eager. “Do you think it’ll get there in time?”

  It was Sonja’s experience that a high percentage of mailed letters were never delivered at all. She had written Kanazi Kooks five letters and had never gotten a reply. She did not want to dash her sister’s only hope. She took Charlotte’s hand and said, “I’m almost sure of it.”

  Her sister grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

  They arrived in front of the door of an old tramcar. Dottie landed on Sonja’s shoulder. “Don’t tell Arthur anything that’s happened.”

  “How come?” asked Charlotte.

  “He hasn’t left his home in years. He’ll worry.”

  Dottie rapped on the door with her beak. A light in the keyhole darkened. Bolts unlocked, and the door jerked open to the length of the chain. A large man wearing thick glasses peeked through the gap. It had been years since she had seen him, but Sonja recognized Arthur right away by his unkempt beard and shy smile. He peered down at the twins and pointed to Charlotte. “You must be Charlotte.” She nodded happily. “And you’re Sonja.”

  Sonja looked at him with slight surprise. Other than the circus members, nobody could tell them apart.

  “Aren’t you going to let us in, Arthur?” croaked Dottie.

  Arthur hunched his broad shoulders and patted down his long, matted hair. He released the chain and opened the door. Bits of food were caught in his beard. His glasses were covered with smudges. He wore a ratty old robe, and his toes poked out through holes in his socks at the tips of his sandals. “The old man’s already here,” he said.

  Mr. Fortune Teller sat in an armchair in the middle of the cluttered room. “Hello, girls,” he said. “We were just talking about you.” Dottie fluttered off Sonja’s shoulder and landed on the back of the armchair.

  Arthur opened the refrigerator and took out two cans labeled Fruity Fizz. He gave them to the twins. They popped the tops and drank big gulps. It tingled in their mouths.

  “Good, huh?” Arthur said.

  The twins nodded and walked around, exploring. It had grown more chaotic since the last time they had visited, thought Sonja. Boards were nailed over the windows. Broken fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling. The small greenhouses and terrariums along the walls overflowed with wiry plants. A shaggy sheep slept on a dirty sofa, a spotted pig ate from leftover cans and tins, and a hunch-backed turtle roamed freely through the tramcar. Sonja knelt down and petted the snorting pig. “Hello, Ahab,” she said. Even the pig looked a little the worse for wear.

  “How’ve you been, Arthur?” Mr. Fortune Teller asked.

  “Busy, busy. I need new specimens, but I’m making progress.”

  Sonja’s eyes drifted from a battered microscope to a blackboard crammed with tiny equations to a table of burners, beakers, and strange-colored liquids. “What kind of scientist are you?” she said, looking up. She had never thought to ask before.

  “A discoverist.” Arthur pushed back his glasses. “I study ancient plant species and other life forms to find clues about how the world began. Want to see something?” He led the twins over to a black machine with a slot in the center and a small screen above it. “This can date any specimen’s birth. Even one that’s thousands of years old.”

  Arthur took out a large slide from a box. It contained a leaf pressed between two plates of glass. He put it into the machine’s slot. Lights flashed on and off, a bell sounded, and a number flashed across the screen.

  “Two thousand nine-hundred and thirty-six,” read Charlotte. “It’s nearly three thousand years old!”

  Arthur nodded enthusiastically.

  “Can we try another?” asked Sonja.

  “Of course,” Arthur said, pleased. He gave them the box of slides and a black pen. “You can help me by marking the date on each one.”

  Mr. Fortune Teller walked over to the machine and squinted at a label printed on the side. “What does it say
?” he asked the girls.

  “‘United Cities Laboratories,’” said Charlotte.

  The old man frowned and turned to Arthur. “Where’d you get it?”

  Arthur fiddled with the insides of his cardigan pockets.

  “You know you’re not supposed to share your findings with anyone from the cities. We’ve already been through all this. That’s why we moved you here.”

  “Don’t worry, old man. I didn’t get it from any city. Some Scrummagers sold it to me.” Arthur picked up the turtle crawling over his slipper and stroked its underside. “Why’d you come here, Hieronymus? To interrogate me?”

  “In fact, we came to see Alexandria. Where is she?”

  Arthur shrugged. “She took off again. Left everything. Even that.” He gestured to a purple stone standing in an antique stand.

  Sonja recognized it. She remembered finding an identical stone hidden in a box in a drawer in Mr. Fortune Teller’s desk. They never asked him about it because he would have known they were stealing candy. “What is it?” she asked, stroking its glassy surface.

  Arthur was about to reply when Mr. Fortune Teller interrupted, “Dottie, any idea where Alexandria’s got to?”

  “Plenty of ideas,” huffed the parrot.

  “What’s wrong?” Arthur said, straightening his glasses.

  “Nothing, nothing. I just need a word with her.”

  “I’ll find her,” said Dottie. “Anyway, it’ll get me out of babysitting Arthur.” She hopped to the sill. Arthur loosened a plank of wood and opened the window. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she warned before flying off. The twins watched her soar farther and farther away until she disappeared into the horizon.

  Arthur rubbed his forehead anxiously and turned to Mr. Fortune Teller. “Can you get me more samples?” He paused and looked uneasily at the girls. He lowered his voice: “I’m desperate.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” The old man got up to leave. “We’d better be going now.”