by Juman Malouf
“Thanks for the Fizz,” Charlotte said, smiling.
Sonja looked at Arthur shyly. She felt strangely sad to leave him. Maybe it was because she knew exactly how he felt. He was looking for something he would probably never find—just like her. Sonja held his hand. “I was happy to see you.”
Arthur suddenly burst into tears.
Sonja was startled. She had never seen a grown man cry.
Arthur removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. Sonja glimpsed traces of a handsome face.
“Don’t cry,” Charlotte said, taking his other hand. “We’ll visit you again soon.”
Arthur tried to smile. “You’re growing up nicely,” he said softly. He led them to the door and closed it behind them without saying another word. The locks latched.
They walked back through the tents toward the circus.
“Why’d he start crying?” asked Sonja.
“He’s lonely, I suppose,” said Mr. Fortune Teller.
“I bet it’s because Alexandria left him.” Charlotte paused for a moment and asked, “Why did she?”
“He’s a hermit. He’s obsessed with his work. He lives in a pigsty.”
Sonja frowned. The twins had known Mr. Fortune Teller’s cousin, Alexandria, all their lives, even though they had only met her a dozen times—but it was always the same, every visit: trouble. Alexandria was always making somebody unhappy. “Why’d she marry him in the first place?”
“I guess she loved him.”
They heard shouting up ahead. “Uncle Tell! Girls!”
Bea was running toward them in a fake fur coat and a hat with a veil. When she finally reached them, she was completely out of breath.
She sputtered, “He—contacted—me!”
“Hold on, Bea,” Mr. Fortune Teller said. “Take your time.”
Bea lifted off the veil and dabbed her beard with a handkerchief. “This morning I took a walk to clear my mind. The white cat ran up to me with this in her mouth.” Bea handed the old man a folded letter and a small map.
“Read it,” Mr. Fortune Teller ordered, giving the letter to Sonja. The smell of cologne pricked her nostrils. The letters on the page looked like arrows and darts and daggers that might leap off the page and pierce her eyes. She forced herself to focus on the words and read out loud in a shaky voice: “‘My gorgeous darling, I must see you again. Meet me at six o’clock at the X on the map. Kats.’”
The old man put the letter and map into his pocket and broke into a fast stride. “You’re going to meet him,” he said. Bea and the girls hurried to keep up.
“I am?” Bea said in a faltering voice. “I thought you told me—”
“I’m secretly coming with you.”
Sonja’s heart began to pound. Her fingers twitched. Mr. Fortune Teller looked at the twins out of the corners of his eyes.
“Girls,” he said as they walked briskly through the tall grass, “I’m going to get your Talents back.”
It was more than just their Talents, thought Sonja. It was everything.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Last Performance
CHARLOTTE STARED GLUMLY OUT OF THE OPEN WINDOW. The sun was setting, and the world outside was dim. She traced the outline of the musical note pinned to her sweater. She wondered if Jack Cross was thinking of her, too. She wondered if he was safe and if her letter would reach him in time.
Sonja sat beside her sister looking just as glum. They wore matching blue dresses covered in moons and stars—old costumes for their act. “Uncle Tell’s been gone forever,” sighed Sonja. “Where is he?”
“He’ll be back,” said Tatty without looking up. She kept Monkey distracted with a smushed caramel while she combed his matted fur.
A giant face suddenly popped up smack in front of them outside the window. The girls jumped back.
“Thank goodness you’re here!” Pershing said, out of breath. “Hurry, Tatty. The seats are filling up, and there’s nobody to perform.”
“The girls aren’t feeling well. I can’t leave them.”
“Come on, Tatty,” Pershing begged.
“It’s no use, Pershing. I’m not coming.”
“Where are Bea and Mr. Fortune Teller?”
“I don’t know,” Tatty lied.
“The old man’s killing me. He made us leave last night after only a few performances. He’s got the clowns guarding and patrolling all over camp, and now I’ve lost half my acts.” Pershing took a handful of pills from his pocket and threw them into his mouth. “For my ulcer. Water, please.”
Charlotte filled a glass for Pershing. She watched his big Adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulped. She remembered riding on his shoulders as a child. She always imagined that she was on top of a moving mountain.
“Tomorrow,” Pershing threatened, “we’re having a meeting with the old man. I can’t run a circus like this. It just won’t do.”
“Well, we’ll see about that tomorrow, then.” Tatty closed the window and drew the curtains.
They could hear music playing from the circus ring and the faint sound of an audience cheering.
Sonja flopped into a chair and picked up the finished Tiffin marionette. She lifted and lowered its wings. The little fabric feathers fluttered. “I hate this. I want to perform.”
“Me, too,” said Charlotte. She ran her fingers up and down the imaginary keys of an imaginary piano. They felt stiff and clumsy. In just a day, all the music Charlotte had ever learned was forgotten. Notes and rhythms were now a foreign language to her. She could no longer call herself a musician. She groaned. “I don’t even know how to play when I’m pretending to play.”
“It’s hopeless,” muttered Sonja, dropping her own hands from a nonexistent flute. “My fingers won’t stop shaking. They’re having some kind of withdrawal or something.”
Charlotte looked at her accordion hanging from the wall. A layer of dust had collected on top of it. She felt as if it was an old friend she had deserted. She walked over to it and wiped off the dust with the back of her hand. She imagined all the instruments of all the children whose Talents had been stolen buried under mounds of dust—like banks of snow.
Tatty wrapped Monkey into a baby’s blanket and tucked him into an open drawer. She propped up one of her legs on a chair and started painting her toenails red. Charlotte picked up the magnifying glass and studied the tattoos on Tatty’s calf: a group of pale, slender figures swimming in a golden grotto. “We always have our marionette show,” she said. She started to sing. (Her voice had been a little off-key ever since her Talent had been stolen.)
Deep, deep underground,
In grottos of golden décor,
Lives a white Alban among the giant boars.
His eyes see in pitch-dark blackness—
And his ears can hear even a mouse snore.
A little sack fell out of the pocket of Tatty’s robe onto the floor.
Charlotte picked it up. “What’s this?”
Tatty looked uneasy. “Give it back to me.”
Charlotte shook out Mr. Fortune Teller’s tortoiseshell pendant from the velvet pouch. It was warm to the touch. “I’ve never seen him take it off,” she said, studying its brownish-gold ridges with the magnifying glass.
Tatty hesitated. “Uncle Tell won’t want you playing with it. Give it back.”
Charlotte ignored her. “There’s writing on it.” She squinted and read the tiny letters inscribed onto the shell: “‘Protector of the Vanishing Islands.’” Charlotte looked up. “That’s one of the Seven Edens.”
“Give it back,” insisted Tatty.
“Wait. I want to see.” Sonja snatched the magnifying glass. After a moment, she said, “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Give it back!” Tatty dove on the girls and snatched the pendant out of their hands. The second her fingers touched the
shell, something happened.
Her skin began to glow.
“Oh, no,” muttered Tatty.
Sonja screamed. Charlotte stumbled backward. Right before their eyes, the tattoos sprang to life: animals leapt through ancient trees, birds soared between billowing clouds, giant flowers opened their petals.
Charlotte stared with her mouth open. The light from Tatty’s skin flickered on her face and danced in her eyes. Soon, the pictures transformed. Images of other places appeared. Some Charlotte recognized. A map was taking shape.
After a moment, Tatty’s knees buckled. She dropped to the floor. The pendant rolled out of her hand, the tattoos snapped back to their original shapes, and the glowing light went out.
Sonja rushed over to Tatty and knelt down beside her. She touched her forehead. “Get the brandy,” she ordered Charlotte. Tatty used to prescribe Bea with a teaspoonful of brandy whenever she had one of her fainting spells. Charlotte hurried to the kitchen. Her mind was spinning with the images she had seen. She snatched an old bottle in her trembling hands. She rushed back to Tatty and clumsily tipped the ruby-colored liquid into her mouth.
Tatty’s eyes flashed open. “What happened?”
“You grabbed Uncle Tell’s pendant, and your tattoos—well, they exploded!” explained Sonja. Her eyes widened. “It was unbelievable!”
Charlotte helped Tatty sit up. Her skin was hot and clammy. “I never wanted you to see that without me explaining first,” Tatty said.
“Is it—magic?” Charlotte said hesitantly.
“Not exactly. Not mine. It was given to me by the Great Tiffin when I was chosen to be the Key.”
The Great Tiffin? The Key? Maybe Tatty had not recovered from the fall.
Before Charlotte could ask if she was okay, there was a knock at the door and a boy’s voice calling, “I’s gotta special package for one Tabitha Tatters! Choc-o-lates, looks like. Won’ts want to be missin’ those.”
Charlotte hurried to the window and peered under the curtains: she saw a grinning, chubby, ginger-haired boy with freckles. Three other boys huddled in the shadows behind him. “Scrummagers,” said Charlotte. “Strange ones. Well dressed!”
“I’s a-guessin’ you don’ts want ’em choc-o-lates!” yelled the boy. Boots stomped down the steps. “I’lls be a-goin’ now!”
“Away from the window.” Charlotte watched as Tatty picked up the tortoiseshell by its chain, careful not to touch the pendant itself, and blew out the candles. She pulled the twins under the table. “We’re going to wait here until Uncle Tell comes home.”
“I’m not scared of a bunch of little—” Sonja stopped mid-sentence.
Something hit the roof with a loud thump.
There was a short silence, then a second thump. Then a third and a fourth and a fifth, followed by a frenzied, scuttling commotion. Monkey leapt out of a dresser drawer and bounded toward them.
“What’s going on up there?” cried Charlotte.
“No reason to panic yet,” Tatty said calmly.
“I disagree!” Sonja pointed up past the edge of the table. Yellow beaks began poking holes rapid-fire through the ceiling. Splinters flew. The marionettes fell.
“We’s a-got you surrounded, lil’ ducklin’s.” The boy now spoke through a loudspeaker. “Gives yerselves up, or we’s be huffin’ and puffin’ yer house down!”
“I don’t understand!” shouted Charlotte. “What do they want?”
Tatty scrambled out from under the table with Monkey clutched to her neck. She yanked aside the dish towels and looked out the window. A barrage of burning arrows flew at them through the air and walloped into the side of the caravan. The walls caught fire. Smoke began to fill the room.
“They’re going to burn us alive!” Sonja screamed.
“Come on!” Tatty pulled the twins out from under the table. She fastened the silver chain around Charlotte’s neck and dropped the tortoiseshell pendant under her collar. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone ever!” She flung open the bookcase and kicked open the door. “Let’s go!” They jumped out and raced through the grass. They stopped at a cluster of trees and looked back.
A massive flock of white swans was scrambling around on the roof, darting their snake-like necks into the caravan. One bashed through and went inside, banging and squawking.
Charlotte stared, dumbstruck. She had never seen a swan before. Were they always this aggressive or was this just a mean flock?
Monkey shivered and tightened his hold around Tatty’s neck as they crept in the darkness from one withered tree to the next.
The swans took off and circled above, sweeping shadows across the ground. They scanned the landscape with beady black eyes. One let out a piercing cry. He had spotted them in the trees.
“They’s a-gettin’ away!” a Scrummager hollered, pointing.
The boy with the loudspeaker shouted, “Archers! Fire!”
Scrummagers wearing pig masks tilted up their bows and let loose their arrows. Tatty yanked the twins behind a tree stump just as the barrage showered the ground around them.
Two snarling white animals were led into view. Bristling fur stuck up along their spines, and their mouths were crammed with massive teeth. “Release ’em beasts!” roared the boy.
Sonja gulped. “What are those?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“I think—they’re—hyenas,” Charlotte struggled, squinting and confused.
“Sniffs ’em ducklin’s out!”
A boy unhooked the animals’ leashes. They bounded toward Tatty and the twins, gnashing their teeth and tittering hysterically.
“Run, run, run!” yelled Tatty, jumping up. Monkey dangled from her neck.
They sprinted between the darkened caravans, hearts racing. Charlotte tripped on her shoelace and tumbled to the ground. She looked back over her shoulder. The hyenas were closing in fast. Drool dripped down their bloodstained chins.
Tatty yanked her up. “Keep going!” she ordered. “I’ll distract them!”
“No!” wailed Sonja, grabbing her arm. “Come with us!”
Tatty gave Sonja a hard shove. “Do as I say! Go find help!”
Charlotte pulled her sister, and they kept running. Charlotte’s head pounded. Her vision blurred. She felt like the whole earth beneath her feet was breaking apart. She wanted to look back, but she was too scared of what she might see.
The big-top tent came into view up ahead. They slammed to a halt and stared, speechless.
It was blazing on fire.
Charlotte watched the terrified audience flood out in every direction. A boy’s shouting voice echoed, “Yous beggars people! Yous plagues of the earth! We’s a-gonna gets rid of you filth, ones by one!” Well-dressed Scrummagers chased people with clubs and shot burning arrows into the circus stalls. Charlotte saw the Snake Charmer walking in a daze with Alfonso in her arms.
“You have to help us!” begged Charlotte, pushing through the crowd. “Tatty’s in danger!”
“He’s thirsty,” the Snake Charmer said distractedly. “He needs water.”
She held the snake’s neck in one hand and his tail in the other. He had been bitten in half.
“He’s—he’s dead,” stammered Charlotte. She touched his leathery scales. Poor Alfonso, she thought. Charlotte remembered when he was a young snake: he had been little enough to fit in the palm of her hand.
The shuffling, shouting crowd swept the twins away. They bumped into bodies and tripped over feet. Finally, they fell stumbling onto the ground. Screams erupted all around. Charlotte looked up to see a red-eyed white hyena hurtling toward them. She covered her face just as an ax swung with a whack into the creature’s head. It dropped like a stone.
Balthazar yanked a tooth from the hyena’s mouth and held it up alongside another tooth. “That’s two for me,” he boasted, pulling up the bloody ax.
“Tatty’s in trouble,” Sonja said in a faltering voice, breathing heavily. “By the caravans.”
The circus tent collapsed to the ground. Lightbulbs began to explode as the fire consumed them.
“Let’s go find her,” rasped Vincent. “I knew doomsday was coming. I just thought I’d live out a few more years before it happened.”
“This ain’t no doomsday,” returned Toulouse. “This is trouble from the cities.”
Balthazar roared, “They just can’t leave us Outskirters alone!”
They ran past the stalls, now smoldering woodpiles. Circus horses galloped, skittish, through the campsite. Some cowered among the trees. Charlotte spotted a circle of Scrummagers dancing around the Fat Lady, chanting a nursery rhyme and poking at her with a stick. “This lil’ piggy went to market! This lil’ piggy stayed home!” Her swollen hands covered her face as she cried. Another group of Scrummagers ran past, throwing the Miniature Woman from one boy to the next. She screamed for Pershing, who leapt after them with a rake.
An arrow hit Toulouse hard in the shoulder. He cried out and fell to the ground. More arrows flew. They jabbed into the other two clowns—one in the back, the other in the leg.
“Go on, girls!” implored Balthazar. He staggered to his feet. “We’re going to have to teach these city boys a lesson.”
The twins ran between the burning caravans. Fires crackled everywhere.
An overturned trash barrel lay on its side with a hyena’s white tail sticking out. It was tearing through a pile of scraps.
The girls slowed down and crept by silently.
Charlotte stepped on a blackened twig. It snapped. The hyena whipped its head around. It pulled back its fleshy lips. Meat stuck out between its rotting teeth.
“Go!” shrieked Sonja.
The hyena chased them to Mr. Fortune Teller’s caravan. It was the only one left that was not on fire. A lamp flickered inside.
Charlotte’s face brightened. It must be Tatty.