The Trilogy of Two

by Juman Malouf

  Footsteps clunked above. A trapdoor slammed open, and a hot light blasted into the storeroom. Wolf Boy and the girls ducked behind stacked crates. The boxes smelled like mold and damp. Sonja’s heart raced as boots clomped down the stairs.

  “The lightning bug,” she whispered. Wolf Boy leapt out, caught the glowing insect on his tongue, and looped it into his mouth. He scrambled back on tiptoe just as two teenage boys reached the floor. They wore gray smocks with red numbers printed on their chests. One hummed a dreary tune like a funeral march. The other stared ahead blankly. They each picked up an armload of cans, turned on their heels, and stomped back up the stairs. The trapdoor shut, and the light was out.

  The lightning bug squeezed out between Wolf Boy’s front teeth, staggered onto his nose, and buzzed away, shaking its wings.

  Charlotte caught it in her hands.

  “More adopted Scrummagers,” Sonja said miserably.

  They crept up the stairs and cautiously peeked out the trapdoor. They watched the Scrummagers disappear around a corner.

  “Let’s see where they’re going,” said Wolf Boy.

  The twins followed Wolf Boy down the dark corridor. They passed along a row of open doors that each looked into an identical bedroom: stark and gray, with a triple bunk bed in the corner and pale patches where Sonja imagined postcards and pictures had once hung. Specks of daylight glowed through scratches in the blackened portholes.

  Sonja shuddered. There was something truly miserable about these rooms.

  The Scrummagers spiraled up a clanking metal staircase. Wolf Boy led the twins silently after them. They reached the top and froze. A toilet flushed. A light went out. A door opened, and a teenaged girl with yellow curls walked out and stared at them. She wore the same gray smock as the boys. Hers said 33. She blinked her yellow eyelashes, turned, and started to walk away.

  She looked more like one of the factory children than a Scrummager, thought Sonja. She hurried after the girl and grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute,” she said. “We’re looking for our mother. A woman with red hair and tattoos. Have you seen her?”

  The girl fixed her gaze on Sonja. Her eyes were vacant. She did not say a word.

  Sonja slowly released her, puzzled. The girl rubbed her arm and quietly made her way up a narrow staircase. Sonja turned to the others. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know,” said Wolf Boy, “but she’s seen us now. We’d better find Tatty before the whole ship’s alerted.”

  They followed the girl up the stairs, past a kitchen with pots bubbling and rattling on a stovetop, and into a dark room cluttered with tables and stools. Fly strips dangled from the ceiling. The faint smell of fish hung in the air. They watched the girl slip between a pair of swinging doors, which flapped behind her.

  Sonja pressed one open an inch and peered in.

  On the other side was a vaulted room with shelves mounted on every wall from floor to ceiling lined with thousands of little glass balls. A silvery substance sparkled inside them. They were the same balls they had seen dangling from Chestnut Sabine’s collar.

  “The stolen Talents!” gasped Charlotte. “Perhaps one is mine, and Jack Cross’ and Emily’s and Gustave’s are here!”

  More teenagers in gray smocks stood on ladders shelving and labeling the glass balls. Another group surrounded a boy with glasses who was crouched over a table skimming the silvery substance from a boiling pot and spooning it into a larger bowl. Sonja watched as he poured the precipitate—a bubbling gold liquid at the bottom of the pot—into a jar. One of his helpers sealed the cap and packed the jar into a box with a label: For Factory Use Only.

  “They’re separating the Talents from the magic,” muttered Sonja. They were using the magic to make the white creatures. What were they doing with the Talents? Something brushed against her calf. She looked down at her feet. Chestnut Sabine stared up at her with a prickly grin.

  In the same instant, the cat slashed a sudden claw straight into one of Sonja’s legs, and Sonja pounded a penalty kick straight into Chestnut Sabine’s rib cage. Blood seeped through Sonja’s tights as the angry cat somersaulted through the air—but landed on all fours, hissing.

  Sonja felt a strong, sharp jab in her arm. A light switched on, and everyone whisked around to see Edgar with a Gatsploder in one hand and a stainless-steel hypodermic syringe in the other. A drop of blood bubbled on the tip of the needle. “Surprise, surprise,” he said with a smirk. Chestnut Sabine snarled. “The kitty cat found you.”

  Charlotte hid behind Sonja. Sonja knew her sister was too scared to face him. Well, she was not. Her eyes were angry slits. “Did you give him the Amulet, traitor?”

  “Of course I did,” he said smugly. “Once we’ve defeated your ragtag troop, we’re off on a whirlwind tour of the Seven Edens. Just me and Ignatia and Kats.”

  “You make me sick,” spat Sonja.

  Wolf Boy growled in agreement. He hunched his shoulders, ready to lunge.

  “Now, now, Wolfie, this time you really only have one life left.” Edgar trained his weapon on Wolf Boy’s skull. “Don’t waste it.”

  Sonja blew into her pennywhistle—but nothing happened.

  “Magic-blocking serum. It’s flowing through your bloodstream as we speak.” He gestured with his weapon. “Now walk. There’s something you won’t want to miss.”

  Edgar led them through the swinging doors into the room of Talents. One of the teenagers looked up. His expression was exactly as blank as the girl from the corridor.

  “Help us!” begged Sonja. “Please!”

  The boy looked away again, and the rest of the teenagers continued to work. They were not Scrummagers. Sonja remembered what Gustave had said at the factory: the longer the children go without their Talents, the more they lose of themselves. These teenagers were the result of years of living without their Talents. They were like the walking dead.

  Edgar kicked open a metal door with the initials K. K. engraved into it. They crossed into a black room. The lightning bug slipped out of Charlotte’s hand and circled above them. There was a glowing figure in the center of the dark. They walked closer.

  Sonja stared. Her voice creaked in disbelief, “Tatty?”

  Tatty stood naked with her arms stretched straight out from her sides. Her eyes were pressed shut, and the Golden Knot hung around her neck. Her tattoos were swirling wildly all across her skin and shining out onto the walls like a carousel: Changelings raced between trees, Albans swam underwater, and Tiffins flew up into a blue sky.

  “The tattoos!” Charlotte cried. “They’re changing!”

  A glowing map materialized across Tatty’s body: Block City, the sewage pipe, the Forlorn Forest. Rain City, the canals, the Golden Underground. The paths into the Seven Edens were being revealed.

  “We have to stop it!” yelled Sonja. She bolted toward Tatty—then halted with a jolt. The entire floor appeared to ripple in the darkness. The lightning bug zipped past them, low, and illuminated a hundred angry cats with backs arched and tails in the air. They surrounded Wolf Boy and the twins.

  Footsteps clacked out of the shadows at the edge of the room. “Not particularly faithful creatures, felines,” Kats von Stralen said, emerging into view. Beneath his hat, his black hair was slicked straight back, his eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was pale and damp. He reached up into the air and clapped his hands just as the lightning bug buzzed over his head. The little light went out. “But they know where their bread is buttered, I suppose.”

  Sonja stared at him. He was their uncle by blood. He even resembled them. How could they come from such a monstrous family?

  Kats von Stralen pulled out a parchment from inside his jacket and began to unroll it. “You’re too late, of course. I already have the map into the Seven Edens.” He stroked Tatty’s cheek. “We had fun, but it must come to an end. Just like it did with your bearded frie
nd. I sold her to a sideshow.”

  Poor Bea, thought Sonja.

  Tatty’s eyes remained closed. Kats von Stralen jerked the Golden Knot off her neck with a snap. The tattoos stopped moving at once. The glow from Tatty’s skin slowly dimmed away. The room went dark, and Tatty collapsed to the floor.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Charlotte’s Concerto

  A HUNDRED LIGHTBULBS FLICKERED OVERHEAD ON A spectacular chandelier, and the room lit up. A black velvet curtain was drawn across a wall of windows. Charlotte saw a piano in the corner. She felt as though she had not seen one in years. Other instruments were strewn on gilded furniture. There were portraits of the Contessa: on a divan with swans, in military garb with a pack of hyenas, on a throne with a map of the world under her black stilettos.

  The boys from the storeroom were spooning sardines into ceramic bowls, dozens of them, in neat rows. Behind each bowl was a fresh, clean linen cat bed.

  Kats von Stralen sank into a couch and crossed his legs. Red silk socks peeked out from under his trouser cuffs. He took out a snuffbox and snorted black powder into his nostrils. He snapped his fingers. All the cats at once bounced toward him, away from Wolf Boy and the twins, stepping on top of one another as they slithered up onto the cushions.

  Kats von Stralen stroked Chestnut Sabine’s downy neck. She purred. “Don’t worry, my darling,” he crooned. “You know I love you most of all.”

  This was their chance, thought Charlotte. She pulled Sonja’s arm, and they sprinted to Tatty, dropping to the ground beside her.

  “Tatty! Can you hear me?” Charlotte picked up a robe off the floor and pulled it around Tatty’s shoulders.

  Tatty squinted open her puffy eyes. “Is it you?”

  Sonja said urgently, “It’s us, Tatty! It’s us!”

  Tatty sat up and pulled the robe tight. Her makeup was smudged, and bruises colored her cheeks. Chestnut Sabine’s scratches were now scabs, thin stripes. “I must look a mess,” she said in a hoarse voice. She ran her fingers through her matted hair.

  “We’re here to rescue you,” Charlotte whispered.

  “Oh, girls!” Tatty grabbed them. “I knew you’d come for me. I just knew.” She started to cry. The twins melted into her arms. Charlotte sniffed the faintest scent of vanilla perfume on her neck. For a moment, she forgot where they were. All that mattered was that they were back with Tatty.

  Kats von Stralen cleared his throat.

  “I wanted to break the good news to Tabitha.” He swung the Golden Knot like a pendulum. “While you were dozing, my tattooed darling, you graciously shared the paths into the Seven Edens with me.”

  “Oh, no,” Tatty muttered, shaking her head. Charlotte and Sonja held on to her. When Tatty had been chosen by the Great Tiffin to become the Key, she had sworn to protect the map even if it meant taking her own life. She had failed.

  “We’ve got an army outside, von Stralen,” Wolf Boy said calmly, inching forward. “You’re going to lose this war.”

  “How extraordinary!” Kats von Stralen put his hands on his hips. “You really can change into a wolf. A talking one, too!”

  “Sure he talks,” grunted Edgar, “but that doesn’t mean we have to listen to him. Just give him a bone and let him chew on it in the corner.”

  Charlotte turned away. Edgar made her skin crawl. How could she have ever thought she loved him?

  Wolf Boy lunged into the air and landed on top of Edgar like a bag of cement. Edgar thudded to the ground, flat on his back. His pistol scuttled away across the floor. Wolf Boy growled through his teeth, “You’re right. That’s enough talk.”

  Edgar whisked his dagger up to Wolf Boy’s neck. He inched the tip through thick, matted fur. A drop of blood ran down the blade. Edgar smiled a sick smile and croaked, “Those were your last words, Wolf Boy.”

  “Drop it, or you’re going to get a bullet through your head.” Edgar and Wolf Boy looked to Sonja. She was standing with her legs planted and both hands gripping the Gatsploder pointed at Edgar’s face. Edgar slowly released his knife. Wolf Boy flicked it away with his snout. Tatty snatched it up.

  Charlotte could not believe her eyes. Sonja had become fearless. Charlotte slumped over. She was sure to be left behind.

  Sonja turned to Kats von Stralen. “Hand over the map.”

  Chestnut Sabine and the rest of the cats sprang to their feet, hissing.

  “It’s not loaded,” said Kats von Stralen.

  Charlotte saw Sonja’s eyes flicker down to the weapon, then back to Kats von Stralen.

  “Go ahead. Try it.”

  Sonja’s fingers trembled on the trigger.

  Kats von Stralen smirked. “Don’t you even have the guts to—?”

  The weapon clicked. Sonja tried again five times fast—click, click, click, click, click. She threw the pistol at Kats von Stralen, who ducked it nimbly and watched it bounce off the wall.

  “Temper, temper!” he said with a quick, surprised laugh.

  Edgar grabbed Wolf Boy, distracted, by the ears and jerked him aside. Wolf Boy yelped. Edgar scrambled to his feet and dashed across the room. Wolf Boy recovered, then sprang forward and hunted him. Edgar backed carefully toward the wall of curtains.

  “This is it, Edgar,” Wolf Boy snarled, slinking.

  Edgar stumbled. “Kats! Do something!”

  Kats von Stralen shrugged. “I think I’ll let him finish the job.” He stroked Chestnut Sabine.

  “F-f-finish the job?” stuttered Edgar. “We had a deal!”

  “You had a deal with Mother. You buttered her up. You gave her diamonds. You tried to replace me.”

  “I didn’t! I wasn’t! I swear!” Edgar cried. Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose.

  “There’s only room for one son—and that’s me.”

  “Charlotte!” wailed Edgar, waving his hands in front of him as Wolf Boy inched closer. “He’s going to kill me!”

  Charlotte buried her face in Tatty’s chest. She could not listen to him cry. He had been her first kiss—but this was war. There was nothing to be done. “I’m sorry,” she said under her breath.

  Wolf Boy flew into Edgar like a lion. They slammed through the curtains. Glass shattered like an explosion, and they disappeared.

  A roaring battle burst into the room: crashing, smashing, screaming, howling, and rattling bullet-fire.

  “Edgar!” Charlotte leapt to her feet and ran to the curtains. She pulled at the tangled fabric.

  Sonja squeezed in next to her, searching. “Wolf Boy! Where are you?”

  Tatty hurried over to them and put her arms around the anxious twins.

  Kats von Stralen brushed Chestnut Sabine off his lap and stood up. The entire company of cats trailed behind him as he drew open the expansive curtains and revealed a long curving wall of windows. The battlefield spread out before them in one wide vista. “Isn’t it glorious?” he beamed, eyes wide. “The wonderful world of carnage.”

  Crashed Flyers dotted the landscape, blazing in red flames. Enforcers and hyenas swept across the dunes like dark shadows, killing everything in their path. Black smoke puffed into the sky where swans tore at Gobos with beaks and talons. Tiffins plummeted, their colored wings streaking and iridescent like falling rainbows.

  The Protectors were overwhelmed and outnumbered.

  “Uncle Tell!” Charlotte screamed, pounding on the window. “Alexandria!” She turned to Kats von Stralen. “Don’t you care about your sister? She’s going to die!”

  “Sister?” guffawed Kats von Stralen. “Alex abandoned me years ago. I only have Mother now.” He looked into his snuffbox. It was empty. He chucked it over his shoulder, pulled out a glass vial chock-full of black powder, and took a snort in each nostril.

  The Contessa’s voice screeched through a loudspeaker. “No prisoners! No survivors! Wipe them out!”

 
“I’m this close to finding the secret to immortality.” Kats von Stralen brought his forefinger an inch from his thumb. “I hope that will stop Mother from nagging me. I’ve already built her an army—and created the perfect workforce!”

  A teenager brushed past him, mopping the floor. Kats von Stralen yanked him back and threw his arm around his shoulder. “Take Number Two, for example.” The boy stared vacantly. “He was one of the first. We took his Talent six years ago. Now he’s just a shell of a human being. He’s ours. Mother’s very, very pleased.”

  “Is that what’s going to happen to me?” cried Charlotte in a panic. “What about the children in the factories?”

  “Oh, it happens every time, eventually. Every child. If you take away their Talent, they lose their hopes, their dreams, their future.” His mouth curled into a smile. “Ingenious, isn’t it?”

  Kats von Stralen shoved the boy away and pulled out a deck of cards from his jacket pocket. “Mother thinks Talents are just a by-product of extracting the magic. She wants to sell them. As a special drink, if you can believe it.” He shuffled the cards and tossed them in the air. “I know they’re worth more than that.” The cards formed a perfect arc over his head and landed in his other hand. “I’m still developing the use of magic on humans. But Talents—it’s very simple. If you inject a Talent directly into your heart, it becomes your own.”

  He flung the cards back and forth over his head. “This one’s from a little boy from Block City’s outskirts. Willy Blitzen. A minor Talent, but good for parties.”

  Charlotte stared, dumbfounded. Kats von Stralen was using all the stolen Talents himself.

  “Frankly, I’ve got more Talents than anybody who ever lived. At school they said I wouldn’t amount to much. I think they underestimated me.” Kats von Stralen gestured to the paintings of the Contessa. “Some of my work,” he boasted. “Thank you, Vivienne Hinkerstein, a Rain City cobbler’s daughter.”