by Kevin Sands
“Don’t tell him you’re a child,” the crow whispers.
The Stickman doesn’t appear to hear it. He leads me to a small room with a large slab in the center and lays me down on it. My mind screams
NO
but no words come out.
“Tell me, now,” the Stickman says. “What happened to your Eye?”
I am trying to be good. I tell the truth. “I don’t know,” I sob.
The Stickman’s voice changes, no longer male, but female and gruff. “This Eye is missing,” she says.
She points to it. Her hand ends not in fingers, but in long, curving claws. I look up and see the Stickman is no longer human. She is a bear.
“One missing Eye is no good,” the bear says. “I’ll have to take the other one, too.”
I am on the slab. I strain to reach up and grab her paw, but something is holding me down. I try to scream
NO
but there is no sound. The bear’s claw reaches for my eyeball
but then she pulls away, roaring.
I look up and see the bear’s snout has been bloodied. Overhead, silhouetted against a sky of fire, the crow caws and dives for the bear again. The bear swats at the bird, but the crow flits deftly between her paws, raking talons across her ears. It flies away, cawing with sardonic laughter.
Roaring in rage, the bear chases after the bird. Still I cannot move. Then I feel a set of teeth against my wrist.
I open my mouth to scream
NO
but before I can say anything, I hear the gentle voice of a woman.
“Shhh,” she says
and I remain silent.
The teeth bite down, not on flesh, but my shirt. I smell the earthy scent of the forest, and the reek of burning fur. The teeth
(fox’s teeth, you know they are a fox’s teeth)
drag me off the slab. Everything is fire. My eye closes and then
* * *
My eye opened. Flame rampaged across the ceiling of Mr. Solomon’s hall, the inferno all around me.
I lay on my back, staring upward. But I was moving. Not on my own; something was tugging my wrist, pulling me across the carpet.
I coughed, spitting smoke from my lungs. I looked above me, confused.
It’s the fox that’s saving me, I thought.
No. No, that was a dream. I’d passed out. Looking up, I saw a girl dragging me. She had reddish-brown hair and a face made of flames—
Panic rose in my chest. The Lady in Red! I thought, and tried to pull away.
But it wasn’t the Lady in Red, and she didn’t have a face of flame. It was Foxtail dragging me. What I’d thought was her face was just her mask, reflecting the hellscape around us.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. “I lost the money—”
Foxtail placed her finger against my lips. Shhh.
I passed out again. This time, there were no dreams.
CHAPTER 42
Something held me down.
My arms, my legs, were tied. I struggled against my bonds.
“It’s all right,” a voice said, and I smelled a familiar scent of jasmine.
I opened my eyes and found I was tangled in bedsheets, slick with sweat. Meriel hovered over me, her face pale.
“It’s all right,” she said again. “You’re safe.”
I freed myself from the tangle and rolled over, hacking and coughing. Blackened spit flecked the sheets. Meriel, gentle, rested a hand on my back until I could breathe.
Something was stuck to my face, from my forehead to my left cheek. I reached for it and felt the rough cloth of a bandage. It was covering my left socket.
I didn’t want to ask. I asked anyway. “My eye. It’s gone, isn’t it?”
Meriel looked stricken. She called toward the door. “He’s awake.”
The others piled into the room. Lachlan smiled at me, so glad I’d returned. Foxtail carried a bowl of water on a stack of thin towels. She brought it to my bedside and wet one of the cloths. Gareth stayed by the door, arms folded, staring at the ground.
I didn’t recognize the bedroom. It was a little run-down, the nightstand and dresser made of cheaply varnished wood. Above the headboard was an amateurish painting, a lamb grazing in a field. “Where am I?”
“The Tiger Arms Hotel,” Lachlan said, as if it were the grandest place in the world. “Meriel said we should move, in case Mr. Solomon came to finish the job.”
“He doesn’t care about you.” I lay back on the pillow. The sheets were rough. “He doesn’t think you’re worth the trouble.”
Gently, Foxtail began wiping my face with the damp cloth. Sadness gripped me then. Sadness and deep, deep shame. “I’m sorry,” I said, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what, guv?” Lachlan said.
“I lost your money. Mr. Solomon gave it to me, but then he burned it all up.”
“Then I guess it’ll take you a while to pay us back,” Meriel said.
Lachlan laughed at the joke, but no one else did. The boy pulled Galawan from his pocket and placed it on the bed, like he thought it would cheer me up. The sparrow hopped toward my ear, tweeting a sweet little song. Poor thing. Turns out it was a dupe, just like us.
“Mr. Solomon killed Oran,” I said, and there were no more smiles after that. “I’m such a fool.”
“Don’t say that,” Meriel said. “You planned the greatest heist in history.”
I shook my head. “No. I thought I was running the gaff. But the gaff was really on me. Let me ask you: If we’d got our money, would you have kept doing this?”
“What do you mean?”
“If your share of the payout wasn’t burnt. If you had it in your hands, right now. Would you keep on being a thief?”
Gareth, standing by the door, answered instantly. “No.”
“Lachlan?”
The boy seemed stumped by the question. “I dunno, guv. Never really thought we’d pull it off.” He frowned, thinking hard. “Guess I wouldn’t.”
I looked at Foxtail. She shook her head.
Meriel seemed put out. She bit her lip but didn’t answer the question.
“You see?” I said. “The money wasn’t just something we wanted. We needed it. It would buy us what we craved most. A future. A future where, for once, we could choose and be free.
“That’s how the gaff works,” I told them. “Offer the mark something they need. Then put them on a clock. If they want it badly enough, they won’t see the danger. All they’ll see is salvation.
“And that was us. We thought the binding Mr. Solomon put on himself meant he couldn’t hurt us. We didn’t question it carefully enough—I didn’t question it carefully enough—because I didn’t want to. I needed this job—this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—to be true. So I never stopped to think.”
I sank in despair. “Need. Greed. And speed. It’s one of the first things the Old Man taught me. And still I fell for it. Fell like a lost little sheep.”
“What could you have done?” Meriel protested. “How could you have stopped Mr. Solomon?”
“A million ways. Do the handoff in a public place. Have him put the money in a bank vault and trade us the key instead. A million ways.”
“He still could have tried to kill you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’d have escaped. Either way, you’d have been paid.”
It was all my fault. Meriel, Gareth, Foxtail, Lachlan . . . they’d put their trust in me. I was supposed to help them. Instead, I’d left them with nothing. After all those years with the Old Man, after everything I’d learned. In the end, I remained nothing but a mark.
You were right, Old Man, I said to him. It was a mistake to care about anything.
Foxtail wiped the burn on my arm. I pushed her off.
“Cal—” Meriel beg
an.
I rolled over. “Go away.”
They left.
CHAPTER 43
I spent the day drifting in and out of sleep. My dreams were nightmares, dark dungeons and burning corridors. Being awake was worse. Pain, despair, and bottomless wells of shame.
It wasn’t just our payout that was gone. My future was over, forever. Even if I could now somehow scrounge up the money to heal my scars, with my eye gone, the Airmen would never take me. No one would. What good is a one-eyed apprentice?
The others did their best to cheer me up. Lachlan sat by my bed and told me silly jokes until Meriel dragged him from the room. He left Galawan behind, hoping the little bird would lift my spirits.
Gareth tried, too, in his own way. When I woke, I found a book on the nightstand; a collection of funny and heartwarming stories about a farm of animal friends. I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise the boy found his comfort in reading. I left the thing unopened. I didn’t deserve to feel better.
Foxtail brought me food. I awoke, and there was a warm plate beside the book on the nightstand. When I drifted off and woke again, the plate was cold. The third time, it was gone.
That evening, Lachlan poked his head in the door. “Going out for a bit,” he said. “Want anything?”
Why were they trying to help me? Didn’t they understand what I’d done? “Why are you still here?”
“What d’you mean?”
“I told you. It’s over. The money’s gone; I lost it. I can’t make up for anything.”
His face fell. “Aw, c’mon, guv,” he said.
But he closed my door and let me be.
* * *
By the next morning, the girls had had enough. When Foxtail brought a steaming bowl of egg soup, Meriel came with her.
“You’re going to eat this,” Meriel said.
I turned away from her. “Leave me alone.”
“I’ll be happy to. As soon as you’ve finished the bowl.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Since when have I cared what you want?”
She slapped a spoon into my hand. I tossed it onto the nightstand. She picked it up and jammed it into my palm. Hard.
“Ow! What are you doing?”
“You don’t have to talk to us,” she said angrily. “You want to lie here all alone, that’s fine. But we’re not going to sit around and let you starve to death. Eat what we bring you. Or I’ll get on that bed and ram it down your throat.”
She stormed from the room. I glanced over at Foxtail, who’d ignored the whole scene and was now placing the tray with my bowl of soup and a slice of thick brown bread on the bureau. After Meriel left, Foxtail reached into the folds of her dress and brought out a small leather pouch.
From inside it, she pulled a single leaf. Shaped like a spear’s blade, it was bright green and shiny, like it had been coated in a thin film of oil. She dipped the leaf into the bowl. It sank, disappearing in the cloudy egg broth.
She carried the tray over to my nightstand.
“What was that?” I said.
She handed me the bowl and waited.
“What did you put in the soup?”
Gently, she reached out and touched my forehead. Then she placed her hand on my heart. Then she sat on the bed, waiting.
That was clearly the only answer she intended to give. I thought about refusing to eat, but knowing Meriel, she would absolutely make good on her promise. Anyway, now that I could really smell the soup, the salty heartiness of the broth and the sweet scent of cooked bacon, I realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten in two days.
I spooned it into my mouth, tongue puckering at my first taste of food in so long. Foxtail remained, making sure I ate the whole thing.
I began to feel strangely light-headed. At first, I thought it was because I was starving. Then I wondered if it was dizziness left over from looking through the Eye. Or losing my own.
No. The light had changed; I was sure of it. I looked about the room. Everything in it was getting brighter. And yet the space felt . . . empty. Ghostly. Like everything around me had somehow been . . . the only words I could think of were “hollowed out.”
I looked down and saw my bowl was empty, just a thin smear of soup coating the bottom. The leaf Foxtail had put in wasn’t there. Had I eaten it? I couldn’t remember.
I looked up to ask her again what she’d put in my soup. But she wasn’t there anymore.
She’d disappeared.
I blinked, confused. She’d been sitting on the bed a second ago.
“Foxtail?”
Her name died on my lips. Something was wrong with my voice. It sounded dull and flat. It took me a moment to realize what was wrong.
There was no echo.
It was like calling over a vast, empty plain. “Meriel? Lachlan? Gareth?” My voice got smaller. “Anyone?”
No answer.
My heart began to thump. The sound was wrong. The light was wrong. The room was wrong.
I’m dreaming, I thought. I fell asleep, that’s all.
But this didn’t feel like a dream. I was too aware, and everything felt too real. I looked about and saw—
The painting.
I stared. The painting above my bed. It had changed. It still showed a lamb grazing in a pasture. But gone were the amateurish strokes, the cheap, cracked oils. Now I could see the individual curls in the wool, the fine sheen of lanolin on each hair. The thing looked incredible, lifelike. I reached out—
And pulled my hand back with a gasp.
My fingers had gone into the painting.
I sat there, staring. Slowly, I reached out again, waiting—hoping—for the feel of the canvas. Instead, my hand passed right through the frame. My fingers grew warm, as if the sun was shining on them. Yet the lamb in the distance remained frozen in time.
Then it looked up, chewing.
I yanked my hand from the frame.
“Foxtail?” My voice came out a quaver. “What have you done to me?”
Still that flat, echoless cry. I listened and heard nothing back.
Wait. Heard . . . nothing?
That was impossible. At the very least, I should have heard the sounds of the street. Fingers trembling, I stretched out and pushed back the lace curtains. And I saw why there was no noise.
There was no one outside at all.
The streets were empty. And the buildings . . . they looked flat. It was like they were the paintings now, drawn on a piece of distant board, like scenery for a stage.
“FOXTAIL!”
click
A sound. From what? It came from beyond the doorway.
“Hello?”
click
Tapping. What I heard was a tapping on the floorboards.
click
click
click
Closer now.
Something was coming.
CHAPTER 44
I sat in my bed, helpless.
I wished desperately for a weapon. I looked to the nightstand for my spoon—as if that would strike terror in the hearts of my enemies—but my empty bowl of soup wasn’t there anymore. I’d put it there before I’d pushed back the curtains; I knew I had. But it was gone.
And still the tapping came closer.
click
click click
click click click click click
I pulled the sheets up, heart hammering in my chest.
Then it appeared. A little black nose poked past the doorjamb. It sniffed the air, twitching. Then the creature moved into view.
It was a fox.
The animal had dark red fur, its coat white on its underside. It
(no, she; it's a she, you know it is)
regarded me with curious eyes, then sniffed the air again. She took a step f
orward, and I realized where the clicks had come from: her claws tapping against the wood.
I stared at her, unmoving. This fox . . . I was sure I’d seen her before. She’d been in the park, before we entered the High Weaver’s house. She was Lachlan’s good omen.
She jerked her head, as if motioning for me to follow, then walked past the door, out of view.
I stayed where I was, mouth agape. The sound of her claws on the wood stopped, then came back, and the fox poked her head into my bedroom once more.
“Well?” she said. “Are you coming or not?”
I sat there, stunned.
Her voice was soft and lilting—and I’d heard it once before. In my nightmare, when I’d passed out in Mr. Solomon’s burning house.
“I am dreaming,” I said to myself. “That’s what this is. It has to be.”
The fox cocked her head. “Why would you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m talking to a fox.”
She frowned. I hadn’t even known a fox could frown. “You’re awfully rude,” she said. “I’ve gone to all this trouble to speak with you, and this is what you have to say?”
“All this trouble . . . Who are you?”
“I’m a talking fox, Cal. I’m pretty sure you can figure that out yourself.”
I stared at her. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re . . . Shuna?”
“In the fur.”
This was ridiculous. “Shuna the Fox. From Fox and Bear. Patron Spirit of thieves.”
She struck a pose. “Tell me: Am I as lovely as you thought I’d be? Or am I even lovelier than that?”
I held a hand to my cheek. “I’ve lost my mind.”
The fox sniffed. “So rude. I have no idea why Foxtail likes you so much.” She shrugged. “Though I suppose you do smell nice.”
I hadn’t known a fox could shrug, either. “How is this not a dream?”