Down Among the Sticks and Bones

by Seanan McGuire

  “Wait,” said Jack. “What do you mean, ‘keep’ us? We’re not stray dogs. We’re very sorry we trespassed in your big creepy field, but we’re not staying here. As soon as we find a door, we’re going home.”

  The first man smirked. Dr. Bleak actually looked … well, almost sad.

  “The doors appear when they will,” he said. “You could be here for a very long time.”

  Jack and Jill bore identical expressions of alarm. Jill spoke first.

  “I have soccer practice,” she said. “I can’t miss it. They’ll cut me from the team, and then Daddy will be furious with me.”

  “I’m not supposed to go outside,” said Jack. “My mother’s going to be so mad when she finds out that I did. We can’t be here for a very long time. We just can’t.”

  “But you will,” said the first man. “For three days as guests in my home, and then as treasured residents, for as long as it takes to find a door back to your world. If you ever do. Not all foundlings return to the places that they ran away from, do they, Mary?”

  “No, m’lord,” said Mary, in a dull, dead voice.

  “The last foundling to come stumbling into the Moors was a boy with hair like fire and eyes like a winter morning,” said the first man. “Dr. Bleak and I argued over who should have his care and feeding—because we both love children, you see. They’re so lively, so energetic. They can make a house feel like a home. In the end, I won, and I promised Dr. Bleak that, in order to keep the peace, he would have the next foundling to pass through. Imagine my surprise when there were two of you! Truly the Moon provides.”

  “Where is he now?” asked Jack warily.

  “He found his door home,” said Dr. Bleak. “He took it.” He glared down the length of the table at the first man, like he was daring him to say something.

  Instead, the first man simply laughed, shaking his head. “So dramatic! Always so dramatic. Sit down, Michel. Let me feed you. Enjoy the hospitality of my home for an evening, and perhaps you’ll see the wisdom of letting these pretty sisters stay together.”

  “If you’re so set on keeping them as a matched set, honor the spirit of our agreement and let them both come home with me,” said Dr. Bleak. His next words were directed at the girls. “I can’t keep you in luxury. I have no servants, and you’ll be expected to work for your keep. But I’ll teach you how the world works, and you’ll go home wiser, if wearier. You will never be intentionally harmed beneath my roof.”

  The word “never” seemed to leap out at Jack. The first man had only promised them three days. She looked across the table at Jill and found her sister sulky-eyed and pouting.

  “Will you eat, Michel?” asked the first man.

  “I suppose I should,” said Dr. Bleak, and dropped himself into a chair like an avalanche coming finally to rest. He looked to Mary. His eyes were kind. “Meat and bread and beer, if you would be so kind, Mary.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mary, and actually smiled as she fled the room.

  The first man—the Master—raised his goblet in a mocking toast. “To the future,” he said. “It’s on its way now, whether we’re prepared or not.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” said Dr. Bleak, to him, and “Eat,” he said, to Jack and Jill. “You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.

  “We all will.”

  6

  THE FIRST NIGHT OF SAFETY

  JACK AND JILL were tucked away in the same round tower room, in two small beds shaped like teardrops, with their heads at the widest point and their feet pointed toward the tapering end. The windows were barred. The door was locked. “For your protection,” Mary had said, before turning the key and sealing them in for the evening.

  Many children would have railed at their confinement, would have gone looking for clever ways to pull the bars from the windows or break the latch on the door. Many children had been raised to believe that they were allowed to rail against unnecessary rules, that getting out of bed to use the bathroom or get a glass of water was not only allowed but encouraged, since taking care of their needs was more important than an eight-hour stretch spent perfectly in bed. Not Jack and Jill. They had been raised to obey, to behave, and so they stayed where they were.

  (It is, perhaps, important to note that while blindly following rules can be a dangerous habit, it can also mean salvation. The ground below the tower window was white with old bones from children who had tried to make clever ropes out of braided sheets, only to find them too short and fall to their deaths. Some rules exist to preserve life.)

  “We can’t stay here,” whispered Jack.

  “We have to stay somewhere,” whispered Jill. “If we have to wait for a door, why not wait here? It’s nice here. I like it.”

  “That man wants us to call him ‘master.’”

  “The other man wants us to call him ‘doctor.’ How is that different?”

  Jack didn’t know how to explain that those things were different; she just knew that they were, that one was a title that said something about the person who used it, while the other said how much that person knew, how much they understood about the world. One was a threat and the other was a reassurance.

  “It just is,” she said finally. “I want to go with Dr. Bleak. If we have to go with somebody, I want it to be him.”

  “Well, I want to stay here,” said Jill. She scowled at her sister across the gap between their beds. “I don’t see why we always have to do what you want to do.”

  There had never in their lives been a time when Jack was allowed to decide their actions. Their parents had always set the course for them, even down to their school days, where they had played out the roles set for them with the fervency of actors who knew the show would be cancelled if they made a single mistake. Jack was silent, stung, wondering how her sister could have read the world so very wrong.

  Finally, in a soft voice, she said, “We don’t have to stay together.”

  Jill had been enjoying spending time with her sister. It was … nice. It was nice to feel like they were together, like they were united, like they actually agreed on something. But she liked it there, in the big, fancy castle with the silver plates and the smiling man in the long black cloak. She liked feeling like she was safe behind thick walls, where that big red moon couldn’t get her. She would have been happy to share being there with Jack, but she wasn’t going to give it up because her sister liked some smelly, dirty doctor better.

  “No, we don’t,” she said, and rolled over, and pretended to go to sleep.

  Jack rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, and didn’t pretend anything at all.

  They were both tired, confused children with full stomachs, tucked into warm beds. Eventually, they both fell asleep, dreaming tangled dreams until the sound of the door being unbolted woke them. They sat up, still in the same dirty, increasingly tattered clothing they’d been wearing since their adventure began, and watched as the door swung open. Mary held it for the two men who had served them dinner the night before. Each carried a tray, setting them down next to the girls before whisking the lids away to reveal scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and slices of thick, greasy ham.

  “The Master expects you to eat quickly,” said Mary, as the men retreated to stand behind her. “He understands that you are in no position to clean yourselves up, and will forgive you for your untidiness. I’ll wait in the hall until you’re done and ready to see him.”

  “Wait,” said Jack, feeling suddenly grimy and uncomfortable. She had almost forgotten how filthy she was. “Can we have a bath?”

  “Not yet,” said Mary, stepping out of the room. Again, the two men followed her; the last one out shut the door behind himself.

  “Why can’t we have a bath?” asked Jack plaintively.

  “I don’t need a bath,” said Jill, who very much did. She grabbed her knife and fork, beginning to cut her ham into small squares.

  Jack, who had never in her life been allowed to stay dirty for more than a few minu
tes, shuddered. She looked at her food, and saw only butter, grease, and other things that would add to the mess she was already wearing. She slid out of the bed, leaving the food where it was.

  Jill frowned. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I’m going to eat.”

  “That’s okay. I can wait.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t.” Jill pointed to the door. “Tell Mary you’re done, and maybe she’ll let you get a bath. Or she’ll let you talk to your new doctor friend. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d like the bath more,” said Jack. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’m going to steal all your toast,” said Jill serenely, and Jack realized two very important things: first, that her sister still thought this was an adventure, something that would only last until she was tired of it and would then go mercifully away, and second, that she needed to leave as soon as possible. The Master—how she hated that she was starting to think of him that way!—struck her as the sort of person who wanted little girls to be decorative and pretty, toys lined up on a shelf. He hadn’t talked about keeping them together because sisters needed to be together; he’d talked about keeping them together so he’d have a matching set.

  If she couldn’t get Jill out of there, she couldn’t stay, because if she stayed, she would be better at being decorative. She would show Jill up. They wouldn’t match, no matter how much they tried. And the Master …

  She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that he wouldn’t like that. He would be displeased. She didn’t think either she or Jill would enjoy his displeasure.

  Her dress was stiff and her tights stuck to her legs like bandages as she stepped out into the hall. Mary was waiting there, as she had promised, along with the two serving men.

  “All done?” she asked.

  Jack nodded. “Jill’s still eating,” she said. “I can wait here with you until she’s done.”

  “No need,” said Mary. “The Master doesn’t care for dawdling. If you want him to choose you, you’d be well served by heading down now.”

  “What if I don’t want him to choose me?”

  Mary paused. She looked at the two dead-eyed men, assessing. Then she looked around the hall as a whole, seeming to search every crack and corner. Finally, when she was sure that they were alone, she returned her attention to Jack.

  “If you don’t want to be chosen, you run, girl. You go down to that throne room—”

  “Throne room?” squeaked Jack.

  “—and you tell Dr. Bleak you want to go with him, and you run. The Master likes your sister’s appetite, but he likes the way you hold yourself. He likes the way you sit. He’ll toy with her until the three days are up, and then he’ll choose you and break her heart. He’ll say that Dr. Bleak could leave you both here, but he knows Dr. Bleak would never do that. When he can save a foundling, he does. I wish to God that he’d saved me.” There was fire in Mary’s eyes, bright and burning like a candle. “Your sister will be safer if you’re gone. He’ll have to make her into a lady before he can make her into a daughter, and who knows? You may find your door before that happens.”

  “Were you…” Jack stopped, unsure of how to finish the question.

  Mary nodded. “I was. But I never wanted to be his child, and when he asked me to let him be my father, I said no. So he kept me as a reminder to other foundlings that there are more places in a noble household than the ones set at the head of the table. He’ll never harm her without her invitation: you don’t need to worry about that. Men like him, they can’t come in unless you invite them. You’ll have time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Time to figure out why you were called to the Moors; time to decide whether or not you want to stay.” Mary straightened, the fire seeming to go out as she turned to the nearest of the dead-eyed men. “Take her down to see the Master. Go quickly now. You’ll need to be back up here before the second child is ready to descend.”

  The man nodded but did not speak. He beckoned for Jack to follow him, and he started down the stairs. Jack looked at Mary. Mary shook her head and said nothing. The time for words between them was done, it seemed; what Jack did from here was up to her. Jack hesitated. Jack looked at the door to the room where her sister sat, enjoying her breakfast.

  Jack went down the stairs.

  The dead-eyed man had predicted her recalcitrance; he was waiting on the first landing, as silent and impassive as ever. When she reached him, he started walking again, leaving her to trail along behind. His stride was long enough to force her to hurry, until it felt as if her feet were barely touching the ground, like she was going to tumble down the stairs and land at the bottom in a heap.

  But that didn’t happen. They reached the bottom and stepped back into the grand dining hall. The Master and Dr. Bleak were seated at opposite ends of the table, watching each other warily. Dr. Bleak had a plate of food in front of him, which he was not touching. The Master had another goblet of thick red wine. The dead-eyed man walked silently. Jack did not, and the Master and Dr. Bleak turned toward the sound of her arrival.

  The Master looked at the stains on her dress, the tangles in her hair, and smiled. “So eager,” he said, voice practically a purr. “Have you made your choice, then? It’s clear you want first pick of guardians.” It’s clear you’re choosing me, said the silence that followed.

  “I have,” said Jack. She stood as straight as she could, trying not to let her shoulders shake or her knees knock. The choice had seemed difficult when she was alone with her sister. Now, with both men looking at her, it felt impossible.

  Still, her feet moved, somehow, and carried her down the length of the room to stand next to a startled Dr. Bleak.

  “I’d like to come and work for you, please,” she said. “I’d like to learn.”

  Dr. Bleak looked at her soft hands and her frilly, lacy dress, and frowned. “It won’t be easy,” he said. “The work will be hard. You’ll blister, and bleed, and leave something of yourself behind if you ever leave me.”

  “You told us that last night,” said Jack.

  “I don’t have time for fripperies or finery. If you want those things, you should stay here.”

  Jack frowned, eyes narrowing. “Last night you wanted us both, even if you wanted my sister more,” she said. “Now you seem like you don’t want me at all. Why?”

  Dr. Bleak opened his mouth to answer. Then he stopped, and cocked his head to the side, and said, “Honestly, I don’t know. A willing apprentice is always better than an unwilling one. Shall I return for you in two days?”

  “I’d rather go with you today,” said Jack. She had a feeling that if she lingered, she would never leave, and again, that would go poorly for her sister—Jill, who had always been the strong one, always been the smart one, but who had never been expected to be the clever one. Jill trusted too easily, and got hurt even easier.

  Jack had to go now.

  If Dr. Bleak was surprised, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded, said, “As you like,” and stood, offering a shallow bow to the Master. “Thank you for honoring our agreement. As mine has chosen me, the second constitutes your turn; the next foundling to enter the Moors is mine by right.”

  “As yours has chosen you, and slighted me, what’s to stop me killing her where she stands?” The Master sounded bored. That didn’t stop the fear from coiling through Jack’s heart, where it lay, heavy and waiting, like a serpent preparing to strike. “She forsook the protection of my house when she rejected me.”

  “She’s more useful alive,” said Dr. Bleak. “She’s her sister’s mirror. If something should … happen, to the first, you could draw upon the second to guarantee her survival. And if you killed her, you would break our bargain. Do you really want to risk a fight between us? Do you think this is the time?”

  The Master scowled but did not rise. “As you like, Michel,” he said, sounding almost bored. His eyes went to Jack, as calm as
if he hadn’t just threatened her. “If you tire of living in squalor, little girl, feel free to return. My doors are always open to one as lovely as you.”

  Jack, who had long since tired of being viewed as simply “lovely,” and who had not forgotten the threat, even if the Master had, said nothing. She nodded, and stepped a little closer to Dr. Bleak, and when he rose and walked out of the room, she followed him.

  * * *

  BUT THAT IS ENOUGH of Jack for now: this is a story about two children, even if it is sometimes necessary to follow one at the exclusion of the other. That is often the way. Give children the opportunity and they will scatter, forcing choices to be made, forcing the one who seeks them to run down all manner of dark corridors. And so:

  Jill ate her breakfast, and when she was done, she ate Jack’s breakfast, glaring all the while at her sister’s empty bed. Stupid Jack. They were finally in a place where someone liked their shared face, their shared reflection, and now Jack was just going to walk away and leave her. She should have known that Jack wouldn’t want to start being a twin now. Not when she’d spent so many years avoiding it.

  (It did not occur to Jill that Jack’s avoidance, like her own, had been born purely of parental desire and never of a sincere wanting. Their parents had done everything they could to blur the lines of twinhood, leaving Jack and Jill stuck in the middle. But Jack was gone and Jill was not, and in the moment, that was all that mattered.)

  When the last scrap of toast had been used to mop up the last smear of egg, Jill finally got out of bed and walked to the door. Mary was waiting there, and she curtseyed when Jill emerged.

  “Miss,” she said. “Was breakfast to your liking?”

  Jill, who had never been treated like she mattered before—especially not by an adult—beamed. “It was fine,” she said grandly. “Did you see to my sister?”

  “I’m sorry, miss, I believe she’s already gone with Dr. Bleak. He doesn’t often stay away from his laboratory long.”

  Jill’s face fell. “Oh,” she said. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she was hoping Jack would have changed her mind; would be waiting, penitent and hungry, on the stairs.