Читать книгу: «Burning Kingdoms»

2

“Five!” Pen whispers, after she’s closed the door behind us. “I counted five children. The nerve, Morgan.”

“Shh. Someone will hear.”

“Oh, who’s to hear us? This building has more rooms than Internment has people.”

“He works for the king,” Celeste says. “He could be spying. Though it isn’t as though we have anything to hide.”

Pen narrows her eyes. “Nobody was talking to you, Your Bloody Highness.”

“I am only trying to help,” Celeste says. She sits on the bed and fans the skirt of her dress around her. “As the only one among us with any knowledge about public relations.”

“What public relations?” Pen cries. “You and your brother only ever left that clock tower to fire darts and arrows at things for sport.” She looks to me. “I’m not sharing a room with her. I won’t be able to close my eyes at night unless there is a lock between us.”

The three of us have been left alone to share a bedroom as large as the apartment I shared with my parents. Jack Piper told us that we would find clothes in the closets and “a place to wash up down the hall.” One of the children boasted about their indoor hot water both upstairs and down; it’s quite revolutionary, he said.

None of us questioned the way we were divided up and sent to the bedrooms. We’re approaching all of this with due caution.

“Pen, come here. Try to be calm,” I say, patting the space beside me as I sit on the adjacent bed.

She chews on her knuckle and paces.

“All right,” Celeste says. “I know the three of us haven’t gotten off to the friendliest start—”

“You kidnapped us and held my betrothed at knifepoint,” Pen says.

“Yes, and you tried to murder my brother. We’re quite even. And despite what you may think, I do know a thing or two about people. That sign out there says that this is the home of the floating island. That means they recognize where we’re from. They’re interested, maybe even fascinated. They know nothing about the way our city is governed, and now for the first time they have a chance to learn. Perhaps their king and my father can do business.”

“Oh, wake up, will you?” Pen turns to face us. Behind her, the white flurries are tangled in a dance within the window frame. “Their king and your father can’t do business. This was a one-way trip. We can’t go home. Not ever.”

“Nonsense,” Celeste says. “Why would the lot of you leave Internment with no way of getting back?”

Pen looks away. Her face has turned red. Her eyes are misting.

“We had no choice,” I say quietly. “We were fugitives.” I stare at the floor; it appears to be made of some kind of fabric cut out into a giant oval, and it’s so plush that I can see traces of our footprints in it. Even the floors are different. I fear what will await us when the sun melts away that blanket of snow. “What Pen said is true. We can’t ever go back.”

“You can’t, maybe,” Celeste says to me, “but I’ll have to return. Of course I will.”

Pen laughs cruelly.

Celeste raises her chin.

“We should change,” I say. It’s the only thing I can think of that should come next. We’ll find new clothes. We’ll start learning to adapt. No matter how impossible it seems.

There’s a wooden screen that divides off a portion of the room. Pen and I hide behind it and change into the dresses we’ve selected from the closet. On the hangers are the most exquisite dresses I’ve ever seen—all tiers and flowers and lace. Pen helps with the buttons at my wrists, and she straightens the lace at my collarbones. And while we’re facing each other, her mouth purses. She shields her eyes with her quaking hand. “Oh, Morgan,” she whispers.

I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I know.” We’re both as good as orphaned now. My parents are in the tributary, but she’ll never see hers again whether they’re living or not.

“We can’t cry,” she says firmly.

“No. Strength, remember?”

She nods, draws back, and pulls my hair in front of my shoulders.

I pinch her cheek, and she smiles.

From beyond the screen, Celeste clears her throat. “What sort of woman wore these dresses, do you think?” she says.

Pen growls.

“And what do you think they call this fabric?” Celeste goes on.

“Maybe they belong to Mrs. Piper,” I say.

“He didn’t mention a wife at all, did he?” Celeste says.

I step out from behind the screen, and Pen follows. “Maybe they don’t have wives here,” Pen says. “Maybe the women just come around to lay eggs and then they leave.”

I can’t help laughing. “Be careful what you say,” Celeste says, but she’s laughing too.

“I’m quite serious,” Pen says, assessing her reflection in the oval mirror that hangs wreathed in dry flowers. “What kind of woman could birth five children? Can you imagine? It isn’t human.”

“It would be rude to ask,” I say. “We’ll have to look for a ring.”

“He had a ring,” Celeste says. “A metal one. It was the same shade of gold as the curtains downstairs. Gold is an odd choice for a wedding ring, isn’t it?”

“We can’t ask,” I repeat firmly. “If we were to offend our host, we could well be tossed out into the snow, and then what?”

Pen walks around me, dragging her finger through my hair so it rises and falls. It’s so straight that it falls immediately back into formation. “What if he killed his wife? What if we’re next?” Pen says.

“Are you always so grim?” Celeste says.

A knock at the door silences our chatter. I loop my arm around Pen’s.

“Excuse me.” It’s one of the children. A girl. “Dinner is being served downstairs.”

The thought of food nauseates me. For just a moment, I nearly forgot the magnitude of this ordeal, but that strange affectation in the child’s voice has reminded me.

“Thank you,” Celeste says sweetly.

“Should we try to eat any of it?” Pen whispers into my ear. “What if it’s poisoned?”

I’m not eager to relive the experience of the poisoned sweetgold. “We should at least pretend to,” I say.

“Let’s let Her Highness eat it and see if she survives.”

Celeste, who is fixing her braided crown, pauses to glare at us in the mirror.

Jack Piper is a man who strives for order; that much is clear. His children do all things in order of height, which includes taking their places at the largest dinner table I’ve ever seen. He gives them a nod, and they shake open their folded napkins and lay them in their laps.

“I have to compliment you on your gold curtains,” Celeste says. “We don’t see much gold fabric back home.”

Back home. What a notion.

Riles’s snorting laugh says he think we’re the strangest things alive. “You don’t have gold fabric?” he says.

“What else don’t you have?” one of the younger girls asks.

“Don’t be brats,” Nimble tells them.

“Yes, gold is popular down here,” Jack says. “It’s a precious metal.”

I’ve never thought of any one metal as being more special than the next. They all come in handy for something or other.

“Do you have ham?” the smallest one, Annette, asks. She isn’t teasing; she really wants to know. “Because that’s what’s for dinner.”

“I don’t think so,” Celeste says. She doesn’t seem to mind speaking on behalf of us all. “What is it?”

“It’s from a pig,” Annette says. She presses her nose upward with her finger and makes a snorting sound.

“We don’t have those,” Pen says, speaking before the princess can get in another word. “And we don’t eat animals very often. Only on special occasions.”

Annette looks at her like she’s never heard such a thing.

“That’s enough inquisition,” Jack says. “Our guests have come a long way and they’ve earned an evening of relaxation. There will be plenty of time for all of us to get acquainted.”

Lex and Alice are missing from the table, as are Judas and Amy. I look through the doorway, and all I see are infinite doors, and a staircase that leads to even more of them.

A fireplace is crackling. I can feel the warmth of it from the next room. It’s an effective enough way to stay warm, but most of the buildings on Internment have been outfitted with electric heat in the past decade, thanks to the sun’s energy being harnessed by the glasslands. I’d thought the ground would be much more advanced than we are, given that we borrow so many of their ideas through our scopes, but we seem to be on par, if not a bit ahead.

One thing the ground does have is space. A house practically the size of a whole section of Internment, and as many children to a family as they please. Dozens of windows and curtains, and closets fat with clothes, no matter if anyone can be bothered to come along to wear them.

The food is brought out by a young woman in a black dress that is dripping with metal buttons. She lays each plate on the mat with precision, and uncovers all the hot dishes, which are heaping with enough food to feed twice as many people as are seated.

The smallest Piper volunteers to say grace, which means we all bow our heads as she recites some sort of poem that begins with “Thank you, God” and goes on to list all the things at the table. She adds in “please” and “bless” copious times. It ends when she says, “And bless Mother, too. And tell her to please send a telegram.”

“We don’t ask for things like that,” Riles says.

“Says you.”

“I thought it was a fine prayer,” Nimble says. He winks at his littlest sister and she grins.

Everyone wields utensils and begins helping themselves. Pen, Basil, Thomas, and I take a modest portion of everything, but we aren’t brave—or perhaps stupid—enough to try eating it.

“Your accent is lovely,” Gertrude says, forcing the words out all at once as though she’s been building the courage to speak. She’s the second oldest, with soft rosy cheeks, and hair that covers one eye as it falls over her shoulder in waves.

“Accent?” I say.

“Yes. You don’t know that word? It’s the way that you speak. Everything has an upward inflection. You all sound so inquisitive. I think it’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” Celeste says brightly. “Where we’re from, everyone speaks the same way. It hadn’t occurred to me there was any other way.”

“There are lots of ways to speak,” Nimble says. “Though King Ingram prefers to war with the one nation that speaks the same language we do.” He looks at Celeste. “You come from a political family. Does that seem smart to you?”

“That’s enough,” Jack Piper says, dabbing his lips with a cloth napkin. “Your depiction of our king is unwelcome in this home, Nimble. We’ve discussed this.”

Nimble’s gaze rolls from one side of his lenses to the other. The younger children are giggling soundlessly at their plates.

“Are you at war?” Celeste asks.

“The dinner table isn’t the place to discuss politics,” Jack Piper says. “Perhaps tomorrow, once you’ve all had a chance to rest.” He leans back so that he can see under the table. “And speaking of inappropriate, what have I told you about rolling your stockings, Gertrude?”

She blushes. “Yes, of course,” she says. “Sorry, Father.”

During the meal, Jack explains to us that this building is something called a hotel during the warm seasons. It’s winter now, he says, and so it’s closed for business. There’s something called a theme park nearby, and people will travel from all across the nation in a season he calls summer to visit it and catch a glimpse of the floating island. They have scopes here on the ground, too, though Internment’s position and altitude prevent them from seeing much besides the bottom of the city.

“It’s flattering to know you’ve taken such an interest in our humble city,” Celeste says. “I—we would all love to see this park.”

“Well, then I—we—will have to show it to you,” Nimble says, and the way he’s looking at her actually makes her blush.

After dinner, Basil and I find a moment alone in the hallway that holds my bedroom. We’re standing in something called the east wing. His room is in something called the west wing. So many words for one building.

His eyes meet mine, and at the same time we both blurt out, “Are you okay?”

He puts his hand on the wall by my head, and I feel so safe, so very safe in his shadow and in the smell of him, like home and bottled redolence and sunlight.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m okay. Are you?”

“Is that the truth?” he says.

“Can’t we just pretend that it is?” I say. “What else are we supposed to do?”

“Morgan—”

I put my finger to his lips. “Don’t. Please. I can’t be pitied right now.”

“All right,” he says.

I nod to the closed door beside us. “They’re making Pen and me share a room with the princess. Pen thinks she’ll kill us in our sleep.”

“I should sleep with you,” he says.

“You know we can’t change where they placed us,” I say. “It might insult them. They were kind enough to take us in at all.”

“You’re right,” he says. “And sooner or later they’ll come to collect on that kindness.”

“What do you suppose they want from us?” I say.

“If it’s a way up to Internment, they’ll soon be disappointed, won’t they?” He makes an effort at a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning, if the princess doesn’t kill you and Pen, and Judas doesn’t kill me.”

“We must survive if only to see what poor animal the Pipers cook for breakfast.” I rise on tiptoes to kiss him. “Good night.”

As I reach for the doorknob, he grabs my wrist. “I also think we should take an opportunity to get familiar with this kingdom,” he says. “In case we have to run.”

“Run.” I try not to laugh, but it’s so absurd. “Basil, where would we go?”

He seems worried, though. “Don’t you think it’s strange that they’ve built a theme park just so they can gaze at the ‘magical floating city’ and yet when the lot of us falls down from it, the king wants to keep us a secret?”

“It is strange,” I say. “But everything about this world is strange so far.”

“All I mean is, what’s to stop him from killing us all if he pleases? No one would be the wiser.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I say, and I feel a chill. “Oh, Basil, do you think that could happen?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “But we should keep that in mind.”

I nod. “We’ll familiarize ourselves with the city. Pen could even draw up a map, I should think.” I force myself to smile. “It will work out, Basil.”

He gives me the same sort of distracted smile. “Good night,” he says.

After I’ve washed up and changed into one of the many nightgowns hanging in the closet, I look for Alice and Lex. They’ll surely be together. When I get to the door at the end of the hallway and I knock, no one answers. There’s light coming from under the door, though. “Hello?” I say, and turn the knob. “Alice?”

“Quiet,” Judas says. “Close the door behind you.”

He’s knelt on the floor beside Amy, whose skin is red. Her hair is damp, and I recognize that dead stare in her eyes.

“I came in to check on her before everyone went to dinner, and I found her in the middle of a fit,” he says. “A bad one.”

“She’s been lying on the floor like that since dinner?” I touch her forehead, and she flinches and gasps, but there’s no real awareness about her.

“I’m afraid to move her,” he says. “Daphne would always say never to move her while her eyes are still open, to wait until she looks like she’s sleeping.”

Daphne aspired to be a medic before her murder, and I’m sure she knew how to care for her sister’s fits, but it doesn’t seem right to leave a sick child on the floor like this.

“I’ll get Lex,” I say.

“No.” He grabs my arm and pulls me back down. “She needs to be kept calm. She doesn’t like when anyone sees her like this; it makes her feel weak.”

“She’s ill, Judas. Look at her. She needs a doctor, and Lex is the closest we’ve got.”

He looks at Amy. Her lips twitch like she’s talking to one of her ghosts.

“She needs a doctor,” I repeat.

“You don’t understand,” he says. “You just don’t. If you want to help, bring a cold cloth from the water room and let’s try to break her fever.”