Masquerade Page 2

  I’d found her in R. H. Ragona’s Circus of Magic; or, rather, she’d found me. I had taken her from the ruins of the circus and she had sent us visions of the past, telling us that all we knew about the Alder, the Chimaera they created, and the Vestige they left behind was a lie. She had said she needed us for a plan to save the world. I never knew how much to believe with her, or how much she kept to herself.

  On my arm, where the syringe had pinched me, was an already-fading bruise. I touched the scab of the needle mark and winced at the pain. What had Pozzi given me?

  ‘What happened after . . .’ I trailed off. After I said I loved you and you loved me? I was almost afraid to say it aloud, just in case it had been a fever dream as well.

  ‘After you fainted, I took you straight to Pozzi. I didn’t want to, but I figured he was the only one who could help. He didn’t seem surprised to see you.’

  ‘He didn’t?’

  ‘No indeed. It was like he’d been expecting us at any moment.’

  ‘I . . . should have told you sooner, that Pozzi said I had a chance of growing ill.’

  ‘Yes. Well.’ The words we’d exchanged before my fever had overwhelmed me hung between us, unspoken.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose to chase away my lingering headache. I felt stronger, but still not much better than a piece of meat that had been pummelled by a hammer.

  ‘I had the strangest dream . . .’ I said.

  ‘What happened?’ Drystan drew me closer, resting his forehead against mine.

  I pulled back, my eyes darting to the door. ‘Not here,’ I mouthed. The details of the dream were there – Anisa’s end of the world, the threat of a bright light before darkness. An overarching sense of dread and evil.

  There was a knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Doctor Pozzi entered. He looked cool, collected and impeccably dressed, as usual. He wore no white gloves to cover his Vestige clockwork hand. It caught the light, the brass Vestige within covered with translucent skin, as if trapped in amber.

  ‘Micah,’ he said. ‘So good to see you awake.’ The slightest pause, the smallest look at Drystan. ‘There’s a fresh pot of tea in the kitchen, Amon.’ If he knew Drystan’s true name, he did not let on.

  I did not want Drystan to go, but he did, pulling the door shut behind him.

  ‘Micah,’ the doctor said. ‘You gave us all quite a fright.’

  ‘What happened to me?’ I asked, scrunching the coverlet so hard I feared tearing the fabric.

  ‘Your body turned against you. It’s what has happened in the other Chimaera cases I have studied.’

  My mouth tightened. He hadn’t used that word in my presence before. Giving up the pretext that I didn’t know exactly what I was.

  ‘Your extrasensory abilities grew too quickly,’ he went on. ‘A spike in your mind, if you will. You’re very lucky you were able to see me straight away. Much longer and you might not have made it.’

  Gooseflesh pricked my arms. I could have died. I’d never had to worry about my health. Growing up as the daughter of a noble family, I’d been stronger and faster than my friends. I’d never grown ill, not even a cold. When I broke my arm the night Drystan and I fled the circus, it healed weeks faster than it should have. Now my body had betrayed me.

  ‘So you cured me?’ I asked.

  A small shake of the head. ‘I have alleviated it, for now, but you are still reliant on my medication until I discover a permanent cure.’ He brought a box from his pocket and opened it, holding the syringe in his clockwork hand. I blanched, gripping Anisa’s Aleph even tighter, hoping there was no way for him to glean my thoughts.

  Pozzi had never appeared to have anything other than my best interests at heart. He claimed to want only to help me, feeling guilty for how badly things turned out in the end with the Lord and Lady Laurus. Yet I still did not trust him, and was not sure if I ever could. My parents had once decided a doctor could make me more marriageable by performing surgery on me – without my knowledge or agreement. This temporary cure still struck me as a way to ‘fix’ me, and I was still very, very wary of doctors and their cures.

  The syringe was filled with a dark green, viscous substance. It was the drug we had found when we searched the apartments of the corrupt Shadow who’d been working both for my family to find me and, as it turned out, for Doctor Pozzi. I had thought the drug was Lerium, but it was not.

  ‘What is this?’ I whispered.

  ‘A drug of my own making. I dosed you four days ago, but I’ll give you another dose now. After this, you’ll need weekly doses, and you should be safe.’

  Weekly. So I was to be completely reliant on Pozzi.

  ‘Any side effects?’ I asked.

  ‘Vivid dreams. Possible increased manifestations of some of your emerging abilities.’

  Abilities that the Doctor shared. I sent him a tentative thought.

  And how did you come by this ability? Are you like me? A Chimaera?

  He smiled. Perhaps.

  So if I decide I don’t want to be reliant on your medication, and I run away to Linde or somewhere . . .

  Then you’ll probably die within a month from a seizure brought on by a fever.

  Styx.

  ‘It is not ideal, but it’s the best option we have at the moment, Micah,’ he said, switching back to normal speech and wiping a drop of sweat from his brow. I guessed it wasn’t easy for him to speak mind to mind.

  ‘In the meantime,’ he continued, ‘you must visit me once a week for your dosage. I’ll keep searching for the cure. This medicine is the first step, I’m sure of it. I discovered it when abroad and managed to save several children.’

  ‘What is it made of?’ I asked.

  ‘A delicate mixture of many substances,’ he said, evasive. ‘Nothing unduly dangerous, I assure you.’

  ‘Saying something is not unduly dangerous is not wholly comforting,’ I said.

  Doctor Pozzi managed a rueful smile. ‘It’s a form of opiate, partly derived from Lerium, but with other additives that suppress the spikes in power your body cannot handle. Some of the additives are from Vestige.’

  ‘Vestige?’ I echoed, shocked not just by the answer but by the fact he had given it.

  ‘Yes. Come on, let’s get you up and see how you move around.’ He held out his hand and I stared at the brass pulleys and the strange, translucent skin. Alder-made, as incomprehensible as all Vestige. I took the hand, cool beneath my touch. My head spun and I clutched the doctor’s arm for support. He led me to the lounge, where Drystan sipped tea on one of the chaises.

  A flash of light on metal caught my eye. On the mantelpiece was a disc that looked just like Anisa’s Aleph. I picked it up, curious, but it didn’t hum with power, as Anisa’s did. Perhaps it was empty.

  ‘Leave that,’ Pozzi said, and I set it down. Pozzi went to his cabinet of curiosities, which looked a lot like the spirit cabinet we used for some of our magician’s illusions, except it was topped with a carved and gilded human skull with pointed canines. Doctor Pozzi opened the cabinet door a few inches. A soft green glow emerged from the crack, and then the doctor snapped the door shut. He gave me a bland smile and asked me how I was feeling.

  ‘Still weak,’ I admitted.

  ‘Back to bed,’ he said. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

  Drystan watched us go, curious. I gave him a nod – an assurance that, later, I’d tell him everything Pozzi told me. No more secrets.

  Back in the room, Pozzi held out a small flask for me to take.

  I turned it over in my hands. It was made entirely of Vestige metal, glimmering in the light like oil mixed with water. The top was an uncut emerald, polished to smoothness.

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘We’re not entirely sure, but when I fed a few drops mixed with Lerium and a few other ingredients to a child in Byssia, the babe survived the fever instead of succumbing. I call it Elixir.’

  ‘You fed it to a baby?’

  ‘The child was going
to die if I didn’t do anything. Many cures are discovered in such circumstances.’

  I passed the flask back to him, a shiver of foreboding running through me. ‘So, you’re injecting me with something ancient that could be made of who-knows-what, and it’s mixed with an addictive opiate.’

  ‘It’s not addictive at only once a week.’

  I didn’t know whether to believe that. ‘And what happens when you run out?’

  ‘There’s enough to last me a long while – I have bought as much of this as could be found, no matter the cost, and, as you know, the pockets of the Snakewood family run deep. Finding a cure is one of my highest priorities. I don’t want you to die, Micah.’

  ‘That’s good. I have no particular wish to die, either. How long of a supply do you have?’

  ‘Several years, at the very least.’ He gestured to my clothes. ‘You should get dressed and go home with your friend. But I’ll see you next week, I trust.’

  I picked up my clothes, clutching them to my chest. ‘I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?’

  His gaze was almost sad. For now, no, you don’t, Micah, he whispered in my mind. With that, he pushed up my sleeve and pushed Elixir into my veins.

  3

  RECOVERY

  In the smaller Northern villages, there are many types of supposed panaceas and poultices for illness. Many studies have been carried out to ascertain their efficacy. Most of them are little more than quackery, but some, especially ones which used Vestige liquids found in the area, proved to be shockingly effective. Yet due to the volatile nature of Alder-age liquids, they are not advised for consumption.

  — ‘Folk Remedies in Northern Ellada’, PROFESSOR SHAWN ARBUTUS, Royal Snakewood University

  Before I woke up, Pozzi had told Drystan I’d likely be able to return home that day. Drystan had sent a messenger to the Kymri Theatre from Pozzi’s, and so Cyan was waiting at a nearby tea room and we went to meet her after we left the grand apartment block.

  She stood to meet us, wearing a Temnian sarong underneath her oversized woollen coat, her long, dark hair braided with ceramic beads. She peered at me in concern.

  Are you all right? she asked me.

  More or less. For now.

  She cocked her head. That’s hardly reassuring.

  I’ll explain everything at home. To both of you.

  Best explain to Maske as well, at least some of it. He’s been beside himself with worry the last few days.

  Have there been any shows?

  Not since you’ve been ill.

  I winced, hoping I hadn’t marred Maske’s joy after winning the duel against Pen Taliesin. He couldn’t even celebrate with new performances, thanks to my illness.

  Is all well with, well, everything? I asked, floundering for words. Only a few days ago, Cyan had told Maske she was his biological daughter. I pushed my feelings and images at her. Sometimes mind-reading could prove useful.

  It’s still a little strange, but it’s good. It’ll be better when you’re back, safe and sound.

  A few minutes later, we were home. The first place where I’d felt truly safe. The Kymri Theatre already looked different, which was jarring. The columns, carved with palm fronds and a sunset, had been freshly painted, the windows scrubbed and the marble front steps swept. It looked like the jewel of architecture it was meant to be, based on the grand monuments of Kymri, the land of hot sands, black oil, and deep blue sea. A hasty sign over the door read, ‘Shows cancelled until further notice.’

  Drystan unlocked the door and we entered the mosaictiled hallway with its newly erected ticket booth – another sudden change – and back to the kitchen.

  Maske looked up from the diagram he was sketching and smiled at us.

  ‘Micah,’ he said, warmly. ‘I’m so glad to see you recovered.’

  Overcome with a surge of affection for the man who had taken us all in, I gave him a hug. He always accepted them happily, if a little awkwardly. He patted my back as I pulled away.

  ‘You look well,’ I said. ‘Victory suits you.’ His suit was immaculate, his best silk cravat expertly tied and fastened with an opal pin, and his hair neatly pomaded into place. The largest change was how the worry lines around his eyes had slackened, and he smiled more easily.

  Ricket the cat wandered in from wherever he had been napping and miaowed at us. I patted his head, wondering if he’d even missed me.

  Maske fixed us some simple sandwiches and some fish for the cat, and I drank a giant mug of coffee, the warmth settling in my stomach. Strangely, I felt better than I had in a long time. My body vibrated with energy as though I’d never need sleep and my concentration was razor-sharp. I was happy, almost floating.

  You’re high, Cyan told me.

  Am I? I guess I am. The drug Pozzi gave me is mixed with Lerium. It was a little like being drunk, but not as . . . loose. I was as focused as a beam of light.

  He gave you Lerium? That’s one strong opiate.

  How long will this last? I asked her, darting a look at Drystan. Did he know I was affected? And if so, how did that make him feel, as a former Lerium addict?

  I wolfed down my sandwiches and then stood, my head spinning. ‘I think I need a lie down.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Maske said. ‘Rest up. There’s no rush. I don’t think we’ll start shows again until next week anyway.’

  Making my way up to the loft, I still shook with vitality and could not face the thought of crawling under the covers after having just spent four days in a bed. Instead I went up to the roof terrace. Spring had turned to summer, and the air was warm and stifling. I loosened my cravat and stared over the rooftops of the surrounding tenements. A woman hung washing out to dry from her window. Scattered throughout the granite and sandstone buildings were the cobalt blue domes of Penglass, twinkling in the sun and casting their shadows over the stone.

  My mind still felt heightened, like I could do anything. I closed my eyes and focused inward, slowing my breath. After several long breaths, the strangeness faded into the background.

  My solitude was short-lived. Cyan and Drystan joined me on the roof terrace a few minutes later. Drystan sat close, putting his arm around me. I leaned against him, his presence steadying me further.

  ‘So what happened?’ Cyan asked.

  I took Anisa out of my pocket, staring at the Aleph in my hands. Within this little Vestige disc was a being older than we could comprehend. Over the past few months, she’d been warning us that Chimaera were returning to the world, and there were those who might wish to do them harm. She was certain that the world was at stake, as it had been all those centuries ago. I wanted to help protect the other Chimaera, wherever they were, but sometimes feared we wouldn’t be able to help as much as Anisa was certain we could.

  Cyan crossed her arms together, nervously waiting for my response. It was still difficult to believe that she and I were, in a way, like the spirit trapped within Vestige. Cyan and I were Anthi, so we were human but for our extra abilities. Cyan could read minds and communicate telepathically. A few times, she’d sensed events in the future. I had extra strength and Penglass acted strangely around me. Anisa was a Theri, or one of the Chimaera that looked different. The only other one we knew was Lily Verre’s child, who Drystan and I had glimpsed just before my fever. He had dark green scaled skin and horns upon his head.

  We were all Chimaera.

  Growing up, I’d thought Chimaera only creatures of myth. Within the last year, that had not been the case. We already knew of three, four if you counted Anisa, and she said there were others, more and more coming into their powers. I wondered if any others were having difficulties like me, powers turning against them and making them ill.

  ‘Cyan, have you been feeling well? No headaches?’ I asked carefully.

  ‘I’m perfectly fine. Why, was your illness related to being Chimaera?’ She barely hesitated over the word now.

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  Pressing the lever on the back of
the Aleph, I set it on the ground. Before us, a pillar of smoke rose from the Aleph, faint in the bright light of day. The smoke swirled and formed into the Phantom Damselfly. It always gave me goosebumps when she first appeared, her large eyes staring at us with a blend of melancholy and mystery. Swirling silver tattoos twined about her forehead and along her hairline, snaking down her neck underneath her plain dress. Behind her, gossamer dragonfly wings rose, flapping noiselessly. Through her transparent body, the darkened outline of the round, stained-glass window of our loft was visible, decorated with a dragonfly of its own.

  ‘Greetings,’ she said, her voice echoing. ‘I am glad you are feeling better, little Kedi, though I’m worried about what your illness may mean.’

  Anisa had nicknames for all of us. I was ‘little Kedi’, after one of her charges centuries ago. Cyan was ‘the one who was Matla’, as in one of Anisa’s memory-visions, Cyan had seen through the eyes of Anisa’s friend, an owl-woman. Drystan she called ‘White Clown’ for his time in the circus.

  ‘That makes all of us,’ Drystan drawled.

  I told them everything Pozzi had shared with me, though Anisa had presumably overheard all from within her Aleph. My body had turned against itself. I had to visit him every week until he found a permanent cure – if he ever did.

  ‘And if the same thing happens to me?’ Cyan asked.

  ‘Then you’ll have to come with me, I suppose, and Pozzi will know you have extra abilities as well.’ I turned to Anisa. ‘Can you tell us anything about this Elixir?’

  She came towards me, resting her ghostly fingers on my face and gazing into my eyes.

  ‘I can feel that it is as he says. Lerium mixed with something Vestige. There are some old elixirs that may do as he claims. But it would surprise me if they’d survived the centuries. Your body is healthy at the moment. Stronger than it’s ever been. As it seems to be helping, I advise you to keep taking it. It also enables you to be near the physician once a week and I believe there is much we can learn from him. You recall my visions?’