Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel (34 page)

My voice was gone. I had heard of dreamscapes collapsing; it was what had happened to one of the boys in the gang, Zeke. That was how you became unreadable. The dreamscape would grow back with layer upon layer of armor, preventing all spiritual attack.

“The red-jackets picked him up two years ago. He was living rough on the streets of Southwark—an unreadable with no money or food. They put him in the Tower as a suspected unnatural, but I had him brought here prematurely. Though he is treated as an amaurotic, he still has an aura. I taught him how to speak again. I hope that he will find the æther one day, and that he can sing in the way he once did. With the voices of the dead.”

“Wait,” I said. “You taught him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Silence filled every crevice of the room. Warden reached for his goblet.

“Who
are
you?” I said. He glanced up at me. “You’re the blood-consort of a Sargas sovereign. You’ve been puppeteering a government since 1859. You’ve supported voyant trafficking, watched a whole system develop around it. You’ve helped them spread lies and hatred and fear. Why are you helping humans?”

“That, I cannot tell you. Just as you will not tell me who your friends are, I will not tell you my ulterior motives.”

“Would you tell me if you found out who my friends were?”

“Perhaps.”

“Have you told Michael?”

“A little. Michael has great loyalty toward me, but I cannot fully trust him in his fragile mental state.”

“Do you think the same about me?”

“I know too little about you to trust you, Paige. But that does not mean you cannot
earn
my trust. In fact”—he sat back in his chair—“the opportunity will present itself today.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will see.”

“Let me guess. You killed a soothsayer and stole his power, and now you think you can see my future.”

“I am no theif of gifts. But I do know Nashira very well, well enough to guess her moves. I know when she likes to strike.”

The grandfather clock chimed once. Warden glanced at it. “Well, that is one hour,” he said. “You are free to go. Perhaps you should visit your friend, the cartomancer.”

“Liss is in spirit shock,” I said.

He glanced up.

“The red-jackets chucked her cards on the fire.” My throat was tight. “I haven’t seen her since.”

Ask for his help
. I struggled with myself.
Ask him if he can replace her cards. He’ll do it. He helped Michael.

“A pity,” he said. “She is a gifted performer.”

I forced out the words: “Will you help her?”

“I have no cards. She must have her link to the æther.” He met my eyes. “Amaranth would also be necessary.”

I stayed where I was, watching as he reached for a small box on the coffee table. It looked like an old-fashioned snuff box, made with mother-of-pearl and slivers of gold. In the center of the lid was the eight-petaled flower, like one of his boxes of vials. He flipped it open and withdrew a tiny bottle of oil, tinged with blue dye.

“That’s aster extract,” I said.

“Very good.”

“Why do you have it?”

“I use small doses of the star-flower to assist Michael. It helps him remember his dreamscape.”

“Star-flower?”

“It is the Rephaite name for aster. A literal translation from our language—Glossolalia, or Gloss.”

“Is that what julkers speak?”

“Yes. The ancient language of the æther. Michael can no longer speak it, but he understands. So do whisperers.”

So julkers could eavesdrop on the Rephaim. Interesting. “Are you planning to give him aster . . . now?”

“No. I simply wished to organize my collection of requisitioned drugs,” he said. I had no idea if he was being funny or not. Probably not. “Some of them, such as the poppy anemone, can be used to harm us.” He took a single red flower from the box. “Certain poisons must be kept out of human hands.” His eyes were fixed on mine. “We would not want them used to, say, infiltrate the House. That would put our most secret supplies in jeopardy.”

Red flower.
I remembered David’s note.
The sole method
.

The sole method of killing Rephaim?

“No,” I said. “We wouldn’t want that.”

It was quiet in the Rookery, I hadn’t seen Liss since Suhail had escorted me to Magdalen; I’d had no chance to check on her, to see if she’d survived the loss of her deck.

She was conscious, but not present. Her lips were pale, and her eyes wandered, unfocused. She was in the throes of spirit shock.

Julian and the bespectacled performer from the first day—Cyril—had made it their mission to look after her. They fed her, brushed her hair, treated her burned hands, and talked to her. She just lay there, stiff and clammy, murmuring about the æther. Now she could no longer connect with it, her natural urge was to abandon her body and join with it. It was up to us to quell that urge. To keep her with us.

I swapped two pills for a Sterno, some matches, and a tin of beans at Duckett’s jerryshop. There were no cards at his stall. They’d all been confiscated by a red-jacket: Kathryn, making sure Liss suffered. She was lucky Warden had prevented her from seeing me.

When I returned to the shack, Julian looked up, his eyes red with exhaustion. His pink tunic was gone, replaced by a ragged shirt and cloth trousers.

“Paige, you’ve been gone a while.”

“I’ve been away. Explain later.” I knelt beside Liss. “Is she eating?”

“I got her to eat a bit of skilly yesterday, but she threw it all back up.”

“And the burns?”

“Bad. We need Silvadene.”

“We’ll try and feed her again.” I stroked her damp ringlets, pinched her cheek. “Liss?”

Her eyes were open, but she didn’t respond. I lit the Sterno. Cyril drummed his fingers on his knee. “Come
on
, Rymore,” he said to her, irritated. “You can’t be off the silks for this long.”

“A little sympathy wouldn’t go amiss,” Julian said.

“No time for sympathy. Suhail will be after her soon. She’s supposed to be performing with me.”

“Haven’t they found out yet?”

“Nell’s been filling in for her. They look similar in costume, with masks—same height, same hair color. But Nell isn’t as good. She falls.” Cyril gazed at Liss. “Rymore never falls.”

Julian put the beans on the can. I found a spoon and wrapped an arm around Liss. She shook her head.

“No.”

“You’ve got to eat something, Liss.” Julian gripped her cold wrist, but she didn’t respond.

When the beans were hot, Julian tipped her head back. I spoon-fed her, but she could hardly swallow. Beans ran down her chin. Cyril grabbed the tin and scraped out what remained with his bare hands. I sat back on my heels and watched as Liss sank into her sheets.

“This can’t go on.”

‘‘But we can’t
do
anything.” Julian clenched a fist. “Even if we found a deck, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. It’d be like giving her a new limb. She could reject it.”

“We have to try.” I looked toward Cyril. “Are there no other cartomancers here?”

“Dead.”

“Even if he’s wrong, we can’t take someone else’s deck,” Julian said, very quietly. “That’s worse than murder.”

“Then we steal from the Rephs,” I said. Crime
was
my forte. “I’m going to break into the House. They must have supplies in there.”

“You’ll die,” Cyril said, with no hint of distress.

“I survived a Buzzer. I’ll be fine.”

Julian looked up. “You saw one?”

“They live in the woods. Warden left me with one of them.”

“Does that mean you passed your tests?” Suspicion crossed his face. “You’re a red-jacket?”

“I don’t know. I thought I was, but”—I tugged my tunic—“this doesn’t look red.”

“That’s comforting.” He paused. “What was it like? The Buzzer.”

“Fast. Aggressive. I didn’t see much of it.” I looked at his new clothes. “Didn’t you see one?”

His smile was thin. “Aludra chucked me out just for missing the curfew. Plain old harlie, I’m afraid.”

Cyril was shivering. “Their bite is death,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t go out there again.”

“I might not have a choice,” I said. Cyril put his head in his arms. “Jules, pass a sheet.”

He did. I tucked it around Liss. She didn’t stop shivering. I rubbed her icy arms, trying to warm them up. Her fingers had blistered.

“Paige,” Julian said, “do you mean it? About breaking into the House?”

“Warden said they have supplies in there. Secret stores, things we shouldn’t see. Maybe Silvadene.”

“Has it occurred to you that it might be guarded? Or that the Warden might be lying?”

“I’ll risk it.”

He sighed. “I doubt I can stop you. And if you get in?”

“I’m going to steal as much as I can—anything I can use to defend myself—then I’m going to leave. Whoever wants to join me is welcome. Otherwise I’ll go alone. Whatever happens, I’m not going to rot here for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t do it,” Cyril said. “You’ll die. Like the ones who died before. The Buzzers ate them, too. And they’ll eat you.”

“Please, Cyril, enough.” Julian didn’t look away from me. “You go to the House, Paige. I’ll try and rally some troops.”

“Troops?”

“Come on.” The flame played in his eyes. “You’re not seriously going to leave without a fight, are you?”

I raised my eyebrows. “A fight?”

“You’re not going to go and pretend this didn’t happen. Scion has been doing this for two centuries, Paige. It’s not going to end. What’s to stop them dragging you straight back here when you reach SciLo?”

He had a point. “What do you suggest?”

“A prison break. Everyone gets out. We leave them with no voyants to feed on.”

“There are over two hundred humans here. We can’t just walk out. Besides, there are land mines in the woods.” I pulled my knees up to my chin. “You know what happened during Bone Season XVIII. I won’t have all those deaths on my conscience.”

“They won’t be on your conscience. People
want
to leave, Paige—they’re just not brave enough, not yet. If we can cause a big enough distraction, we can get them through the woods.” He placed a hand over my arm. “You’re from the syndicate. From Ireland. Don’t you think it’s about time we showed the Rephs they’re not in charge? That they can’t just keep on taking from us?” When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my arm. “Let’s show them. That even after two hundred years, they still have something to fear.”

I wasn’t seeing his face anymore. I was seeing Finn on that day in Dublin, telling me to fight.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said.

“I know I am.” His features lifted in a tired smile. “How many do you think we need?”

“Start with people who have good reason to hate the Rephaim. The harlies. The yellow-jackets. The amaurotics. Ella and Felix and Ivy. Then work on the white-jackets.”

“What should I tell them?”

“Nothing yet. Just ask some questions. Work out if they’d ever try and escape.”

Julian looked at Cyril.

“No.” Cyril shook his head. Behind his ruined glasses, his eyes were bright and feverish with fear. “I’m not. No way, brother. They’ll kill us. They’re immortal.”

“They’re not immortal.” I watched the Sterno burn to a low flame. “They can be hurt. Warden told me.”

“He could be
lying
,” Julian stressed. “This is Nashira’s fiancé we’re talking about. The blood-consort. Her right-hand man. Why do you trust a word he says?”

“Because I think he’s rebelled against her before. I think he’s one of the scarred ones.”

“The what?”

“A group of Rephs that started the rebellion of Bone Season XVIII. They were tortured. Scarred.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From a bone-grubber. XX-12.”

“You trust a bone-grubber?”

“No, but he showed me the shrine they made for the victims.”

“And you think the Warden is one of these ‘scarred ones,
’
” he said. I nodded. “You’ve seen the scars, I take it?”

“No. I think he hides them.”

“You
think
, Paige. That’s not enough.”

Before I could reply, someone swept into the shack. I froze.

The Overseer.

“Well, well, well.” His painted eyebrows jumped up. “It appears we have an imposter in our midst. Who has been on the silks, if XIX-1 has been in here this entire time?”

I stood. So did Julian. “She’s in spirit shock,” I said. I looked the Overseer dead in the eye. “She can’t perform in this condition.”

The Overseer knelt beside Liss, felt her forehead. She twisted away from his touch. “Oh dear, oh dear.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “This is terrible. Terrible tidings. I can’t lose 1. My special 1.”