Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2 (12 page)

"The sun isn't even up yet," Ani said.

"It's been light for an hour." I ran to the windows, struggling to throw back the drapes. Mother says I'm too skinny. Ani says I'm too fat. When I can barely open the curtains, I tend to side with Mother.
 

Anastasia made a funny sound. I imagined a milk cow rolling under the covers, moaning from overfull udders. I giggled—then, pressing my face up to the window, gasped. "The ships!"
 

Ani jumped out of bed, elbowing me aside for the better view. "Papa!"
 

I shoved her back, pushing open the window. The smell of salty waves warmed by the sun-bathed walls of our home blew in—the breeze tickled my skin. Our house was nestled in the foothills of a great mountain range, high above the ocean. Three ships with bright sails and flags flapping rounded the cliffs floated into the harbor. I jumped up and down, screeching and waving, thankful mother wasn't there to scold us for 'acting beneath your station.'

Anastasia ran to her dressing room. Climbing into a window seat, I pinned my face to the glass. I watched the ships bob slowly into the harbor, catching my own reflection in the glass. My face didn't look as happy as I thought it should—I reminded myself of how Ani looks sometimes when she's angry, when she calls herself by another name. I remembered the fight my parents had before Papa left, something about having to go away for a long time. Maybe forever. Papa often traveled for weeks, even months at a time, but what if he was gone for years? What if he never came back?

I would be all grown up when I saw him again, if I ever did. Papa was the only one in the world who really understood me. I hated it when he was gone. I didn't think I could survive if he left for good. But maybe I would be happier if he
wasn't
coming home today, if I was never going to see him again. Might be easier than having to say goodbye forever.
 

A mouse crawled around inside me, twisting my insides, as I slid out of the window seat and tiptoed to the door. Before I could decide between running away or hiding, Anastasia burst out of the changing room. She caught me by the shirt. "Hurry, we're going to miss him."

Two handmaids with trays of hot pancakes, maple syrup, and spiced sausages walked up the stairs.
 

"Don't ye want yer breakfast?" Sophia said. "We was ordered t' bring it up early." From her accent, I guessed she was born in one of the poor towns of South Masr. She leaned close, her glasses pressing against Ani's ear, whispered without the accent, "We've been waiting a long time for this. Don't forget what I told you." I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or Anastasia.
 

"We should eat," I said, inspecting Sophia with squinted eyes. Around her ankle was a chain I'd never noticed before.
 

"But the ships are almost at dock." Ani stomped down the stairs, pulling me after her. We passed four more servants and turned three more corners. Rounding into the entrance hall, we skidded to a halt. Next to the three-tiered fountain bath in the center of the hall stood Duckie—and the giant mole on her nose—feet planted, arms folded tight. As far as I could tell, Duckie's job was to ensure Ani and I were dressed as uncomfortably as possible for whatever occasion presented itself.

I looked at Anastasia, then myself—white chemises and petticoats. Hundreds of people in town dressed less modestly, but they weren't Amadeuses. Our last name entitled us to 100,000 acres, a city of servants, and the finest armada on the seas. I'd trade it all for a swift ship and an endless horizon, but Mother said life didn't work like that.

The old woman straightened her portly body. The mole stared at me. "I 'spect you're not thinking on going out like that. Master Terillium won't like see'n his daughter look'n like a tuffin."
 

I sighed. "We better go put on a ruff and gown. Probably a hat too in this heat."
 

Anastasia raised her chin. "There's no time." She darted for the front door. I ran after her, and I swear, that mole followed me as I passed.

"Jus' a min'it, if you please!" Duckie caught Anastasia's arm, but my sister twisted free and pushed her backward. The old woman wobbled then fell into the fountain with a splash. I tried to go back for Duckie, but Ani pulled me out the front door and past a frowning, grumpy old man who had been the butler for as long as I could remember. We stepped onto the porcadia and into a bath of sunlight. In the distance, a dozen servants collected rose stems from the gardens that swooped down from our house.

"We should help Duckie," I said.

Ani slammed the door shut. "That's what servants are for."

"You didn't need to push her."

"She shouldn't have tried to stop us."

"It's her job."

Ani shook her head. "You're impossible."

"Just go without me." I sat on the wall of the fountain bath that filled the middle of our circular drive. The fountain's spray reminded me of playing behind waterfalls during summertime vacations to the mountains above our town.

She folded her arms. "Papa won't give us a present if you don't come." Ani insisted that we do everything together. Sometimes I hated her for it. I hesitated for a moment, wondering how much she'd hurt me if I refused to come, then slipped off the wall and followed. As the horse barns came into view, a stable boy—cutting off a yawn—jumped up to meet us.

"My horse," Anastasia said.

The boy's shoulders tensed. "Begging yer pardon m'lady, but Stablemaster Braxton said you aren't t'ride alone."

Anastasia twisted his ear. "Don't question me pig. Besides, I won't be riding alone, obviously." He bowed low then ran into the stables, appearing a minute later with Anastasia's chestnut Connemara. Grinning shyly at me, he tightened the saddle.
 

"Quit gawking at Claire and help me."

"I'm sorry m'lady. Here ye are miss—"
 

Anastasia pushed his hand away, yanked the pony's mane, and shoved her foot into the stirrup. The pony moved and she slipped. The boy caught her waist and lifted her into the saddle.
 

Anastasia whipped the boy across the face with the leather reins. "Touch me again and I'll have you lashed in the square."

"I'm sorry m'lady, I—"

She looked at me. "Should I make him cut his own skin?"

I pulled myself up behind Anastasia, wondering if the small horse was strong enough to carry two. "Oh shut up. He kept you from falling on your fat butt."

"I'm so sorry m'lady. It won't happen again."

Anastasia kicked before I was ready and we jolted into a gallop. "What's with the servants today?"
 

I barely stayed on. "Careful!"

"Don't be a ninny." Anastasia kicked the pony again and we surged forward.
 

I wrapped my arms around her, trying not to think of the times she made servants cut themselves, or hold their hands to a flame. She made me call her by a different name sometimes. She talked about herself like she was someone else. "Terisma wants to play." Or, "Terisma doesn't like you very much Claire." Or, "Terisma will slit your throat while you sleep if you ever tell on us." Last week she said, "You won't know it's coming. One day you'll make Terisma so angry I won't be able to stop her. That will be the last night you go to sleep."
 

The wind swept through my hair; the Connemara ran as fast as if she was carrying just one. If anything could make me forget Terisma, horses could. To ride an animal so powerful and beautiful, sprinting across the ground like I weighed no more than a feather—as close as I could get to flying. I wondered if there were horses deep in the jungles that had wings, horses that could fly. I'm going to find one someday, when I'm grown up. I'll be a great explorer—like Papa.

I looked up at a flock of geese passing overhead. Lifting my arms from Anastasia's waist, I spread them in the wind. "If I could fly, I would carry you with me above the clouds, and we could go see Papa anytime we wanted."
 

"If you could fly," Anastasia said, over the clicking of hooves on the cobblestone beneath us, "I would dissect you like a frog and find out how you worked. Then I would learn to fly and you'd be dead."

I stuck out my tongue.

Anastasia's eyes narrowed. "If you're not nice to me, I might forget to stop Terisma from hurting you. The only reason you're still alive is I tell her to leave you alone." Clicking her mouth, she squeezed her legs to push the pony even faster. The great wall that kept us protected from the jungles outside our estate blurred by as the Connemara's hooves pounded the pavement like wood blocks in Bilielle's 3
rd
Symphony. Soon we were passing under the archway. Another ten minutes of galloping and we veered off the road down onto the hard sand, splashing into the surf. Crystal waves tinged with the scent of seaweed lapped up onto the hot white shore like a bubble bath, but as the city and docks came into view, the knot of worry in my stomach grew into a lump.

Didn't Papa want his family? Why would he leave us? But Papa had to love me. I could see it in his smile. My mind turned to the servant girl this morning.

"What was she talking about?" I said.

"Who?"

"Sophia, the servant. She said you've been waiting a long time for something."

Anastasia said nothing. After a minute of riding in the surf, we rejoined the stone road where many more people were also making their way to the wharf. We climbed several wide steps to the boardwalk, and the sound of the pony's hoofs changed from clacking on stone to the thud of worn timber. The crowds parted for us, bowing when they saw who we were. I saw dozens, maybe hundreds, of Papa's men about, readying for his arrival.
 

The largest of the three barques was nearly to the docks when we arrived. Written in large green letters on the starboard hull was the ship's name,
Elandian
. It was twice the size of the other two ships. If our mansion made me feel like a miniature figurine, Papa's ships made me feel like a flea. Men yelled back and forth as the crew on the ship threw ropes over the side to those waiting below. A dozen hands heaved on the ropes, guiding the ship the last few feet into the wharf.
 

The hull groaned as its shiny, perfectly cut timbers ground against the dock. Finally it stopped, bobbing gently up and down. I imagined
Elandian
was a wrinkled old woman like Duckie, but fabulously rich.
Elandian
even had a mole on her nose: a lantern hanging from the forepeak. Weary from a journey to the ends of the world and back, she was happy to finally be home.
 

A ramp clanked into place. Everyone stopped working all at once, like when the conductor taps his baton before a performance. At least a hundred servants and huge crowds of men, women, and children stood quietly, facing the ramp.

A white-bearded man stepped onto the plank, his skin wrinkled and tan. The uniformed workers remained silent, their arms stiff at their sides. But the crowd cheered for Papa, the great Lictor Terillium. I wondered what it would be like to have crowds of people cheering for me someday. I could be Lictora, Papa hadn't decided whether Ani or I would take over when he retired. He waved and smiled to the crowd.
 

We slipped off our pony and ran, nearly knocking him over. "Papa!"
 

With his arm around me, we walked the rest of the way down the ramp. I beamed so wide I felt my face might split in two. He seemed happy to see me, but I thought he looked tired—or sad—under the smiles.
 

The noise of dock-work filled the air again. Once the ship was properly put in, the crew would pour down the ramp and the whole town would be filled with happy families, just like mine. I imagined other families hugging each other... except they would know how long they had together, and I didn't have that. Sometimes I felt sorry for the sailors' families, but sailing was their job. They had to go away to earn money to feed their families. Papa didn't have to leave. He had enough money to last for a hundred forevers.

Townspeople bowed and cheered as we walked along the docks. Papa grinned down at me with a real I-love-you-more-than-anything smile. I squeezed him, as if to make sure that he was real. If Papa loved me that much, he could never leave forever.
 

Papa braced himself on a rail. "I've got something for you." He pulled both hands out of his pockets, his fists clenched shut.

We jumped up and down.
 

He gave a big eye-twinkling grin, the kind he saved for when he was truly happy. "Pick a hand." He unfolded long wrinkled fingers, revealing two bright silvery-brown bracelets covered with trinkets. Mine had miniature elephants and shiny gems that shone like stars and a vialus in the shape of an hourglass with smoke swirling inside and a flowering bonsai tree painted in colors I'd never seen. I focused on the elephants and for a moment thought I saw his feet moving. I imagined dust kicking around his legs as he crossed the desert on the west side of the mountains. One of the trinkets, an engraved oval locket, felt prickly and soft at the same time.
 

"Pretty!" Anastasia tried to grab the bracelet from Papa's hand.
 

"Hold a minute," Papa said, pulling the bracelets back. He lowered his voice. "These are made from malledeum. One coin is worth more than a whole chest of gold."
 

Anastasia tried to grab again. Papa held up a finger. "Patientiam, child. These little trinkets, they're called rubrics. Each has no equal. I've brought them halfway around the world just for my little lictora, even made a few modifications."

"What do they do?"

"They bring out your natural beauty, of course." He laughed, sliding them on our wrists. Then he whispered, "They also keep you safe." He stepped back and admired us. I shook the bracelet on my wrist. My skin tingled.

"No one can take these from you," Papa said. "They sting when other people try to touch them."
 

"I don't want to hurt anyone," I said. Papa smiled.