The Madness Project (The Madness Method) (9 page)

He didn’t seem keen on speaking anymore, so I turned back to
Kantian.

“How long do I have to stay at my bed, sir?”

“Hm, what?”  Kantian studied me through a frown, then waved
a creased bit of paper at me.  “Not necessary.  Report to Derrin.  He’ll be
your mentor now.  No more reporting to me until he tells you.  Now get out of
here.”

Chapter 8 — Hayli

I slipped outside to sit on the old stone wall round the
west side of the complex, where no one else liked to go.  Something like a city
park spread out past the wall, only it wasn’t the nice kind for picnics and
courting like they had found up northside. 

Trees, gnarled and naked in the cold, clustered about little
caged-off flecks of land that none of us could figure out.  Far as I could
tell, the chicken-wire fences were only good for herding together the strange
skinny pipes that stuck up from the ground.  Sometimes they hissed.  Sometimes
they stank.  I never went near them.

I watched them through the darkness, though, crouching there
on the wall with my knees tucked up and my arms tying them together.  Sleet and
cold, cold rain scattered over me, but I just hunched my shoulders and tried to
ignore it.

My head couldn’t quite get around what had happened back in
the Boss’s room.  Rivano
knew
about me.  That thought got my gut all
twisty with a pang like excitement or fear.  I wondered if Kantian had told
him.  Everyone knew the Clan kept the mages all separate and special in the
east wing—or at least the ones who’d proved themselves useful.  Most every mage
dreamed of getting invited into that inner circle. 

Except me.

After losing my mum and dad, I’d only ever wanted a place to
sleep that mostly kept the rain off and the cold out.  I knew only as much
gossip about Rivano as anyone in the Hole did, and up till tonight, I’d never
really wanted to know more.  He’d always just been the kind and shadowy
gift-giver who doled out food and beds to the wee skitters that Kantian
collected over the years. 

Now I hadn’t a grobbing clue what I wanted to know, much
less what I wanted to be.

“Not a nice night for stargazing, Hayli.”

I flinched so hard I almost fell straight off the wall.

“You ganna teach me to sneak about like that?” I asked,
turning to face Derrin.  Some bitter taste like guilt filled my mouth. 
“Kantian…” I started.

“I know,” he said.  “I told him to let me mentor you.”

I stared at him.  “Why?”

“I think you can be useful.”

I swallowed, hard.  For so long, Kantian had told me I was
only useful to the Hole as a mage.  I didn’t have the toughness to be a Meat
like Jig and Link, or the glamour to do Kite and Gem’s work.  I was too old to
play urchin with Bobs and Pika and Bugs, and too young and unskilled to follow
Coins and Derrin.  Like all the skitters, I pulled my weight on the work teams
at the factories and mills, but I think Kantian expected that he could mold me
into a stronger mage by keeping me out of other work.  And he’d finally given
me a chance to prove myself, but I’d gone and bodged it and now he’d taken even
that away from me. 

Maybe my magic shamed me, and maybe I didn’t want folks to
know about it, but still, it was all I had.  So when Derrin said I could be
useful without my magic, I had no notion how I felt.  Two parts hopeful, three
parts proud, one part…strangely sad.  I’d always thought Derrin saw me as a
real person, not just a grobbing mage, but the way he said,
you can be
useful
, it made me feel useful the way a bootjack or a hammer is useful.

“You don’t believe that,” I said, finally.  “He took my magic. 
I’m useless now, just like the lads say.”

“You don’t have to be a mage to be useful.” 

He said it so quiet, his voice so even and calm, that I only
knew he was mad because I would’ve been mad if I were him.  He’d never told me
straight out that he had no magery gift, but he’d never used one either.  And
everyone knew you didn’t ask him about it.  Not if you valued your pretty face,
anyway.

“Maybe true for some people,” I said.  “Not me.  What am I
good for, Derrin?  Everyone knows I can’t cook.”

Derrin flicked his head back to glance at me, and I grinned
like a giddy biddy, because he had a smile on his face rare as sunshine—the
kind of smile you spent your life trying to figure out how to conjure up again.

“Don’t worry, Hayli,” he said.  “You’ll do fine.”

I had no idea what that meant.  And he didn’t give me a
chance to ask, either, because he just pushed away from the wall and strolled
into the darkness, fading away quiet as a cat.  A minute and I realized I’d got
to shivering again, and my hands couldn’t feel the rough stone of the wall
anymore.  I let my breath out in a little sigh and dropped to the ground.

I’d just reached the door to the Hole when it swung open in
front of me.  I flinched, bird-scared, and made some kind of noise between a
yelp and a squeak.  Jig stood on the other side, wide-eyed with surprise. 

“Sorry, Hayli,” he said.  “I div’n mean to spook you.”

I grumbled, shoving him back so I could get inside.  He
winced and followed me down the steps.  It took me the whole flight of stairs
and half the length of the barracks to see how he had one of our impossibly
crunchy dinner rolls in his hand, the ones that always tasted at least two
months stale.

“I dan’ see you gan in for skappers,” he said, glancing
away.  “Thought you might want a bite to eat.”

I scowled, because it wasn’t like Jig to do something nice
for no reason.  But he just held it out and kept staring at the wall, so I
swiped it from his hand. 

“Thanks,” I said. 

He nodded.  I considered breaking it in half to share, but
figured he’d probably already stuffed himself full.  So I shrugged and dug my
teeth into it, gnawing off a bitty bite.

“You ratted me out, Jig,” I said.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes wide and surprised.  “That
what Kantian said?”

I hesitated.  Kantian hadn’t said it, actually.  Neither had
Derrin.  I scuffed my feet, plucking crumbs from the top of the roll and eating
them, one by one.

“What’d you tell him, then?”

He stared at the floor.  “You a’right, Hayli?  You got me
worried when you div’n show.  Did they cop you?”

“Not really.”  I shrugged.  “Well, sort of, but they let me
gan.  They div’n think aught funny about it.”

“Why dan’ you ever tell anyone you’re a mage?” he asked. 
“That was canny mad, seeing you Shift, like.”

I studied him a bit, but he didn’t look apt to hate me for
it.  Still, just because Jig might put up with me being a mage didn’t mean all
the skitters would.  Most of them didn’t seem to care two jots about Rivano’s
mages, but they didn’t have to live with them. 

“Dan’ want folks to know is all,” I said.  “I got reasons. 
So dan’ gan telling anybody, please?”

“Sure.  Wha’ever.”  He let out his breath and turned away. 
“You did good, yeah?  Sorry I couldn’t help you.”

My mouth twitched, wanting to smile.  Praise like that was
hard to come by, especially from Jig, and it got me feeling terribly proud of
myself.

“Well,” I said.  “I’m sorry I div’n get you in.  Was Kantian
awful skundered at you?” 

He didn’t move.  I put my hand on his back to make him turn
about, but he hissed in pain and pulled away, and strode off across the
barracks.

“Jig!” I cried, rushing after him and snatching his arm. 
“What’s wrong?  What’d he do to you?”

“Bog off, Hayli.  It’s not your worry.”

He shook my hand off and stalked away, shoulders hunched.  I
stared after him, my thoughts all reeling with confusion.  Here I’d been so
convinced that Jig would blame me for our failure, but what if… 

What if he didn’t?

Derrin caught Jig at the door of the barracks.  I watched
from where I stood, wondering at the worry in Derrin’s eyes.  When Jig pulled
away and disappeared into the corridor, Derrin cussed something under his
breath and kicked the door frame. 

“Derrin,” I called.

“Is that all the dinner you’re eating?” he asked as he
joined me, nodding at the roll in my hand.

“Jig gave it to me.  I div’n feel like gannin’ to the mess.”

Derrin sighed.

“What’s bothering?” I asked.  “Is Jig jake?  I was sure he
ratted me out to the Boss…”

“No,” he said.  “He took the fall, Hayli.  He said it was
his fault.  Said he pushed you too soon.”

I drew in a thin little breath.  “Jig said that?” I
whispered, stunned.  “What’d Kantian do?”

“Gave him the lash.  And no rations for three days.”

I covered my mouth, stifling some kind of gasp of shock and
grief.  “Why’d he do that?” I cried, almost hollering it.  I didn’t even know
who I was shouting about, Jig or Kantian.  “Why’d he… That’s not fair!”

“I know.”

I stared at the roll, then held it up between us like a
question.

“Guess he wasn’t hungry,” he said.

He turned and walked away, leaving me there with the roll in
my hand, my mouth hanging open.  It made all the sense in the world.  Derrin
couldn’t stand to see any of the skitters punished with hunger.  It’s how he’d
saved me, after all, sneaking me food on the sly.  I’d seen him do it a dozen
times since for the others.  And now Jig…

I rushed through the Hole, searching all the usual spots,
but couldn’t spot Jig anywhere.  Not in the lounge with Kite and Coins, or up
in the courtyard with Anuk and the wee skitters, who were kicking a leather
ball around in the dark.  The kid up on the gate post just shrugged when I
asked if he’d seen Jig leave.

Finally I gave up searching for him.  And then, even though
I didn’t feel the least bit hungry, I sat up on the wall and ate the roll bite
by bite, because of the way Jig had given it to me, and the way he had gone
without.

Chapter 9 — Tarik

The footman didn’t take me to my father’s study as I
expected.  Halfway to the Long Ward he turned down a side corridor that smelled
faintly like wet stone and electricity.  The hallway ended in a narrow plunge
of bleached steps; they glared, blindingly bright, from the large white lamps
strung on the walls.

If there was one forbidden place in the palace I didn’t care
to explore, it was the subterrane.  Something about those corridors and rooms
had always made my skin crawl.  Maybe the air, too cold and too dry, or the
heavy sterile smell and the stark electrical lights.  Maybe the series of
bolted doors with their windows papered over, as if they hid some monstrosity
and not just artifacts and relics of ancient palace history. 

We turned down a narrower corridor and a chill turned my
hair on end.  I’d never been in this part of the subterrane at all.

“Where are we going, Ebson?” I asked.

“One of your father’s secure rooms, Your Highness.”

“Secure rooms?”

“In case of war, you know.  We’re in the palace bunker now.”

I arched a brow but kept my thoughts to myself.  I didn’t
have time to pursue the conversation anyway, because the footman stopped
suddenly in front of a closed door and hammered on it three times, hard.  Then
he turned the wheel, spinning it until the lock released.

A wheel for a door handle
, I thought, bemused
,
like aboard a submersible
.

“Your Highness,” Ebson said, bowing and stepping back.

I frowned, but I could hear my father’s voice speaking to
someone inside the room, so I steeled my nerves and entered.  I tried not to
jump when the door sealed behind me.

The room was enormous, with an army of steam radiator
screens lined up along one wall, facing down a row of barren wood furnaces on
the other.  A massive table occupied the middle ground, and I just glimpsed a
bar with a sitting area back in the shadows.

When I got close enough to see, I found my father sitting
alone and silent on the edge of a thick sideboard, half in shadow from a nearby
oil lamp.  He waved his brandy glass at me, the light chasing amber rainbows
from the cut crystal.