What is Hidden (15 page)

“I suppose so. Any requests?”

I shook my head. “That’s not how this works, remember? You have to volunteer everything.”

“Well then. What don’t you know? I don’t want to cheat you out of new information.”

I laughed. “I won’t beat you up for repeat stories, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh good.” He mockingly held his hand over his heart. “You had me worried.”

“Just . . . start from the beginning, I guess? I really know ridiculously little about you.”

“All right. Well, I guess we could start off with this: growing up I had a sheltered childhood. My parents were—and still are—protective of me.”

“I’ve never met them, you know. Or your sister, for that matter.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. They’re . . . really busy. So, back to my childhood. I was protected, and my parents didn’t like me to leave their sight. Going out was out of the question.

“So I got good at sneaking out,” he continued, grinning wickedly. “I used to get caught all the time, and they would be furious with me. But no matter what they did, I would just sneak out again. They hired someone to watch my door, so I snuck out the window. They got new locks, and I learned to pick them. They couldn’t keep me locked up, no matter how hard they tried.” He looked proud of himself.

“Are you going to teach me some of those tricks too?” Picking locks would be an interesting skill to have.

“Perhaps. How many deep, dark secrets would I have to spill in trade for that one?”

I shoved his shoulder with mine. “I’ll let you do that one free of charge.”

“Somehow, I feel I’m getting the short end of the stick here.”

“I can tell you something about my childhood, if you like,” I volunteered. I liked sharing stories.

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t have people hired to stand guard at my
door, but I certainly did have a habit of running off whenever my father took me to market.”

“All those shiny flags, it’s understandable.”

“I like shiny things, can you blame me?” I sighed. “I was meant to be a decorator, in one form or another. I’d see someone with a pretty or sparkly mask, and I’d wander away so I could get a better look. Most of the time I could find my way back, since my father was so tall.

“One time, though, I was so distracted, I wasn’t looking where I was going. And on the docks, that’s not a good idea.”

“I can see where this is going. Did you have to get fished out?”

I nodded, laughing. “And by the fishing boats, no less! Some old man with a boring grayish-blue mask had tossed over a net, and I grabbed hold of it. Surprised, he pulled it right back up shouting, ‘Lookie here, I caught a mermaid!’”

Aiden laughed so hard that tears formed at the corner of his eyes. “I can just see you, all curls and skirts, floundering around.”

“I was terrified! I thought I was going to drown! Have you ever tried swimming in skirts? It’s impossible to even move,” I exclaimed.

“Now that is something I haven’t tried,” he confessed. “Your story is better than mine,” he said, calming down.

“Of course it’s better than yours. It’s mine!” I smiled happily. I hadn’t been able to laugh this much in a long time.

Unfortunately, our fun ended as the dinner bells chimed.

“Aw,” I moaned, “I don’t want to go to work.”

“I don’t want you to go to work either. I like our little world in here.”

I liked it too, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

I reluctantly dragged myself up, checking my mask and hair in the mirror he’d found for me.

“Same time tomorrow?” I asked him.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

I
quickly learned that my position
in the masking room wasn’t going to be easy. Even though Milo was waiting on my mask to see exactly what I could do, he kept me plenty busy in the meantime.

If I wasn’t cleaning in the kitchens, I was cleaning in the workroom. Apparently the least desirable chores go to the newest recruit, so it was left to me to scrub the kilns, untangle threads and ribbons, and sweep the floors whenever I wasn’t working on my mask. When I had an actual assignment, the chores would be split more evenly, but until then I was the lackey.

I chose to use porcelain clay for my mask, instead of my usual mâché, since it was supposed to be more formal. It was perhaps a little overly ambitious, but I wanted to make a good impression.

The first step was to make the cast of my face, which I could thankfully do behind the privacy of a curtain in the area set aside for client fittings. My Mark was healing well; it itched like mad and had fully scabbed over, but it should be easy enough to work around with privacy.

To make the cast, I used rough strips of mâché dipped in glue. After thoroughly coating my face in jelly—except my Mark, which I bandaged carefully, and my eyelids, which I covered with a thin tissue—I began to systematically form the cast. This was much easier to do on someone else’s face, especially once my eyes were covered. But working by touch wasn’t as difficult as I’d anticipated, which led my thoughts wandering to Milo as I worked.

I watched him often, mesmerized by the sure way he worked. I’d asked Emma how he came to such a powerful position and if he’d always been sightless.

“No, he wasn’t always blind,” she said as she helped me sort a shipment of glass beads. “He’s been working in the palace nearly all his life. No, those go here.”

I corrected myself and asked, “Did he always work in here?”

“Yes, his father was the master before him, and his father before, as far as I know. He pretty much grew up in here, so it was only natural that he developed the skills he has.”

“So what happened?”

“It happened not long after his father passed away and he was appointed the new master here. At that time, new recruits were asked to make a mask for him instead of for themselves, like what you’re doing. Someone mixed the glue for the cast with something bad—I don’t know what—and didn’t cover Milo’s eyes properly. His sight was completely gone within a week.”

“Wow,” I breathed. My movements slowed as I tried to imagine how difficult that must have been. “Did that person do it on purpose?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. He left the palace on his own, and I’ve never heard anything more of him.”

“And Milo just kept working?”

“He was forced to take time to heal and accustom himself to working without his sight, but as soon as he was able he was back in here again as if nothing had happened.” She frowned. “And that’s enough gossip for one day. Back to work, please. These need to be sorted before you start your own mask.”

I spent the rest of the task lost in thought as I sorted, the repetitive motion lending itself all too easily to distraction. By the time I was finished, it was time for dinner and I’d left with even more respect for Milo.

I was also doubly careful with everything I did in making my cast, paying close attention to the normally routine task. Several days and unsatisfactory casts later, I waited impatiently for the latest one to dry, my skin prickling. I could hear the usual workroom hum—light chatting, the soft brush of fabric and the clicking of beads on desktops—and had to fight to keep from being lulled to sleep. The chair I used was reclined to make the work on my face easier, but it also made sleep so very tempting.

However, the mâché didn’t take long to dry, and I carefully removed the mask, scrunching my face in all sorts of awkward ways to dislodge the creation.

That done, I washed off the jelly, cleaned my Mark, and resecured my working mask. I put the cast in the kiln for a few moments to let it harden enough to make the plaster today. I worked quickly, gathering the plaster mix while the cast cooked and mixing while the cast cooled.

I did all of this at my workstation, though if felt like I
was still hidden behind the curtain. I wasn’t ignored, exactly, but I wasn’t sought out. This isolation made me surprisingly productive. I used to chat to Hachi while I worked, and I’d never realized how distracted that made me.

The thought of my dog made my heart clench, and I tried to push out the memory of what I’d overheard during breakfast. Two girls were chatting loudly about the town gossip, which I’d normally just ignore. But then one of them said, “You remember that shop that burnt down last month? And how they found the man floating in the canals but never found his daughter?”

My ears perked up and my heart started beating faster.

“I heard the same thing happened to another mask maker in the district—my cousin told me. The shop was burned and he washed up in that last storm we had. Isn’t that gross? I mean, can you imagine just finding a body like that?”

They gagged and giggled as I felt my heart pound in my ears. I gave up on eating, all taste and hunger gone, a morbid part of me refusing to tune them out for fear of missing any new information.

I hadn’t realized how raw my emotions were still. I’d held my memorial for my father and thought I’d moved on, but hearing their news brought the pain back fresh again. And I had a feeling it would keep coming back for as long as the Chameleon walked free. Plus I still didn’t know what had become of Hachi. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I shook my head to clear my mind and forced myself to concentrate on the present. It wouldn’t do me any good to linger on the past, especially with so much at stake. Besides, I’d promised myself there would be no more crying.

With the cast out of the kiln and cooled, I smeared some more jelly inside and scooped the plaster with maybe a little more force than necessary.

“Easy there,” a low voice behind me warned.

I jumped and spun around to see Milo standing with a wry grin on his face.

“I didn’t think it was possible to hear plaster splash so,” he continued. “You’ll break your cast if you keep that up. Or trap air pockets.”

My face reddened, the blush peeking out from the edge of my mask. Both warnings were for elementary mistakes. He must think me a fool with no skill at all. “Sorry, sir. My mind wandered a bit farther than it should have. It won’t happen again.”

“I should hope not. Keep that mind on a short leash, at least while you’re handling that which is easily broken.”

“Yes, sir.” My voice was low, properly chagrined.

He paused before saying, “I’ve had Emma report to me on your progress. She says your method looks good, though you tend to look a bit lost in your own head when you work. I know we’re a quiet lot in here, but talking isn’t discouraged. Or you could hum if that helps. Had a girl here once who hummed the same tune every day. Almost missed it when she left.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Sir?”

“Don’t be afraid to make a place for yourself here. You need to be comfortable in order to create.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walked back to his desk, so sure of his own place and route that I never would have guessed he was blind.

I
t was really only a matter
of time before I crossed paths with Iniga.

Milo was pleased with my work and decided it was my turn to work with Joch, as long as I didn’t fall behind in my other work. I was a bit apprehensive after hearing the gossip about him, but I was more eager to learn something new. Even if I had been horrible at my first attempt at glasswork with Iniga, I would get to watch the master at work, and that would be worth any burns I might receive in the process.

My instructions were to meet Joch in his workroom. I was early, and the room was empty, so I decided to look around. It looked nearly identical to the one Iniga showed me, but now I had a chance to inspect the tools more closely.

I was doing just that when I heard the door open behind me. Guiltily I replaced the long wooden tool and turned, clasping my hands behind my back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Iniga began, stopping short as she looked at me. The door shut behind her with a noisy thump. I pressed my lips together and tried to keep a neutral expression.

I fidgeted as she continued to stare at me. “Is everything okay?” I finally asked, pitching my voice a little higher than usual.