An Artificial Night
Page 73
Dozens of pixies dropped out of the trees and landed around us, folding their chiming wings and patting me sympathetically. I ignored them, curling more tightly against Tybalt.
“This isn’t fair,” I mumbled.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he rasped. “It seems like a nice bargain to me. I risk life and limb to bring you here, and you beat me up and cry all over me.”
“Tybalt!” I shoved myself upright, staring at him. He was watching me, smiling, and while he was pale, he was also breathing. “But you—you were—”
“They tell a lot of stories about cats, don’t they?”
“What?”
“They say we have nine lives.” He levered himself into a sitting position, giving me time to move away. I did, but not far; I wasn’t letting go just yet. “There’s a sort of truth in that.”
“How?” I asked. Inside, I was screaming and crying and demanding answers. Outside, I could wait. He was alive. That was enough.
“Kings and Queens of Cats are hard to kill. Things that would kill our subjects, or us, before we were crowned, they can take us down, but we come back.” He had reached up at some point and was idly toying with a strand of my hair. I didn’t pull away. “Only so many times, though. Not nine. It would be more than my life is worth to tell you the real number.”
“But—”
“Shhh. Hush. I’m all right; you didn’t kill me. Although Juliet would be happy if you did, since it would give her an excuse to kill you.” His smile didn’t waver. “You have a talent for alienating people, you know that? You don’t mean to, but you manage all the same.”
“Tybalt, I’m—”
“Don’t make excuses; we’re better than that.” He pulled his hand away from my hair. “Go. We’re in the park that hosts Shadowed Hills. You can still do whatever needs to be done.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Sore, but fine. Now go.”
I stood, uncertainly. He started to close his eyes. “Tybalt?”
“Yes?” A note of irritation crept into his tone as his right eye finished closing, leaving him squinting at me out of the left.
“What did you mean before? When you said you knew I didn’t lie to you?”
“Ah.” The sound was half exclamation, half sigh. He closed his left eye, lips curving in a smile. “You’ve told me certain untruths, little fish, and it was important that I know the reasons. Now I know that you didn’t know any better, and we can proceed.”
“What—”
“If I tell you, you’ll call me a liar, Toby. No. I’m not trying to play the riddler, but no. If you want these answers, you’ll need to find them yourself. I hope you will. Now go.” He yawned. “I’m tired. Coming back from the dead takes a great deal out of a man.”
I stared at him. He saved my life and I got him killed, and now all he could do was make vague pronouncements and tell me to go away? Fine. I bent to retrieve my still-burning candle, trying not to look at him. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“I hope so,” he said, simply.
More confused than ever, I started walking. I couldn’t look back. The Luidaeg’s rules didn’t allow it.
Pixies swarmed around me as I trudged up the hill, chasing each other through a series of complex airborne acrobatics. I bit back a smile. Pixies aren’t very smart—they’re like spider monkeys with wings—but they mean well, when they’re not attacking people at random. They’re tricky, thieving vermin, and that’s part of why I like them so much.
There were no humans in the park. It was too late in the year and too late at night; sunset emptied the safety out of their world, sending them scurrying home. There were too many shadows for them. After all, dark is when the monsters come. Normally, that doesn’t bother me much, but this wasn’t a normal situation. I needed to get into the knowe. What little safety I had was in the dubious comfort of the Luidaeg’s hospitality, and I’d left her behind to chase her crazy baby brother. I was really bat-ting a thousand.
Getting into Shadowed Hills requires a series of twists and turns that would embarrass some circus performers. If the Torquills have any sense at all, they keep a closed-circuit camera system filming the door at all times. Not for security reasons but for the entertainment value. The pixies scattered as I climbed dutifully through my paces, laughing as they went. Maybe they weren’t entirely stupid.
The door in the old oak appeared as I squirmed out from under the hawthorn bushes. I yanked it open, stepping through into Shadowed Hills. And then I stopped, blinking. The oak door usually leads to the entrance hall, and well . . . this wasn’t it.
The floor was grass green marble, and the walls were blue, gradating up to a ceiling patterned with puffy white clouds. The furniture was overstuffed and soft looking, with no hard edges. The whole room seemed to be built on a smaller scale than I was used to. I’d found the Children’s Hall.
I sank awkwardly into the nearest chair, giving my knees a rest as I considered the room. I hadn’t seen the Children’s Hall since my own childhood ended, but it was just like I remembered it. There were smudgy fingerprints on the wall, not quite washed away, and I could almost believe that some of them were mine. Childhood is brief, even for the immortal. It gets squandered on wishing to grow up.
The tapping of claws on marble warned me before the rose goblin jumped into my lap. I blinked at it. “Hello.” It was smaller and more delicate than Spike, with pink eyes and gray and burgundy thorns. “Can I help you with something?”
“It was looking for you,” said Luna, stepping into view. “The pixies said you were coming, but we weren’t sure of where you were.”
“Luna. Hi.” I looked up, offering her a tired smile. “I’m sort of on a quest.”
“They mentioned that as well. And that you’d killed poor Tybalt.”
“He got better.”
“He tends to. It’s one of his few virtues.” She looked at the candle in my hand. There was no surprise in her eyes; none at all. “So you’re going to back to my father’s lands, then.”
“He still has Karen. He’s the only one who can fix Katie.”
“Yes, he is.” She sighed. “We’ve tried, but it isn’t stopping. If her change progresses much further, she won’t be human at all.”
“This isn’t fair,” I mumbled.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he rasped. “It seems like a nice bargain to me. I risk life and limb to bring you here, and you beat me up and cry all over me.”
“Tybalt!” I shoved myself upright, staring at him. He was watching me, smiling, and while he was pale, he was also breathing. “But you—you were—”
“They tell a lot of stories about cats, don’t they?”
“What?”
“They say we have nine lives.” He levered himself into a sitting position, giving me time to move away. I did, but not far; I wasn’t letting go just yet. “There’s a sort of truth in that.”
“How?” I asked. Inside, I was screaming and crying and demanding answers. Outside, I could wait. He was alive. That was enough.
“Kings and Queens of Cats are hard to kill. Things that would kill our subjects, or us, before we were crowned, they can take us down, but we come back.” He had reached up at some point and was idly toying with a strand of my hair. I didn’t pull away. “Only so many times, though. Not nine. It would be more than my life is worth to tell you the real number.”
“But—”
“Shhh. Hush. I’m all right; you didn’t kill me. Although Juliet would be happy if you did, since it would give her an excuse to kill you.” His smile didn’t waver. “You have a talent for alienating people, you know that? You don’t mean to, but you manage all the same.”
“Tybalt, I’m—”
“Don’t make excuses; we’re better than that.” He pulled his hand away from my hair. “Go. We’re in the park that hosts Shadowed Hills. You can still do whatever needs to be done.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Sore, but fine. Now go.”
I stood, uncertainly. He started to close his eyes. “Tybalt?”
“Yes?” A note of irritation crept into his tone as his right eye finished closing, leaving him squinting at me out of the left.
“What did you mean before? When you said you knew I didn’t lie to you?”
“Ah.” The sound was half exclamation, half sigh. He closed his left eye, lips curving in a smile. “You’ve told me certain untruths, little fish, and it was important that I know the reasons. Now I know that you didn’t know any better, and we can proceed.”
“What—”
“If I tell you, you’ll call me a liar, Toby. No. I’m not trying to play the riddler, but no. If you want these answers, you’ll need to find them yourself. I hope you will. Now go.” He yawned. “I’m tired. Coming back from the dead takes a great deal out of a man.”
I stared at him. He saved my life and I got him killed, and now all he could do was make vague pronouncements and tell me to go away? Fine. I bent to retrieve my still-burning candle, trying not to look at him. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“I hope so,” he said, simply.
More confused than ever, I started walking. I couldn’t look back. The Luidaeg’s rules didn’t allow it.
Pixies swarmed around me as I trudged up the hill, chasing each other through a series of complex airborne acrobatics. I bit back a smile. Pixies aren’t very smart—they’re like spider monkeys with wings—but they mean well, when they’re not attacking people at random. They’re tricky, thieving vermin, and that’s part of why I like them so much.
There were no humans in the park. It was too late in the year and too late at night; sunset emptied the safety out of their world, sending them scurrying home. There were too many shadows for them. After all, dark is when the monsters come. Normally, that doesn’t bother me much, but this wasn’t a normal situation. I needed to get into the knowe. What little safety I had was in the dubious comfort of the Luidaeg’s hospitality, and I’d left her behind to chase her crazy baby brother. I was really bat-ting a thousand.
Getting into Shadowed Hills requires a series of twists and turns that would embarrass some circus performers. If the Torquills have any sense at all, they keep a closed-circuit camera system filming the door at all times. Not for security reasons but for the entertainment value. The pixies scattered as I climbed dutifully through my paces, laughing as they went. Maybe they weren’t entirely stupid.
The door in the old oak appeared as I squirmed out from under the hawthorn bushes. I yanked it open, stepping through into Shadowed Hills. And then I stopped, blinking. The oak door usually leads to the entrance hall, and well . . . this wasn’t it.
The floor was grass green marble, and the walls were blue, gradating up to a ceiling patterned with puffy white clouds. The furniture was overstuffed and soft looking, with no hard edges. The whole room seemed to be built on a smaller scale than I was used to. I’d found the Children’s Hall.
I sank awkwardly into the nearest chair, giving my knees a rest as I considered the room. I hadn’t seen the Children’s Hall since my own childhood ended, but it was just like I remembered it. There were smudgy fingerprints on the wall, not quite washed away, and I could almost believe that some of them were mine. Childhood is brief, even for the immortal. It gets squandered on wishing to grow up.
The tapping of claws on marble warned me before the rose goblin jumped into my lap. I blinked at it. “Hello.” It was smaller and more delicate than Spike, with pink eyes and gray and burgundy thorns. “Can I help you with something?”
“It was looking for you,” said Luna, stepping into view. “The pixies said you were coming, but we weren’t sure of where you were.”
“Luna. Hi.” I looked up, offering her a tired smile. “I’m sort of on a quest.”
“They mentioned that as well. And that you’d killed poor Tybalt.”
“He got better.”
“He tends to. It’s one of his few virtues.” She looked at the candle in my hand. There was no surprise in her eyes; none at all. “So you’re going to back to my father’s lands, then.”
“He still has Karen. He’s the only one who can fix Katie.”
“Yes, he is.” She sighed. “We’ve tried, but it isn’t stopping. If her change progresses much further, she won’t be human at all.”
