Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2 (9 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Evan

Tuesday

6:23 am

3 days, 16 hours, 26 minutes until the falling

I caught up to Henri five minutes past sunrise. Five minutes late.

We navigated the twisting, endless halls of Daemanhur on our way to the Caldroen. I limped along, a half-step behind her. The image of Little Saye hanging by her neck, her body tapping against the window, ran through my mind. And Anabelle's rash.

"Do you think Little Saye was sick?" I said.

"We're Roslings. We don't get sick."

"You're not supposed to die either."

"Little Saye... she did that."

"You really believe she killed herself?"

"What else could it be?"

"I've heard of sicknesses. Affliktions."

Henri went silent—her new favorite way of dealing with any question she didn't want to answer. Maybe it was just how she was dealing with Little Saye's death. I began to wonder what was possible with sapience. Could I break something? Put it back together? Heal sickness?
 

Anything you can imagine,
the monster said.

But I had to resist sapience. I had to slow the countdown.

I suddenly stopped walking. "Do you hear that?"

Henri turned. "What?"

"Running, and"—I tilted my head—"breathing." I pointed down a murky hall. "That way." The footsteps grew. Henri stepped closer to me, gripped my hand.

"Hello?" My voice came back to me. At least, I think it did. I was about to ask Henri if she heard the echo, but the footsteps stopped.
 

"Evan?" Pearl appeared, silhouetted against the darkness. She ran to us, leaning over to catch her breath. "Anabelle... She's missing."

"It's past sunrise," Henri said. "Everyone's in the Caldroen."

"Anabelle woke up screaming last night. Then she was gone. I've been searching the castle for hours "

Henri looked at me. "Maybe she fell asleep somewhere. Lost track of time."

"Come with us," I said. "We'll check the Caldroen."

"I have to go." Pearl ran down the dusky hall.

We rounded a corner to a passage that ran alongside the Caldroen's curved interior wall. Four narrow, bronze-plated doors lined the right side of the hall, leading to furnaces that were used for cold-starting the Caldroen. The last door was ajar. Firelight flickered inside. I approached it slowly. The lock was busted. An iron pry bar lay on the floor.

I kicked the door open. "Is someone there?"
 

Heat blasted out. My skin grew sticky with sweat. I peered in. On the far side of the small room, the furnace door swung open. A body slumped against the threshold, lit in blue and red by the burning inferno.
 

"What is it?" Henri said.

I shook my head.

"Anabelle?" she said.

"I think she's dead."

"That's not possible."
 

Henri pushed past me. I held her back.
 

"We have to get her," she cried.

"I'll do it." I ducked in. The heat almost knocked me out. This is how crabs feel when they're dumped in boiling water. I grabbed Anabelle's arm. Henri appeared, helping me drag Anabelle from the room. I saw words carved into the brickwork by the furnace door.
 

Take it back

We pulled Anabelle's body into the passage. Henri slammed the iron door shut.
 

I leaned against the wall, my chest heaving. Henri, wrapping her arms around me, cried into my shoulder. Hot tears burned in the corners of my eyes, but they dried before rolling down my cheek. Those carved letters wouldn't leave me in peace.

Take it back.

Where had I heard those words before?

Take it back.
 

"Did you see them?" I said, "The words?"

"What words?"

"On the ground. It said, '
take it back
.'"

I spotted the star bracelet on Anabelle's wrist. Pulling away from Henri, I reached for it, and when the sooty metal touched my skin I was transported into a vision.

I made out a blurry shape standing next to my bed. It was Evan. He leaned over me. I kissed his cheek. Next to me, Pearl played with a wooden doll. Evan tucked us both in. I turned the little star bracelet over in my hand.

The vision faded—a memory from Anabelle's eyes, the moment I gave her the bracelet. The star had recorded her memory.

Henri reached for the rubric. "What is that?"

I shoved the bracelet into my pocket. "Nothing."
 

Her gaze lingered on me. I squirmed.
 

Mazol wants the rubrics. That's why she's curious.

Dravus said to keep the rubrics secret.
 

She's going to tell Mazol.

Despite the Caldroen's heat, I felt chilled. And suddenly, Henri's eyes didn't seem so red anymore. Had she really been crying, or pretending? But if I couldn't trust Henri, who could I?

The book said there was a man who would try to help me. Cevo.
 

Could Cevo keep me from turning into a monster?
 

I closed my eyes.

What's it like to be Cevo?

What's it like to be a master instead of a slave?

What's it like to have the power to save the ones you love?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cevo

A rodent absconded from under my heel on its way to a hole in the groundwork. Behind my back, I pinched my thumb to my forefinger. With a squeak, the rodent rolled onto his side, bursting into flames. I did not realize what I had done until the smell of burning rat reached my nose. Pretending to wipe my feet, I stomped it out, watching the Regents' eyes to ascertain their ignorance. Cevo, you must be more careful. Remember your vow. I swept ash under the table with my foot.

The Regents sat at a large oval table, staring at me. I glanced around, having not been in this room for nearly thirty years. Time had not been kind. A grand, round hall surrounded us with two wide staircases winding up the walls on either side and long gaudy curtains covering the windows. And above, a ridiculous chandelier that was likely as horribly out of style on the day it was installed as it is today. I stood in the Requestor's Booth, a chintzy, three-sided, waist-high enclosure at the foot of the table, where people from the city came to petition government officials. Do not lean on it Cevo; the whole booth might collapse.

"
Vice Regent
Mahalelel, is it now?" I smiled at him. Grandiose delusions for such a simple man.
 

Mahalelel glanced sideways at the elevated throne at the head of the table. "You didn't say the Chancellor would be absent from this special session of the Regency, Cevostramos."
 

I shrugged and wiped my feet on the rug.
 

He nasalized on, his mustache twitching like it always did when he was nervous, "Some people might get the wrong idea if they discover the Regency is meeting without the Chancellor."

I rubbed my white-gloved finger along the dusty edge of the Requestor's Booth. "Tell me Mahalelel, does this city have a cleaning staff?" From the dingy curtains to the tarnished brass hardware to the rampant mold below the windowsills, this place would better serve as a brothel than a judgment hall. A greenskin manservant brought a purple velvet stool for me.

I suppressed a shudder at the sight of it. "I am not so old I cannot stand." Imagine the bath I would have to take after sitting on that thing. I turned my attention to the fourteen olive-skinned men—like my adopted family. Humans born on this side of the mountains are not ebony skinned like me.
 

Cevo, you are an onyx sapphire walking atop a salt sea. This is why Mahalelel hates you, and he always will. The Regents stared with imbecilic eyes as I searched for just the right verbiage to pry my city back from their filth-crusted hands.

"Megestanis, let me get straight to the point," I said. "This city, obviously, needs money, and I am willing to provide it." I leaned over and picked up the table's dusty runner to illustrate my point.

"If you're finally willing to pay your share of the taxes," Mahalelel said, "you didn't need to waste our time by calling us here to say so."

Thirty years ago, I received a letter of absolvement from the previous Chancellor which indefinitely excluded me from my obligation to pay taxes on a city block that I had retained ownership of. I had, after all, been responsible for the entire city's existence in the first place—it seemed only fair to avoid paying taxes. But my role in founding El Qir had become mere legend to those at the table; humans have such short, pathetic memories. Especially when someone like Mahalelel is around, working day and night to make this city forget me. The terms of the Chancellor's tax absolvement letter had been disputed, but according to the agreement, the only one with the power to revoke it was the authoring Chancellor. And he happened, quite tragically, to die a few days after signing it.
 

Vice Regent Mahalelel stood up. "If you want to purchase one of the city's assets, you will find the bursar's office more than adequate."
 

"I'm afraid that will not do."

Mahalelel gestured to the Regents. "Good day gentleman. I have more pressing business to attend to."
 

I held up my hand to stop him. "I wish to purchase something a little out of the ordinary."

"Out with it then."
 

"The Chancellorship."

There was a moment of silence followed by an eruption of laughter. When Mahalelel seemed to realize I was serious, he coughed. "We already have a Chancellor. Quite popular with the people and only forty years old. We expect him to be Chancellor for some time."

And you would like to be Chancellor after him, would you not Mahalelel? Is that not why you want El Qir to forget me? "That is acceptable. I will wait."

"You'll wait?"

I looked behind me, pretending to search for the source of the echo. "Yes, I will wait."
 

The Regents shuffled in their chairs, trying with their limited mental facilities to figure out my angle.

"But the Chancellor has children," Mahalelel said. "The Regency chooses a successor only if there are no remaining heirs."

"Your terms are acceptable. Do we have an agreement then?"

"An agreement for what?"

"If the Chancellor should die while I am alive, and if none of the Chancellor's children are still living, I simply request this Regency to choose me as the successor. In advance."
 

"But the Chancellor has seven children. The odds are impossible that you would outlive them all."

"That is my problem, I believe."
 

I took a slip of papyrus from my lamb-skin satchel and handed it to Mahalelel. "My offer." His eyes grew large. A palpable buzz moved through the room as each Regent read my terms.

"You're a rich man to be sure Cevostramos, but—"

"I will have the money delivered tomorrow morning. Would you like it in gold or maladeum coin?"

"No one can afford to waste this much money on such a ridiculous gamble."

"I can."

"The people would never support the Regency selling the Chancellorship."

"Ahh, yes, that is the thing." I held up a single finger. "That is why you will all be sworn to silence. The purchase will be our secret."

"And all we have to do is promise to make you Chancellor if the existing Chancellor and all his children die?"

"Not a promise. A contract. I just happen to have it with me. Each of your signatures is all that is required. Just think, all the city's financial problems will be solved and you will have lost nothing."
 

I placed the paper, written in my own exquisite handwriting, outlining the details of our arrangement on the table.

"This says there are no circumstances under which the contract can be revoked?" Mahalelel said as he scanned the document, his mouth moving as he read. I remembered when he used to count on his fingers. Perhaps he still does.

"As you said, the odds are insurmountable that I will outlive the Chancellor and his seven children. Therefore you have no risk."

"Forgive me for being blunt, but what if they are...," he paused to clear his throat.

I raised my eyebrows. "Murdered?"

"We don't mean to be impolite," another Regent added. He didn't know Mahalelel as well as I do.
 

"Hmm... You do have a point." Several Regents murmured in agreement. I pretended to think, letting the hook sink in before speaking again. "
Vice Regent
Mahalelel"—I winked at him—"has an excellent point. Let us add a provision that states, 'As of today, if the Chancellor or any of his seven children are murdered, our agreement will be considered completely null and void.'" I handed the revised contract back to the Vice Chancellor.
 

Mahalelel stared at the contract like a Gylinn tax collector. "If there's no chance of Cevo getting the position through malfeasance, I don't see any reason to leave good coin on the table."

"We're nearly bankrupt," said another. "What choice do we have?"

One of them grabbed the papyrus. "Then sign the thing and be done with it."
 
The others got in line. Mahalelel signed last, sealed it, and handed the contract back to me.
 

I smiled, but after a moment of reflection, my smile faded into disappointment.
 

Mahalelel turned his head slightly, as if he was trying to figure out what I was thinking. "You have your contract. We expect you to follow through with your end of the agreement, or we'll lock you up for failure to comply with an official ordinance. Gold coin will be sufficient. Easier for us to trade in." Mahalelel tidied up a few papers before him.
 

I put my hand on my heart. "I swear on the grave of my mother, it will be done." Mahalelel's eyes narrowed at me.

A door slammed open.

A rotund man ran in, huffing, his face red and soaked with sweat. "Regents!"