John Wright - Orphans of Chaos

“No, Miss Windrose, I am afraid you cannot. I mean, you could say the words, any words that you liked, but it would not be a promise, would it? Not really.”

He folded his wings up on his back, and took out a long ribbon of black satin, which he tucked around his wings with both hands, and pulled shut. This forced the feathers into a compact package. He drew on his jacket, which was constructed with one huge pocket all along in the inner lining, into which he carefully tucked his folded wings. His shirt was a pretend shirt, the kind a quick-change artist at a sideshow might wear. It attached around the neck and at the belt, and it had sleeves, but no back.

Now he took out a rather more ordinary comb and brush, and he brushed his hair out. As deftly as a girl (more deftly than I do it, really; usually Vanity French-braids my hair) he twined his red locks in a maypole dance to form a short braid.

He kept wincing as he combed his hair, and he sucked in air through his clenched teeth while be braided it. I saw spots of blood on his comb.

“Shouldn’t you put some iodine on that?” I said.

“Oh good God, no! Iodine stings like the devil.”

“What about an ice pack?”

He gave me a dark, sardonic look, half-amused. It is the look Victor sometimes gives me when he thinks I am slow on the uptake.

“What? What?”

“Nothing, Miss Windrose. Thank you for your solicitation about my health.”

He looked halfway transformed back into Headmaster Boggin. But his purple pants and bare calves—and that odd green ring winking on his toe—reminded me that he was Boreas.

I said, “I didn’t break the agreement.”

“No…?”

“I agreed that I should not do anything to make you ashamed of me.”

He said only, “Is that so?”

I said, “You think I did the right thing, admit it! It’s the duty of prisoners of war to try to escape.”

He turned away and drew on his trousers, tucking the folds of those purple short-pants inside the legs.

I said, “You would have done the same thing, in my place, admit it! If Vanity was your friend, and you knew she was going to be taken away, what would you have done?”

He kept his eyes on his feet as he sat on the balcony rail once more, to don his socks and shoes. I noticed he did not take that big green ring from off his big toe, and I wondered if the shoe was specially cobbled to have a little socket or pocket for it.

I said, my voice growing more desperate, “In fact, if I had just stayed here, and done nothing, then you would really have cause to be ashamed of me.”

He spoke absently, without looking up. “Miss Fair is a fine young woman. Surely you don’t think I would act against her best interests…” His voice was so calm, so patronizing, so condescending.

“You were going to have Mestor kidnap her and take her to Atlantis, while you didn’t even wait to see what Mulciber had to say about it!” I exclaimed. “And with a Lamia running around loose, looking to kill us…”

He jerked the last lace shut on his shoe with an angry tug of his fingers, and looked up. I saw now why he had kept his face turned away while I was speaking. His eyes were gleaming and glittering with emotion, despite that he was trying to keep his face still. Fear, anger, and pride were among some of the emotions there. There were others.

I stepped back, putting my gloved fingers up to my mouth. My stomach turned cold and sank away.

He stood. He said in a tone that was calm on the surface, “Are we sure we have our facts straight, Miss Windrose? What war are you a prisoner of? Where did you hear such interesting names; Mestor, Mulciber, Lamia?”

I shook my head and stepped backward. Victor’s first rule was: never tell them what you know. Even if they guess, do not confirm their guesses.

If they know what you know, they can also find out how you found out, and one channel of information will be cut. Let them guess.

Boggin stepped forward, towering over me. His chest seemed as broad as a wall. “A little slip of the tongue, was it, then, Miss Windrose?”

I backed up again.

His hand shot out and grabbed my arm above the elbow. “Have a care, Miss Windrose. I should not be able to catch you if you stumble, not with this coat in the way.”

My feet were on the brink of the square hole in the floor above which the bell hung. I could see the bell cords swaying below me, going down, down, into the gloom.

He put out his other hand and took my other arm, also above the elbow. He did not draw me any closer. I stood trembling on the edge of the drop.

“Something seems to have made you nervous, Miss Wind-rose. Surely you do not doubt my strength, at this point?”

He flexed his arms and picked me up. My toes were about an inch off the floorboards, and I had to fight to keep my legs from kicking. He did not bend his elbows. With his arms straight, using just the muscles in his shoulder, he held my weight off the floor.

He said, “I do not suppose you will tell me where the leak is in my organization, or where I should shore up my information control? Hmm, no, I thought not. One of your Victor’s rules, I suppose. You see, you do take me… by surprise. Yes, that is the word, surprise. I am not used to being flummoxed. Usually, in these types of things, I am the flummox or rather than the flummox ee, if you will permit the expression.”

In fencing class once, on a bet, Colin and I held rapiers across the back of our fingertips, at arm’s length. Just held them there to see who would tire first. Those little puny practice blades hardly weigh anything. But even after two minutes, I was sweating, and my arms ached, and ached, and…

I don’t remember who won that bet. I think it was me.

There was no strain in Boggin’s voice as he continued to hold me in midair, and talk.

“You have settled a matter of my curiosity. I had wondered why, of all times, you and your fellow students chose this day to take your little frolicking holiday into the woods of Arcadia.

“Well, let me return the favor, and settle a matter of your curiosity, Miss Windrose. Or should I call you Phaethusa the Radiant, daughter of Helius Hyperias the Terrible High One, and of Neaera of the Dark Moon? We captured Lamia climbing out of the window of a children’s hospital in Bristol. The details are too horrible even for someone from your race to hear easily. Our good Dr. Fell—one of the few people on my staff who takes our responsibilities seriously—used his science, which he calls cryptognosis, to blank out her memory. We sent her back among the Bacchants, with some of our agents instructed to keep an eye on her. A very close eye. She does not know that we have penetrated her disguise, and goes about her business. We are curious to see from whom her instructions come, to whom her reports go.

“Mestor, son of Atlas, assayed a crude blackmail against me; but he is, if you will pardon the expression, a fool. By the time he attempted to force my hand, I had already informed the creatures of Mulciber, who are without pity, where and when Miss Fair would be taken. In fact, I am going down to have a meeting with Arges, their chief smith, before lunch today. Mestor is presently in a jail cell buried, it just so happens, under this very building. He will find that his only way out is to have me prevail upon Talos and not to press charges, so to speak.

“Naturally, I will do this if and only if he swears unconditional fealty to me. Our own Erichtho, whom you know as Mrs. Wren, will oversee the application of the oath, and the terrible Gorgons will fix it in place, and the Hour known as Eunomia—who owes me a favor—will speak to the Fates about what punishments will befall a violation of that oath.

“Once Mestor is—how shall I say?—a player on my team, this will put me in a better position to keep an eye on, so to speak, and have a hand in the doings of the Sea God and his faction, which, till now, has been the biggest unknown factor in the scheme of things. I will also be able to disarm Mestor’s blackmail threat without further damage to myself, my reputation, or the school.