Chime (26 page)

We laughed, which broke the silence. There was a bit of me, though, that stood outside myself, listening to us: We managed an impressive imitation of the way we’d used to talk, but I thought that any expert would spot the forgery.

The river ran olive brown, like paintbrush water. As we neared the bridge, Mad Tom’s voice broke into our counterfeit conversation. “Give ’em back! I needs ’em sore, I does.”

Silence now, except for the kingfishers gossiping in the reed beds.

“I does, pretty lady. Mad Tom, he mind on you. He mind on you fine by that black hair what you got.”

We crested the rise of the bridge. Mad Tom was hiding behind the black claw of his umbrella, just his shirttail and trouser legs showing beneath. “You got you your own proper wits, pretty lady.” He turned.

Leanne! The pretty lady was Leanne. The sight of her gave me a gray, cotton-woolish sort of feeling.

“Oh, my lilied liver! Oh, my turnip toes!” Mad Tom swung the umbrella from his shoulder, stirred the tip into the pebbles at the foot of the bridge. “I knows the pretty lady’s got some wits to spare for poor Mad Tom.”

Eldric’s face went all un-electric. Heavy eyelids at halfmast, lips tight as curling lips can be.

Is that what love looks like? If you’re a twenty-two-year-old man in love with a beautiful woman, and you see her and she sees you? But perhaps Eldric wanted to hide the look of love. A boy-man might not like to expose his tender feelings, especially in front of Blackberry-Night Briony Larkin.

She had a floaty sort of walk, Leanne did, and she’d trained her cloak to float along with her. The floatiness went with the color of her cloak and skirts, blues and greens that shifted as she moved.

She slowed as she neared us, setting Mad Tom to dancing about her, blessing his liver and spying his wits with his little eye. She called out to Eldric in her dusk-lined voice, but her gaze lingered on his coat, which hung about me like a sack.

“Lovely to see you again—Briony.” The pause before my name was brief, but effective. It said,
So sorry, but I don’t have the name of this lovely child quite on the tip of my—ah, here it is.

Now back to Eldric. “How sweet of your father to write. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to hear of your recovery.” Her eyes roved all over him. “Are you completely well?”

“Completely,” said Eldric.

He hadn’t seen her since he’d recovered! Ten whole days. Wasn’t that a long absence for an ardent lover?

“I wonder,” she said, “if you could rid me of poor Mad Tom.” Her smile showed her sultan’s-harem teeth—beautiful, perhaps, but excessive in number. “I confess, he frightens me.”

“Them eyes you got, lady.” Mad Tom stepped close, too close for politeness. “They been haunting me, them eyes.”

Eldric took Mad Tom’s arm. “This way,” he said. “The pretty lady needs her privacy.” But he didn’t hurry Mad Tom. He eased Mad Tom down the bridge, letting Mad Tom set the pace. Eldric was a gentleman. I’d never thought of this before.

“I suppose you’re not afraid of the poor fellow?” Leanne leaned toward me, as though we were best friends. She whiffed of scent. I could have guessed she’d never choose something fresh and flowery. Instead, she smelled the way she looked, dark and peppery, with an undercurrent of wild animal.

“You’re accustomed to him, of course. I hear he’s really harmless, but I can’t like him drawing so close.”

But the dusk and pepper were merely surface smells. Beneath lay the smells of salt and seaweed and damp. They slipped into my mind like minnows, startling me into a scent memory of Stepmother. Not Stepmother as I’d last seen her, but the gay, laughing Stepmother who’d first come into our lives.

When Eldric turned back to join us, Mad Tom shuffle-trotted behind. “Here he comes again,” I said, which made Mad Tom address himself to me.

“I thinked I seen you afore, but it be t’other girl I seen.”

He lunged at Leanne with webbed umbrella fingers. “You be the real girl what stole my wits.”

Eldric grabbed the umbrella, pulled it from Mad Tom’s hands. “You want to be careful with that. You could hurt someone.”

“No,” said Mad Tom, quieter now. “I got me a prettier notion. You takes me back an’ works me till I falls. I were good feeding for you, weren’t I?”

My breath snagged in my throat. Such queer things he was saying. Until now, I’d thought Leanne an idiot to be afraid of Mad Tom. But for the first time ever, I was afraid.

“Lead him away again, will you?” said Leanne. “Perhaps I should accompany you this time. He’ll follow me, poor fellow. Perhaps the constable ought to know he’s developed an obsession for me. I feel we may call it that, an obsession.”

“I’ve news of the motorcar.” Eldric took Leanne’s arm. “But I’m promised to Briony for supper, so I’ll have to tell you about it some other time.”

He was? What a bouncer of an excuse! Did he not want to be with Leanne? How could you explain it otherwise?

He didn’t want to be with Leanne!

Leanne leaned in close again, and she frightened me too. “Might you excuse us, Briony?” It wasn’t merely that she pressed herself at me and that she was so tall and dark. “Thank you for sparing Eldric. He’ll be just a few minutes, I’m sure.” It was also that she was somehow bursting out of her skin, and her voice was too big, and she had so many teeth, and I was shrinking away in my skin, and I had no voice at all.

I shrank away from her. I, Florence Nightingale Larkin, actually shrank away, like any regular wilting violet of a girl.

“I swears, lady!” said Mad Tom. “I swears by marble an’ blade to work stone for you till I drops. Just don’t leave afore my time. Suck at my life, lady, till I be kilt.”

“Off we go.” Eldric eased Mad Tom down the bridge again, Leanne floating beside.

Eldric turned suddenly, called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back directly.”

I turned toward the river, set my forearms on the railing. Mad Tom’s scoldings and cajolings grew faint, fainter, then faded away. I stared into the paintbrush water. My mask was one great rumple; it would need hours of smoothing.

Shouldn’t I be happy? Eldric didn’t want to sup with Leanne. Of course I should be happy.

But how can I tell what happiness is? It’s not a thought, it’s a feeling. If happiness were a description from a soppy novel, it might read,
She felt as though she were walking on air.

That was right: I felt as though I were walking on air. Clichés became clichés because they contained a nugget of truth.

Eldric did not return directly.

Eldric did not return indirectly.

The walking-on-air feeling evaporated. The paintbrush water was depressing. He did want to be with her after all.

He couldn’t expect me to wait on the bridge forever. I headed for the alley that leads into the square, stepped into the dusty-coal dimness. I blinked it away and there stood Eldric. Eldric and Leanne. Eldric, bent over Leanne, his lips on hers. I knew how they felt, those silk-and-butter lips. I knew how it felt when he held you, your body pressed along his, soft and heavy, never hard and crushing, that velvet-and-cream electricity—

I backed out of the alley. I returned to the crest of the bridge. I set my forearms on the railing. I stared into the paintbrush water.

The boy stood on the burning deck.
He deserved to die, that boy. Waiting for someone who never came. But I was doing the same, waiting for Eldric, watching the water, the paintbrush water, which now that I was looking, had turned the color of liver.

It eddied, then boiled. I’d seen this before, the wave rising from the river, too tall, too straight, defying gravity. Now a face, taking shape beneath the cap of foam, whirlpool eyes, deep-sea mouth—

Mucky Face, poised to leap and crush.

His whirlpool eyes met mine. “Mistress! Tha’ needs must’mand me to stop!”

His belly was liver-gray. No schoolgirl paintbrush water for Mucky Face.

“Speak lively, mistress! Say, ‘As I be tha’ mistress . . .’ ”

I shouted into the roar and sputter. “As I am thy mistress, I command thee to stop. I command thee to return to the river.”

Mucky Face hovered. “More, mistress! It be such a mighty voice what calls, what ’mands me to collect my whole particular self nigh unto thee.”

“Return to the river, Mucky Face!”

“The voice, it be ’manding me to cast my whole particular self upon thee.”

“Dive into the clouds of minnows, Mucky Face! Return to the river—”

“’Manding me to slay thee!”

“Return to the river, push the river up the banks with thy two great hands, push—”

Foam-crested shoulders collapsed. “Tha’ be a canny mistress!” Mucky Face sank. Quickly as he’d risen, he poured himself back into his own element. Whitecaps boiled on the river. Mucky Face sank beneath. All at once, the river was as peaceful as a schoolgirl’s painting.

There was nothing to see anymore, save the river and my forearms resting on the railing.

Save the river, the railing, and my forearms, and Eldric’s forearms too, resting on the railing just beside mine. I stared at them, Eldric’s long forearms, shirtsleeves pushed back, despite the chill. My forearms, lost in the tweedy sleeves of his coat.

“My, my,” said Eldric. “You are full of surprises.”

I had to look at him then, but I didn’t see any of the Eldric faces I knew. His face was still. Only his eyes were alive.

“I’m waiting,” he said.

The square was set about with torches tossing their pale hair. Light pooled in the scratches and gouges of our table, glanced off Eldric’s tell-nothing face. “I’m still waiting.”

“You promise you won’t tell? Not a single soul?”

It was safe to tell him here, among the riot of merrymakers, spilling from the Alehouse into the square. Safe to tell him in this bedlam of shouts and songs and cries for ale.

“I’ve already promised,” said Eldric. “Five times now.”

So he had, on that long, mostly silent walk to the Alehouse.

I slipped my arms from the sleeves of Eldric’s coat and wrapped them around my middle. I was inside my arms, which were inside the coat. But still I was cold.

“I’m still waiting.”

I’d never have thought he’d be so angry. He’d caught Briony talking to a great wave, and he was angry. His face didn’t show it, but it was evident in everything he did, from his uninflected speech to the few feet of distance he kept between us as we walked to the Alehouse.

“Have you heard of the second sight?”

“When a person sees fairies and the like?” said Eldric.

“I can see the Old Ones,” I said.

“That wave, an Old One?” I couldn’t read Eldric’s face. “You were speaking to an Old One?”

How can regular people bear it when their best friend’s angry at them? What do they think? What do they do?

I chose my words carefully. “One of the Old Ones, yes. But the wave itself was sent by another Old One. An Old One whose element is water.”

“Someone—some Old One—sent you a wave?” said Eldric.

I nodded. “An Old One with a terrific amount of power. Mucky Face couldn’t stop until I told him to.”

“Who is he then?” said Eldric. “This Old One with such terrific powers?”

“Perhaps it’s a
she.”

“You’ve blue lips again,” said Eldric. “Where’s that idiot of a bartender?” He stepped away, overturning his chair, but he didn’t pause to put it to rights. He vanished into the noise and crush.

Why would an Old One want to kill me? That was worth thinking about. The Old One had called Mucky Face to do the job, but Mucky Face and I were . . . Can you be friends with a tidal wave? In any event, Mucky Face warned me, saved me from himself.

What Old One would want to kill me? And why?

Eldric returned with wine and bread and soup. I squiggled my arms back into his sleeves, wrapped my hands around the wineglass. It was hot and smelled of cinnamon. “Are you still in a temper?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” said Eldric.

“Why should you?”

“Because you didn’t tell me about all this. How can we be friends—”

Best friends?

“How can we be friends if you’re so—so hidden from me?”

Wine is said to be cheering. I took a sip. It left a spreading warmth behind my breastbone. Warmth is cheering.

“Betrayed,” said Eldric. “That’s the word.”

“Do you know why I keep my second sight a secret?” I said.

“I really cannot say.”

I really cannot say.
How horrid he was, all ice and arrogance.

“It’s dangerous to have the second sight. Should anyone find out, they’d think me one of the Old Ones.”

“And?” said Eldric.

“And,” I said, leaning on the
and.
I wager I can make a single word sound as chilly as he can. “If the Swampfolk think I’m one of the Old Ones, what do you think they’d like to do to me?”

Eldric flinched. “Good Lord!” He went pale, which I found extremely pleasant.

“Who else knows?” he said.

“Only you. And Stepmother knew. She fretted about it a great deal and made me promise to keep it a secret.”

“Do you know why—?” He ran out of words.

“Why I can see the Old Ones?”

He nodded.

To lie or not to lie, that was the question. I’d never tell him the truth, of course, but I could pretend not to know. But the pretending would be a lie, and the lie would be a betrayal, and Eldric was my best friend.

“I do know, but Stepmother asked me to keep that a secret too. I promised her not to tell, I promised over and over. Would you mind very much if I didn’t tell you?”

“I would mind.” When people go pale, they usually get rosy again. But not Eldric, not yet. “I do mind.”