Pile of Bones (18 page)

He began to play. It was a simple melody at first, soft and unassuming. Then he began to layer in different notes. The cithara had been tuned beautifully, and it responded to his fingers, delivering a sound that was high and clear. The sagittarii were no longer staring at the fox. Now they were staring at him. So was Roldan. Each staff of notes was like a furrow in the air, drawing invisible lines that settled over them. It was a lullaby, the only one that he knew, but he poured all of his willpower into it.

He thought of heavy blankets, of familiar bodies lying like commas next to each other. He thought of incense burning faintly in the bowl, a lover’s even breathing, the tender staccato of rain on the shutters. Most of all, he thought of Roldan’s head on his chest, the slow descent of their heartbeats, the sweet lassitude after they’d spent themselves. The feeling of being held in place, of mattering beneath someone’s limbs. For a moment, he heard what must have been his mother’s voice, singing him to sleep. She was far away, but he still heard her, still felt her cool fingertips on his brow. His fingers danced across the strings. Everything was listening—the stones of the tower, the arrows stacked in corners, the dagger beneath his tunica. He looked at the statue of Fortuna, and saw that she, too, had leaned forward.

Good night, parapets. Good night, bows, long and short. Good night, silenoi, prowling beyond the walls. Be held. Be still. Dream.

He played the last note, then looked up. They were all asleep. Even Roldan was curled up on the floor, softly snoring. Morgan sagged against the chain holding her, eyes closed. Only Sulpicia was unaffected. She’d stopped sparking and was engaged in the type of composure grooming that made Babieca want to look away in embarrassment. Finally, she pulled her gears together and looked up at him.

“That seems to have worked.”

“I didn’t mean to put everyone to sleep.”

“You clearly did.” She sniffed the sagittarius next to her, who’d fallen asleep facedown against the floor. “This one has the key. I can smell it.”

“You can smell keys?”

“It’s not quite the same as smelling. We can talk about my mechanism later.”

Babieca retrieved the key and unchained Morgan. She fell into his arms, heavy as a pile of logs. He eased her to the floor as gently as he could.

“I can’t carry both of them downstairs.”

“Allow me.”

Sulpicia nipped Morgan on the ear. It was very light, but a spark still leapt from the point of contact. Morgan woke with a small cry. She looked around her in confusion.

“What happened? Did I pass out?”

“A little.”

Her eyes widened. “You put me to sleep?”

“We’ll discuss it later. Come on.”

Sulpicia bit Roldan, who also woke with a start. He rubbed his swollen ear, looking around the room in mild shock.

“You really knocked them out.”

“I don’t know how long it will last. We should go.”

“How do you expect to get out of the city?” Morgan asked. “When the arquites reaches the tower, and sees that I’m gone—”

“Felix has a plan. Now let’s go.”

“Did they hurt you?” Roldan asked, noticing her bruise.

“Barely,” she said. But Babieca could tell that she was a bit shaken. He put an arm around her, guiding her down through the entrance. Hoods drawn, fox in tow, they hurried down the stairs. They kept to the shadows, making their way as quickly as they could back to the gate. When they got there, a miles was waiting for them. She looked familiar, and Babieca realized that she was the one who’d let them into the basia. The miles with one greave.

“You’re just in time,” she said. “Felix has managed to distract most of the city guard, but not indefinitely. We need to move.”

“How exactly is he distracting them?” Babieca asked.

“The arx is full of meretrices. Use your imagination.” She looked at Morgan, and her expression changed slightly. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

The women exchanged a look. A magnificently dirty joke occurred to him, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. It was stupid to antagonize someone with a blade. She led them through the maze of the Subura, down countless interconnected alleys, until it felt as if they were wandering through a dangerous honeycomb. Morgan and Roldan were still yawning slightly. Babieca wondered if he’d be able to do something like that again. Maybe it was just the cithara, or the fact that they’d been in one of the towers, where Fortuna’s influence was strongest. He tried to remember the fragment of his mother’s voice, but it was already gone.

They stopped before a run-down house that was pressed against the city wall. The miles unlocked the door.

“Go straight to the back,” she said. “If you climb out the window, you’ll find yourself beyond the wall.”

“That’s all well and good,” Morgan protested, “but it’s the middle of the night. All manner of things could tear us to pieces out there.”

“Trust me. I’m not a citizen, either, and I’ve made the trip at night before. Try to remember something from the other place. If you keep focused on it, the moment will come. You’ll be able to smell it, just like twilight.”

“What about our possessions?”

“You’ll have to leave them in the house. Don’t worry. I’ll hide them.”

“You’re saying we have to climb naked through a window?” Babieca shook his head. “This had better not be Felix’s idea of a joke.”

“I’ve done it more than once. Now go.”

The house was dark and empty, save for a bit of moonlight that passed through the southern window. Babieca looked at it dubiously.

“This seems ridiculous.”

“More so than anything else you’ve seen tonight?” Sulpicia asked. They couldn’t see her, but she sounded close by.

“Fortuna! I forgot that the fox was still with us.”

“Trust the miles,” she said. “Take off your skins and climb through.”

They disrobed slowly and awkwardly in the dark. Then they helped each other through the window. On the other side, the moon was bright enough to see by. They were naked and shivering on the edge of the woods. Babieca heard a growl. He thought he could see the outline of a spear in the fog.

“What should we think of?” Morgan asked.

“Something, and quickly. I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“This isn’t like twilight. I can’t feel the pull.”

“Try to remember,” he said. “Anything.”

“Carl,” Roldan murmured.

The word clicked. It was a name, Babieca realized. Carl was someone who lived in that hazy place, which they could barely remember.

“Carl,” he repeated. “Think of…a room with high windows. There’s a balcony that looks over the street, but the city is different. There’s black stone everywhere, with yellow lines painted on it. Carl is on the balcony. His balcony. There’s a glass bowl next to him, full of ashes.”

“I remember,” Roldan said.

“Think of Carl’s balcony. Think of his funny chair.”

“And his barbecue,” Morgan said suddenly.

Now he could feel the pull. The moonlight wavered. Babieca saw the alien city before him, a chessboard of steel and glass. He looked at Roldan.

“My barbecue,” he said. “My funny chair.”

The light washed over them as they stepped forward.

H
E WAS NAKED ON THE BALCONY, HIS ASS
pressed against the barbecue. The metal was hot, and he took a step forward, treading on Andrew’s bare foot. They looked at each other in surprise. They’d often seen each other in this way, opening their eyes to realize that they were naked and shivering in the park. But this was the first time they’d appeared naked and sweating on his balcony. Their condition was familiar, but the new location was odd. Shelby stepped over the lawn chair with as much grace as was possible.

“If that sliding door is locked,” she said to him, “you’ll be the one scaling the wall.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I lack suction cups.”

“You could use your—” She tried the door, which offered some resistance, then slid irritably forward on its sun-warped tracks. “Oh, thank Fortuna.”

“Parking,” Andrew said.

“We’re standing naked above an adult video store with all of Broad Street looking at us. The rule of secrecy is a write-off. Let’s just get inside.”

“I left the door open,” Carl said. “Not Fortuna.”

Shelby stepped into the living room. “I don’t care. Just find us some clothes.”

“How did we get here?” Andrew asked. “I didn’t even know it was possible to cross after twilight. And—” He looked at Carl, and his eyes suddenly widened. Normally, Andrew’s range of expression was, for lack of a better term, laconic. But Carl saw something close to astonishment in his eyes. They’d both remembered at the same moment.

“And what?” Shelby asked.

“Nothing.” Andrew stared at the linoleum as if it had suddenly become a Byzantine mosaic. “I agree with the clothes thing. Let’s do that.”

Carl went to his bedroom, which resembled a cave. The blinds were drawn, casting slatted shadows over the unmade bed. The yellow shag hadn’t been vacuumed in a while and was a breeding ground for paper clips, pine needles, and spare change. The blue plastic tote that served as a hamper was overflowing, and dirty clothes were scattered across the carpet, floating like desultory islands. He threw on a shirt and boxers, then searched his dresser and returned to the living room with a bundle of clothes—the only clean specimens he could find. Shelby was grateful for the Plains U sweatpants, even though she had to double-tie the drawstring to keep them up. She was less enthusiastic about the promotional Moosehead T-shirt, which had come from a twelve-pack. Andrew’s outfit consisted of cargo shorts and a collared shirt, which made him resemble a tourist visiting Bermuda.

“We’ll just have to wait until dark to get our clothes back from the park,” he said. “I do have a spare key, so technically we could visit the park now, but pulling a duffel bag out of a tree would look suspicious in broad daylight.”

“People must do it all the time,” Andrew said. “If it’s theoretically possible to move between places at any time, then a person could become adept at hiding clothes. Maybe
there’s even an underground clothing network that we don’t know about.”

“If there is,” Shelby replied, “we don’t have access to it. Carl’s right. Unless we’re willing to hit up the Cornwall Centre and buy new clothes, we’ll have to wait.” She looked down at the sweatpants. “These are actually comfortable.”

“There’s a hole in the ass,” Carl said.

“Yeah. I felt that. Not much I can do about it, though.”

“We can trade,” Andrew offered.

“No. Of us all, you’re the only one with a clear ensemble.” She glanced at Carl’s understated outfit. “I assume this is what you normally wear around the house.”

“Depends on the day. Sometimes I don’t wear anything.”

“Please tell me that you don’t sun yourself on the balcony.”

“I won’t confirm or deny that.”

Shelby sat at the kitchen table, which was covered in books, old receipts, and economy-sized boxes of granola bars. “I’m still getting my bearings. Okay. We were in that abandoned house—which people must use all the time, since it’s pressed right against the gate—and then we crawled through the window and into the woods.”

“We were both there,” Carl said. “You don’t need to reconstruct it.”

“This sort of crossing has never happened to us before. Don’t you think we should take a moment to figure things out?”

At the moment, he was trying to figure out what, exactly, Babieca had done with Roldan. He remembered bits and pieces, and they were all good, but there were gaps as well. He couldn’t remember what the fox had to do with any of it. More important, he couldn’t figure out why Andrew refused to look at him. Was he embarrassed? Did he regret it? The most confusing thing was that the memories felt secondhand. They belonged to Babieca and Roldan. It was like recalling a moment of intense pleasure from your childhood. The outlines of the experience were visible, but the
distance created a profound separation. Andrew played with his zippers. He would not look up.

“Let’s try to accentuate the positive,” Carl said. “We’re alive. Basilissa Pulcheria is alive. Nice fucking shot, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“So what was the wager?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I’m curious, though. A shot like that would have taken a very high roll, and from what I understand, those don’t come cheaply.”

“Can we drop this?”

“Why? I think we’re entitled to know.”

She looked at Andrew. “You’re burning with curiosity as well?”

“Not so much,” he replied, eyes still on the zippers. “But I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t considered the possibilities.”

Shelby stared at her hands for a moment. “The shot had to kill someone,” she said finally. “If not the silenus, then someone else in the crowd. The details weren’t specific beyond that, but whatever the roll, someone had to die.”

Carl remembered Roldan’s comment from earlier.
She won’t hesitate. And we might be part of the offering.

“It could have been us,” he said.

“I know.”

“But you took the shot anyway.”

“I had no choice.”

“You could have dropped a lamp on its head, or created a diversion.”

“Three seconds later, that silenus would have ripped her in half. A falling lamp wasn’t going to stop him. Why do you think the gnomo gave me that arrowhead?”

“Because the lares enjoy fucking with us. We’re interlopers who stole their precious chaos, or whatever, and now they love to pit us against one another.”

Andrew finally looked up. “Did I tell you that?”

“You told Babieca. It’s true, right? We pushed them out
of their chaos and moved in. If I were them, I’d want to make us suffer.”

“I’ve never sensed hostility from them.”

“You can’t even see them. You just hear their voices.”

“That was before. Now I can touch them—sort of.”

“You shouldn’t trust them. You shouldn’t trust anyone.”

Shelby gave him an exasperated look. “Why are you freaking out? You know how dangerous this all is. However the wheel turns, there’s always risk.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re the one holding the bow.”

“Carl—” Andrew finally looked at him. “Shelby wasn’t the one holding the bow. It was Morgan who cast the die, and her decision saved us.”

He could feel an argument coming on, but then the anger began to dissipate. Andrew was right. What happened in the park would always remain slightly beyond their reach. Different actors populated that stage. Morgan was a part of Shelby, but she was also a separate person, with desires and fears of her own. Babieca felt so close to him sometimes, like a second skin, but they were not the same. Carl didn’t sleep with friends. It was one of the only rules he had regarding sex. He’d slept with a friend back in high school, and things were never the same between them afterward. They were jumpy around each other. They could no longer settle onto the couch and watch television, or drive around listening to music, as they had before. Everything took on a peculiar and uncomfortable significance.

“You’re right,” he said. “Shelby, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“It’s fine. We’re all a bit ragged.” Her stomach growled. “And hungry. What are the chances that you have something edible in your fridge?”

“There’s—ah—some Balkan yogurt, I think. And a shrimp ring in the freezer.”

“Balkan yogurt? Who are you?”

“It’s spicy. I like it.”

“We can have a barbecue,” Andrew said. “If you give me
the spare key, I’ll go pick up bratwurst and smokies. And buns, I’m assuming, unless you happen to have those.”

He sounded slightly eager to leave. Carl didn’t blame him. The apartment wasn’t big enough to hold their collective neuroses.

“Buns too,” he said. “The keys are in the junk drawer.”

Andrew opened the drawer. “You’ve got about a hundred bucks in change here.”

“I know. It’s where I keep my bus fare.”

“Can I take some? My wallet’s still in that tree.”

“Knock yourself out.”

He grabbed a reusable bag and left, closing the door behind him.

“Want some tea?” Carl asked. “I’ve got a sampler.”

Shelby didn’t reply. She waited a moment, until they both heard the sound of the building’s front door as it banged closed. Then she looked at Carl.

“What did you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“Something’s happened between the two of you. Andrew’s being weirder than usual, and you look guilty as shit.”

“He’s the one who just ran out of here. Doesn’t that seem like guilty behavior?”

“Carl.”

“It wasn’t even me. It was Babieca.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“Bullshit.”

“Look, I’m not taking the blame for this. He made a choice. You may think he’s a wide-eyed innocent, but he knew what he was doing.”

Her eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. We were alone in this room—well, not alone, there was actually a fox under the bed—”

“And it just sort of happened?” She shook her head. “You could have had anyone at that party, and you chose Roldan.”

“
Babieca
chose him.”

“You both did.”

He wanted to leave the apartment, to escape from the realization that she was right, but Andrew had the keys. The thought almost made him laugh.

“Whatever happened,” he said, “it’s done. We’re both adults. We’ll figure it out.”

“No. You’ll figure it out, because this sort of shit doesn’t matter to you. In a week, you’ll forget that this ever happened. But Andrew’s going to think about it for the rest of his life, because that’s what he does.”

“You must really think I’m an asshole.”

“It’s not a theory, Carl.”

“Oh really? Do you remember the time when you tried to sleep with me?”

“What are you talking about?”

He smiled. “How convenient that you’ve blocked it out. We were at the bar. All night, you’d been making eyes at this cute girl. But you couldn’t talk to her, just like you couldn’t talk to Ingrid that day at the library. She left with someone else, and after that, you were on a mission. You started doing Jager shots.”

Shelby put her head in her hands. “I remember now. Stop describing it.”

“You came up to me,” he continued, “and you said—”

“Please stop—”

“—that I had a—what was it again?”

She sighed. “A
cute assonance
.”

“That’s right. You wanted to go home with me.”

“I was blackout drunk. In the morning, I woke up on the bathroom floor, wearing nothing but my pajama top.”

“All I’m saying is that we nearly hooked up.”

“It never would have happened.”

“Why? Because you’re such a great lesbian? Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve hooked up with more guys than girls.”

Her eyes narrowed. “As an
undergrad
. I didn’t know what I wanted then.”

“You weren’t some adorable first-year that night. You
were a grad student with an actual teaching job, still making the same murky decisions as before. You wanted that girl, but you chose me, because you thought it would be easy.”

“I chose you because you have girlish hips.”

“Whatever. Look, you’re right. It wasn’t the same thing. Babieca wasn’t drunk, and Roldan didn’t just let it happen. They—we—wanted it.”

“And now?”

“How am I supposed to know that? We’ve barely been home for twenty minutes. The guy who’s wearing my clothes and buying us hot dogs—he isn’t Roldan. If something happened here, between us, it would be completely separate.”

“Have you ever—” Shelby made a vague gesture. “I mean, was there a time when you looked at him, and thought, you know…
maybe
?”

Carl didn’t reply, and they fell silent after that. Eventually, he heard footsteps on the stairs. The front door opened, and Andrew came in.

“I took the liberty of buying some pre-barbecue snacks,” he said. “With the contents of this bag, and all that money in your junk drawer, we should be set.”

“Great.” Carl stood. “I’ll go fire up the coals.”

He grabbed the franks and stepped onto the balcony, closing the door. This was to keep out smoke, but he also felt better with the layer of glass between them. Shelby’s critique had hit too close to home. She was only trying to protect Andrew, but the suspicion in her eyes made him feel like a boy with a fistful of candy, shifting awkwardly in the middle of a grocery store. She hadn’t even considered the fact that he might get hurt. Andrew was the one in trouble, which made him—what? A thoughtless dick? A predator? Priming the barbecue, he peeked through the glass and saw that they were both talking. Shelby looked calm and focused, as if she were explaining the plot of a film. Andrew wasn’t saying nearly as much.

He scored the smokies with a knife, then laid them down and closed the lid. The cheese-filled ones would be murder on the grill, but for some reason, he didn’t mind the repetitive
act of scraping. It was one of the few chores he actually enjoyed, because he could watch his neighbors while doing it. He’d been working on their backstories for a while, crafting narratives for every other balcony. When they saw him scraping the barbecue, they would inevitably nod and smile. The act seemed necessary and somehow masculine. Grilling suggested that you had company over, not that you were a shut-in who loved the taste of smoky food. They probably imagined him to be a friendly, well-adjusted guy, the type that you’d see confidently striding toward the automotive department at Canadian Tire. They didn’t suspect the truth.