The Grand Ballast (23 page)

“
Feel what?” Bode
asked.

“
Everything I felt before.”
Valen sounded angry. “I’m not the fucking light. I never was; I
never could be, no matter what they did to me.”

“
That’s a good
thing.”

Valen kept on, eyes blazing. “The No
Returns, they could hurt us with anything. With the color green.
With music. We opened up chocolate bars and found nails, scabs,
blades.” He ran the nails of his free hand down his cuffed arm.
“One day all the bristles on my toothbrush has been replaced with
steel fibers and painted so I didn’t know anything was wrong. I
started brushing, and all this blood…” He stopped, clutching a
fistful of straw. Shook his head furiously, as though trying to
throw off the memory. “Who the fuck cares?”

“
I do.” Bode meant
it.

“
And then they’d do good
things for us. Money during funerals, dessert during storms. You
could never
expect
anything. Most of us gave up trying. Learned to believe what
they were telling us. That we’d be…fucking
unbreakable
, if we had no beliefs, no
certainties, no alliances.” He shook his head, his jaw set. “Except
I…”

“
What?”

Valen didn’t answer. Bode
slapped the gate, the sound ringing through the car. “Except you
what? Fuck, just
talk
to me.”

Valen’s breathing became rough, and Bode
felt his anger slip like a statue cover, unveiling a blank-eyed,
marble sympathy.

“
I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“
Go,” Valen said
tightly.

“
No.” Bode scooted closer.
“I’m not going anywhere.”

He reached into the bag he’d brought. Froze
as he heard voices outside the equipment car: Kilroy and Lein.

“
The ice show lost one,”
Kilroy was saying. “One of the secondary performers just
disappeared. They suspect
outside
assistance.”

“
It’s a fad,” Lein said
with a grunt. “This Free-the-X-Shows bullshit. It’s people looking
for anything to be interested in. Doesn’t help that
The Rustler
’s having a
field day with the protests.”

The voices were growing closer, and Bode
held his breath, hoping Kilroy and Lein weren’t headed for the
equipment car. “There’ll be more in Ravaelstown.” Kilroy’s tone was
sharp. “It’ll only get worse the farther west we go.”

“
You want a hiatus?” Lein
asked.

“
Of course not. I want the
new boy in the show as soon as possible. We need to increase our
audience.”

“
Well, I’ve got the, uh…set
dressings nearly done,” Lein said.

Bode heard the two of them walk up the steps
to the coffin car. Then Lein’s voice again: “She’s not here.”

“
She’s probably in town at
the bar. I’ll go look for her.”

“
Naw. You ’n‘ she been
tangling lately. I’ll go get her.”

Sibyata
. Bode hadn’t seen her since this afternoon. The voices and
footsteps left the coffin car and retreated. Bode gave a long sigh.
His hand was still in the bag of food he’d brought for
Valen.

“
What was that about?”
Valen asked.

Bode shook his head. “Not sure.” He looked
at Valen. “There’ve been protestors at our last few shows. Ever
since, um… I pulled you out of the water. And Kilroy hit me for
it.”

Valen’s expression was unreadable. Bode
flushed and turned his attention to the bag again. He held out a
paper plate folded around two cold chicken wings and a biscuit.
“Sorry it’s not more.”

“
What’s in it?” Valen
looked suddenly wary.

“
Uh…it’s bread. And
chicken.”

“
What’d they put in it?”
Valen demanded.

“
What are you—”

“
What's fucking in
it?”

“
How should I know?
Whatever’s in bread. Flour and yeast and stuff. And this is fucking
chicken. Jesus, what’s your
problem
?” Bode softened his tone,
trying to remember what he would have wanted in those first few
days after he’d joined the Grand Ballast. He’d tried at first to be
thick-skinned—bitter and cruel, like the others. But he’d clung to
the hope that someone would speak kindly to him. Each time he was
summoned to Kilroy’s car, he’d staggered there in a daze, with a
memory pulsing beneath his skin—the memory of Kilroy’s touch when
it had been soft and unthreatening.

“
Shh, shh,” he whispered to
Valen. “I won’t—I
won’t
hurt you. I promise.”

Valen’s gaze was blank. “I am the light. And
I am—”

“
Shh. No. Stop
that.”

“
I’d rather be dead than
this,” Valen said flatly.

“
I’ll get you out,” Bode
promised again, the words rushed and desperate. “You won’t have to
stay here. I won’t let them put you in the show. But you have
to…please promise you won’t go back to the No Returns. Let me…let
me help you find something else.”

What scared him the most
about the promise was that it felt like his own. It was
unreasonable, impossible, but it wasn’t a product of the Haze, or
of his guilt. He
meant
this. He’d finish what he had started: he would save
the Boy of the Water.

A long silence. Straw and chains, the musty
smell of the folded tent and unwashed costumes. The stench of the
bucket, of Valen’s sweat. His gaze took in Valen’s naked body. He
tried not to think anything, feel anything related to bare skin.
But he couldn’t help himself.

“
Why are you here?” Valen
asked softly. “If he’s not forcing you…?”

Bode looked at the straw. “I did something
terrible.” Valen’s free ankle, he noticed suddenly, was still
bruised from when he’d been chained underwater—when he’d struggled.
“Now I’m paying my debt.”

Valen nodded. Didn’t speak for another
moment. “I let someone down. The No Returns promised they could
make it stop mattering.”

“
Well, they can’t.” Bode
cupped Valen’s cheek. Valen didn’t flinch. “The things we do, they
matter. We can’t escape from them.”

Valen’s breath touched Bode’s lips. “Are you
sure?” He sounded lost.

Bode nodded.

After a moment, Valen leaned toward him.
Bode leaned in too, and their lips met briefly. Bode drew back, his
breath coming faster, his body tense, hesitant. But all the
coldness was gone from Valen’s eyes, and Bode saw there a depth of
feeling that shocked him.

A creak outside startled them both. Bode
whirled in time to see a shadow duck from the doorway. He heard
footsteps running across the grass.

By the time he reached the door, whoever it
was had disappeared.

A TRUE WONDER

Then.

“
I have an idea.” Kilroy
reached for a package of cookies on the kitchen table. It was
evening, and they were finishing a late dinner. Kilroy’s notebook
was underneath his elbow.

Bode smiled in spite of
himself. He’d been working, over the past few weeks, on putting
aside his jealousy, his anger, and moving ahead with his imperfect
life. It was hard, but he fared better each day. And Kilroy had
seemed happier recently—he was home more often, and Bode hadn’t
heard a word about Driscoll in nearly a week. “What’s your
idea?”

Kilroy gazed at Bode from
across the table, his pale eyes alive with excitement. The
chandelier above the table had three burned-out bulbs, and the
weakened light gave his skin a gentle gold hue. “I’m working with a
friend of mine who has invested a great deal in pharmaceuticals. We
are perfecting a drug that is a true wonder. Well,
she’s
creating it. I’m
only telling her what I’d like it to do.” He took a bite of a
cookie and chewed.

“
A drug?”

“
Mmm.
Yesh.” He swallowed. “So many drugs,
they—
you
become unreliable. Crashing through life, looking for
trouble. Then there are others, others that sink you. Make you a
rock at the bottom of a pond.”

“
Do you want me to ask what
that means?”

Kilroy flashed him a grin
full of cookie crumbs. “I’ve made friends at my entrepreneurial
meetings. We have discussed various business plans. I feel closer
and closer to discovering what I want to do. What mark I’d like to
leave on the world.”

“
You want to dope people
up?”

“
I want
to combine drugs and art. I’m fascinated by chemicals. By
the
mind
.
I’m sure there’s a way to rid people of boredom. I’m fuck-standing
sure of it.” Kilroy was earnest. “If we can create pharmaceuticals
that unlock parts of the mind—”

Bode shook his head. “You
sound crazy.”

Kilroy’s eyes narrowed for
a second, and Bode was pleased by the insecurity there—Kilroy
wasn’t sure whether Bode was teasing. Bode wasn’t sure either. “I’m
looking for another person to help with trials. A test subject. I
already have one.”

“
I hope you’re
kidding.”

Kilroy rose and came around
to kneel in front of Bode, smoothing his palms up Bode’s thighs and
leaning between Bode’s legs. He stretched his arms straight out and
gripped the sides of Bode’s chair. Stared up, smiling. “I’ve tried
the drug too. It’s quite lovely. You sink into a sort of haze, but
you are still able to do anything you wish. Or anything anyone else
wishes.” He flicked his tongue suggestively.

Bode couldn’t explain why
he hated the idea so much. The key to waking people up again wasn’t
drugs. He couldn’t stand the thought of everyone in the world
taking some fucking pill in order to be interested in what went on
around them.

Bode pushed him away
halfheartedly. “Go on. You’re insane.” He enjoyed the power he
felt, seeing Kilroy’s expression darken and his confusion
grow.

Kilroy leaped to his feet.
“Come onnnn, Bode!” He pulled Bode up. “Do you have any idea what
we’re going to do together?” Energy poured from him, bellows of
feeling loud as a factory whistle. He gripped Bode’s shoulders.
“Together. We’re going to change the way the world
thinks
. We’re going to
make art a pair of spurs again. We’re going to
dance
.”

He swung Bode out and
around. Bode planted his feet, bringing the movement to a violent
halt. “
Stop
.”

Kilroy slowed and released
Bode. He hooked his foot around the leg of his chair, yanked the
chair out and sat in it. He let his arms fall between his spread
legs, and he studied Bode, face plasticized and strange. “Bodeee,”
he said softly. “You don’t have to do anything.” He stared at Bode
for a moment, a half smile on his face. “Isn’t that true? Isn’t
that wonderful? You don’t have to do anything. I was just asking.
Don’t be angry with me.”

“
Stop,” Bode said. “Just
stop. You scare me when you’re like this.”

Kilroy rested a hand on the
table. Ragged skin around the nails, and a slight scaly chappedness
to the back of his hand. “This drug allows you to push aside what
doesn’t matter and concentrate on a task at hand. You might even
like it, for your dancing.”

Bode wasn’t dancing, and
Kilroy knew it. And what the fuck made Kilroy think Bode needed the
help of a drug when he performed? When he danced, there was only
the story. He didn’t need any fucking help focusing.

“
Or for your jealousy,”
Kilroy added in a whisper, watching Bode’s face closely.

Bode snapped then. “You
don’t make any sense; you don’t know who you are!” He advanced on
Kilroy. “You keep secrets from me; you make me feel—” he shook his
head “—so stupid.” He reached across the table and grabbed Kilroy’s
notebook. “What do you write in here? Huh?”

“
Bode, put that
down.”

Bode flung the notebook
open to a random page. Read down a list of titles.

The Southern
Point

Amy’s Den

Enemania

Solstice

Vice on Ice

Belvedere Farm

“
What is this?” Bode
murmured, more to himself than Kilroy.

A list of X-shows. And
each name had a set of numbers beside it. The columns were labeled
in nearly illegible scrawl:
Attendance,
Admss Price, # of Performers.

Bode turned the page.
Drawings of a wooden circus wagon.

The next page looked like a
lecture screen from a chemistry class—formulas and equations. The
page after that featured snippets of writing:

Cradled to us are slips of things. Ideas and
promises that breathe beside us. And their heartbeats are ours to
protect.

Only now in this listless hour do I
comprehend

The next page was dated and the handwriting
was tidier.

Subject sleeps comfortably but dreams
despite the drug.

3 pills good for the pain. Bad for
reflexes.

Subject asks for more. Addiction weakness of
will or one of the prettiest things the mind does???