The Madness Project (The Madness Method) (19 page)

I did laugh then, in surprise.  “
What?
  There are
Jixies who can do that?”

“Mm,” Kor said.  He thought a moment, then slouched back in
his chair.  “Well, stars, I don’t know.  But you’d better think of something or
you’ll never last.”

“What about being a Shard like you?”

He bent over his knees, and a moment later I realized his
shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“No.”  I bristled, thinking he was insulting my fighting
skills, but then he looked up at me and the cold anger and burning grief in his
eyes cut straight through me.  He said, “Trust me, you don’t want to claim that
gift.”

“Why not?”

He said nothing, but never took his eyes from my face. 
Behind him I saw that Zagger had stopped fiddling with the revolvers, and was
watching Kor with the strangest expression on his face.  I shifted and stared
down at my hands.

“What if I said I was a Mask, and then took on a third face
if they asked me to prove it?”

“You can do that?”

I pushed back to lean against the wall.  “Never tried,
honestly.  I don’t see why I couldn’t.”

“Don’t know about it,” he said.  “You could still be
suspected.”  He studied me closely for a long while, curiosity tempering his
usual belligerence.  “Can you impersonate someone?”

“Take on a real person’s face, you mean?” I asked, startled.

“Yes.”

I shrugged.  I’d never even thought about it.

“I’ve never met a Mask,” Kor added.  “I’d like to know if
it’s possible.”

“I’ll let you know.”

He shrugged.  “All right.  Well, what face are you going to
show them?  Will you try that?”

I shifted, suddenly self-conscious.  I’d only just  gotten
the courage to Mask my face in the privacy of my room.  The idea of shifting in
front of Kor made me feel horribly exposed, but…I wanted his opinion.  Maybe I
even wanted his approval.  So I closed my eyes and cleared my thoughts, then
began to imagine the face I wanted to assume.  I’d imagined it in so much
detail already, mentally staring at every feature from every angle, that I knew
it almost as well as the lines of Griff’s face, or Samyr’s.

The hair was always easiest, so I started by picturing messy
light brown hair, almost blonde.  Then I imagined away the narrow point of my
chin, giving it a heavier, squarer look.  My dark eyes turned grey, my nose
shortened just a touch, then my eyebrows leveled out a little.  All small
changes, but I knew in the end I looked like a completely different person.

“Interesting,” Kor said.  “And the rest of you?  Stand up.”

I slid off the table and straightened up.  The idea of
changing my height or body-type had never occurred to me, but I couldn’t
imagine it would be terribly difficult.  I let my eyes drop shut again and
focused my energy on the rest of my body.  Much as I wanted to make myself
taller, I pictured myself an inch shorter than my normal height.  Pain ground
through all my bones in response.  My one indulgence was imagining muscles I’d
been trying to achieve for years—not too extravagant, but enough that I looked
as if I could handle myself.  Even my skin turned pale, matching the fairness
of my hair.

“Well.  That’s
something
,” Kor said, sounding like
Griff.

I opened my eyes and found him studying me thoughtfully.  I
tried not to glance at Zagger.

“Can you actually use those or are they just for show?” he
asked, nodding at my arms.

I flexed my elbow, feeling only my own muscles underneath. 
They weren’t anything to be ashamed of after years of crew and ring fighting,
but they still lacked the bulk of my imagined form.  And, disturbingly, I
noticed that as I flexed my arm, nothing was happening to my Masked muscles. 

I pushed out with my thoughts, as if I could drive my nerves
straight into empty space and
feel
the new muscles, because Kor was
right—if I couldn’t use them, it was pointless to have them.

A sudden surge of strength tore through me, like pain or
fire.  My hands knotted, a strangled cry hung in the air, carrying my voice.  I
dropped onto my knees as blood pounded at the corners of my eyes.  Vaguely I
saw Kor’s hand stretching out to me, but I swiped it away as I staggered back
to my feet, lacing the air with every obscenity I knew.

“I take it that was a new experience,” he remarked.

I bent over my knees, dragging in deep breaths.  “That’s the
last time,” I panted, glaring up at him.  “The last time.”

“Right.  That’s better, anyway,” Kor said.  “Kind of
horrifying to see you twitching your arms with your muscles just sitting there
like dead things.”

I nodded.  “So, is it all right?”

“You’ll just stay that way now?” Kor asked.  “You won’t
suddenly snap back to Tarik Trabinis if I punch you?”

“Please don’t try it,” I said, rubbing my still-sore mouth
and wondering if I could imagine away wounds.  “As far as I know, I’m trapped
here until I decide to unMask.”

“Well.  Let’s fix some things.  See what you can do.”

“I just told you—”

“Tarik.”

I groaned and lifted my hands like a shrug.

“Lighten your hair a bit.”  I gritted my teeth and made it
as pale as Zagger’s, but still he scowled at me.  “Oh, hell.  Just shave it
off.  You’ll look tougher.”

“Am I supposed to be a thug or a street rat?”

He grinned, savage.  “Not much difference these days.”

I shaved the hair.

“Now, can you give yourself a mark?”

“A what?” I cried, before I could stop myself.  “That’s…”

“A criminal thing?” Kor asked, lip curled.  He got to his
feet abruptly and turned around, pulling the collar of his shirt down so I
could see the clockwork tattoo etched in bronze and gold at the nape of his
neck.  “Yes.”

I swallowed.  “What sort of person am I pretending to be?”

“The kind of person they’ll want around,” he said, covering
the mark as he faced me again.

I pondered that, abrading my lower lip with my finger, then
finally I sighed and nodded.  “But I don’t know anything about tattoos.”

“In the underground, every mark has a meaning.  A tattoo on
the inside of your arm means you’ve spent time in prison.  One on your neck…” 
His voice trailed off, and he flashed me a look that was all danger and veiled
threat.  “Some mages like to flaunt their gifts instead of hide them, so a mark
can indicate a magery gift if it’s placed on the body part associated with the
gift—actually or metaphorically.”

“Such as?”

“A Sculptor might put a tattoo over his heart because he
shifts emotions.  A Knack—a reader—might tattoo the skin around the ear and
temple.  You could tattoo your face, or just your eyes, in the shape of a
mask.”

I shuddered.  The idea of having a mark was bad enough. 
Having one marring my face, even just my Masked face, was nightmarish.

“What colors?  Even metals?”

“Even metals, but Jixies might not like that so much.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, though he kept his face
stubbornly turned aside.  “
You’re
a Jixy.”

“Yes.”

“Care to explain that?”

“No.”

I frowned, but Kor’s expression was caged, and I knew I’d
get nothing else out of him.  Finally I shrugged and closed my eyes.  This was
harder—I wasn’t much of an artist.  But I had an image in my mind, and I tried
to catch it and examine it before it faded away.  It was a mesh of lines and
arcs spiderwebbing around just my right eye, drawn in an icy white that gleamed
a little in the light.

“That’ll work,” Kor said, sounding impressed.  “It’s better
than a scar.”

“Is that supposed to make me happy?”

He laughed, and for the first time I didn’t feel as though
he was mocking me.  I drew a breath and glanced over at Zagger.  He leaned back
in his chair, arms folded, with some expression on his face that hovered
between fascination and disgust.

“What do you think, Zag?  Will it do?”

“Stars,” he said, and dropped his head in his hands.

I flinched and went to crouch down in front of him. 
“Zagger, listen.  This is what I have to do.  This is…this is what I am.”

“No,” he said, firmly.  “You’re the Crown Prince.  Don’t
ever forget that.  This—” He waved at my face.  “This is just a mask.”

“The Crown Prince has never been a Jixy,” I said, quietly. 
“If the world knew…”

His jaw tightened and he turned his head away.

“I wouldn’t be allowed to keep my crown.”

“Just stop,” he said.  “Don’t.”

I stared at him, fighting the grief in my heart.  For all he
protested otherwise, he had to feel betrayed.  I didn’t blame him.  I felt like
a traitor.

“This is the first time you’ve seen what I really am,” I
said, quiet, sitting back on my heels.  “I can’t ask you to stay if you despise
me after all.”

His gaze snapped back to my face—my foreign face—but his
eyes pierced straight through that mask to the real me inside.

“You know I don’t,” he said.  “I told you that once
already.  I know I have to get out of your way and let you do this, but…it’s
because I trust you.  Not because I don’t.  I’m always going to be with you,
even if you don’t know I’m there.”

I smiled.  “Thanks, Zag.”

He shot a strange glance across at Kor, curious or angry, I
couldn’t quite tell.  Finally he said, “You’ve made him look Istian.”

I winced, but Kor just smiled smugly.  “That was the idea.” 
He waved me toward him.  “Come on.  It’s time for tea.”

*  *  *  *

Kor led me out through the servant’s entrance, back around
by the kitchens.  I flinched every time one of the few remaining servants
crossed in front of me, but none of them cast me more than an idle,
disinterested glance.  As we emerged out into the rain, we found Zagger waiting
for us in a plain brown overcoat and hat.  The clothes made me stare at him as
though he were a stranger, because for as long as I could recall, I’d never
seen him in anything besides his black uniform.

“Did I invite you?” Kor said, stopping shoulder-to-shoulder
with him.  “You’re the only one of us with a public face, remember?”

“Nobody looks at the bodyguard,” Zagger snapped, shoving Kor
aside.  “And I’m disguised enough that no one will recognize me anyway.  I’m
not staying behind.”

“I don’t—”

“Shut up, both of you,” I said.  “He’s coming.  Deal with
it.”

And I strode past the pair of them, walking toward the
servants’ gate because I couldn’t ride in the motorcar and I certainly couldn’t
ride my horse, which I rather thought was more popular than I was.  By the time
I reached the gate, Kor and Zagger had stopped bickering and stalked behind me,
keeping an exact distance from me that I doubt they even realized.

“Would you
stop
tailing me like you’re security?” I
asked, shooting them a glare over my shoulder.  “I should probably be the one
following, since you two are so old.”

They both grinned, looking like a pair of mad cats.  I
rolled my eyes and slowed down, letting them take the lead.  The sudden
downpour didn’t seem to faze Kor, so I pretended it didn’t bother me either. 
I’d switched my suit for a pair of trousers and a shirt that I sometimes wore
for crew, topped with a long wool coat and a newsboy cap that made me entirely
forgettable. 

It kept me dry enough, anyway.  When Kor stopped in front of
a diner I’d never even heard of—not being the sort of place the Crown Prince
ought to visit, after all—I only mildly resembled a drowned rat.  Zagger had
the worst of it, because his coat was plain cloth, and it had gotten thoroughly
soaked.

He hung it in the cloak room and followed us, damp and
grumbling, into the restaurant.  I swallowed my distaste.  The air reeked of
grease and beer, and bits of damp newspaper made patchwork of the floor.  Most
of the booths were empty, and no one tended the bar.  A few grubby workmen
occupied one table near the door, drinking and talking too loudly, laughing too
much.  Oily light and cigar smoke smothered their table. 

Kor ignored all of it and strode up to the counter, leaning
his arms straight into a patch of slick grease I’d spotted from the doorway.  I
made a face and followed.  I almost started to dust the crumbs from the counter
but caught myself at the last moment.  Kor had seen the grease too.  He’d given
me an example, much as I hated to admit that I needed it.

So I leaned onto the bar beside him, propping one foot on
the metal rung near the floor.  Kor tapped his coin on the bar, then spun it
like a top, and tapped it again. 
Tap.  Tap-tap.  Tap
.  I wanted to
break his fingers.

After a moment I heard shouts beyond the kitchen’s doors.  A
woman’s voice rose above the rest, too loud and harsh, and the doors slammed
open.  I expected a dried up and bitter old jill to appear, but instead a young
woman swept into the bar.  She wore a look that could curdle milk, though,
until she glanced at the three of us.  Something like real pleasure lit her
face then, and she smiled and headed straight for Kor.

“Kor!” she cried, tucking bits of stray red hair back under
her cap.  “Weren’t expecting you so soon.  What’s it today, doll?”

She swept a glance over Zagger, then me.  I stood rigidly
for her inspection, my cheeks warming as she sidled closer to the bar.  I could
smell her perfume now, some cloying floral scent that mixed badly with the
stench of grease and smoke.  She couldn’t have been more than about twenty, but
the purple lines under her eyes made her seem much older.

“Eh, who’s your friend here, Kor?” she asked, still studying
me under her lashes.  “He’s kind of cute.”

“He’s also standing right here,” I said, before Kor could
say something snide.

She grinned at me.  “Why, yes you are.”

Zagger made a noise in his throat.

“Oh, I see you too, handsome.  Kor comes by and bothers me
all the time, but we don’t get a whole lot of other fine-looking lads in here. 
So, uh…”  She flicked a glance from me to him.  “You planning on coming regular
now?  Maybe I’ll see you boys around again?”