Wander Dust (18 page)

::25::
Bridge of Sighs

It’s been about a week, but we haven’t seen Stu or Terease since the
incident
. It’s the word teachers are using to refer to it. We aren’t exactly sure what the punishment for
horseplay
is, and the teachers keep us guessing, never addressing our queries. I suspect it’s all an act to keep us scared, well-behaved students.

For all I know, there’s an ancient torture machine that erases your brain in a dungeon below Olde Town. Well, maybe not that extreme, but I know Stu disappearing with Terease can’t be good.

In a world that seems like so much fun, you’d figure they wouldn’t flip out about such a stupid little thing. But then again, this is Terease we’re talking about—my terrifying Lady in Black—the one that tried to turn my brain into a crispy critter for fun. She’s the one that originally made the number one spot on of my list of weird.

My mind runs over the remaining list, as it has done a million times in the past week:
CC, Frances Germ Bum, and the Grungy Gang.
To relieve my stress, I imagine myself closer to solving the mystery and finding a way to see my mom.

I try not to think of the flip side, but it continues to haunt me. The Grungy Gang might kill me. A cloud of dread as terrifying as Terease consumes my mind.

I shake it off, literally. My body quakes with shivers. My bed jiggles along with me until I can calm myself.
Don’t be a baby, Sera!
I’m annoyed for being such a wimp.

I try to focus on the fact that I do feel much safer within the confines of the Academy building. When, and if, I venture out again, I know I’ll be slightly more capable with the new fighting skills I’m acquiring in Defense Arts classes. Although, I pray I will never have to test them against the Grungy Gang. I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’ll just be happy if I get to use my new moves to eventually take Bishop down, the way he did to me at Gabe’s soirée. For some reason, I just need him to know I’m his equal. I moan and throw a pillow over my face, trying to enlist my thoughts elsewhere.

The classes are unbelievable, but as I promised Mona, I try to remain as open-minded as possible, however difficult.

After an introduction to running the relicutionist last week, students were given full reign of exploring the massive cache of relics below the earth. The treasure trove of information gives front row seats to any historical event we choose: the Gettysburg address, the landing on the moon, the Greeks, the Romans. Nothing is off limits if we have the proper relic. We learn the real truths of every event or person we have ever learned about in a Normal’s school. My previous notions of history are remolded and challenged daily.

In Team Tactics, Ms. Midgenet works with our group individually to strengthen the invisible chain between us. Sam, originally resistant, has finally started warming up to me—slightly. Undecided tension remains between Bishop and me. I take comfort in the fact that he needs me in at least one of the ways I need him, the way all three of need each other, as a team.

As promised by Mr. Evanston on our first meeting, I listen to recorded Night Classes in my sleep on a machine called the
contrapulator
. It traps and steals my dreams, trading them with recorded information. The first week of recordings covered a partial history and etiquette of the Italian culture in addition to boring Normal studies. Later in the week, the recordings hedged into learning beginning Italian.

I wake up every morning wondering if the Night Classes worked because I don’t feel more knowledgeable. Gabe told me that I’ll be able to access the information when I need it like a computer database. “You’ll be just as super-fabulous as a computer!” he insisted, flailing his expressive hands all over the place.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at my door.

Surprised, I roll out of bed, dragging my blanket with me to answer it. Any normal person would be asleep this early on a Monday if they weren’t contemplating the Grungy Gang.

I reach for the knob and tug the door open. “Well, speak of the devil,” I say.

Gabe snickers.“Oh, Sera, I’ve been called so much worse!” He trots past me and over to my closet. On his tiptoes, he hangs a huge garment bag on the door. He quickly pulls the zipper open and tugs out a magnificent Baroque, hoop dress.

“What’s this for?” I ask.

“For today’s field trip, of course!”

I eye the thing over. “Thing” is a good word for it because the massive dress, so intricate in its design, takes on a life of its own. Gabe’s hands flutter over the ruffles, beads, and ribbons encasing the blue satin brocade fabric. The dress looks like attire that should accompany a powdered wig and a big, fake, beauty mark. Images of Marie Antoinette come to mind.
“Aren’t we just going the Carnevale festival in Venice, like two years ago?” I thought we’d just wear our regular uniforms. It’s not the eighteenth century, after all.

“Yes, but we’re all getting dressed up! For fun!” he says with exuberance.

“Like this?” I point at the thing. “All of us are dressing like this?

“Of cou—rse!” Gabe drags out the last word like he’s saying ‘duuuuh!’ “I mean—you know—this is how they dress for Carnevale. You could arrive looking all
normal
, but what fun would that be? Right?” His eyes beam on me. “You should see my outfit, Sera! It’s so fab-rageous!”

I know from my Night Classes that the Venice Carnevale in Italy is a huge festival before the beginning of Catholic Lent. There are many traditions, but the most popular ones are to dress extravagantly in voluminous, eighteenth century ball gowns, velvet capes, and hand-painted paper mâché masks while roaming around the ancient city. We’re attending on the final day of the Carnevale, the busiest and most exciting. Gabe promises an excellent spectator event. I didn’t realize until just now, that I would be one of the ones spectated.

Gabe cocks his head and holds up a pearl choker with a sea blue cameo. “This will go perfectly with the dress!”

I grab it from him. “
Thanks,
” I say. “When are we meeting?”

“At noon. In the Olde Town piazza.”

“So late?”

“Well, the Seers have their relic challenge first thing this morning.” He leans down and places a matching pair of shoes on the floor.

The Seers are being tested on their ability to find a suitable relic for us to wander with from the Relic Archives. A relic that will lead us to the Carnevale, two years ago.

Gabe skips to the bedroom door. “Don’t forget, physical time is of no consequence when you’re wandering. We can leave, be gone for hours, yet return to true time in the very next moment.” Gabe snaps his fingers. “You’ll be back for lunch!”

“Right.” I find the concept hard to contemplate. When we wander, we never lose time. Time is irrelevant.

“See you later, duchess!” Gabe says, shutting the door behind him.

•

I adjust my corset bodice then smooth down the skirt of my dress. They’re two separate pieces, but you’d never know it. The silky fabric feels wonderful under my fingertips. I’m like some kind of princess.
Maybe this won’t be so bad.

When I walk into Olde Town, everyone is mingling, admiring each other’s fanciful clothing. I meander through the crowd searching for Sam and Bishop.

A hand lightly grabs my arm. I’d know the touch anywhere. I find it strange that it affects me physically, shooting warmth across my skin even before I turn to see him.

“We’re right here,” Bishop says, pulling me back toward him.

His crooked smile and perfectly square chin look down at me from behind a silver painted, argyle patterned mask. My heart jumps at the sight of him dressed eloquently in two tones of black, a tailed jacket with wide cuffed sleeves, and to-the-knee trousers.

Here stands my prince.

My face flushes. I turn my eyes away as quickly as they catch his. They always seem to linger a little too long on his face. As much as I feel for him, I need to keep my emotions in check.

“What relic did you find, Sam?” I redirect my interest.

“A mask.” She hands it to me. “It’s a girl’s mask, so I guess you’ll be the one holding it. Unless Bishop is considering a gender change for the day?” She eyes him up.

“Sera can hold it,” he assures us.

“It took me a while to find this one,” she continues. “It might be a bumpy ride, lots of turns in the map to get that specific day.”

“Nothing could be as bad as the first time,” I say.

“If you say so,” she responds.

“What will you do while we’re gone?” Since this is our first official trip as a team, I’m unclear about what happens to her during the process.

“I’ll be watching everything,” she says.

“But we leave and come back in the next instant. How do you see everything so fast?” I ask.

“In the moment you leave, I’ll fall into a hypnotic state. Then I’ll experience everything that happens through Bishop’s eyes. Your trip will take you hours. My meditating will be a fractionalized second. I’ll resurface when you step foot back on true time, we’ll be coordinated in time again. Make sense?”

“I guess.”

“I’m going to the Seer’s Meditation Room now. I’ll be watching everything you do. Try to make it interesting,” she sniffs.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Bishop interrupts, then he offers me his arm. “Shall we, Miss Parrish?”

Everyone lines up, two by two, ready to take a run across Olde Town’s piazza. Ms. Midgenet, at the front, gives instructions to each team before they wander.

When our turn comes, I realize Sam didn’t lie. The trip slams us with so many direction changes, I think I might throw-up. The stream of warm colors radiating around us finally succumb, and we fall through the wormhole, catapulting through the air. Our bodies halt at a large stone wall. Upon impact, I clench the wall under my fingers and let my cheek rest on the cool marble facade for a moment. I’m relieved to be standing still. After several deep breaths, I steady my stomach.

“Chop, chop, kiddies,” Gabe hurries us.

We both turn and look over our shoulders at him. Gabe stands behind us in a festive pink get-up with mounds of white lace, but at this moment, there are two of him. I wobble toward him, readjusting the layers of fabric encasing my body and try to gain control of myself. This isn’t the most comfortable attire for wandering.

“Oh, don’t you two look so cute!” He pinches our cheeks simultaneously. “Now, here’s some money and a map of the
city. The streets are confusing, so don’t lose it. And stay together,” he warns, shaking a painted fingernail. “There are fireworks in a few hours at nine, Venice time.” Bishop takes out his pocket watch and sets it. “We meet back here, tonight at ten. So don’t be late!”

As a group, we walk out of the tiny, hidden courtyard and into a grand shopping arcade with arched columns as far as the eye can see. Beyond the corridor, the space opens up into a massive piazza, the famous Piazza San Marco.

Pigeons flutter erratically around tourists, vying for offerings of bread and bird seed. Of the thousands of people crammed into the space, everyone is dressed in some sort of costume. We blend. No one will ever imagine who or what we are. Very subtly, they’re teaching us the art of disguise.

Bishop unfolds the map and studies it for a moment. “What shall we see?” He looks at me with interest. It suddenly dawns on me that we will be together. Alone. All day. The corner of my mouth twitches.

“Umm—the Grand Canal, the Rialto Bridge, the fish market, Santa Maria della Salute, and St. Mark’s Basilica.” I look up from under my eyelashes and smile.

“Anything else?” One eyebrow arches.

“And the fireworks, of course.”

“All right then, let’s take a large loop around the city.” I follow his finger around the map with my eyes, “then we’ll return here for fireworks.” He taps Piazza San Marco on the map. “Sound agreeable?”

“Perfect!”

We start our tour by walking through Piazza San Marco, past the ornate Doge’s Palace, and the red brick, San Marco’s bell tower, which happens to be the tallest building in the city at three hundred and twenty-three feet high. Next, we stroll out onto the Grand Canal promenade.

At first, we don’t speak. I just enjoy the cool air and salty aroma of the seawater splashing onto the side of the promenade. Orchestra music plays softly somewhere in the distance. Merchants peddle wares at every street corner.

When I glance over at Bishop, his chin lifts toward the late afternoon sun. His hands are folded behind his back. He appears regal, refined, and most certainly handsome in his costume. It’s as though he belongs in an outfit from the eighteenth century.

“Why does everyone call you by your last name?” It’s the first personal question I’ve ever asked him.

“There’s no glamorous reason, I’m afraid. Maxwell, it’s a family name. There are several among the cousins. They just started out of necessity, to keep us all straight, I suppose.”

“It suits you, I guess.”

“Well, I’m glad you approve,” he says and nods at me with smile.

I stop and admire one of the many ancient buildings, a rosy pink one with beautiful white details. A gold nameplate next to the door says, Hotel Danieli.

“This building dates back to the fourteenth century. It used to serve as a palace for the noble Venetian Dandolo family,” Bishop explains.

“How do you know? I mean, I don’t remember it as part of our Night Classes.”