The Madness Project (The Madness Method) (2 page)

“Trabin.  Don’t hurt the child.  Don’t blame him.”

“
You
.”  His breath snaked out.  “You lied to me,
Elanar…”  The anger faded, and turned to stone.  “Why?”

“Why are you mad at Mummy?” I asked, gulping through my
tears.  “She didn’t do anything wrong.  Don’t be angry with her!  I didn’t mean
to make you angry.”

I buried my head in my hands and felt the whiskers
disappear, leaving my own face just the way it belonged.  Father leaned toward
us and gripped my arm, so hard I gasped. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, his voice a terrible
growl.  “Don’t speak of it to anyone.  Not to your nanny, not to Zagger, not to
any of your friends.  No one.  Do you understand me?”

His fingers flexed, and I flinched, sobbing, “I understand.”

He released me and fixed his stare on Mother.  “You and I
will talk later.”

I couldn’t stop shaking.  I felt Mother’s tears coming
before they fell, and threw my arms around her neck. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whispered.  “Why did my face do
that?  What’s wrong with me?”

She pulled me close, her hand on my head, kisses in my
hair.  I didn’t want to look at my Father again, but I couldn’t help peeking at
him through my fingers.  For endless long moments he watched us, cold and
quiet.  Then he got up and pulled out a cigar, and strolled from the booth.

Chapter 2 — Tarik

It rained the day before I turned seventeen, but then, it
always rained on my birthday.  Sometimes I imagined it never stopped from one
birthday to the next.  This was Cavnal, the rainy center of the universe, where
even sunny days felt damp and the streets of Brinmark never dried.

I’d already spent near half the day with Zagger, driving
along all the old palace roads in my family’s smashing new motorcar.  Zagger
had been in love with that hellish machine from the first moment he’d seen it;
I’d never seen him quite as excited as the day my father told him he could
drive it.  Of course, I imagined I was the only person in Brinmark who thought
the thing was hideous, with its chattering engine and the stench of oily steam
coiling about it.  After riding in it for what felt like an eternity I decided
there were only two things I liked about the motorcar: the warmth from the
steam that drove off the frigid grey cold of the Marras day, and the windows
and roof that kept the blowing rain from drenching me.

Zagger never said it, but I imagined he had strict orders
from my father to keep me inside the Oval Wall and well under wraps anyway.  I
don’t know how my father could always tell when I got the notion to run off
somewhere I didn’t belong.  It was the only time he seemed to notice me at
all.  By now I could predict with almost clockwork accuracy when he would call
me in for a lecture after one of my larks.

Growing up I’d spent endless nights fearing that he’d
finally weary of hiding my secret from the world, and would send an assassin to
my room at night to rid him quietly of his problem.  I should have known
better.  Killing the Crown Prince is generally bad for public opinion, after
all, not to mention it would have displeased my mother.  Even after all that
had happened, I believed my father still loved her, almost as much as he loved
his nation.  So he let me live, though deep inside I knew that he had killed me
long ago in his heart.

The motorcar purred to stop, drawing me out of my thoughts. 
Zagger had pulled up along the old wooden fence out east of the palace, past
the Ministry buildings.  At one time—not so long ago that I couldn’t remember
it—it had enclosed an ancient hemlock grove that the foolish myths said were
sacred.  Now it circled the palace airfield, corralling half a dozen biplanes
waiting to be admired, their sleek aluminium bodies the only bright thing in
all the dreary wet light. 

Just one of the aeroplanes braved the weather today.  I
watched from the motorcar as it glided down to skate the landing strip, then
took to the clouds again.  Steam plumed like a silk scarf from the engine, a
blur of white in a world washed in grey.

I pushed back the glass window that divided Zagger’s cab
from the rear seat and said, “That’ll be Griff.  I should’ve known that idiot
would be flying today.”

Zagger snorted.  “He’d fly in a blizzard if he could. 
You’re not getting out, are you?”

I chewed at my nail and stared out at the cold rain
streaking the windows, the half-bare branches of the avenue beeches shivering
in the wind.  I’d nearly made up my mind to tell Zagger to drive on when I
caught sight of Samyr pedaling her bicycle along the road toward us.  She must
have gotten caught when the rain started, because she didn’t have a hat and her
wool coat sagged under the constant wet.  I grinned and let myself out of the
car, leaning against the fence to wait for her.

“Hullo, Samyr!” I called. 

“Oh, you’re here,” she said.  Her bicycle squeaked to a stop
beside me and she dropped a booted foot to the ground to steady herself. 
“Thought you might be off on some mad adventure today.”

I jerked my head toward the motorcar and said blandly,
“Zagger wanted to show off his driving skills.”

“Ah,” she said.  “Did he take you out into the city?”

“Stars, no,” I said, squinting at her through the gusting
rain.  “Just around inside the Wall.  And around…and around…”

Samyr smothered a laugh and I bit my tongue as Zagger
climbed out of the motorcar.  The devil, he probably knew we were talking about
him.  I wanted to tell him to stay in the motorcar where it was dry, but he
would never obey an order like that.  He stood stalwartly a few paces away from
us, ignoring the rain that drenched him, a painted backdrop to our scene.

“What about you?” I asked Samyr, holding the handlebars of
her bicycle so she could dismount.  “Tell me you didn’t just fancy a bicycle
ride in a monsoon.”

“I came to watch Griff.  I promised I would.  And I actually
thought it would be a nice day because, you know, it was only drizzling this
morning.”

I looked pointedly at the sky and she shrugged.

“I know.  Silly of me,” she said.  “Is that him up there?”

I nodded.  “I think his brains have got a bit scrambled from
too much flying, if he had any to start with.”

“Tarik!  You’re such an…”

She bit her tongue on the word, cheeks flaming.

“Such a what?” I asked, wicked.

“Shush.  I spend too much time with you and Griff, that’s
all.  You should be ashamed, y’know, saying such things around me.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, jogging her with my elbow.  “When did
you start wanting to play the lady, Miss Von?”

She pouted and rested the bicycle against the fence, her
chestnut hair scattering a shower of raindrops.  I took off my black cap and
settled it on her head.

“Thank you,” she said, teeth chattering.  “But you should
keep it.  What would your father do if you caught your death and he found out
it was because you’d given me your hat?”

Celebrate
, I thought, and said, “I suppose he’d
execute you on the spot.  Nice and quick, no fuss.  Although, it’s rather a
terrible hat.  He might execute me first for wearing it in public.  Not very
fashionable, you know.”

She laughed and shoved me.  Zagger didn’t even twitch,
though he met my quick glance with some faint sort of smile.  With most people,
if they got too close to me he was there like a watchdog, all growls and raised
hackles.  But Samyr and Griff he’d known their whole lives.  He’d stopped
trying to teach them respect years ago. 

Another gust of wind drove the rain stinging into our faces,
and Samyr yelped and shielded her eyes.  Even the other aviators had more sense
than us, abandoning Griff’s little show at the landing strip to claim refuge in
the clubhouse.  One lone boxy stood under the meager shelter of an umbrella,
peering into his enormous camera to snap pictures of the steam plane for the
Herald. 

I rubbed my hands, wishing I’d remembered my leather
gloves.  And Samyr had to be colder than me, in her knee-length skirt and
stockinged legs.  Her nose and cheeks had gone red—not a charming rosy pink,
but the raw, chafed red that would prickle now and burn later.  She shivered
and pressed her thick woolen mittens against her face so that only her eyes
showed, grey as the sky but bright as raindrops.

“You’re sure about staying?” I asked her.  “We can give you
a ride in the motorcar, if you like.  I’m sure Zagger could find a way to stick
your bicycle on the boot.”

Zagger grimaced but didn’t say a word.

Samyr stared a moment at the motorcar, running her mittened
hand over its glossy copper trim.  “I’ve always wanted to ride in this thing,”
she said, and sighed.  “But you know Griff would kill you if he knew you came
but didn’t stay to say hullo.”

“Stars, I really don’t give a—”

“Tarik!”

I grinned and leaned on the fence.  Griff brought his plane
in for another brief landing, the wheels churning up a chalky spray along the
river that was the supposed to be the runway.  I held up my hand, hoping he’d
notice and get the hint before Samyr and I turned to icicles waiting for him. 
But he kept whipping that creaking aeroplane through drill after drill.  Land,
take off.  Land, take off.  The plane’s airscrew clacked and whirred,
sputtering complaints through the sheeting rain.  I didn’t blame it.

“I think he’s just showing off, now,” Samyr said.  “He must
have seen us ages ago.”

I snorted.  “Showing off, or maybe just ignoring us.  I
suppose he thinks that if he flies the wings off that thing, his father will
give him a commission in the Air Patrol a half year early.”

“Will he?”

“Not a chance.  Try telling that to Griff, though.  You know
he’s always had his head in the sky.” 

I tapped my forehead and Samyr laughed.

“Tarik,” she said, settling her arms against the railing. 
“Don’t you want to learn to fly?  My brother does.  Seems like all the Ministry
boys do.”

“Of course they do,” I said.  “If Griff decided climbing
bell towers was a grand bit of fun, they’d be lining up for that too.”

“Not you?”

I hesitated a fraction too long, and turned a shade too
pale.  Of all the things I could have said, why did I mention bell towers?  A
half-buried memory flashed through my mind, dragging a shudder through me.  I
hadn’t made it to the top.  Not quite.  But I was mad to have gone as high as I
did.

Maybe I blushed then, or maybe my silence gave me away,
because Samyr’s eyes widened suddenly.

“You didn’t!” she gasped.

My mouth twitched; I wouldn’t look at her.

“Mr. Zagger,” she said, “did you know about that?” 

I winced and shot him a glance over my shoulder.  Part of me
wanted to laugh at the murderous glare he leveled on me, but I couldn’t quite
force it out past the sting of regret.  That was a fall I had never wanted him
to learn about.

Then, hoping he’d understand and not harass me with
questions later, I said, “It was a couple of years ago.”

When I was fifteen.  The worst year of my life.

His brows constricted, barely, turning his anger to
sadness.  I nodded.

Samyr missed the whole exchange, though, because she’d
turned around to watch Griff’s plane.

“You’d do that,” she said.  “You’d climb up a bell tower and
you refuse to fly a plane?  Griff says they’re even safer than those
motorcars.”

“You don’t really figure me for a modock, do you?” I asked,
making her laugh with my best imitation of the cocky aviator swagger. 

I didn’t tell her how terrified heights made me now.  Just
kept watching the aeroplane as it looped over the aerodrome, until it pitched
into a climb and disappeared into the sodden clouds.

“You know it’d cause a proper buzz if you ever decided to do
it,” Samyr said.  “I’d have thought you’d be yamming for the chance.”

Zagger snorted.

“Whatever was that for?” Samyr asked.

But Zagger just cleared his throat and clapped his hands
together behind his back, and pretended not to see either of us.

Samyr glared at him and turned back to me, shaking my
elbow.  “Come on, Tarik, what’d he mean by that?”

I scraped my nails against the rough wood of the rail,
pulling off splinters one at a time.  One stuck me in the nail bed and I stared
at it apathetically before pulling it out with my teeth.  Samyr gave me a
strange look.

“I don’t care to be in the limelight, that’s all,” I said
finally, kicking the fence post.  “Zagger knows that better than anyone.”

“Oh, really,” she said.  “It’s all you boys do.  Fight over
whose picture ends up on the front page of the Herald.”

I lifted a shoulder in a shrug.  If she didn’t believe me
yet, she wouldn’t believe me telling her it was all a lie.  All a show.  I
flicked a glance back at Zagger just in time to see the corner of his mouth
twitch, amused because he knew me better than anyone.