The Dark Flight Down Read online

  Boy saw a small old lady at the front of the crowd with a fluffy dog on a lead. It took him a moment to remember she was Korp’s housekeeper. She had brought Korp’s faithful dog, Lily, with her. There was Snake-girl, looking quite plain without her snake. Boy realized only now that her snake and her costume were what made her seem so mysterious and alluring. It was like a new kind of vision, seeing with eyes as keen as scalpel blades, that cut away desires and emotions and wishful thinking and left only what was fact. It hurt, sometimes, if you looked upon the wrong thing, and it could burn. Not seeing Willow among the many still arriving for Korp’s funeral, he turned his face to the sky and watched the hundreds upon thousands of huge feathery snowflakes fall into the churchyard.

  Now Boy noticed something else. People were looking at him, nudging each other and pointing at him with a nod of their heads. As he caught their eye they’d look away, and Boy soon heard enough of a whisper to know what it was. Valerian. Here was Valerian’s boy, somehow still alive despite the rumors that both he and Valerian had perished in some awful, occult cataclysm in the Yellow House on New Year’s Eve.

  “Ignore them,” Kepler said quietly.

  News traveled fast, and rumor and gossip even faster. Yes, Valerian was dead, but that was only half the story. Boy had survived, after all. The crowds stared at him. He looked thinner than ever, his pale skin ghostlike and gray, but he was nonetheless alive.

  And what would they think, Boy thought bitterly, if they knew the rest of it? That Valerian was my father.

  Kepler had said so, and then denied it almost as soon as he had uttered the words.

  It seemed so unreal to Boy, the Boy who was finally seeing what was truth and what was untruth. Maybe he’d just imagined Kepler had said it. Those last few minutes before Valerian had gone had been so chaotic: the noise, the light, the wind in the Tower. Maybe he’d just wanted to hear what he thought Kepler had said, and had imagined it.

  But no. Kepler had told Valerian that he was Boy’s father. Why he had denied it as soon as Valerian was dead, Boy had no idea, but he had definitely said it. And there had been a witness too.

  At the thought of her, Boy’s eyes rose from the snow and slush around his feet, and he looked up, to find himself looking into a smiling face he had been longing to see.

  Willow.

  4

  Willow stood on the far side of the grave, hidden from the waist down by the pile of earth spoil that would soon be covering Korp’s coffin. Boy made to move toward her, but there was Kepler’s hand on his shoulder immediately.

  “Have some respect, Boy.”

  Kepler nodded to where the pallbearers were making their way through the crowd.

  The ceremony began and ended and finally they shoveled some of the earth back into the hole, hiding the coffin as the City was being hidden by snow. Hiding it from sight, as if that could hide it from memory.

  Boy knew there was something wrong with what he was watching, but couldn’t place what it was. Korp’s dog, Lily, however, could. As the frozen clods of earth began to drum onto the wood of the coffin lid, the sad little mutt shivered and then began to let out a pathetic whimper. She knew that simply because something was gone from sight did not mean it was gone from memory, and she missed her master.

  The snow fell, and Boy shut his mind to everything but its falling.

  Now he knew what was strange about the funeral. All these people were united by the one thing that wasn’t there: the dead. It was the first funeral Boy had ever been to, and it struck him as profoundly strange.

  Korp was not the only person missed by the mourners. It seemed strange that Valerian was not there too. As people started to drift away, Boy looked across the gathering, and caught a glimpse of a tall figure in black striding along the street. For a second he thought it was his dead master come back to life.

  It was only a priest hurrying through the snow.

  Suddenly the old violinist who had often been kind to Boy clapped his hands.

  “Wait! We cannot leave it at that! Will you join me, friends, in celebrating the life of our dear director?”

  People murmured and nodded.

  “Quite so!” someone called.

  “To the Feather, then?” the violinist said. “The first drinks are on me!”

  Boy had lost sight of Willow, then saw her through the crowd, beckoning him.

  “Can we go?” Boy asked Kepler. “Can we go to the Feather?”

  “No,” said Kepler. “We’ve done what we came to do.”

  But before they could move, the old violinist, Georg, and a couple of his friends came over to where Boy and Kepler stood. Without a glance at Kepler, they fussed over Boy, walking him away from the grave, along with everyone else heading for the tavern, and Kepler could do nothing but follow, hopping at their heels like an unwanted dog.

  Boy could feel his feet again. Somewhere in the crowd of people up ahead was Willow. That in itself gave Boy warmth.

  5

  “So you’re the boy’s new master?”

  Now Boy and Kepler found themselves sitting squashed around a table in the filthy tavern called the Feather. Talk quickly moved from the uncertain future of the theater to Valerian, and then to Boy. Boy watched, squirming uneasily while Georg and the others questioned Kepler. Willow was nearby, picking greedily at a bowl of intensely sweet raisins in the middle of the table. She glanced over at Boy, smiling.

  Kepler saw this.

  “We must go. Boy and I have work to do,” he said for the fourth time in as many minutes, but no one got up to let him out.

  A large man on Kepler’s left smiled at Boy.

  “Run and fetch the barmaid, will you? More drinks all round.”

  “And get her to bring some absinthe, eh? A game of snapdragon, anyone? Korp would have loved that!”

  There was a loud cheer round the table as Boy pushed his way through to find the barmaid, trying to catch Willow’s eye as he left.

  By the time he got back, they’d already found a bottle of absinthe somewhere else. They had dispensed with beer in favor of this devilish green liquor, and had embarked upon a game of snapdragon.

  Boy loved this game, largely because he usually got away without having to play himself, just watching as others fell off their chairs from the drink. He almost felt sorry for Kepler, who had obviously never heard of snapdragon before, and was about to learn all about it the hard way.

  “Right,” Georg was saying to Kepler, “now you know how to play, let’s do it properly.”

  On the table was a small saucer into which a little of the absinthe had been poured. A handful of raisins was added. The game was to pick up a raisin from the saucer and eat it. If you succeeded, the play moved round to the next person at the table. If you dropped the raisin, you had to sink a glass of the drink.

  “What do you mean, properly?” Kepler asked Georg.

  “Well, that time we were just showing you how it’s played. Now we’re going to do it properly. Wilfred? Will you?”

  And Wilfred, the strong man, took a box of matches from his pocket, and set light to the absinthe.

  “You can start,” Wilfred said, smiling at Kepler.

  “What? But it’s burning!”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be much of a game if it wasn’t,” Georg said, nudging Wilfred, who started chuckling.

  Kepler stared nervously around him, then at the saucer of burning raisins and absinthe. He darted his hand to the flames. He managed to pick one up, but dropped it on the table with a squeal and sucked his burned fingers.

  Everyone roared with laughter, and Wilfred shoved a glass of absinthe under his nose. Kepler looked at it miserably, then, with the strong man glaring at him, took a sip.

  “Not like that!” Wilfred cried, and pulling Kepler’s nose back, tipped the whole lot down his open mouth.

  Everyone hooted with laughter again, and play moved round to Wilfred, who deftly snatched a raisin and popped it into his mouth in a single motion.
/>   “Doesn’t it burn your fingers?” said a voice beside Boy, and there at last was Willow.

  Boy smiled and for a moment didn’t know what to do or say. He simply stared into her eyes, her face for once not framed by her hair, which she had pulled back into a bunch.

  “Or your mouth, come to that,” Willow added, staring as Georg took two at once, and flicked them into his mouth with professional skill.

  “Not if you do it quickly,” Boy replied. “And shut your mouth as soon as it’s in. I watched Valerian play this hundreds of times. He always won. It amused him, and he’d win money too, sometimes. There’d be everyone else drinking their heads off, and he’d just sit watching them.”

  Willow laughed, and without thinking, Boy laughed too.

  “I used to pick their pockets if I thought Valerian wasn’t watching!”

  “Boy!” said Willow. “You are bad!”

  “It meant I could buy something extra to eat . . . ,” Boy said defensively, but then saw Willow was only teasing.

  The game was getting noisier. Kepler tried to make one more attempt to leave, but Boy could see he was very drunk, and he fell back in his chair without anyone’s even making him stay this time.

  “Valerian could do it slowly, though, too,” Boy said. “When everyone was really drunk, he’d start to show off. He could pick one up ever so slowly, with his fingertips right in the fire, and slowly put the raisin on his tongue, and let it burn there for a bit, as if it wasn’t hurting at all. I don’t know how he did that.”

  Willow shrugged.

  “Maybe he was just good at controlling pain.”

  Boy said nothing, lost in memories.

  Controlling pain, he thought.

  He roused himself and looked at Willow. She looked well enough. It had only been five days, but it felt like months.

  “Willow . . . ?”

  “I’m all right. He took me to an orphanage. I thought just to live there, but he’s got me a job. I didn’t like the idea at first, but it’s much nicer than the one I grew up in. I’ll even get paid! I sneaked out today. I’ll probably be in trouble, but it won’t be bad. There’s a woman who’s in charge. She’s quite fierce, but I think she’s soft enough underneath. She’s called Martha.”

  Boy stared at Willow, at her long brown hair and wax white face. He put his hand out to her cheek, and she took it away gently and held it in hers.

  “How are you, Boy?” she said softly. “Is he all right with you?”

  Boy wondered whom she meant, then realized she was talking about Kepler.

  “Yes. He feeds me. And doesn’t shout at me, and doesn’t beat me, or even get cross with me. It’s fine.”

  “But what are you doing?”

  “Nothing. He says he needs me to help him, but we’ve done nothing. I just sit in my room. I’ve been watching the snow, Willow. There’s so much of it. So much snow. It’s hard to recognize some bits of the City. Have you seen? Just so much snow.”

  Willow looked at Boy, a frown on her face. Then she forced a smile.

  “Will you stay with him?” she asked.

  Boy shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I suppose so. I don’t want to go back to the streets, even living with Valerian was better than that, and . . .”

  He stopped.

  “What is it?” Willow asked.

  “Willow. What Kepler said. You remember?”

  “That Valerian was your father? Yes.”

  “Tell me. Tell me honestly. Do you think it’s true?”

  Willow tried to look down and away, but Boy wouldn’t let her.

  “I don’t know,” she said, finally.

  Boy said nothing.

  “Would it change anything? Would it change how you felt about him, if he was? Would it change how you felt about how he treated you? Or that he’s dead?”

  Boy shrugged and looked away.

  “Let him go, Boy,” she said. “Let him go, and let yourself go too. You’ve got a new life to start.”

  Boy turned back to her.

  “Have I? With Kepler?”

  “No,” said Willow. “I thought . . . I thought with me.”

  She spoke quickly, not giving Boy a chance to interrupt.

  “I’ve got a proper job now. Imagine that. I’ll have money! We could find somewhere to live. Maybe you could find work too. We could go to another part of the City, where Kepler would never find you. Maybe we could even leave the City itself. . . .”

  She stopped, biting her lower lip.

  “But maybe you don’t—”

  “Yes,” said Boy. “Yes, Willow, I do.”

  Willow flung her arms around him and they both began to cry, while beside them the snapdragon got louder and louder and more drunken with every round.

  Willow and Boy knew nothing of this, as they talked and talked and quietly began to make plans for themselves. It felt strange to both of them; that they could decide what to do with their lives, not have them dictated by other people.

  When they finally stopped talking, only Georg and Wilfred were left sitting at the table.

  “Where’s . . . ?” Boy asked, openmouthed.

  “Your Mr. Kepler?” Georg asked. He pointed a finger at the floor.

  Leaning over in his chair, Boy looked under the table to see Kepler asleep on the floor.

  “I’d better get him home,” Boy said. “He’ll get himself slit if he stays here.”

  “Well, there’s one thing at least,” Georg said to Boy.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your master will be kinder to you tomorrow.”

  “Why?” asked Willow.

  “Well,” said Georg, winking at Wilfred, “everyone knows. Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder!”

  And he and Wilfred burst into fits of drunken giggles at what was obviously a joke they’d told many, many times.

  Boy frowned.

  “Don’t fret,” said Wilfred to Boy, still chuckling. “I’ll carry him for you, if you show me the way.”

  “You can trust him,” said Georg. “He’s my good friend, and there’s no way you can carry your master, is there?”

  Boy smiled.

  “You’re right. Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

  Georg tipped his hat to Boy and Willow, and made to leave himself. Wilfred knelt down beside Kepler and swung his sagging body up onto his shoulder.

  “He’ll have a head tomorrow,” he said.

  Boy looked at Willow.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow evening. By St. Valentine’s Fountain?”

  Willow nodded, smiling. She skipped forward, kissed Boy quickly on the lips and ran off.

  Boy led the way back to Kepler’s house. Wilfred was silent and Boy was happy for it to be so, because all he wanted to do was think about Willow.

  He thought about what he knew about her. It seemed he knew very little. That she had been born in the countryside but had been orphaned when she was tiny. She had lived in an orphanage, had worked for the City Liverymen and had then come to the theater. That was really all he knew, and he felt it was out of balance with how much they had gone through together in the preceding few days. It was from those experiences that he really knew who Willow was, what she was. Strong, brave and kind. With a shock Boy realized that although he knew very little of Willow’s life, he still knew more about her history than he did about his own.

  As he went he kept himself warm with the memory of the fleeting kiss and the thought that from tomorrow he and Willow would be together for good.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth.

  6

  Boy got to bed around three in the morning, having first seen that his master was safely asleep.

  Wilfred had taken Kepler upstairs and tipped him onto the mattress, then tipped his hat just as easily to Boy, and turned to go.

  “Strange dreams for him tonight,” Wilfred had chuckled.

  Boy looked at him quizzically.

  “The absinthe.” He winke
d, and went.

  Boy considered Kepler for a while, then decided he was too tired to do anything much for him. He pulled Kepler’s boots off and drew a coverlet up to his chin.

  Boy slept late into the morning, and if Kepler’s dreams were strange, then Boy’s were every bit as disturbing. When Boy woke finally, it was with no gentle arousal, but with a lurch and a jolt as his dream frightened him awake. He sat up in bed for several minutes, breathing hard, trying to calm down. It had been a long time since he had dreamed at all, he realized. As if to make up for that, he had been ridden into the ground by a stampede of nightmares.

  Almost automatically Boy thought of snow as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His dreams had been frozen like mountain snow, and with a sudden warm spell had thawed, sending a deluge of meltwater cascading down on him.

  Dreams still lay in his mind like a fog as he staggered over to the washstand and splashed icy water into the bowl from the jug beside it. He had been in a dark space, a small dark space. That was not the frightening part. Not for Boy. Small dark spaces were where he felt safest, as he had grown up on the streets, and later with Valerian too. They had always been good places for him.

  Having stolen a purse or a loaf, anywhere he could tuck his narrow bones to hide from the Watch was good for Boy; a tiny crevice in a church roof was heaven. Being with Valerian onstage, tucked into magical cabinets and other boxes, was at least one time when his master could not beat him or curse him. And, in the Yellow House, Boy’s room had been that narrow triangular tunnel, too small even to stand in, but a place of safety nonetheless.

  So it wasn’t the small dark space in his dream that had been scary, but something else. Something lurking nearby. Something that breathed with a low, husky rattle, like a creature being half throttled. Some sort of fiend.