Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
In every soul, reason coexists with irrationality. With targeted musical encouragement, people can, for the collective good, be made puppets of the latter.
—Alan Bush, composer, Song as Inducement
I stumbled out from the winding Strata staircase onto the gritty backstage floor of the topside Cinematograph.
Dust plumed up around me. I sucked in a lungful and started to cough.
Chuey, Lady, Cassius, and Church were all close by, chuffing, getting their bearings.
I jumped up and turned, anticipating the Cinematograph crowd to emerge behind us. Nothing.
Lady patted my shoulder. “They can’t travel Strata steps without a thanatist.”
Lakshmi and Madam were nowhere to be seen. Then running footfalls echoed from the theater beyond the stage curtain.
I tore the curtains open to see Madam racing up the left aisle of the theater. Lakshmi close behind her. The raptorial closed the distance fast, grabbed Madam, and tackled her to the dusty carpet.
“You’re under arrest,” she said, as I jogged to a stop beside them. “What in heaven’s name for?” said Madam.
Lakshmi walked Madam back to the stage and locked her to a water pipe on the rear wall with her black-iron handcuffs. “For the attempted abduction of Mr. Jack Solomon.”
“I’d call that a grey area,” Madam said, smiling. “We meant no harm to the boy. We just want to hold him until his trial, for his own safety, and on account of all the killings he’s accused of.”
Lakshmi studied the woman’s face. “If you’re involved in the assassination of Mr. Wilkinson and Mr. Solomon, we’ll find the truth of it.”
“Or you could help us,” I said. “Just tell us what you know about who Brach had do the hits, and anything you can about the wraith. Please. It could save lives.”
Madam rolled her eyes at me. “There’s a good heart down inside you, Mr. Solomon, and it’s going to get you killed someday.”
Chuey, Lady, and Church still stood doubled over, catching their breath, in a shaft of sunlight falling down from a hole in the roof.
Lakshmi pulled me toward them. “I could take her in and question her,” she said.
“But Precedent prevents me from using certain interrogation techniques. So, it’s really just a waste of time. ”
I looked down into our shadows thrown by the sunlight, and it gave me an idea. “Can I have a minute alone with her?”
Lakshmi eyed me close. “Nothing physical.” “It’s not like that,” I assured her.
My friends moved into the lobby, leaving the theater in sudden silence.
Thick layers of dust blanketed rows of old velvet seats.
The paint on the walls peeled around posters and World War II newsreel broadsides that had browned with age.
The air carried the scent of stale popcorn and the sadness of disuse that abandoned theaters always seemed to have.
But the stage was laden with fresh pallets and crates bearing stencils that read qsc, ua, avid—pro audio companies from the current world.
“I get it now,” I said to Madam. “You’re going to bring that music to the surface, aren’t you?”
Madam smiled. “I might have thought you’d approve. Your famed Marquee venue, with its shrill guitar music, was located here for several years. In fact, that’s what prompted the whole affair—use it to present Iron Horse folk with an alternative. Got many of them to come along, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s not really an alternative, is it? Your music is more like brainwashing.”
“Rather ingenious, if you think about it. The first step toward change is to break one’s former allegiance.” She looked out at the Cinematograph. “And finding this abandoned theater led us to a good sixty derelict venues all across London.”
I remembered Maggie saying the Underworld had been sold, the Phoenix Theatre—where my flat was—sold, too. They’d even come after the Iron Horse. “And it’s not just derelict theaters, is it?”
Madam cocked her head but didn’t answer.
Then I recalled again the song the Swing Kings had played and the way it had started to get inside me. “That old music—”
“Oh, it’s not the style that matters,” said Madam, “it’s the substance. And with it, we’re going to breathe life back into these old buildings. Of course, recruiting is easier at places like the Cinematograph, where the music touches the patrons’ latent need to join a cause.”
“They’re not mindless groupies,” I said.
“Truth is, love,” said Madam, “other than getting paid, I’ve really no horse in this particular race. So, if you’d—”
“Look . . . Madam. I know you’re working for Brach. All I want is for you to tell me about the wraith and anything that might show Brach ordered the hit on Henry. A note. Hell, an email.”
“Sorry, dear,” said Madam, “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Have it your way.” I got out my lantern and bow.
“You going to serenade me?” she asked. “I hardly think I’m your type.” “Nah, more like a game of shadow tag.”
The smile fell from her lips. “Don’t play with me, boy.”
I spoke my ghost stone alight. I’d never looked deep into a shadow with my own thanaturgic light. But maybe Madam’s shadow could show me what I needed if I looked deep enough.
My hand trembled as I drew my bow across one of my lantern’s rods in a long, slow pull—a revelatory stroke like the one Mick had used at Rats Castle. Thanaturgic light lit up the entire backstage area.
Madam stomped the floor. “You go on ahead and look at the real stuff, then, boyo.”
I knew as well as anyone how dark a person’s secrets could be. Part of me didn’t want to look. If it wasn’t a violation of Precedent Law, it certainly crossed a moral line. But Brach needed to be stopped, and Henry’s murder needed justice.
Her shadow shimmered with gleam notes in the lively triplet pattern of a tarantella.
They lit up in circles mostly around the dark, twisted scars inside her.
I concentrated there, hoping to find something that might reveal her part in Brach’s assassination plans or some knowledge about the wraith, but I saw nothing of the sort.
“See something you like?” she asked. “You know, it’s not nice to tell a girl’s secrets.”
“And it’s not nice to kill my friends,” I said.
I pulled the revelatory stroke again, concentrating on who she was and what she’d done. The light flared, and one occlusion came into sharper focus—an eight-pointed star with a tobacco leaf at the center.
There was more beneath the scar, but I could tell I was fighting myself, trying to discern with light and not yet truly seeing. So, as I’d done with Mick, I hummed softly under my breath—trying to follow the pattern of her gleam notes—thinking I might brighten the image, like blowing on an ember.
The memory of a mother walking away from a child eddied in the darkness beneath the awful black scar.
I knew that wound. That feeling.
Something else swirled in the darkness—another figure, the child’s father, choosing to send their mother away.
After a minute or so, my vision blurred from the strain and I stopped singing. I was either too new or lacked some critical context to pull it all into view.
“You have a child.”
She looked shocked. “How did you see that far inside?”
I whispered my stone out, suddenly not sure I should have done this, even to save lives. “And the father won’t let you be with the child?”
“Then you should know,” said Madam, raising her chin, “I do it all for love. Truly.” She’d lost her snark.
I put my catalysts away. “I’m sorry about your kid. I know what it’s like to lose a mother.”
Madam was quiet a moment. “The child’s father . . . is Muster Brach. We used to care for one another before his ambitions seized him. Now he uses our son as leverage to make me do things Precedent forbids. But not murder. I won’t kill for him.”
I believed her. I also didn’t see her as the monster I had just a moment before. Made me feel a bit better about exposing her secrets.
“My son has the same star and leaf imprint on his soul from all this,” she added with a bitter laugh. “So, we have, at least, that bond to share.”
I let the quiet sit a moment before asking, “And the wraith?” “I honestly don’t know anything about it.”
This felt true, too. She’d been separated from her son. She hadn’t chosen it. And it seemed she just wanted to get him back. That might make her an accomplice, but it didn’t make her immoral. And it certainly didn’t make her a liar. The Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil” cycled into my head.
“Look,” I said, “pretty soon they’re going to put me on trial for things I haven’t done. You could testify that they blackmailed you into abducting me, that they’re trying to keep me from finding the wraith and saving the Iron Horse, saving lives. In exchange, I’ll help you get your kid back.”
“Dear boy,” said Madam, “why on earth should I believe you could keep such a promise?”
“Because I have powerful friends deep inside the Shiguan,” I said. “And because once I bring Brach down, his leverage over you is gone.”
She looked me up and down. “You let me go, and I will make every effort to be there.”
“That sounds like lawyer talk.”
“Such a thrill to take big chances, isn’t it?” I sighed and went back into the lobby.
Lakshmi stood near the back door, sword in hand. “Learn anything useful?”
“Nothing that helps us today. Cut her loose.”
“You really think that’s wise?” asked Lady. “The woman has done nothing but harrow you.”
“Yeah, but a little goodwill here could help us at trial to nail Brach for killing Henry. And Lakshmi doesn’t have time to babysit her, anyway—we’ve got a wraith to catch.”
Lakshmi pulled out her cuff key, gave me a long look, then went into the theater. When she returned, she had her phone in her hand. “I’ve got to go. My chancellor wants an update on the wraith.”
“Will this chancellor be at my trial?” I asked.
Lakshmi nodded. “Mistress Nancy Wake. She’s the bridge between the Convocation and the Strata Chancery.”
“Is she fair?”
“Well, hers is a nonvoting seat.” The raptorial looked around the theater lobby. “But, she would hate what this place might become if Brach has his way. That should work in your favor.”
And there were sixty more theaters just like it. Plus, all the active venues the Shiguan were taking over.
Just after Lakshmi left, Madam pushed open the theater door and gestured for me to rejoin her. “Give me a minute,” I told my friends.
“Her hands are free,” Cassius reminded. “I’ll be all right.”
Back in the theater, Madam had her lantern and bow in hand. A panic shot through me.
“Easy, Mr. Solomon,” said Madam. “I may not know where your wraith is, but I can show you an old freebooter trick that may help you find it.”
I got out my own catalysts. “Shoot.”
“The wraith you hunt was drawn by your rebirth,” she began, “which means it shares some kind of connection with you.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it.”
Madam pushed her bow forward across two rods of her lantern.
The two notes clashed, metallic and droning; dark violet light flared around us.
“It’s called darkshine,” she said. “Create two contact points. Invert your normal bow stroke, and only stroke that direction. Then, fix in your mind the pattern you hold in common with the creature.” I positioned my bow. “Like this?”
She nodded. “Then you look, Mr. Solomon. In every direction of the compass, you look.”
I whispered my stone to life and reverse-bowed across two rods of my lantern. The lamp squawked a dissonant harmony and sputtered fits of light. Madam took hold of my hand and guided the bow across my lantern.
The darkshine flared. I called to mind the gleam-note pattern I shared with the wraith and looked around in a slow circle.
Thousands of brilliant sparks of white light erupted through the darkshine.
They flared, completely washing away the dark.
When I stopped playing my lantern, I couldn’t see. There was only white.
“I’m blind.”
Madam chuckled. “Everything went white, did it?” “What did I do wrong?”
“You’re not capturing the unique bond that only you and your wraith share. If you don’t go deep enough, you’ll find a world of people with similarities to what you and the wraith have in common, and they’ll all shine back at you at once.”
My sight gradually started to return.
“Proximity plays a role, too,” Madam added. “Darkshine’s only good for a mile or so.”
London was a huge city, and I still had to figure out how to look deeper, but it was more than I had before. “Thanks,” I told her.
“You’re welcome, Jack.” She flashed her mischievous grin, tipped her hat, and sauntered toward the stage. Over her shoulder she called, “An
iron net might be useful if you find your wraith. You’ll find one in the trunk near the street entrance.” With that, she disappeared backstage.
Madam’s shadow hadn’t shown me anything I could use to convict Brach of Henry’s murder.
But the woman herself had shown me how to find my wraith, which, if I could bind it, might help me stop this revolution before it even began.
Until I could connect with Emaline again on what to do about Brach, I’d chase the wraith.
I walked into the lobby and found the trunk.
But when I tried to pull out the net, I could barely move it—made me sluggish and tired.
I felt dumb for forgetting that iron had this effect on thanatists, but it also reminded me of the last time I’d been in an iron net—the wraith had tracked me to my home.
Maybe I could use its pursuit of me to anticipate its location.
“Come on,” I said. “We need to hurry.” Chuey grabbed the net for me.
“Where are we going?” asked Church. “And why the net?” “To catch a wraith.”