Shadow Conspiracy (19 page)

“I’ve noticed. How did you get them on the table in the first place?” Joseph said.

 
“I tell them I just need a small reading for an experiment. Afterward, they don’t have the wherewithal to ask further.”

“Since I’m not so accommodating, I will ask—what do you use the soul pieces for?”

“Why do you think my automata work so well?” Kalakos countered.

Joseph nodded. “One soul bit per automata these days, then. So what about your sweet little cat?” Joseph pointed at her with his free hand. She made a metallic hiss. “Do you call her Patches? Or Legion? What a terrible experiment that turned out to be.”

“A sad miracle,” Kalakos said grimly. “More than a dozen souls inside will drive any thinking creature mad, I know that now. She needs no power source, for all the good it does her. My penance is to look after her.”

“And what about this spider?” Joseph brandished the little automaton, and his tone grew suggestive. “Whose partial soul does it house? That strapping strong man? The sword swallower?”

I didn’t dare speak. Anger made my hands shake, and I found it hard to keep connecting wires.

“Dodd doesn’t need my machine,” Kalakos said. “He doesn’t even know how to operate it.
His
Babbage engines are beyond brilliant. Sometimes I think his automata generate little souls of their own.” He went to the control panel on the casing, which was covered in switches and dials. Opening it, he thrust a hand inside to check something, then withdrew it. “Dodd, I don’t need you for this part. Go now.”

I looked at Nathan, strapped shirtless to the table, wires sprouting from his head and chest. “Will it hurt?” he whispered.

“A bit,” I murmured. “You’ll convulse for a moment, but it’ll be quick.”

“Go, Dodd,” Kalakos repeated. “Out.”

I turned on my heel and strode past the brothers, refusing to meet Nathan’s eyes, my spiders trailing after me. Joseph’s voice stopped me at the tent flap.

“You forgot one.” He held up the littlest spider. I reached for it, but he deliberately bent one of the delicate legs backward with the thin screeching sound of tortured metal. Then Joseph tossed the creature to me and turned away. Caught between fear and anger, I snatched my twitching creation out of the air and left.

The long, chill Irish twilight had descended over the Emporium. Lamps and candles glowed within tents and wagons. I walked quickly, dodging tent stakes and heavy ropes that smelled of tar and refusing to think about what was happening on that table in the Black Tent, refusing to see Nathan strapped to table, refusing to look at the future pathways that diverged before me. My troop of spiders kept pace. I set the broken one on Red’s back for him to carry.

The wagon Nathan shared with his brother loomed ahead of me like a wooden beast. Perhaps my feet had taken me to it of their own volition. I glanced at the other wagons parked in the vicinity. No one seemed to be looking, and I doubted anyone would have the temerity to say anything if they were. I climbed the short creaky steps to the rear door. The wagon was boxlike, and brightly-painted with large wheels. Two hooks hung at the top of the door, which was locked. A snap of my fingers brought one of the spiders to me.

“Open!” I ordered.

The spider climbed the wood to the doorknob. From its underside extruded a set of small tools that served a multitude of functions. With a
click
, the lock scraped open and I was inside.

“Light!” Two spiders produced phosphorescent spheres to illuminate the interior. Like all of its kind, the wagon was compact and efficient. A pair of bunk beds took up the front. Shelves folded down from the side walls to serve as tables, and storage boxes with cushions on top created seats. One shelf was currently in the down position. Newspapers and a few books lay scattered across it. A coal stove the size of a hatbox near the door allowed heat or, in bad weather, cooking—most performers prepared meals outside or visited the Emporium’s food tent. A scent of cedar hung in the air.

My spiders clattered inquisitively about the wagon as I touched the lower bunk, where I was sure Nathan slept, and noticed something—the bed had recently been altered. The upper bunk was new, as were the mattress and counterpane and pillow. The lower was much more worn, and the blankets were patched.

The bottom of the bunk was a built-in drawer. Inside, neatly folded, lay clothes that smelled like Nathan. I pressed a nightshirt to my face, seized with the overwhelming desire to run for the Black Tent, snatch Nathan up, and run with him until the Emporium vanished beyond the horizon.

But would Nathan go? Leave his twin brother and pieces of his soul behind?

My talent opened up, and several reflections stood before me, mirrors within mirrors. In all of them I asked Nathan to run away with me, and in all of them he said—

I slammed my eyes shut and clapped my hands over my ears. I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to know. Eventually the vision faded, and I blinked down at the half-open drawer. Something at the back caught my eye. Uneasily, I extracted a rolled-up canvas tube. A painting. I unrolled it, and my spiders gathered round as if they, too, wanted to see.

At first it seemed to be a singularly well-done portrait of Joseph—his proud expression gave him away—dressed in a fine suit with an old-fashioned cloak draped over his right shoulder. As the painting unrolled further, revealing more of him, my skin prickled and my breath tightened. Arching downward from the side of the man’s stomach was Nathan. His body lay face-up, his arms dangling like fleshy tubes, his blue eyes vacant. A bit of silver drool ran from his open mouth. His single leg went round Joseph’s chest while the other remained buried in his brother’s body, as if he had tried to escape but didn’t quite make it. Nathan was naked, his ribs gaunt, his red hair unkempt.

At the bottom of the painting was a sign: THE BROTHERS LAZARUS AND JOANNES BAPTISTA COLLOREDO NOW ACCEPTING VISITORS. ENQUIRE WITHIN. The top of the painting had two grommets in it, ready to hang on the two hooks I’d seen outside on the door.

Fear chilled my stomach and made my bowels watery. My heart thudded hard. I had encountered dozens of freaks in my time, but this one made every bit of my flesh crawl.

“I’ve seen real magic, you know. China, Borneo, Japan.”

I shoved the painting back into the drawer and fled, barely remembering to lock the door behind me. The moon lit my way as I ran all the way back to my own wagon with my heart in my mouth.

Nathan was sitting on the steps. The horrible painting rose in my mind, and my first response was to turn away from him. Instead, still standing, I embraced him where he sat in the silver light. He pressed his face to my stomach and wrapped his shaking fingers in mine. The spiders formed a half-circle guard of honour round us, the injured one still on Red’s back. I stroked Nathan’s hair, and felt surprise at how powerful such a small thing could feel.

“I’m sorry about what Kalakos did to you,” I said hoarsely. “He won’t do it again.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied. “And I don’t mind.”

I backed up and stared. “How can you not mind? He strapped you to a table and put a piece of your soul into a jar!”

“My soul doesn’t belong to me.” Nathan rose. “It never did.”

“Don’t give me that shit about souls belonging only to God,” I said, pushed into cursing. “The church uses that lie to keep idiots under—”

“My soul is Joseph’s,” Nathan interrupted. “And he wants it back.”

I want the other half now, damn it!

My legs weakened, and I grabbed at Nathan for support, which he gave. “I don’t want to talk out here,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”

My wagon was much like Nathan and Joseph’s—bed at the front, fold-up tables, tiny stove. The spiders stayed outside, and I locked the door. For the first time, we were completely alone and in a place where no one could walk in unexpectedly. I was aware of Nathan’s scent and the heat from his body as I lit a lamp and we took up seats.

“I know your real name is Colloredo,” I said. “And I know what you used to...be.”

Nathan looked down. “You think I’m a freak.”

“No!” I grabbed his hand. “It startled me, yes, but I’m past that. How did you separate?”

Nathan dropped my hand and breathed hard. “It’s difficult to talk about. Even with you.”

“If you can’t, I under—”

“No, no.” He waved my objections away. “We were born attached to each other like that, but Joseph was fully formed while I was...not. It was as if I were some sort of parasite, draining the life out of him. I only had a rudimentary consciousness and no intelligence to speak of. I flopped next to my brother and drooled while he tried to go about a normal life. People mocked him when we were children until our mother hit upon the idea of covering me with a heavy cloak. Old-fashioned, but it worked. Still, there was no way for him to learn a trade. Eventually, Joseph was forced to travel the country, exhibiting himself to any who came to look with coin in hand. He did quite well, actually—Joseph is very intelligent. He’s had dinner with kings, you know. But through it all, he wanted a life of his own, one without a parasitic brother growing out of his side.”

“You’re not a parasite,” I said earnestly. “You’re a person.”

He nodded grimly. “Still, Joseph deserved to be free of me. Doctors said it couldn’t be done, not even with the help of automata, so he looked to magic. It was easy enough to find magicians—Joseph had exploited his contacts at court very well, and sorcerers were fascinated by us in any case. But none in this hemisphere could help. We travelled to the Orient, to India, China, and Japan. Eventually we came to Borneo, and there we found a circle of witch doctors.” Nathan’s eyes grew hard. “For three days they did terrifying and painful things to me—to us. In the end, they drew us apart and brought my body to full strength. But powerful magic always comes with a powerful price.”

“Which was?” I didn’t want to hear, but knew the answer would come.

“The magicians said we shared most of a body because we only had one soul between us. No man can live long without his soul, and rather than leave one of us to die, they cut our soul in two, leaving half for each.”

“Dear God,” I whispered.

“If either of us strays more than a few miles from the other, it means instant death for us both. When one of us dies, the other will follow within weeks.”

“Did the magicians tell you that?” I asked sharply. “Or did you hear it from Joseph?”

A small bubble of laughter burst out. “You’re as intelligent as he is. The magicians told us, actually, after they pulled us apart. And I can feel it. It hurts when we separate too far, like I’m tearing in two.”

“So Joseph is hoping Kalakos and his machine can restore him,” I said.

He nodded, and I wanted to gather him into my arms. Something held me back, however. Old habits? Fear? I wasn’t sure. This conversation, confession, felt a little off. “How did Joseph even know about the machine? How did he meet Kalakos?”

“That happened years ago, in Italy. Joseph was exhibiting us, and the man you call Victor Kalakos befriended us. He had an iron cat, half a dozen Leyden jars, and a machine that barely worked. You can imagine my brother’s interest when we ran across him here in Dublin, though he’d changed his name—and profession.”

“What was his name then?” I asked. “Joseph called him Doctor.”

“His name was John, I think. John Polidori. He was heartsick over a poet, or something.”

“Polidori,” I repeated, tasting the name and trying to attach it to the man I knew as Victor Kalakos. He had lied to me for years, and I felt betrayed. You lied to the flatties in the audience, not to other circus folk. Not to me.

Nathan sighed. “I love my brother, Dodd. I wouldn’t even exist without him. All his life, I held him back, dragged him down. I have to give him what he needs. He deserves that.”

“Your brother wants Kalakos to hand him your soul piece by piece,” I scoffed. “No one deserves that much.”

“There’s so much you don’t know, Dodd.” Nathan took a deep breath. “Kalakos did it all at once. My soul is already gone.”

A crushing weight slammed over me and the cold returned. I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn’t work. Nathan took my hands in his. They were warm.

“He didn’t,” I finally croaked.

“He did. Kalakos put my half of our soul in that jar. The machine will recharge soon, and then he’ll give the soul to my brother.”

“But you’ll die!”

His voice grew soft. “Then we should make the most of what time we have.” He leaned forward, intending to kiss me. My hands shook and my heart raced like an overwound automaton as I leaned toward him, smelling his scent. A coppery taste came to my mouth. Our lips brushed—

—and he broke away. Nathan shot to his feet and turned his back.

Sudden anxiety made me ill. Had I done something wrong? “What’s the matter?”

“It still doesn’t work.” He was shaking all over. My first thought was that he was weeping, but I quickly saw he was holding in silent laughter. I couldn’t understand why. Then things fell into place and I felt dropped into a tub of ice water.

There’s so much you don’t know, Dodd.

“Joseph!” I said hoarsely. “You son of a whore!”

He turned. Nathan’s gentle tenderness was gone from that handsome face, replaced by Joseph’s sneer.