The Wooden Prince (21 page)

Lazuli crouched beside him on the dark rooftop. They peered across at the massive building that bordered the city's central square.

“How are we going to get inside?” Maestro chirped.

Lazuli looked around. “The guards are all below. They've left the terrace at the top unprotected. I can get onto it.”

“Why aren't there guards on the roof?” Geppetto asked. “It looks too easy.”

“You think it's a trap?” Lazuli asked.

“But for whom?” Geppetto murmured.

The doors to the theater opened down on the street. A djinni emerged, and the guards began barking orders and shouting in anger.

“What's happening?” Lazuli asked.

“I don't know,” Geppetto said. They hid in the shadows beside a chimney.

Flying Lions and airmen emerged from atop the Palazzo Pubblico, taking flight and spreading out over the city.

Maestro flicked his antennae. “Someone must have escaped from the theater,” he said. “Do you think it could be Pinocchio?”

“Maestro,” Geppetto said, fixing the cricket with an urgent gaze. “You have to go look for him!”

Poor Maestro trembled nervously, but in the end, Lazuli could see that his devotion to Pinocchio overcame his fear. With a spring, he disappeared into the dark sky.

Lazuli and Geppetto waited as gunfire erupted somewhere across the city. Shouting voices rose and fell. Lazuli gritted her teeth. Whatever was happening, this was about more than just Geppetto's automa.

Finally Maestro returned, landing on Geppetto's shoulder. “I saw him. At least I think it was Pinocchio and maybe two others. It was hard to tell, since they were wearing chameleon cloaks. I only glimpsed them for a moment before the cloaks shifted—”

“Which way did they go?” Geppetto growled.

“Out the north gate,” Maestro said.

Lazuli glanced toward the gunfire on the south side of the city. “Someone's creating a helpful distraction.”

Geppetto began to rise from the rooftop. “If we hurry, we can—”

A thump sounded behind them, someone landing, cracking terra-cotta tiles.

“We meet again, fairy,” the airman said, aiming his musket at them. “Funny. Your uncle doesn't look like any Abatonian I've ever seen.”

He stepped forward, and his face emerged from the shadows. Lazuli recognized him right away.

“Master Geppetto,” Captain Toro said. “You never said you had blue-haired family.”

Lazuli looked side to side for a way to escape off the roof. She might manage it, but Geppetto couldn't. They were trapped.

“You played a fine trick on me back at that tavern,” Captain Toro snarled. “Toro the fool. Toro who has spent his years in this frontier wasteland, when he should have been serving in Venice as an imperial officer of the Fortezza Ducale. Well, you've made a fool of me too many times, traitor!”

He surged toward them. Geppetto backed to the edge of the roof. Lazuli stepped in front of him, her hand on her sword.

“Drop the weapon, fairy,” Toro ordered, aiming his musket.

She'd been trained well. She was fast. But not against a gun. There was no escaping Captain Toro this time.

Lazuli slowly unsheathed the sword and dropped it to the tiles.

“You must have had a good laugh,” Captain Toro said with a crazed smile. “Back in San Baldovino. On the aqueduct. And then the other day. You must have split your sides thinking you'd fooled me for a third time.”

“We thought nothing of the sort, Captain,” Geppetto said.

Captain Toro didn't look as if he believed him. The rage and satisfaction on the captain's face was terrifying. “Thought I'd quit after embarrassing myself so many times before the doge and my comrades. But I never quit! I won't fail this time. This is my victory. Tonight, when I bring the doge the traitor Geppetto Gazza, I will show them all that Captain Toro is a hero of the empire!”

Lazuli waved a hand and a roof tile flew at Captain Toro. The airman spun sideways, and the clay tile shattered on his armored forearm.

She reached for the sword at her feet. But before she could grab it, Captain Toro brought the stock end of his musket down, cracking it against her temple.

She staggered toward the edge, nearly falling over. Her vision was swimming with flashes of light. She felt heavy and disoriented, as if she might pass out.
Not now,
she tried to tell herself.

Captain Toro had Geppetto by the elbow. “I've got you this time, traitor.”

Geppetto met Lazuli's gaze. She tried to get her eyes to focus on him.

“Go,” he barked.

Still holding Geppetto, Captain Toro swung the musket around one-handed and aimed it at her.

Lazuli had no time to weigh her options. She had only an instant to decide. And in that instant, she reached out a hand. A whirl of wind shot her sword into her grip, and she lunged at Captain Toro.

The musket thundered. Pain exploded across Lazuli's chest. She flew backward from the force of the impact, tumbling from the rooftop and down to the cobblestone streets below.

A
peal of thunder echoed across the Tuscan countryside, low and ominous.

Pinocchio sat on the roof of a crumbling mill, hoping to spy Geppetto coming over one of the hills. But besides the steely purple wall of storm clouds blotting out the dawn, nothing out there was moving. Even the skies were finally empty of airmen this morning.

Where were his father and Maestro? When would they come? Now that the doge's fleet had flown off for Venice and the patrols of airmen were gone, they might even be able to sneak back into the city and rescue Wiq. If only his father would get here.

Pinocchio twisted the bracelet of jasmine vines around his wrist.

Mezmer and Sop were asleep below inside the mill. They had found the ruined hiding place a few days before. Although Sop and Mezmer had thought they should keep moving, Pinocchio insisted on staying. If his father was looking for him, they should wait somewhat close to Siena.

Mezmer had warned that they'd be captured if they remained in the mill. And she had almost been right. Twice now patrols had searched the mill, but he and Mezmer and Sop had covered themselves with the chameleon cloaks and hidden in the forest until the soldiers moved on.

Watching the black storm as it drew closer, Pinocchio heard Mezmer and Sop beginning to stir below. They were most likely starting to warm a breakfast of the food they'd plundered from gardens on their escape from Siena. He thought about going down to join them, but didn't want to leave his post.

Sop's voice wafted from the window. “The puppet's kept us here long enough.”

Pinocchio sat up straighter, listening.

“Don't call him that,” Mezmer said. “And I gave my word I'd help the lad.”

“You did!” Sop contended. “You helped him escape Siena. It's time we move on, before a patrol catches us by surprise.”

“He still thinks his alchemist is coming,” Mezmer said. “You've heard him up there, humming that tune every night as he waits for his master.”

“It's depressing, if you ask me,” Sop said, clanking around as he worked on breakfast.

Pinocchio hadn't realized they'd been able to hear him humming Maestro's “Orpheus.” And it wasn't a depressing song! Humming it was the only thing that gave him an inkling of hope.

“Look, Mez, I like the kid. You're right, he's…no ordinary automa. But we can't let him go on thinking this alchemist is going to come, when clearly he's not.”

“I know,” Mezmer said, with a heavy sigh. A moment later, she asked tentatively, “Back when we were leaving, did you hear what Wiq said, about the alchemist being the lad's father?”

“I heard it. Ridiculous, right?”

Mezmer was silent.

“What!” Sop spat. “You're not serious? Do you honestly think an alchemist could love one of these pupp—I mean, an automa?”

“I think Pinocchio loves this alchemist. Why else would he be acting this way?”

“Puppets don't work like that. Puppets don't feel anything.”

“Stop calling him that.”

“Sorry, Mez. But really, now! No one would want an automa as a son. It's preposterous!”

Pinocchio felt anger burn his face.

Mezmer was quiet before saying, “The boy Wiq…he seemed genuinely upset when Pinocchio left, like they were true friends.”

“True friends,” Sop scoffed. “Probably just sad he missed his chance to escape.”

Pinocchio gritted his teeth. That wasn't true! Was it?

“Doesn't really change the fact that we can't stay in this mill forever,” Sop went on. “The kid comes with us or he stays. But we've got to go.”

Pinocchio slid down the broken tiles of the roof and landed on the ground. He'd show stupid Sop and Mezmer that they were wrong. He just had to wait a little longer.

Mezmer opened the door. “Pinocchio, what are you—”

“Leave me if you want!” he shouted. “Go back to being outlaws or whatever you do. But Geppetto wants me to be his son! He's coming for me. You'll see!”

He began running. Mezmer shouted, “Wait!”

But he kept going. It was good to work his legs, after sitting night after night up on that roof. They felt strong in a way that wasn't just his gearworks. He ran until his legs grew tired, and then he leaped on the seven-league boots, rocketing up into a tree, where Mezmer and Sop wouldn't be able to find him. He pulled the chameleon cloak around him, vanishing into leaves and shadow.

He clung to the branch, panting for breath. He could sit up in this tree forever. He didn't need food. He didn't need to sleep. He would wait here as long as it took for his father to find him.

Heavy clouds loomed low overhead. Fat drops of rain began to fall, a few at first and then coming down all at once. Pinocchio closed his eyes and listened to the pounding rain.

How much time had passed? He was dimly aware that the rain had made his fingers and feet, with their squishy flesh, go cold. It was unpleasant being cold. He tried to ignore it. Tipping his head back, he let the rain patter against his wooden face, which felt no cold or wet.

How strange to be stuck between being wood and flesh, trapped between being an automa and becoming a boy. His fingers felt cold only because flesh wanted to be warm. But wood felt nothing, wanted nothing. Was it better to feel the cold as well as the warmth, or was it better to feel nothing?

He fingered the jasmine loop around his wrist. If he felt nothing, he wouldn't miss Wiq so. But if he felt nothing, if he were an ordinary automa, he never would have befriended Wiq at all. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up.

The sound of the rain reminded Pinocchio of the footsteps of the lonely traveler in Maestro's song. Even within the roar of the downpour, it was as if notes were forming that weren't quite matching the drumming of the rain. Was he just imagining this? Pinocchio cocked his head. No, there was a faint sound forming. He was certain. And it was almost a melody.

Pinocchio sat up straighter on the branch. He tried to answer the melody, to hum the tune, but already the song was fading, drifting off through the forest.

“Maestro!” he called. “Is that you?”

He listened. The song had vanished. Pinocchio was left with only the thrumming of rain against the leaves.

Pinocchio rose to his feet, putting a hand to the trunk to stay balanced. “Maestro?” he called again. “Father? Are you out there? I'm here!”

Thunder rumbled through the forest.

He shivered, the wet and cold seeming to creep up his limbs deeper into the core of his body. Had he imagined it? He pulled the chameleon cloak off his head, hoping against hope that he might hear them coming back.

He cupped a hand to his mouth to scream their names, when something flew straight at him and landed on his nose.

“Pinocchio? Is that really you?”

“Maestro!” Pinocchio gasped.

He couldn't see the cricket clearly in the dark rain, even though—or more likely because—he was right before his eyes.

“Oh, Pinocchio! You wonderful, incorrigible scamp!” the cricket rejoiced, dancing on his nose. “I've been searching for you everywhere! I thought I saw you head out the north gate of Siena, and I followed the road, playing that song through every grove and hedgerow. You wouldn't believe how hard I've searched. And my poor wings…”

Maestro! Good ol' Maestro. Pinocchio was so happy to see the fussy cricket. He couldn't wait to hear him babble on about different wing techniques for altering the pitch and melody, but first—

“Father!”

Pinocchio brushed Maestro from his face and leaped out of the tree. The landing hurt, stinging his fleshy feet, but he didn't care. He spun this way and that, peering through the rain-drenched forest to find him. “Father, I'm here!”

Maestro fluttered down onto his shoulder. “He's not with me, Pinocchio.”

“Is he far behind?”