THE STREETS OF CAIRO
1904—St. Louis
Harte’s skin felt like it was on fire, even as the blood in his veins felt like ice. In front of him was the Djinni’s Star, and the power inside of him was churning, but whether it was in approval or fear, he couldn’t tell. Dimly, he realized that Esta and Julien were talking about the necklace, but he hadn’t been following their conversation . . . until Esta said that she was a thief.
“Not here,” he told her in a hushed voice. They were in a room filled with people, surrounded by Jefferson Guards. There was confidence, and then there was idiocy.
She gave him a scowl, but she closed her mouth.
“Come on,” he said, needing air. There was only so long even he could hold his breath, and he was already feeling light-headed from whatever had happened on the boat ride. Without waiting to see if they were following, he pushed through the overcrowded room and out into the street so he could finally take a breath of air that wasn’t filled with the cloying, dulling power of opium and could collect himself enough to push back the power that was rumbling excitedly inside of him.
Once he was outside, it took a moment for Harte’s eyes to adjust to the brightness. He inhaled to clear his head, but his pulse was still pounding in his temples. Instead of exiting where they had entered the attraction, they had been dumped back out onto the main thoroughfare of the Pike. The noise was deafening, and the crowd all seemed to be surging in the same direction.
Harte turned to find Esta and Julien in the crowd and was relieved to see them there, right behind him.
Julien tugged at Harte’s sleeve. “Come on,” he said, trying to lead Harte in the direction everyone else seemed to be heading. “You can’t just stand here in the middle of this mess. We’ll get trampled.”
As Julien pulled him back, a large flat-bedded wagon pulled by a team of matching gray horses passed by. A small hut made of what looked like dried palm fronds and lashed-together branches had been built at the back of the wagon’s bed. In front of the hut, an older man with darkly tanned skin who was wearing nothing more than a swath of fabric around his waist sat on a stool, looking completely uninterested in any of the people who were staring or yelling around him. Other men who were similarly dressed stood at attention, while a gaggle of children sat in the center. They might have been singing or shouting—Harte couldn’t tell because of the noise of the crowd.
“What is all of this, anyway?” Harte asked, following Julien and Esta closer to the shelter of the buildings, where the crowd wasn’t as thick.
“It’s a parade,” Julien told him.
“I can see that, but why?” Harte asked, feeling unaccountably irritated. The power inside of him was still churning, and the heat of the day was starting to creep against his skin. “Isn’t the fair itself enough?”
“It’s all part of the fun, Darrigan,” Julien told him. “How else will you know what exhibits to visit? That one that just passed, it’s for the Igorot Village—fascinating stuff. They wear hardly anything. . . . Anyway, it’ll be over soon enough. The parades never last very long, since they have at least two a day. This one’s the midday offering. There will be another later, when the lights come on.”
The three of them stood in the shade of the building for a few minutes, penned in by the crowd as the parade went by. After the wagon came a group of women dressed in silken robes, their faces painted white like geisha. Around them, the Jefferson Guard marched in straight lines, creating a boundary of protection so that the eager crowd couldn’t get too close. Whenever someone—usually a man—tried to approach, the closest of the Guards would push him back with a kind of bored violence.
“Are you okay?” Esta asked, eyeing Harte with a worried frown.
“I’m fine,” he said, shrugging off her concern.
“Because you look—”
A loud wailing split the air, and the parade erupted into chaos as three figures dressed in rumpled gowns and wearing odd, misshapen masks descended on the parade, attacking the Jefferson Guard. A sharp pop sounded, cutting through the noise and the confusion of the crowd, and colored smoke suddenly began streaming from one of the figures’ fingertips.
The Guardsmen who had been surrounding the geisha sprang into action, countering the attack.
“The Antistasi,” Julien said, and his voice contained a note of true fear. But Harte wasn’t so sure. There was no trace of magic in the air, no indication that the smoke was anything but a distraction.
Other Guardsmen came out of the Nile exhibit and barreled through the crowd, pushing over anyone who happened to be in their way as they rushed toward the masked figures. A woman screamed as they knocked her aside, causing her to drop the child she’d been holding up for a better view of the passing floats. The child started to wail, but the Guardsmen didn’t stop to help. With an urgency that bordered on violence, they began grabbing anyone trying to escape the fog. Man or woman, even children—it didn’t seem to matter.
One of the figures had been caught by a group of the Guard, who’d already ripped the mask away. Beneath it was a boy who couldn’t have been more than fourteen. He spit at the Guardsmen and shouted, “Forever reign the Antistasi!”
“Long live the Devil’s Thief!” cried another in reply.
In response, one of the Guardsmen buried his fist in the boy’s stomach.
Esta took a step toward them, but Harte caught her wrist. She turned to look at him, her eyes bright with fury. “They’re children,” she said, her voice breaking on the word.
“We can’t help them,” Harte told her.
“I can—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. If she used her affinity here, now, in the middle of this mess? There was no telling what might happen, especially considering the clear threat posed by the gates behind them.
“We can’t just leave them,” she told him, starting to pull away.
“If they catch us, things are going to get worse. We need to go.”
But Esta was staring at him like he was her enemy, like she would tear the sun from the sky to stop what was happening. For a moment Harte thought he would have to carry her—or worse, betray everything they’d built between them by forcing her. But he couldn’t risk it. Not only because it would be the worst kind of treachery, but also because he was already having enough trouble keeping the power inside of him in check while he held her arm.
He could feel it pressing at the most fragile parts of him—the parts that wanted Esta, the parts that agreed with her. Together they could destroy the Guard. They could help the boys, who clearly were no more Antistasi than anyone else in the crowd. He could see it, how easy it would be to make a different choice. A single touch, and he could make the Guardsman who was beating the child destroy himself.
The violence of the image, the sharpness of it, startled Harte enough that he gasped. Then he shook it off and focused on what was real. On what was true.
The power was still struggling to get closer to Esta—as though it craved her fury. He would not let it have her.
“Come on,” Harte said, jerking her back and following Julien as his friend led them in the opposite direction of the parade, away from the noise of the Pike and toward one of the smaller side routes that led back into the main part of the fair.
Esta eventually came, looking back toward the Pike every few steps, until they came to where the entrance of the Pike met the regular walkways of the fair. The noise of the crowd was a low murmur here, and Harte could barely hear the confusion of the Pike. Manicured pathways led to large, palatial buildings, and well-dressed people came and went from their entrances.
“We need to get out of here,” Harte said, releasing Esta’s arm and feeling the power inside of him rage.
“You might want to wait,” Julien suggested. “With an Antistasi attack, they’ll be checking all the exits.”
“They weren’t Antistasi,” Esta said, her voice hollow as she looked back toward the Pike. From there they couldn’t see anything but the outlines of the buildings. There was no way to know what was happening.
“It doesn’t matter who they were,” Julien said. “You saw how the Guard reacted. They’ll be looking for anyone involved, and you don’t want to get caught up in it.”
“Jules is right,” Harte said, needing that time to gather his wits and his strength. “We’ll wait for a while—play the tourist until we’re sure things have died down.”
“I, unfortunately, cannot,” Julien told them. “This, I believe, is where I say my good-byes.”
“You’re leaving?” Esta asked, turning back to them.
“I’m not a wanted fugitive,” Julien told her. “I have nothing to fear from the Guard, and I also have a matinee today.”
“We’re not done,” Harte said, trying to keep his voice level even as the power inside of him was still unsettled over his refusal to accommodate its wishes. He took another step back from Esta, just to be sure.
Julien frowned at them. “I’ve done what you asked—I’ve shown you the necklace.”
“We don’t have the necklace yet, though,” Harte pointed out. “As long as it’s on display like that, you’re at risk.”
Julien visibly bristled. “Then take care of it, Darrigan. She might be a thief, but I’m not.”
“You want us to take care of it? We need information—about the security or any events that might be happening. We need to know whether the necklace is always there or if they move it at night.”
“Why would you think I could get you that information?” Julien asked, clearly annoyed, and if Harte wasn’t mistaken, more than a little uneasy.
“Because you’re in the Society,” Harte pressed, not caring when Julien blanched. “Did you think we didn’t know, Jules?”
“It’s just a courtesy membership,” he said. “I’m no one to them. A joke.”
Harte didn’t miss the bitterness in his friend’s voice, but he couldn’t do anything about it. “You’re closer to the Society than either of us,” Harte told him. “You want to get rid of us? You’ll get us the information.”
“Fine,” Julien said. “But it’ll take time.”
“The sooner we can get the necklace, the sooner we’re out of your hair,” Harte told him. “And the sooner you can go on with your life like none of this ever happened.”
Julien let out a frustrated breath. “If I never had to see your face again, it wouldn’t be soon enough, Darrigan.”
Harte watched Julien walk off, keeping his eyes on his friend until he’d lost sight of him in the crowds.
“We could have helped those kids,” Esta said, her voice low and angry.
He let out a tired breath and reluctantly turned back to her. “I know,” he told her.
“Then why—”
“Because we have more important things to do,” he said.
“They were kids, Harte. Those were smoke bombs and costumes,” she said, her voice shaking. “They were dressed up as Antistasi—as me. The skirts and the masks. You saw it, didn’t you? They were playing the Devil’s Thief. And those Guardsmen were vicious. They had to see they were just kids, and it didn’t matter.”
“You’re not responsible for that,” he told her, and the moment he said the words, he knew that it had been the wrong thing to say. Her eyes flashed with fury, and the power inside of him warmed.
Her voice was cool and detached when she spoke again. “Aren’t I? Maybe you can separate what you want from what everyone else is suffering through. God knows you have before. But I can’t. I won’t.”
Her words hit their mark, in part because of how true they were. The mess they were in was his doing, all because he’d wanted to be free of the city. Because he’d been willing to sacrifice almost anything for that one dream. But that didn’t change the fact that they were on a mission, and if they didn’t succeed, Mageus would have a lot more to worry about than the Guard.
“We have to find the stones, Esta,” he said softly. “We need the necklace, and then we need to find Bill to get the dagger, and then we have the rest of the continent to cross for the crown, and we can’t do that if we’re in jail or dead.” He paused, gathering himself, pushing away the power that was poking at his weaknesses. Esta’s eyes were still blazing at him, but he went on. “If we don’t get the stones, Nibsy wins. Jack wins. I wanted to help those kids, but doing that would have put a great big target on our backs. You want to help those kids and countless others like them? We have to win. We have to find the stones and get the Book back.” I’m running out of time. And so are you.
The thought came to him so clearly that he knew it was true.
Esta frowned at him, but some of the heat in her expression drained. “I hate them,” she told him, her voice hollow. “I hate the Guard and I hate the Society—all of them.”
“So do I,” Harte said, meaning every word. “So let’s not just beat up a few Guardsmen here and there. Let’s bring them to their knees. We steal the necklace, we humiliate them, and then we move on and do it again until we have what we need. Until we can go back before any of this happened—before the Act, before the Guard—and stop it. That’s how we’re going to save those boys.”
She let out a heavy breath and scrubbed her hand over her mouth. It was an utterly guileless gesture, and one that made her look every bit the man she was dressed as. “You’re probably right,” she said. “But that doesn’t change how angry with you I am right now.”
“Be as angry as you want,” he said. “As long as you’re angry here, and not in some jail.”
“There isn’t a jail that can hold me,” she told him, cutting her eyes in his direction.
“I don’t know. . . . Those bars on the Nile exhibit might do the trick.”
Her expression faltered at the mention of them. “Speaking of the Nile, you want to tell me what happened on that boat?” she asked.
He took a breath. “I don’t know,” he said. “I was there, and then I wasn’t.”
“You were talking about Thoth like you knew him,” she said, a question in her eyes. “You called him a liar.”
Vaguely he remembered saying those words, but they felt like they were someone else’s memories, someone else’s words. “I think it’s whatever—or whoever—was trapped in the Book. Every day it gets stronger. Every day it gains a little more control.” And being around you is making it worse.
“Well, whatever it is, it sure doesn’t like Thoth,” she said, looking away from him.
“It’s old,” he told her, not sure where the words came from. “I get this sense that it’s been waiting a very long time to be freed. . . . It’s not going to wait much longer.”
Esta glanced up at him, and for a moment the anger in her eyes was replaced by worry. “Well, it’s gonna have to,” she told him. “We’re close. The necklace is right there.” She pointed toward the Pike. “And opium or the Guard or whatever, that building isn’t Khafre Hall. We can do this.” She paused, thoughtful. “What if we used a parade as a distraction?”
A couple passed close by, the man eyeing the two of them with a serious frown. “Maybe, but let’s not talk about it here,” he said. “We don’t know who might be listening.”
“Fine,” she said. “What do you want to do, then?”
“We need to waste a little time, but standing around like this is drawing attention. You want to go in there and see what’s inside?” he asked, pointing to a nearby building. “It might be cooler, since we’ll be out of the sun.”
The building turned out to be the Palace of Transportation. The enormous hall was filled with all manner of machinery—sleek steam engines and automobiles that gleamed under the electric lights. As they walked through, pretending to be tourists until they could safely leave, Esta had a far-off, almost sad look in her eyes.
“Someday, everyone will have one of these,” she told him as she ran her finger along the curved metal of an automobile. “No one really stays in one place unless they have to. You could get onto an airplane and fly anywhere you want. . . .”
“Fly?” It seemed impossible. “Like in an airship?”
She shook her head. “Faster. And higher. You can be across the country in a handful of hours.” Her expression faltered. “Or some people can.” She glanced over at him, a spark of hope in her eye. “When we get the stones and the Book—because we will—we have to do something with them. We have to figure out what to do about the Brink—fix it or destroy it. There’s an entire future coming, and Mageus won’t survive by being trapped in the city. Maybe they’d have a chance if things were different. Maybe that’s why we ended up here, so we could see what might be. So we could understand that things can be changed. That we can change them, only this time, we can change them for the better. Even if we can’t go back. We can start now.”
He couldn’t feel an answering hope. Standing in the Palace of Transportation, he was surrounded by machines built for speed, all ways for ordinary people to escape from their lives and travel wherever their hearts desired. They were machines of the future, machines that one day would be. But Harte Darrigan knew that they were not for him. He was a man without a future, and not one of those wondrous machines could move fast enough or go far enough to help him escape from the danger he carried within.