Loris of New Castle

Chapter 13

I’m sure he meant for the words to have much more effect on me. Indeed, there was an expectant knot of fear that I realized had been hanging there for the last few days, just waiting for someone to say what he just did. I wasn’t really a Forsythe. I wasn’t really meant to be here. I was a fake. However, in the wild, fear is the cue for everyone else to tear you apart. This kid had nothing on Jack’s power of intimidation. It did irritate me a little though.

I raised an eyebrow, something I’d seen Irinia Crane do and decided it would be a good look to add to my arsenal.

“Oh really? How did you come to that conclusion?”

Bentley shrugged and stuck his hands in his pocket before walking past me to a pile of tin Regulars on the floor.

“I did have a sister a long time ago. We buried her. She died of pneumonia. I was just two at the time, but it’s my very first memory, standing next to her grave.” He looked up at me, eyes cool but pushing back just a little bit. “You can go look if you want. It’s at the bottom of the garden in between the hydrangea hedge.”

“Maybe Lorus feels like staying here.”

Bentley shrugged and turned his attention to the pile of miniature Regulars.

I crossed my arms and wandered around the room poking the different objects with my toe. It occurred to me these might be the things I had heard Beka and Moron discuss and that even the Colonel referenced, toys. But what did Bentley do all day with these things? He didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about the miniature Regulars he was lining up in a row to face off against a strange metal lizard with movable joints. There was a pile of blocks neatly stacked nearby in the shape of a castle. I nudged one corner of it, and the whole wooden city collapsed.

“Steady on, Loris! Seriously!” he snapped. “If you’re going to be a bother, just leave already!”

I grinned, “For saying I’m a fake Loris, you still call me that name.”

“First of all,” he huffed, “that’s because you’re pronouncing it wrong. That’s the first thing that proves you’re not Loris. It’s Loris as in ‘kiss-kiss’, not Lorus as in you bore us. Secondly, the only reason you’re here is because Mother hopes if the family has you for a Warden candidate, they might finally let me out of the house.” He sighed in long suffering, “I’m just not sure I could in good conscience allow them to hand over the management of the entire Ward to such an unruly Mogli child, even if it did secure me my freedom,” he finished with a glare.

I blinked trying to process what he had just said then knelt next to the blocks and began rearranging them. I knew who Warden Catalyn, my grandmother was. I figured the next one to take over would be my Uncle or possibly Pilosa. That’s how it worked not just in the Ayfortees but the Roadies and Plainsmen. Why would a child ever be considered for leadership?

“Mother, you mean Pilosa?” I asked.

“I mean Mother, Mumsy, mommer-wommer, whatever ridiculous name she wants to be called now,” he sighed. “And that’s another point. You don’t even treat your family like family. I say, that’s not bad. Did you do all that from memory?”

I looked where he was pointing, at the blocks, and shrugged.

“Not that hard. Just put them back how I saw them.”

Bentley dropped into a crouch next to me.

“Yes, but there’s over one-hundred twenty of them, all with different pictures on the side,” he pointed to one that had a yellow canary painted on it. “Are you saying it’s just luck you put them back exactly as I had arranged them?”

I shrugged but then sprang to my feet.

“Ah! Lorus almost forget! The canary!”

Bentley’s eyes widened. I pointed to the back of my neck.

“Lorus has a birthmark on her neck like a red canary. Miss Crane knew it was there when not even Lorus knew because she said she delivered Lorus,” I smirked, but Bentley didn’t seem that impressed. He walked across the room to a chest of drawers and pulled a mirror out of the top before walking back across and handing it to me.

“Come over here next to the full-length and take a look. Tell me what you see.”

With some little dread, I did indeed walk over to the full length. It was odd seeing myself from head to missing toes. For a while I just stared at myself. I could see why Bentley would not want to accept me as any sort of relation to himself. My hair was the color of wood; his was like dark amber. My face was filled with freckles, my arms ruddy on top from my time in the sun; his was as pale and smooth as milk. His eyes glowed like little candles; mine were so dark they almost looked like nothing but iris, two black holes. Bentley was staring at me then gestured impatiently.

“Here, like this, moron!” he grabbed my wrist and yanked my arm up to position the smaller mirror behind my head.

I yanked my arm away, “Lorus not Moron! And Moron is a heck of a lot nicer and smarter than Bentley!”

Huffing I held the mirror behind my neck and, with a little heart-fluttering delight, finally caught sight of the red birthmark. It was indeed there, unmistakably in the shape of a flying bird. I sighed in relief.

“You know someone named ‘Moron’?” Bentley snickered.

I rolled my eyes and handed him back the mirror.

“Not named Moron. That’s just what Lorus calls him. He’s-“ I had to think for a little bit. “He’s Finstuff Wigold Treadgus something something from Arsenal! Lorus met him in Purgatory!”

Bentley seemed genuinely shocked.

“You’ve been to Arsenal? All the ways to the Shoals?” His voice was shaky.

I hadn’t, but this suddenly seemed like something very desirable. I lifted my nose and gave an affirmative nod.

“And Beka! A Thaumaturgist! We took the test at the same time, and now she’s going to be famous and build stuff that blows up! Just like Shrike and Fox!”

Bentley scowled then waved his hands through the air like he was clearing a cloud.

“Well good for you! You know people. And get to go places. And do stuff,” he snorted and turned away. “Good. For. You.”

He started pulling up his shirt. I stood there awkwardly then took a few steps back.

“If Bentley wants to go to sleep or take a bath, just say so.”

He shot me a look. I raised my hands.

“What?! Taking off your shirt for no reason is strange!”

“I’m not taking it off! Help me pull it up in back. It takes a lot of effort,” he huffed.

Awkwardly, I stepped over and with one hand pulled up the back of his shirt. Was this really that much of an effort for him?

“There! You see! Or do you think that’s just a big coincidence as well?”

At first I didn’t know what he was talking about, but when I spotted it I yanked the shirt up further nearly knocking him over.

“Hey!” he cried out. “Take it easy! I told you, I’m delicate.”

On top of his left shoulder blade was a birthmark- a red bird in flight, exactly like mine.

Blinking, I stood up. Families might share similar features, faces, noses, and eyes, but in my limited understanding of reproduction, they didn’t share exact markings. Hesitantly, I touched the back of my neck. Bentley turned around and pulled his shirt down, more irritated than smug.

“There. You see? It’s not a birthmark. It’s a tattoo. They probably put it on you while you were sleeping,” he awkwardly reached across his body with his right hand and touched his own mark on his left shoulder. It made him look like he was hugging his own thin, tiny chest. “That’s how I got mine. After my sister died, I took to sleeping in Pilosa’s room. For some reason I didn’t understand, my shoulder was hot and itchy, and it made me cry, so she let me stay. It was summer time, and it was muggy, so I kept pulling my shirt off even though she kept making me put it back on. Then one day she was giving me a bath. When she pulled me out to dry me off, I saw her looking at something behind me in the mirror. That’s the first time I saw it. When I looked up, Pilosa’s and my eyes met. After that she never let me in her room again.”

He walked over to a shelf full of books, pulled a few down, flipped through one or two, then apparently found what he was looking for and brought it over.

“Here, see? It says a master artist can finish a small piece like that in less than 30 minutes, and colored ink is no problem.”

The book had a picture of a hand holding a strange contraption in it. I didn’t recognize the long tube or fancy gizmos hanging off the back, but the sharp needle at the end of a metal pen I did. Add in a hammer to chisel it over and over into my face, and that was the first tattoo- the first thing I could remember as well. I winced and touched my cheeks, but Bentley took it as a sign of my acquiescence.

“You see? My guess is all Forsythes have one, something to sort of brand our own,” he said in a forced light tone. “Just in case we get lost or need to identify a body.”

We stood there silently for some time. It was eerie and compelling, and there was a large chunk of time I didn’t remember after being shot and having my toes amputated. Still, I had gone through so much. If I capitulated here, it would be the end of my chance to carve out a comfortable existence.

I shook my head, “You’re missing the obvious though. You say you got yours when you were little? I may not remember it, but what’s to say I didn’t get mine when I was a baby?”

Bentley shook his head adamantly, “No! Look how vibrant and red yours is compared to mine. Of course it would fade over time. Yours should be more faded than mine, especially considering how much you’ve been outside.”

He sighed and put his book away, “You aren’t a Forsythe. You never have been.”

I stared at him and then back at the full length mirror. It would be easy to believe he was right. But then what? And then what had been my purpose here in the first place?

“So what is Lorus supposed to do?”

Bentley rolled his eyes, “You really do talk like an idiot, you know? I told you, it’s Loris. If you’re going to pretend, at least do a convincing job of it.” He pondered for a second, chin tilting up as though pondering, one finger tapping his chin.

“I know!” he brightened. “You’ll become my servant! You can be my Second!” he nodded at the genius of his own idea.

“Your what?” I asked, but I already knew where he was going, even as he adopted the same patronizing tone and eyes half-shut mannerism that Jack always took.

“My Second,” he explained slowly as though to a child, “Every good Warden has one. I have delicate health. That’s why I’ve never left this wing of the house. I’m obviously better suited to run things than you, and certainly not those bubble headed cousins of ours. You know their mom is a bunny-wife, don’t you?” he added conspiratorially. “Cebis only married into the family. He’s not blood. His first wife, Aunty Vickers, the real Forsythe, couldn’t produce. She was “released” so that he could pick up Sophie. It was too late for him though. Pilosa had already popped out me and Loris, so unless I kick-it or disappear, his scions will only ever be Wardensans and married off to other Wards.” Bentley pondered, “Though I suppose he might get a Warden-gran out of that if he’s lucky. It looks like it’s going to happen to Ward 5.”

“Anyhow, when I’m Warden, I won’t be allowed to leave the Ward. Gone to nest, if you will. So, I’ll need someone to run errands and do my bidding, just like the Iron Crane does for Granny. Of course, we’ll still need to polish you up. Seconds are supposed to be the silent right hand of their employer, masters of protocol and discretion, facilitators of good relations. You-“ he pointed a disdainful finger at me. “-are a rough-hewn rock. The Iron Crane has deemed you the Lost Princess, which is pish posh but good PR, one thing she does sneakily well. You’re more like a Jungle Child, Mogli among people for the first time. Even cogs have more sense of propriety than you. For crying out loud! You don’t even wear shoes! You’re like some dirty little barefoot elf! But don’t worry, with proper schooling, I think you could become an asset to the family. You already show much prom-“

I had wondered just how long Bentley was going to prattle. Once he started talking about all the things he expected a Second to be, all the things he would expect me to be, I came to a conclusion. He was not just like Jack. He was Jack. A tiny, whiny, puny, pushy miscreant who had all sorts of plans and designs for everyone else just as soon as he figured out how he could use them and bend them to his will. At that point, I decided to show him emphatically that I was not interested in being part of his plans.

Stepping forward I slid my hand into the front of his shirt, thumb still on the outside. From there it was a short stride to body check him, pushing my forearm against his chest and slam him against the wall. The air wooshed out of him and for a second there was blissful silence as he just wheezed, and I stood there smiling at him.

Then he caught his breath.

“You brute! What are you doing! I’ll scream! I’ll-“

“Have a very hard time breathing in a second if you don’t shut up,” I snapped, pushing my hand holding his shirt up and against his chin, forcing his mouth shut. With my weight against him, it would be very hard for him to draw a proper breath. This wouldn’t leave any marks or bruising, something I unfortunately also learned from Jack Gimlet. If Bentley was going to try to be a master of manipulation, there were certain lessons I would have get in early.

He wheezed as though considering still screaming.

“Go ahead,” I said through clenched teeth. “You think escaping a bunch of soft cogs would be difficult? Try escaping a whole tribe of Ayfortees or Roadies.” I touched my face tattoos. “If they catch you, they make sure you never forget it.”

I leaned my face close to his to where I could smell his breath. He smelled like milk and soap. I took an exaggerated sniff.

“Wild? I don’t think you even know what that word means. I’ve been beaten, chased, frozen, marked, and sold. I have been other people’s property all my life. I have seen things that would make that little rabbit heart inside your chest stop dead. Here I have a chance to live, to thrive, and if you threaten that in any way, if you presume being your slave would improve my life in any way,” I leaned forward and bared my teeth. “Then I will make sure you disappear. Just like your sister Loris.”

I dropped Bentley and strode back over to the window, making sure to take my time. My hands were shaking; I felt heady as blood pounded in my ears. I realized that if Bentley had tried to fight or struggle, I would’ve had no problem hurting him. For a moment I just stared at my hands before reaching up and opening the window again. Turning around made me feel a little queasy.

The angelic look was back on Bentley’s face even though he was now sitting in a heap on the floor, one hand rubbing his sternum. He didn’t say anything, just stared intently, lips partially opened like the words he wanted wouldn’t come out. I shook my head fiercely and stepped up into the window. He was not my brother. I couldn’t let myself get sucked in.

“One last point to consider,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. “Let’s say your theories are right. So I’m not your Loris. I’m just some wild savage brought in by luck so one branch of the family has more leverage over the other. Considering all that, and considering that Irinia Crane works for Catalyn, the current Warden of this Ward, that means she was working under orders, doesn’t it? So Catalyn Forsythe, not Pilosa, was the one who decided I would be a Forsythe.”

Bentley blinked, and suddenly the light dimmed in his eyes. He stared flatly at me. I made myself grin.

“Yep, you’ve got it, kid,” I continued. “I’ve noticed that for all the people that live here in New Castle, you don’t really see a lot of weak or infirmed. Why is that I wonder? In the wild, weak offspring are culled at birth. Weakness only breeds in weakness. As humane as Castelians claim to be, they’re not idiots. If you want a society to thrive, you don’t make the broken your leaders and breeding stock. You choose someone who can survive.” I shrugged. “I’m not here to serve you, Bentley. I’m here to replace you.”

And then I flung myself back out the window.