“You’re lying,” I say. “You’re never awake that early.”
“How would I even know about the funeral thing if I wasn’t there?” He points at the door. “Get out. You’re a lunatic.”
I flinch at the insult, my hands shaking. I would remember it if Jiafu paid me after the funeral. It’s not as if I would’ve forgotten. Which means he’s lying and trying to make me second-guess myself. It’s a pretty poor attempt. And it’s embarrassing in front of Luca, who might be starting to think that I really am crazy.
I rack my brain for an illusion terrorizing enough to make Jiafu piss himself. Venomous moths come to mind, the golden ones from the rainforests in the Vurundi Lands.
They appear one at a time, buzzing inside the cart.
“Don’t you pull this shit,” Jiafu says.
More moths appear, their eyes black, their stingers sharp and as long as my thumb. My Strings vaguely appear around my feet from using so much illusion-work, and I step aside so as not to get tangled up in them.
“I’m not kidding. Stop this.” He backs away from the moths toward the opposite wall of his cart. “You don’t want to fuck with me, ’Rina.”
The moths attack him, swarming as he swats at them and screams. While Jiafu falls to the floor in a fit, I reach into his pocket and pull out his coin purse. Then I jump out of the caravan. I’ll make the moths go away in a few minutes, once we’re far gone.
“Was that wise?” Luca asks. “He’s a criminal, who is acquainted with other, scarier criminals.”
“I’m pretty scary, too.”
In the caravan opposite us, an old man peeks his head outside to figure out where the screaming is coming from.
“What if he sends one of these criminals to your place tomorrow morning to threaten you or the others?” Luca asks.
I swallow. Maybe it was a reckless move. But I need the money for Kahina. He should’ve paid me what he owed me. “I have this friend who is half tree. He’s seven feet tall. He’s made of bark, the sharp kind—”
Luca rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you thought that through one bit.”
Where does he get off thinking he can act like my father? He’s not exactly responsible, allowing people to kill him all the time. What if something happens, and his head rolls off the stage, but he never wakes up? Does he even know what kind of fire he’s playing with?
But his company is growing on me, and he is helping me, so I’m not going to yell at him. Not over this. Instead, I change the subject.
“Do you want to go into Cartona with me tomorrow afternoon? I know that’s rather early...” I say, holding up the coin purse. “But I have some shopping to do.”
His face darkens. “Is it wise to go into Cartona?”
“Of course it is. I’ve been in plenty of cities before.”
“This far north in the Up-Mountains? They won’t take kindly to someone like you.”
I straighten my mask. Someone like me. Someone deformed. “I’ve dealt with unpleasant people before. I can handle myself.” I shake my head. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
He opens his mouth to say something and then abruptly shuts it. “Then...enjoy your trip.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There is a palpable sense of grief throughout the golden city of Cartona. The pedestrians walk as if wandering aimlessly, rather than traveling to a destination. The vendors don’t bother to greet any passersby. Even the apricot in my hand tastes unripe and sour.
The most unsettling sight in Cartona is the colors. Black shrouds cover every door, every window, blocking the sunlight from each home, church and shop. The Cartonians wear all white, which reminds me too much of Blister’s funeral. Strange how Ovren’s disciples associate white with purity and we associate it with death.
Naturally, I am wearing dark clothes and black-and-pink-striped tights, so I stick out like a raven among a flock of doves.
I hurry through the streets, searching for a bazaar where I can find an apothecary. Cartona is a city of gothic architecture and merchants. In what’s considered to be Ovren’s holy city, churches with flying buttresses tower over the skyline. The air smells of humidity, the spices they obtain from Down-Mountain traders and the reek of city dwellers. Everyone here has an exotic item from somewhere far away; everyone has something to sell.
As I pass a vendor showing off mosaic pottery and jewelry, each shard stained a different color and glimmering, the vendor shouts at me, “A necklace for your girl?” It startles me, as everyone else is so quiet. He holds up a massive strand of iridescent glass beads. At first I’m confused, since I’m alone, and I glance over my shoulder to find Luca standing behind me, dressed all in white and carrying a separate white tunic, which he throws at me.
I’m so shocked by the sudden projectile, Luca’s appearance and the vendor calling me Luca’s “girl” that I shriek and fail to catch the tunic. It falls onto the dirty, golden street.
“The idea is to blend in,” Luca says.
With his fair features and white clothing, Luca fits in with the Up-Mountainers in Cartona, but not as much as I would have expected. His hair is much too long. His nose piercing glints in the sunlight. And the smirk on his face hardly matches the somber expressions of those around me. Despite his past and his looks, there’s definitely more Gomorrah in him than I’d noticed before.
The vendor continues to berate us and show off the necklace. I redden and wonder if Luca will say something, but he just ignores him. Did he not hear him? Or is he avoiding giving a reaction to my being “his girl”? It’s useless to overthink something like this, but I like the idea of being somebody’s girl. It makes me sound desirable. Not like a freak with no eyes. And Luca, though irritating, is hardly terrible to look at.
“You’ve been following me,” I say.
“Are you angry?”
“Yes.” I hold up the white tunic. It should cover most of my clothes, judging by its length. It looks to be one of Luca’s shirts. “And also no. Thank you for this.”
“I’m glad I came. Cartona’s archbishops have a reputation for cleansing mania. The white clothes are meant to refer to a person’s purity.” He nods his head to the right, where black smoke billows into the sky. “Vanity burning.”
“What’s that?”
“It means the city is doing one of its cleanses, burning everything from secular books to makeup.” I glance at the women around me and notice for the first time that none of them wear rouge, lipstick or even a hint of glitter. How dull. “I’ve never seen so many in white, though, as if it’s a law now. Something must’ve happened here.”
“I don’t intend to stay long.”
“Good.”
Jiafu’s coin purse jingles in the breast pocket of my cloak. I cross my arms as I walk, in case of pickpockets. I’ve been in enough Up-Mountain cities to know the poor and the homeless perch on every corner, waiting to seize an opportunity in the form of an unwary shopper. Though Gomorrah has its share of petty crime, our thieves are less desperate, and no one would risk mugging and injuring a patron.
“There’s an apothecary symbol on that building over there,” Luca says, pointing to our left. A green cross hangs over the door.
The shutters on the top two floors are bolted closed, but the door is ajar, and an Open sign dangles from a rusted nail on the pane. The vendors outside the building sell produce and seeds, normal-looking stands run by normal-looking people. But the apothecary shop looms and casts a shadow onto the street, jagged like teeth from the broken thatches on its roof. Like a monster waiting to snatch you from behind.
“That looks like a good place to get murdered,” I say.
“It’s the only place we’ve found,” Luca says.
“Easy for you to say. You can’t die.”
“How about this? You wait out here. I’ll check it out and give it the all clear.”
While Luca slips inside, I inspect the apples at a nearby vendor. From far away, I didn’t notice their bruises and discoloration. I wouldn’t be surprised to find each of their cores eaten out by worms.