I’m anxious to hear Luca’s thoughts. I think he avoided seeking me out yesterday because he wanted to give me time with my father, but, truly, I wish he’d paid a visit. I like when he thinks out loud, so that I don’t need to. Lately, too much thinking has led my mind into dark corners.
Villiam and I slowly approach the fence of the Downhill. I’ve never crossed this border with my father. He passes it with confidence and ease, as he probably has hundreds of times before.
“I don’t believe you and I have ever discussed the guard,” he says. “The guard has its soldiers, those who protect Gomorrah. Shadow-workers, mainly. But it also recruits a number of thieves and assassins, those who are bred in families who make crime their expertise. It has one rule, and one rule only. Can you guess it?”
“No.”
“All members of the guard have lived their entire lives in Gomorrah. Anyone from outside cannot be trusted.”
I try not to show any outward reaction to his statement. This goes against the Gomorrah philosophy, that any misfit or outcast can find a home within its smoke. It reminds me of what Nicoleta told me a few days ago, that Luca was not to be trusted. I suppose I thought this at first...but not anymore. Gomorrah has found a way of interweaving itself in Luca’s character. He passes no judgment on the prettyworkers he befriends, as many Up-Mountainers have done. He dresses like any performer in the Festival—though with terrible taste.
“Chimal will be excited to meet you,” Villiam says. “He’s been hearing about you for years.”
Villiam’s voice momentarily pulls me out of my reverie, but I realize with mild mortification that no matter how much I try to focus, my mind keeps returning to Luca. I’m growing uncomfortably aware of how much I think about him. Kahina always says that no one can choose whom they fall for, and even though I consider myself a romantic, I don’t want to cause myself unnecessary heartache. I’d rather squash the feelings before they begin—after all, how could Luca possibly be interested in someone like me?
“Chimal began his life as a thief,” Villiam continues. “As he will probably tell you, there are a number of established families in this section of the Festival. Although the Uphill is associated with wealth, the oldest families reside in the Downhill. Families as old as Gomorrah itself.”
To our left, we pass a house of prettywomen. The two-story caravan has its shutters closed so its residents can sleep during the day. A garland of brightly colored glass bottles clunks against the wood as it moves, a sound like long nails clicking against a hard surface. One woman tends to the elephants by washing them as they walk.
I’m immediately embarrassed to be walking beside a brothel with my father, no matter how common a staple of Gomorrah they might be. Despite everything I know about Villiam, he’s never told me if he’s had a lover. I’ve never seen him with either a woman or a man, but I don’t think it’s because they don’t interest him. Venera once said it was probably because he puts his duties as proprietor far above any bodily needs. It hardly seems fair that his job has stripped him of the opportunity for romance, since proprietors in the past have had spouses and proper families.
I know there are sacrifices I must make when I become proprietor, but I’ve spent years daydreaming of the princes and princesses from Kahina’s fairy tales. I won’t give up on my own romantic happily-ever-after, not even for the Festival.
As we leave the brothel behind, my thoughts drift to Luca’s beautiful prettywoman friend, Yelema. Nicoleta mentioned that Luca was not interested in the services prettyworkers had to offer, but she’s never actually met Luca. Probably never even seen him. He’s handsome, and, regardless of the rumors, I would be surprised if Luca had never pushed his “friendships” with prettyworkers beyond the realm of simply friends.
Luca and I, we are friends.
But lately, I’m finding that I want us to be more.
“You seem rather distant. Is something troubling you?” Villiam asks.
“No,” I say quickly.
“Certainly you’ve been in the Downhill before. I don’t need to know every detail of my daughter’s life, but I imagine—”
“I have. I guess I’m just tired from all the packing earlier. Not so much sleep.”
“Yes, unfortunately, leaving Cartona so early has given us less time to prepare for the wedding in Sapris.”
“Is that what this is about?” I ask. “The wedding?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to discuss it now. Let’s wait until we meet with Chimal.”
Chimal lives at a deep corner of the Downhill, far beyond Luca’s tent, far beyond any place where I have ventured. I had always envisioned that the deeper one travels into the Downhill, the seedier it becomes, but evidently the opposite is true. This neighborhood is wealthy. Caravans freshly painted. Beautiful stallions pulling their carriages. Full gardens on top of their carts. But, still, there is a hint of the Downhill. The smell of incense. The unnerving quiet.
One caravan in particular, painted in deep scarlet, stands out from the others. It’s more of a cart than a caravan, with no wooden walls or ceiling, only black fabric. When we near it, Villiam uses the crutch on his lap to pull himself standing. He cumbersomely climbs inside without bothering to knock or call out Chimal’s name. I fold up his wheelchair and rush to follow him—anyone could be hiding in there, waiting for the proprietor to arrive. In his state, he would be unable to defend himself. He thinks, because he’s the proprietor, that he is untouchable. It’s only taken him a matter of hours to forget the event that resulted in his broken leg.
As I enter the cart, I receive my first glimpse of Chimal. He’s a shockingly tall man while sitting down, but after observing his stumpy legs by the light of his candle, I deduce that he probably doesn’t reach six feet when standing. His features are a mixture of Yucatoan and something else. Perhaps Vurundi. Perhaps Eastern. More than likely, a variety of peoples from the melting pot that is Gomorrah. He wears the face and expression of a man who has seen heartache and has allowed it to harden him on the inside, rather than the outside. A warm face and cold eyes.
“Sorina,” he says. He smiles, showing a gap in his front teeth that makes his otherwise threatening demeanor less intimidating. “How pleasant to meet you at last.”
“A pleasure indeed,” I say. My words strike me as sounding very much like my father, who has always been a master of pleasantries. I wish we could jump immediately into the heart of the important conversation we need to have—my father has been attacked by enemies beyond Skull Gate, enemies who potentially killed Gill and Blister. We must decide how to retaliate.
However, Chimal doesn’t seem eager to rush things. “I am told you can create a man using merely your imagination.”
“That’s right.”
“An act worthy of a god, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t raised with much faith.”
“I thought you followed the stars, Villiam?” Chimal asks.
“My mother did.”
“Well, as it turns out, I’m not a believer myself. The only god I worship is the god of death.”
He smiles, and the gap in his teeth seems more sinister to me than before.
“The man we seek,” he says, “he is not a man easily identified. In the letters we have intercepted from the Alliance, he has written under pseudonyms, and several. Nor are we certain where the letters are originating from.”
He means the leader of the Alliance. The man Villiam intends to kidnap. The man who has orchestrated so much suffering.
“It will be heavily guarded. Even with your illusion-work, Sorina, slipping past the entrance won’t be easy. But I do have ideas regarding my men.” He leans forward, close enough that I can smell his breath. Sweet, like corn. “Your illusions have powers unlike anyone else in Gomorrah. These could prove an asset to us. I’m particularly interested in the girl who can fly.”
“Hawk? She’s only thirteen,” I say with dismay.
“And you’re sixteen. There isn’t much of a difference.”
I watch Villiam, who doesn’t seem perturbed by these comments. Perhaps Chimal has discussed this notion with him before, when I was not included. “I won’t put Hawk in danger,” I say.