Beneath Ceaseless Skies #72 Read online

“Make the most of it, lad.” He had one last drink and went back to sleep.

  With the taste of fine whisky still on my tongue, I remembered Governor Bidwell’s words to me—”You impudent pup, you can’t rise above your station.”

  I’d prove him wrong.

  * * *

  At the end of the year, I walked through an exhibition of the latest mechanical innovations of the Empire—artificial dancers and musicians, their clockwork gears exposed, and a machine that snorted steam to form the image of a woman in the air. None of them were of much interest to me—toys for the rich and idle.

  Next to the machines was a zoo intended to present the exotic fauna of Sutterland to visiting dignitaries. Here was a blackfellow in a cage, his skin painted with the secret symbols of his people. He stared out in mute stoicism at the tribe that had overrun his country.

  How strange we must have looked to him. Beyond the zoo were festive tents and our betters in finery. Gentlemen sipped drinks and discussed sports. Ladies shielded themselves from the sun, pale skins gray under the shade of their parasols. Young men my age comported themselves with cocksure gravitas, so unlike the rough and tumble youths I’d known back home. Clothing makes the man, it’s said, but even if I’d looked the part, it wouldn’t have been easy for me to blend in. All these people knew each other. Their bloodlines and business interests had been intertwined for centuries. I would immediately be recognized as a stranger in their midst.

  This was the Governor’s Grand Annual Gala, a weekend event at his estate attended by all persons of note in Sutterland. I was not here to mingle with them but to entertain them.

  I stepped onto a stage, took out my blindfold, showed it to the waiting audience, and in my thickest accent said, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am Radu Malik. Please may I have volunteer?”

  The crowd parted for Governor Bidwell himself.

  “They say your magic is not merely an illusion,” he said, joining me on stage. He took the blindfold and ran his fingers over the cloth, looking for evidence of trickery.

  “Sir, I have gift to see things other men cannot.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. As he looked at me, I wondered if he remembered me—but of course he didn’t. He must’ve examined thousands of convicts over the years. “I would like to witness it up close. Shall we dispense with the card tricks and all that, and proceed to the showstopper.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  He tied the cloth around my head.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, “I shall need volunteer.”

  A young man joined us on stage with a hearty what-ho. The governor paced around us, watching intently. I shan’t deny that he made me nervous.

  “We start with one of most difficult tricks in world!” I proclaimed, spreading my arms.

  The young lad gave a wink to his friends.

  “I, the mystic Radu Malik, shall reveal facts about you known only to yourself and closest associates! Sir, you may choose to leave stage if you would not be comfortable bringing such secrets to light. I assure you I shall reveal nothing scandalous—there are ladies present.”

  “Do your worst,” he said, grinning.

  I waved my hands in the air in arcane patterns. “In your pocket, you have book of matches and cigarette case, do you not?”

  He nodded. “I do indeed.”

  “Case is monogrammed A.R. Cigarettes are stamped with crest—I recognize it—Raleigh family crest.”

  “That’s correct! Astonishing.”

  “Please show items to audience, sir.”

  He did so and then I went deeper. I saw him as he was. I saw beyond the threads that covered him and under the skin and flesh. I saw fractured bone and semen stains and pathological evidence.

  “You broke your leg, sir? I see healed fracture in your left tibia.”

  He gaped at me. “A riding accident.”

  I could always count on them to fill in a detail or two, making my revelations seem that much more astonishing.

  “And year ago—it is hard to tell exact—you visited Western Colonies and contracted malaria.” I could see the malarial parasites in his bloodstream.

  “How could you know that?”

  “I am Radu Malik.”

  He looked at me with an expression I had seen many times by now—utter and total belief. Sometimes at this point they would start asking me questions about the future, as if I were some sort of oracle.

  Before he could speak, I said, “Thank you, sir.”

  Applause accompanied him off the stage.

  Governor Bidwell said, “Come to my study after the show. I should like to speak with you. You may now proceed.”

  As he left, all I could think of was that it never bodes well when a politician takes an interest in you. The thought filled me with dread, but the show had to go on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, now we see what is on the cards!” I said, and took out my pack.

  * * *

  “Radu Malik,” Governor Bidwell said. While I stood at attention, he leaned back behind his desk, rolling a lit cigar in his fingers. “You’re in the employ of the Groves. Wherever did they find you?”

  I decided to brazen it out. “I am orphan. One day I took ship to Sutterland to search for my fortune. Alas, I had misfortune, but the Groves, they took me under their wing.”

  “You’re barely old enough to shave. How young you must have been then! Well, it’s said that cunning and tenacity are the most admirable qualities of your race.” He nodded to himself, then got to the point. “It’s a most unusual gift you have.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You maintain that these are no conjuror’s tricks? You must tell me the truth.”

  I had a feeling that it would be prudent to have him think I was an illusionist. “Sir, on stage, of course I must stay in role, but in confidence I can tell they are tricks.”

  “I’ve never seen a magician do what you did. Tell me how you do it.”

  “Trade secrets, sir.”

  “No, I believe you really do have a rare talent. Tell me what I have in this box on my desk.”

  “Sir ...”

  “Come on then.” He stood up, a cane in hand. Before I’d realized what he was about to do, he gave me a whack on the shoulder, then struck my shin with full force.

  I tried not to cry out.

  “I’ll beat you within an inch of your life if you don’t.” He emphasized the threat by striking my ribs.

  “Sir, is just tricks.”

  “Hogwash.”

  The next blow felled me. I knew that he’d keep going until either I was a bloody mess or I’d told him what he wanted to hear. I’d endured worse.

  He loomed over me and prodded me with the tip of the cane. In a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “I think you are under the misconception that your masters can protect you. They can’t.”

  He struck me again and I bit back my pain.

  “Cooperate, or it’s off to the labor camps with you.”

  No—anything but that. I could’ve taken a beating, but this threat broke my resolve. “There’s a syringe and three vials. I do not recognize the liquid but I suspect it is a narcotic.” I felt my accent slip away and overcorrected. “And also several prophylactics.”

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He gave me a broad grin and helped me up. Now that he had gotten what he wanted, his manner was almost avuncular. “How do you do it, lad?”

  “I not know. Is gift I have since I was child.”

  “I am an amateur scientist. My interest is in the field of criminal anthropology and phrenology. I would very much like to study you.”

  He put his perfumed hands on my head. I forced myself to stand still and subject myself to his loathsome touch. All I could think of was how good it would feel to take that cane from him and beat the living daylights out of him. My life would then be measured in hours at most—but it would almost be worth it.

  “Your lips are prominent, a sign of sensuality, which does in
some cases reflect extrasensory abilities. Likewise, your flared nostrils and large eyes. It’s as if your senses are unusually open to stimuli. Your forehead is sloped, indicating primitivism. These characteristics are the key to the protrusions of your skull. Here, I note several concavities that denote experience, and the pronounced convexity above your ears shows highly developed preternatural tendencies. It’s most fascinating and proof that the gypsies are closer to the spiritual world. Also, there are indications of criminal tendencies, as is typical of your race, but you’ve been a good boy, haven’t you, Radu?”

  To think that I had once believed his nonsense. I wanted to laugh in his face and tell him how utterly different this reading was from his first. “Yes, sir.”

  He patted my head. “We’ll be sure to keep you on the straight and narrow. All right then, off you go.”

  “Sir.” I bowed and once I was out in the corridor I had to cover my mouth to stifle my anger.

  I had to be by myself for a while. My masters trusted me enough to leave me unsupervised, so I left the palace grounds and vented my rage in the countryside. Once I was free, I would never again tolerate this sort of treatment.

  When I returned to the servants’ quarters, I found Anthony waiting for me.

  “You’ll be joining the governor’s staff,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, I’m to take you to the garrison in town.”

  I bit back a profanity. Bidwell, that bastard.

  “I’m sorry, we were given no choice in the matter. You are now officially Radu Malik, a gypsy in the service of His Majesty’s Government. That skill of yours would be a formidable secret weapon for an ambitious politician.”

  “He’ll never give me my freedom.”

  “No, you’ll be his creature for as long as he finds you useful.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered, lest anyone overhear us, “The master and mistress were not pleased with this turn of events.”

  He handed me an envelope containing forty pounds, more than my father had earned in a year, and false identification papers made out to an Alan Walderwick. With this, I could escape Sutterland.

  Mistrust was my immediate reaction. “Why would they do this?”

  “In truth? They hate it when their toys are taken away from them. In any case, they gave you their word that you would go free. If you’re caught, they’ll deny helping you.”

  “Thank them for me, Anthony.”

  We shook hands.

  “Good luck, lad—and make something of yourself.”

  * * *

  With my eyes closed, I rode through the brilliant darkness, nerves alive. In the morning, the governor’s men would be on my trail, but I had learned enough from my former masters to make it hard for them. All I could hope was that the Groves would keep their word and not come after me—them, I could not elude.

  I made my way to the Botany Bay railway station and hid in the cargo carriage of a northbound train. Once the train was on the move, I rummaged through travel trunks and found new clothes, immaculately tailored and an almost perfect fit. No doubt they belonged to a young gentleman traveling in first class. Resolving that one day I would have all that he had, I filled a valise with his garments.

  When the train stopped at the coastal town of Fort Hood, I disembarked and headed to the harbor. I looked and sounded like a toff, and didn’t expect to be challenged. Under my breath, I repeated my new name, drilling it into my memory. Alan. Alan Walderwick.

  A chain gang passed by me, overseen by mounted soldiers. The stink of redrock filled my nostrils. I glanced at the poor devils, all these broken men. Perhaps Governor Bidwell had examined all their skulls on their arrival to this godforsaken place and concluded that this was the best they were capable of—as he had done with me. I wanted to reach out to them and tell them that this was not their destiny, that they too could escape, but none met my eyes, cowed by the presence of a gentleman and all that he represented.

  Massive clouds of steam rolled over the harbor. I found a ticket office and in a matter of minutes had procured a cabin class ticket to the East Colonies. Twenty-five pounds it cost me, but for the sake of appearances I could not afford to travel in steerage.

  Heart pounding, I walked up the gangway and hid in my cabin, afraid that at any moment bounty hunters might break in the door and drag me away. Sweaty and shaking, I must’ve looked like a malarial patient.

  At last the ship unmoored. I ran out onto the aft deck and watched the coast until it was but a line on the horizon.

  “Rot in hell, Governor,” I whispered, and turned away from Sutterland, hoping never to see the place again.

  In the afternoon, I went to the bar for a drink. There I found gentlemen playing cards for money, as I’d hoped I would. It was time to put my skills to work, start earning my living as a gentleman among gentlemen. I approached them and said, “May I join?”

  “Please do,” they said.

  “Thank you. I feel lucky today.”

  Copyright © 2011 Joe L. Murr

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  Joe L. Murr has lived on every continent except Antarctica. He currently divides his time between Finland and the Netherlands. His fiction has been published or is forthcoming in ChiZine, Dark Recesses, Dark Pages Volume 1, Phantom Drift: New Fabulism, and other publications.

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  COVER ART

  “Fly High,” by Tina Marie Lane

  Tina Marie Lane is a Environment Designer and 3D Artist with eleven years of professional experience in designing architecture and retail environments. Her freelance work delves into these areas as well as fantasy environments for games and literature. Recently her work has appeared in 3D Artist Magazine and can also be found at her website www.toyrocket3d.com. She fashions her worlds, both real and imagined, from Dallas, Texas.

  Beneath Ceaseless Skies

  ISSN: 1946-1046

  Published by Firkin Press,

  a 501(c)3 Non-Profit Literary Organization

  Copyright © 2011 Firkin Press

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