the way free of the brank. He inserted a key into a lock, turned it once, and the device fell open. Charles watched like this was happening to someone else, all feeling squeezed out of him, displaced by leaden terror. Jenks brought it over his face and locked it again behind him. There were slits for his eyes and his nose showed through, just where it was supposed to.
Jenks grabbed Charles’s nostrils, pinning them shut. This forced him to open his mouth, and the rusty bit was shoved in. A coppery-tasting lump filled his mouth. While Jenks secured the spiked chin strap, Charlesswallowed carefully, knowing that the wrong motion would send a spike into some soft part of him, the side of his cheek, behind his jaw, the meat of his tongue.
With a grunt, Jenks stood, pocketing the key. A second later, Charles heard the door shut, and lock.
With Jenks gone, Charles’s first reaction was, “I am good at not panicking,” but his second, at gut level, was pure panic. Upside-down, stomach churning. The taste in his mouth of rust and iron, and the force of the spikes against his chin, the weight of the cage pulling on his neck, his head filling with blood like it was about to burst. But, somehow, the panic felt like a ripple across deeper water, as it was so very interesting to have something terrifying happen. He was still sure they were about to be rescued.
James was silent. Charles saw him, ravaged and small, shivering. He wished he could reassure him.
At some point, fifteen minutes, an hour later, no one was there to count, something poisonous rose in Charles’s mind. How exactly were they going to be rescued? When someone found them? When their father, or someone, finally came home?
If he had learned but one thing recently, it was that no one would come, no one would rescue them. A great sob jolted his sternum, and his jaw fluttered. This made the spikes jab him and he sobbed again. Now it was his tongue that suffered. He couldn’t tell whether he was bleeding. He cried, choking, overcome by exhaustion. Nothing mattered and no one cared about him.
He had failed poor James, the shadowy boy who was pale and fading, silent in the pillory.
He had a list of all the people who had disappointed him, from his mother and father to his nurse and everyone else who had fled. He saved for last the most recent and crippling failure: Professor Ottawa Keyes. Never fail. Always punish meddlers. How naive, how cruel it was to extend that hope. The world was never so simple as the promise extended by that book—how could you possibly never fail and always be calm?
His jaw cramped, and he accidentally flexed it, causing a stabbing pain under his chin, which made him sob again in despair. The adult world promised so many wonders and delivered only horrors to those who wanted a place to belong.
Then his watering eyes sprang wide open. The brank was causing him such pain he had ignored the jabbing in his leg.
He reached deep into his trouser pocket: here were the rock, the cards, the rose. Carefully, he pulled out the rose, separating the tissue fromthe wire stem. The wire was flexible but very strong. It could be curled in a hoop for easy concealment up the sleeve. Charles felt around the brank, for the keyhole locking its back hinge into place. The wire slipped in. Keyes suggested that when escaping from a coffin, one should, instead of focusing on the unseen lock, take the pulse at the carotid artery. This was said to soothe the nerves. So Charles put his left index finger against his neck, and counted, while his right hand worked the lock.
The wire was thin; the lock was made of heavyweight iron. He had to work upside-down. There was no reason he could make it spring open, save one: it was inconceivable to the ironworkers of Colonial times that a penitent would try to escape from it.
At the ninetieth beat of Charles’s heart, the rear lock parted, and the back of the brank swung open. His elation was cut short by gravity: he had
Jenks grabbed Charles’s nostrils, pinning them shut. This forced him to open his mouth, and the rusty bit was shoved in. A coppery-tasting lump filled his mouth. While Jenks secured the spiked chin strap, Charlesswallowed carefully, knowing that the wrong motion would send a spike into some soft part of him, the side of his cheek, behind his jaw, the meat of his tongue.
With a grunt, Jenks stood, pocketing the key. A second later, Charles heard the door shut, and lock.
With Jenks gone, Charles’s first reaction was, “I am good at not panicking,” but his second, at gut level, was pure panic. Upside-down, stomach churning. The taste in his mouth of rust and iron, and the force of the spikes against his chin, the weight of the cage pulling on his neck, his head filling with blood like it was about to burst. But, somehow, the panic felt like a ripple across deeper water, as it was so very interesting to have something terrifying happen. He was still sure they were about to be rescued.
James was silent. Charles saw him, ravaged and small, shivering. He wished he could reassure him.
At some point, fifteen minutes, an hour later, no one was there to count, something poisonous rose in Charles’s mind. How exactly were they going to be rescued? When someone found them? When their father, or someone, finally came home?
If he had learned but one thing recently, it was that no one would come, no one would rescue them. A great sob jolted his sternum, and his jaw fluttered. This made the spikes jab him and he sobbed again. Now it was his tongue that suffered. He couldn’t tell whether he was bleeding. He cried, choking, overcome by exhaustion. Nothing mattered and no one cared about him.
He had failed poor James, the shadowy boy who was pale and fading, silent in the pillory.
He had a list of all the people who had disappointed him, from his mother and father to his nurse and everyone else who had fled. He saved for last the most recent and crippling failure: Professor Ottawa Keyes. Never fail. Always punish meddlers. How naive, how cruel it was to extend that hope. The world was never so simple as the promise extended by that book—how could you possibly never fail and always be calm?
His jaw cramped, and he accidentally flexed it, causing a stabbing pain under his chin, which made him sob again in despair. The adult world promised so many wonders and delivered only horrors to those who wanted a place to belong.
Then his watering eyes sprang wide open. The brank was causing him such pain he had ignored the jabbing in his leg.
He reached deep into his trouser pocket: here were the rock, the cards, the rose. Carefully, he pulled out the rose, separating the tissue fromthe wire stem. The wire was flexible but very strong. It could be curled in a hoop for easy concealment up the sleeve. Charles felt around the brank, for the keyhole locking its back hinge into place. The wire slipped in. Keyes suggested that when escaping from a coffin, one should, instead of focusing on the unseen lock, take the pulse at the carotid artery. This was said to soothe the nerves. So Charles put his left index finger against his neck, and counted, while his right hand worked the lock.
The wire was thin; the lock was made of heavyweight iron. He had to work upside-down. There was no reason he could make it spring open, save one: it was inconceivable to the ironworkers of Colonial times that a penitent would try to escape from it.
At the ninetieth beat of Charles’s heart, the rear lock parted, and the back of the brank swung open. His elation was cut short by gravity: he had
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