The City of Mirrors
Page 114“What are you looking at?” Alicia said. “Get out of here.”
The jaws clamped shut. An arcing pop of blood and a sucking sound and the viral spat the empty bag of bones and fur to the ground. Alicia’s stomach tumbled, not with nausea but hunger; she hadn’t eaten for a week. The viral extended its claws, petting the air like a cat. It cocked his head: What sort of being is this?
“Go on.” She waved the torch like a pike. “Shoo. Scat.”
A last look, almost fond. It darted away.
—
Fanning had already prepared for daybreak by drawing the shades. He was sitting at his usual table on the balcony above the main hall, reading a book by candlelight. His eyes lifted as she approached.
“Good hunting?”
Alicia took a chair. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“You should eat.”
“So should you.”
His attention returned to his book. Alicia glanced at the title: The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.
“So I see.”
“It’s a very sad play. No, not sad. Angry.” Fanning shrugged. “I haven’t read it for years. It seems different to me now.” He found a certain page, looked at her, and raised a professorial finger. “Have a listen.”
The spirit I have seen
May be the devil, and the devil hath power
T’ assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds
More relative than this. The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.
Fanning’s moods were like this. He could go silent for days, brooding incessantly, then, without warning, would emerge. Lately he had adopted a tone of dry cheerfulness, almost smug.
“I can see why you like it.”
“ ‘Like’ may not be the word.”
“The end doesn’t make sense, though. Who’s the king?”
“Precisely.”
Wedges of sunlight peeked through the drapes, making pale stripes on the floor. Fanning seemed unperturbed by them, though his sensitivity was far greater than her own. For Fanning, the sun’s touch was deeply painful.
“They’re waking up, Tim. Hunting. Moving through the tunnels.”
Fanning continued reading.
“Are you listening?”
He looked up with a frown. “Well, what of it?”
His attentions had returned to his book, though he was only pretending to read. She got to her feet. “I’m going to see Soldier.”
He yawned, showing his fangs, and gave her a pale-lipped smile. “I’ll be here.”
Alicia cinched on her goggles, exited onto Forty-third, and headed north on Madison Avenue. Spring had come on sluggishly; only a few trees were budding out, and pockets of snow still lay in the shadows. The stable was located on the east side of the park at Sixty-third, just south of the zoo. She removed Soldier’s blanket and led him out of his stall. The park felt static, as if caught between the seasons. Alicia sat on a boulder at the edge of the pond and watched the horse graze. He had taken on the years with dignity; he tired more easily, but only a little, and was still strong, his gait firm. Strands of white had appeared in his tail and whiskers, more on the feathers at his feet. She watched him eat his fill, then saddled him and climbed aboard.
“A little exercise, boy, what do you say?”
She guided him across the meadow, into the shade of the trees. A memory came to her of the day she’d first seen him, all that coiled wildness inside him, standing alone outside the wreckage of the Kearney garrison, waiting for her like a message. I am yours as you are mine. For each of us there will always be one. Past the trees she brought him to a trot, then a canter. To their left lay the reservoir, a billion gallons, lifeblood of the city’s green heart. At the Ninety-seventh Street Transverse, she dismounted.
“Back in a jiff.”
She made her way into the woods, removed her boots, and scaled a suitable tree at the edge of the glade. There, balanced on her haunches, she waited.
Eventually her wish was granted: a young doe tiptoed into view, ears flicking, neck bent low. Alicia watched the animal approach. Closer. Closer.
—
Fanning hadn’t moved from the table. He looked up from his book, smiled. “What’s this I see?”