The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(99)

“I don’t think that will work,” Leo said. “First you’ve got to get up there, then you’ve got to break the glass, then you’ve got to get to the Seaport. And like I said, unless you can fly—”

“These rooftops,” she said. “They have spires? They are like dwellings?”

“Um, yeah, I guess there are spires, and apartment buildings and churches and factories—”

“And are they close together or far apart?”

“Close together,” he said. “Most buildings in this city are right on top of each other.”

Sera smiled triumphantly. “Then I can fly,” she said. The moonstone glowed, as if applauding her words.

Leo looked about to protest, then stopped himself. “That still doesn’t get you out of the crate.”

“They put me in the story as a performer,” she mused. “I am brought down from the ceiling on a swing.”

She studied the theater. If she could get some momentum, she should be able to jump to the top balcony. And the walls were covered in painted wood carved into various shapes, providing excellent hand-and footholds. The ceiling itself was separated into panes by thick lengths of iron, a lip of iron ringing the entire circle.

She sighed. “But the swing has metal bracelets for my wrists. I do not know how to get out of them.”

“Plus, you’d still have to break through that glass,” Leo said.

Sera bit her lip.

“I think we need to find another way,” he said. “Besides, you’ll only be on the swing for the . . . for the . . .” He sat back hard and slapped his hand to his forehead. “For the show. The show. My god, could it be that easy? Well, not easy, no, not in the slightest, Agnes will have a heart attack when I tell her, but . . .”

“Leo, you aren’t making any sense.”

“What if you broke out during the play?” he said. “There will be so many people . . . a distraction could work then. There’s no way Father would be able to control the situation. It will be dangerous, and certainly the timing would have to be . . . but this whole thing is dangerous, isn’t it? Now, what sort of distraction, that’s the question. . . .”

“Well,” Sera said, thinking it was high time she took some control over her predicament. Mother Sun had been watching her, trying to guide her, to show her the way out, and all this time she’d been sitting around feeling hopeless. “We have a Cerulean, an Arboreal, and a mertag in this theater. I’m sure Boris and Errol and I can come up with something.”

“You and . . . Boris . . . and Errol,” Leo repeated. He glanced at the tree, then the pond. “You can talk to them too?”

“Of course,” she said.

“But what about the shackles? Can they help you get out of those as well?”

“No,” said a small voice from offstage. “But I can.”

Leo jumped as Francis emerged from the darkness.

“What . . . you . . . were you listening in this whole time?” Leo demanded. But Francis only had eyes for Sera.

“You can understand us, can’t you?” he said to her. “I knew it. I could tell by your eyes. And I’ve been wanting to help you, to help all of you, Boris and Errol too. None of you should be here. It isn’t right.” Leo and Sera were both staring at the small, pale young man, dumbstruck. “I would let you out now if I could, but they don’t let me keep the keys. People don’t understand, you know? They think they’re so smart and anything that isn’t human is just a dumb brute. But I worked with animals my whole life before coming to Old Port, and they’re just as intelligent and sensitive and deserving of respect as . . . as James Roth or Xavier McLellan himself.” He looked Leo in the eye as if daring him to contradict. “I hate this place. I hate what your father is doing.”

Leo was blinking very fast. “Sorry . . . who are you? You’re the one who feeds them, right?”

“Francis has always been kind,” Sera said, gripping the blanket he’d given her with one hand. “I believe we can trust him.”

“If you want to get her out of the shackles, I can do that. It’s my job to put her in them, so . . . I just won’t lock them.” Francis shrugged, his face turning red, as if embarrassed that was all he had to offer. “If you think that will help.”

“Yes,” Sera whispered, wishing he could understand her. “Oh, thank you, Francis. Thank you.”

“She says thank you,” Leo said. “And . . . yeah, I mean . . . thank you.”

Francis smiled at her shyly.

The door to the theater opened with a loud boom, and Francis vanished backstage as Leo turned and grabbed the star pendant, stuffing it into his pocket. Sera felt an ache in her fingers at the loss.

I’m coming back, Leela, she vowed.

“All set then, Mr. Kiernan?” Leo was saying, closing the bag.

“Yes, yes, thank you for your patience. I’m afraid my stomach is still adjusting to the Kaolin diet. Come, let’s retire to my lab. I must store these samples properly.”

Leo half turned in Sera’s direction as if to say goodbye; then the two men left the theater. The lights switched off and the flowers around the pond began to glow. Sera stared up at the glass circle.

I hear you now, Mother Sun, she thought. I see you. Thank you for Agnes and Leo, for Errol and Boris, for Francis, and for the hope you have given me. But how am I to get through that glass?