“Hey, no one’s dancing any more.”
Mathus shrugged his shoulders. Eyes closed, he felt the gentle thrum of wind over pipes, the quick brush of air tingling strings, the flicks against tightened skin. It was like keeping seven balls in the air, a dance of delicacy and precision, to manipulate the magic in so varied and so rhythmic a way. And he could juggle seven balls. He’d done eight, once.
“Listen, it’s over. The bride and groom left hours ago. There’re just drunks in the corner. You can stop playing.”
“You’re still here.” It took effort to speak. Spinning plates. He’d done that, too. Ruined a lot of plates.
“And I‘m tired of your incessant pitter-pattering. Let up.”
Mathus started to retort, but the effort broke his concentration. He opened his eyes, dazed. How long had it been?
The man in front of him was bug-eyed and harried-looking.
“How’d you know the bride?”
The man shivered. “None of your business.”
Smells and sounds he’d left unprocessed as he played swept over him. In a moment he knew everything. He smelled the alcohol, the sweat, heard the murmurs and strange, high-pitched laughter. The dozen or so remaining guests would remain until morning, half-alive, sucking the marrow out of the celebration long after it soured.
Which Mathus would have done with his music if left undisturbed. “I owe you. Come with me. I’ll repay you, I promise.”
“I don’t want nothing, just some peace and quiet.”
“You’ll have it. Come with me.”
Mathus led him out of the banquet hall. “We’re going up.”
“If they find us in the penthouses….”
“Not there. Up! Above the penthouses.”
“There’s nothing above those.”
“The roof.”
“The elevators don’t–”
“Of course not. We’ll take the stairs. It’s only 10 flights or so.”
The man stared, wide-eyed. Mathus pried the glass from the man’s hand, set it in a potted plant, and started forward.
The Buildings of Section 6 were little civilizations of their own, products of decades-long city planning. Mathus found the narrow, secreted doorway. Up and up they went, until Mathus’ legs burned. He savored it. It was different from the weaving of notes, the strange intertwining of mental energy and emotion. He was afraid the door to the roof would be locked–it was, in some Buildings–but not here.
They emerged into fresh air. It held an edge of chill that invigorated Mathus. A faint odor of exhaust came from the flues nearby. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“I…I don’t think so.” The other was out of breath.
“Try the stairs more often. Oh, the elevators are wonders of the modern age, I agree. The Wheel doesn’t have specimens so fine. Here they’re automated for the Normals, and they shuttle us up and down. Section 6 boasts the finest in the world, that’s a fact. But they’re tricky, too. They only take you where you’re supposed to go. You ever think of that? For instance, they won’t take you here. You’ve got to walk here on your own two legs.”
He leaned against the edge of the roof, looking out over the city.
“You said ‘us.’ You’re not one of us.”
“What’s your name?”
“Charles.”
“Hello, I’m Mathus Malcary. What’s this talk about us and them?”
“You know very well.” He indicated the Wheel with a nod.
“I’ve learned that us and them works fine in the abstract but not so well in the specific. Here’s a question–you love her still?”
Charles blinked. “This is nonsense. I’m going down.”
But he didn’t.
“I’ve seen a lot in my time, a lot of faces. Faces like yours. More, I’ve paid attention to my own feelings. Was it the bride?”
“I should hate her. I’d have given her everything.”
Mathus let the words linger. He wasn’t trying to fix the guy, just…reset him. Everyone worked himself into ruts, let himself become a caricature. Mathus would have played until dawn, exhausted, hating his music by the end, if Charles hadn’t stopped him.
The light of the Well glowed softly against the spokes and the Towers. Scuffling feet, snatches of voices, rose up in the air.
“What do I do?” Charles asked. “What happens now?”
“Something else.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
Mathus shrugged. “I’ve been restless, all my life restless, moving, changing, experimenting. Say what you want about Thyrion, Jalseion is the greatest city in the world. Every idea and half-baked notion crammed into one place, a wild tangle of reality and theory and nonsense. Something else always happens. Might as well be ready for it.”
“I won’t love anyone else ever again.”
Mathus almost managed to hold his tongue. “The heart always loves again. Unless you kill it.”
The dim glow of the Well pulsed, like a heart beating.
“She was it. Everything.”
“You’re still here. That’s something.”
“I’ve half a mind to jump.”
The Well thrummed with energy as Charles looked at him for an answer.
“And half a mind not to.”
“You want me to jump? I’ll do it.”
“Of course not. Get down.”
Charles lowered his leg.
The light shuddered. It flashed, like a bulb before sparking out. A roar–a boom–followed, compressing them. A blow, like a fist, slammed into the building. The wall crumpled. They entered the air, brick and mortar flying around them like dandelion fluff.
Mathus caught Charles’ face as he twisted in the air–a look of horror and regret and desperation. The man didn’t want to die; he was just looking for a way to live.
They spun and fell. Mathus existed in a state of calm. Shock, probably. Charles opened his mouth but could not scream. The ground rose up to catch them. The Building buckled, explosions shaking it, blowing out windows, exposing rooms and floors as they passed.
Mathus didn’t want to die, either. He wanted to suck the marrow out of life.
He tried to convert the magic around him, but it was weak and thin, wisps where there had been ropes. Maybe enough, if he played it right in the careening and debris and rush. One last song. One last dance.
He accelerated the air molecules, directed the wind, and cushioned Charles as he reached the ground.
Charles would hate himself for surviving. Perhaps he would jump for good later. It didn’t matter. Mathus had loved plenty in his life. It was time for something else.
He hit the ground and broke.
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