Chapter 2

Chapter 2

An Injured Laugh

Whispers, but not whispers; whole, but in pieces; the light, penetrating the darkness; and the darkness, a shroud over the light: Quiet whispers were sounding in Edward’s mind, like always, and he hated it.

Edward was lying without clothes in his bed with only a thin sheet covering him. His mattress was right across from the one window in the room, and the first morning lights would shine right into his black eyes every morning; but the brightness of the sunrise did not bother him.

            Edward was thinking about what he was going to do that day. It was not Monday, Wednesday, or Thursday. If it was, then Maria would be barging into his room at any moment to wake him so that he and the rest of the orphans could go do their lessons with Mrs. Wright, the once-upon-a-time governess of the governor’s sons. There, they would learn their letters, the history of the city of Mitia and the Stellan Empire, and the philosophy which Mrs. Wright thought especially important.

Maria was educated herself, and she believed that it had not helped her in the least. She would send the orphans to the former governess, though, because it was an amendment to her arrangement with the Minister of the Right, but Edward did not know that. All Edward knew was that he was fine with it, because he was very good at learning and was able to watch the knights train and joust during the afternoons with his foster brothers before returning to Maria at sundown.

On Tuesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, the orphans would do some work to support their ever growing family. Maria received an allowance for every kid she took in, but it was never enough to take care of them all. So, she would give the older kids off to either the baker nearby, to Butcher Devin, or to Granny Lorena. Then, they would be sent back with food or money in the night. While they were out, the three youngest, all girls, would cook for when everyone else returned.

Edward was the only one to ever be sent to the bar nearby, to a man named Morgan. Morgan paid Edward well to scrub the floors, to wipe every mug and pitcher, to help carry the crates of wine from delivery carriages into the bar, and to make sure not to bother anyone. Edward would work all morning on those three days every week and then spend the nights listening to Morgan, the sailors, the guards, and even the occasional knight about what was going on in the world. Edward would hear about the ghastly highwaymen near the capital, about stacking shipwrecks to the north, and even about high-heeled boots and bright stripes from the barmaids.

That day, the 28^th of July, was a Friday, Edward’s favorite day of the week. Friday was chore day for everyone else, but Edward would have Fridays all to himself, for he would finish his chores over the course of the week. He would spend every Friday walking the streets of Mitia, searching for something. In fact, since he was able to walk, Edward had been wandering the city roads, back and forth, from north to south, up then down, as the roads curved and jolted. It was one of the biggest cities in the world in those times, and Edward had almost walked along each and every road in it, searching for that something, a special some-place somewhere where those whispers could not reach him.

Edward was just thinking about where he would be searching that day when a stray thought occurred to him. He wondered, ever so briefly, about what he would be doing if he had not been orphaned. If he still had parents somewhere, parents who could explain the whispers, the voices, and the songs in his head, then what kind of day would Friday be? He would not be going for a walk around the backstreets, of a surety; dangerous roads and ends can only be found in the backstreets, were houses and storages have been in disrepair and abandoned for many years since the war. Only the few streets close to the bar and right behind the governor’s castle were secure, including Feral Street where Edward lived. Edward chanced daylight strolls through the backstreets, though, for he was not one to overlook a single rock of road in his search. But if his parents would indeed be able to explain what those Voices were, then there would be no need for a search at all.

And then there was a knock on the door, and the stray thought was suspended.

Edward waited, wondering who could be knocking at the door so early in the morning, and then there was another knock.

Edward, fighting the urge to pretend to not be present, rose from his hard mattress. There were at least two stones amongst the straw in the mattress, and they had been poking in Edward’s back no matter how he had turned, but Edward did not complain. He strode over to the farthest corner of his bedroom to grab on a pale shirt, torn at its sleeves, and his stitched up brown trousers, both of which he had been wearing the night before. Everything else was far too dirty or too smelly to wear, and all of them too small. Even his sandals, at the foot of the bed, were so small that the edges of his feet felt cold stone as he walked on Mitia’s roads.

There was another impatient knock on the door which hastened Edward as he was fastening the strings on his sandal. Edward sighed as he went out of his room on the second floor, dressed in his rags, and he walked downstairs.

Edward knew when he got off the stairs that the kitchen on his right would be empty, so he looked to the left, into the sitting room, where there was a door going into another bedroom. That door was closed, so Edward went up to the front door and opened it.

“Hi, hello, and good morning,” said the young man who was knocking. “The name’s Sadler.”

The squire of the governor’s youngest son was standing before Edward.

“Good morning,” said Edward. “I’m Edward.”

Edward recognized the squire’s long strands of blond hair, because they could be found all over the training grounds at the end of every day, though they had never talked before. He was young, thin, and tall for his age. The top of Edward’s head barely reached the boy’s naval. The squire was awkwardly holding a little girl wrapped in a pale blue fabric so she was barely visible except for her face and her hair. Edward guessed that she was at least half a year old.

When Edward saw her, a penetrating laughter sounded in his head, one that was not his own. Edward grabbed the right side of his head.

“Is something a-wrong up there?” asked Sadler the squire, pointing to Edward’s head.

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

Sadler drew himself up and said, “Well, that up there is one place you don’t want anything being wrong, you see. I’m well accustomed to problems of the mind. Part of my profession, you know? Squire to Sir Yeverly Ramparts! See, squires have to know all ‘bout all sorts of injuries, especially to those up there. Dangerous as well as unpleasant, that they truly are. And it’s all about imbalance and trauma.”

Edward simply nodded as the laughter continued, and only he could hear it. It was a loud laugh, manly and deep, and it echoed in Edward’s head, ceaselessly. It did not hurt Edward, not like a headache, though he would not know since he has never had a headache before. Only, like always, it was extremely annoying.

“Nothing imbalanced about up here, thank you,” said Edward. “Though, if I might ask, what is your business here?” Edward asked, though he knew very well what his business was.

Orphans then started going into the streets from two other houses. Maria owned the two houses, as she owned her own, and all three houses together housed twelve orphan children. Edward remembered how thin all the walls were, and he knew that the children had heard what the squire and Edward had said. Some of the kids that appeared had tired, thin, filthy faces, and others had hungry looks and open mouths. They were staring at the Squire and the little baby, whispering amongst themselves.

“Um, well…” said Sadler. “You s-see… I’m here to see M-Mi-Miss Maria Veila. Is she-she here?”

“Uh—yes,” replied Edward. “Wait a moment.”

Edward strode over to Maria’s bedroom, the room past the sitting room. He gently knocked on her door, and he said, “Maria? Wake up. There’s someone at the front door. Maria?”

There was a groan from the other side of the bedroom door. Edward got an image of Maria trying to pretend the messenger away, as he himself had tried to do. Edward turned to look at Sadler and saw him sticking his head into the house, but his feet were planted outside.

“What’s its name?” asked one of the younger orphans, a girl named Reina.

“It’s a ‘her’, not a ‘it’, Rocker,” said Tyner, a blond boy who was younger than Edward, but he was taller.

“What’s hers name?” asked Reina.

Sadler tried out different methods of holding the baby while he stammered an unintelligible answer.

After a few moments, Maria opened her door, and she left her room wearing her night gown, a plain white dress that covered everything from under her shoulders to below her thighs. She had not brushed her hair yet, so it was a tangled mess. Yawning, she shoved Edward aside as she headed to the front door.

“Yes?” said Maria.

“Hello Mi-Miss,” said the squire. “My name is S-S-Sadler. I am here on be-behalf of the governor’s c-court.”

The squire waited for a response, but Maria just stood there with her arms crossed. The squire cleared his throat after a moment.

“You are be-being called to recount, M-Miss,” said Sadler, looking upwards with his back as straight as could be. “Thy In-Infantine Pact with the Governor of Mitia, whe-whereby thou shalt be b-bound forever, states that, in the course of thy life, should there be cause for th-th-thy se-services, thou must, without ex-exception, be most ardent in thy duty with all the endeavor th-th-thou mayest m-muster. Therefore, he-heretofore, thou shalt possess this here child until comes the cause of a-another wi-willing the r-res-responsibility onto them away from thee, in which case, th-th-thou shalt be f-free of thy ch-ch-charge.”

The squire, bouncing on his toes now, hurriedly shoved the baby into the foster mother’s arms and managed to pull out several sheets of paper from a black, leather bag around his shoulder.

“Um, I be-be-believe you will n-need this,” said the squire, holding the papers. “The child’s le-letters of b-b-b-birth.” He placed the papers onto the baby’s arms, from which the papers slid. Sadler watched the papers hit the road and scatter, and then he yelled a goodbye and ran off.

The baby started crying.

Maria, normally never awake so early, scoffed and said, “Well now… this is a treat, huh?”

Her eyes were drooping, but her stare was freezing cold.

The other orphans started talking loudly, each asking different questions, and each question received different answers, and Edward watched all of them, hearing the laughing in his head which was not his own.

“Stitch your jamming lips, will you?” said Maria, giving them all a questioning look, wondering if anyone was going to challenge her and open their mouths.

Then Maria said, with a soft, gentle voice, the voice she always spoke to babies with, like wind whispering to the leaves, “What’re we going to do with you? Stop crying, unpleasant child. No one’s to harm you. You’re safe.” She touched the baby’s mouth. The baby started chewing on Maria’s finger, still crying, and the baby girl opened her two big, beautiful light brown eyes. Her tiny fingers wrapped around Maria’s finger. The baby had short, thin brown hair, messy and curly like Edward’s, and Edward heard her slowly stop crying.

“Boys!” said Maria with a whisper to the surrounding orphans. The few girls among them looked anywhere other than at Maria. “We need some bread and some greens. We’re running low. Get some back for all of us or don’t you consider coming back.”

Maria told them this at least once a week. Five boys walked off with each other, silently, and without any money. Edward was wondering if he was to go with them.

He was just about to when Maria said, “Edward! Pick these up!” She nodded at the pages the squire had dropped.

Edward said, “Yes, Miss.” He did as he was told, and as he grabbed them and clustered them together, he read what was on the pieces of paper.

But Edward did not read them.

Edward did not have to read them.

Edward simply touched the pages. Then, through his fingertips, as slowly as rain drops slide down windowpanes, the words of the writer flowed into the boy, leaving the ink behind just the way it was. Once inside, the words turned into a Voice. Edward’s vessels passed the Voice up to his brain. The Voice was then in his head, and it was like a tiny person whispering to Edward, reading the pages quietly, allowing the boy to understand who the words were from, to whom they were written for, and so much more.

It is the same as touching a hot hearth; nerves will pass along the word up to the brain from the burn: hot. Or, when touching the warm belly of a dog: hairy. Or, when touching snowflakes, balling them up: cold. It was the same with Edward; only, he could hear whole sentences, paragraphs, and complete ideas—not just sensations.

Touching a burning flame sends a message to the brain, telling it how to perceive the flame, telling it that it is dangerous and threatening and potentially fatal. Touching a piece of paper tells a man nothing except that it is thin, fragile, and a piece of paper, because that is what the human brain understands it to be. But it is tricked. A hearth is not just hot, a dog is much more than hairy, and it is never just a piece of paper; it is more. Even reading is not enough. There are things hidden inside which cannot be seen, felt, read, or told about, things that are not hidden to Edward.

Edward, judging by the assortment of material in his hands, figured the squire had left many more pages than he intended to. As Edward shifted through the pages the squire had dropped, the words on them rang through his head, and he found that many were meant for others and were worthless to him: a few were for the head physician in the governor’s castle and were long receipts for the ingredients he could claim in the market: oil from hemp, angelica stalks, garlic, honey... Another page was an itinerary for a naval vessel that was headed from the capital of Stella to Mitia. Others were orders to blacksmiths and tailors from the knight the squire squired for, for new helmets and gauntlets made of bronstead and for blue—not white—chevalier gowns that knights wore under their mail and plates.

As Edward went through the pages, the laughing he had been hearing since he first opened the front door continued. Edward knew, he knew, that the laugh was a Voice as well. Edward could tell that it was coming from the baby. He looked at her. She was in Maria’s arms, in the sitting room by the couch. Just by being in the same house as her, a Voice, this laughter, was pouring into Edward.

From the floor, the walls, and even the air, voices, laughter, singing, and sometimes just quiet whispers, flowed into Edward. They did not come through his ears, but through the pores in his body, like invisible, microscopic knives stabbing him all over his skin. They could even appear before him, like a phantom, or some sort of apparition, Edward did not know, but he could see them, and then they would disappear. However, whether they were noises in his head or visions, Edward still called them the Voices. He did not know what else to call them.

Once, only once, did he tell anyone else about the Voices. It was to Maria, when he was five years old. After a long day of chores, Edward had been sent up to bed, and then he tried to fall asleep, but Voices, three Voices, came to him, and Edward thought that they were some sort of invisible beasts, and they were inside his head, talking to him like they knew him. Edward was scared and frightened, and he ran to Maria who said that he was just having a bad dream and to stop being a stupid baby.

But it happened all the time. All the time.

When he touched the page that belonged to the baby girl, her name echoed loudly throughout his brain: Zahara. Edward brought everything to Maria, with the baby’s paper in the forefront.

“Zahara,” said Maria, reading the piece of paper as Edward held it up for her. “You’re seven months old.” Maria readjusted the baby in her arms. “Oh. Your parents died… Hmm… Last night.

“Edward,” said Maria, looking past the papers. “Put everything on the table.”

Edward went into the kitchen which had nothing in it but a few pots, plates, and a table with one chair by their fireplace. He set the papers down and went back to Maria. She was now sitting on the couch.

“Does 12th still have the cradle?” asked Maria. She meant the house to the right of theirs.

“No, Miss,” replied Edward, resisting a sudden urge to massage his head as the laughter kept pounding. “We gave it away to make room for Sarah.”

“Oh, that’s right… Then I guess,” said Maria, rocking the baby, “that this one’ll sleep with me for now…”

The infant still sucked on the foster mother’s finger. Maria, looking at her with half-open eyes, said, “But this is going be a stupid, annoying problem… isn’t it?”

Edward had seen the problem the moment he had seen the baby, at the same time that loud laugh first ran though his head.

“Is Drusilla here?” asked Maria.

Edward looked towards the door, and there she was, with the other girl orphans. She had pale skin, not because her skin was naturally that color, and long grey hair, brushed and well managed. She was freckled too, like salt and pepper sprinkled over hot boiled potatoes. She stepped forward to stand next to Edward.

“Miss,” said Drusilla, putting her hands behind her as if someone was tying them together. Drusilla was always quiet around Maria and the others, but talked so much to Edward. He did not like it, especially when she would tell him secrets that he did not care for.

“Huh… What was it again?” said Maria, still talking softly. “Her name, what was her name? I had it at the edge of my mind just one second ago. Your friend—the dark one with the bows—her father’s the baker—what’s her name?”

“Alyse, Miss,” replied Drusilla.

“Yes! Alyse! Right! Do you know if her mother is still nursing?”

“No, Miss, not since yesteryear.”

“Honestly? Was it such a time ago? Hmm…” Maria took her finger out of the baby’s mouth and thought of something. “I can’t think of anyone else who might be… I suppose I could try… Hmm…”

As Edward watched Maria scratching her chin, a Voice penetrated Edward’s skin.

Edward looked straight down as the Voice went up to Edward’s head.

It was laughing like a madman, saying, I’ve been waiting a long time! Don’t you know?

It was so loud.

It was saying, Now! Now! Now!

Now I get to cut!

I get to slice!

I get to MURDER!

I GET TO TASTE YOUR BLOOD!

And Edward suddenly wanted to leave. He wanted to go out that door and start walking as far away as possible. The Voice was rushing into his head. It was coming in like a wave, like sea water crashing against the rocks. It was like a person suddenly screaming at once. It was like someone trying to squeeze their way into your mind, through a little hole in the head, one forceful inch at a time.

It would happen once in a while, Edward finding a Voice this loud. Walking would always help with it, drown away the noise.

Edward’s palms were getting sweaty. The Voice was an angry voice. It was a violent voice. It was full of rage, monstrous and unkind, unmerciful. It was shouting, in his head, thoughts of bloodshed.

 “I suppose it’s worth a try. Hey—Ed, where are you going?”

Edward had been inching backwards, towards the door; it was because of that Voice, the one with the laugh that was drilling itself into his brain. Edward had to get out of there.

“Um…”

“Come here! Take the baby for just a pinch of a minute.”

“No, I’ve got to go.”

“What? Don’t be stupid, come over here!”

“Please, I’ll be ba—”

“—Get over here, Ed!”

Maria got up and went towards Edward.

“Here!”

Edward held out his arms, sweat beading down them, the voice growing ever louder, shouting, Blood, blood, blood!

“Yes, there you go. She can’t bite yet.”

But then the voice was going, Finally found youse; I’ve been looking all over, don’t you know? You’ve been slippery little monsters, don’t you know, DON’T YOU KNOW? And Edward heard the voice over and over in his head until the baby was almost in his arms and then it said, laughing, You’ll get yours, all youse, you’ll die and go under and BURN until your skin falls off and then your bones’ll melt, with your heads’ boiling as you dangle by your necks off of… And Edward looked at the baby with its big wide eyes, and the voice said, It’s your turn, little one, and you’ll see, yes you will, it’s better off this way, with them DEAD, and everyone DEAD, and me too, DEAD, don’t you know? And Edward’s blood went out of his hands.

“Miss,” said Drusilla, “I actually think the butcher’s wife is nursing right now.”

Maria pulled the baby away from Edward back to her chest. Readjusting Zahara in her arms, Maria said, “No, really! Yelena? But, wait, you’re right? How’d I forget? Their eighth child—can you believe it?—only last month. How’d I forget…? Have Sara and Libby go over to her, will you? Let them know I’ll give her all of Zahara’s allowance: probably around five silver a month. Make sure they ask her politely! If Yelena refuses, I’ll blame them. I’d send Tyner and Silvie; they know the family better. But I’ve done and sent them off, and babies drink a lot, and I don’t how long it’s been…since she’s last fed…”

Drusilla said, “Yes, Miss,” and she rushed over to the girls outside and started talking to them.

Maria went back to the couch and got comfortable on it, the baby still in her arms.

Eventually, Drusilla came back into the house with three other girls, Reina, Kat, and Nell.

“Sarah and Libby are going now, Miss,” said Drusilla. “They won’t fool around; they’ll ask her right.”

“Miss Maria,” said Nell, Drusilla’s real sister, with the same grey hair and freckles, but five years younger. “Is it possible for us to hold her too?”

“Please, Miss,” said Kat, a thin brunette, “we can take care of her for a little while if you want to go back to sleep.”

Edward was still sweating and could still hear the echo of the voice in his head, you know, you know, you know, and he felt as pale as Drusilla was.

He watched Maria hand over Zahara to Nell, who took the baby with a gigantic smile on her face. Nell was the exact opposite of Drusilla when it came to Edward; she talked, laughed, and played with everyone except Edward. She avoided him, like one avoids a rabid dog or a cursed horse. She would not even look at him. Edward assumed it was because she knew, somewhere deep inside her, that Edward was not like them.

And Edward knew that she was right.

“Ed, what’s the matter?” said Maria from the couch. “I thought you had to go.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” said Edward.

“Miss, Edward! Always call me by Miss!”

“Yes, Miss,” said Edward. “Morgan mentioned he needed work done on Friday—I mean today. He was talking to a sailor about it. I told him I would be available, and then he asked me if I could help him.”

“Ed, what’s wrong with you?”

Edward wondered if he looked like he was going to be sick, because that was how he was feeling. He said, “What do you mean?”

Then Maria said, “You’ve never mentioned it to me before. Forgot, did you?”

“It had slipped my mind,” replied Edward, “until this morning. Yes, Miss, in fact I just remembered.”

“You just remembered… Can you tell me when it was that Morgan asked for your help?”

“Oh, just the last time I saw him—”

“—And you didn’t think to tell me right afterwards?”

“No, Miss.”

“So… What is it you’re helping him with?”

“Oh, it’s just a project. And I am about late.”

“Know when you will return?”

“I wasn’t told.”

“Well if you get done early, I’ve got a chore—”

“—Right, Miss, I’ll come right back!”

“Edward!”

“Sorry, I’ll tell you about it when I get back!”

            Edward went out of the door, and then he added, “Miss!”

            The laughter had been building up in his head again, but it quieted down as Edward walked away from the house. After only a few steps, it was gone completely, leaving only quiet whispers. Edward was going north up Feral Street, where there would be less people. The road he was on was made of river-washed stone, set in with sand and clay, and Edward walked onwards, not intending to stop, and not listening to his rumbling stomach.

            He passed by several people, busy with their own lives, before the roads narrowed. Darkness started descending down around him because the buildings were so close together. Edward felt like he was in an alleyway. He had been here many times before, since this was the shortest way to get outside the backstreets and onto soil.

The road workers had done an excellent job, centuries ago, because there was only stone road in the city of Mitia. Trees, grass, and flowers had not been seen in the city, other than in the fairgrounds, since they had finished their constructions. It looked a beautiful sight from the sea, a stone city, shining in the sunlight, but it just seemed dead and dark to Edward. But Edward did not need to see life and green that day, so he did not go that far. He walked only a few more minutes before he slumped down a wall, holding his knees. He was still sweating.

Edward tried to think of a story to tell Maria when he got back, because Morgan had never asked for his help, but Edward was too preoccupied. He started thinking about something else, something he had thought of often, and it was like continuing a conversation after a moment’s digression.

Edward did not know what the Voices were, but he knew they were real. They were not dreams, like Maria had thought, unless Edward had been dreaming his entire life. But that’s not possible—right?

Edward did not know what that Voice was, the Voice that was laughing, the Voice that was going to kill—had already killed—and wanted to kill even more, but Edward knew that the Voice was in his house, with his foster brother and sisters, with Maria, his foster mother, and that it was somehow connected to the innocent, little orphan baby.

And Edward did not want that Voice in his house.

Edward could only ever imagine that there was something special about him, something extraordinary, superior and awesome, because he could hear these Voices that everyone else were oblivious to. He knew that his parents must have been the same, though there was no way he could be sure. He could not remember how they looked like, but he would imagine his father with black eyes and wrinkles around them, and he would imagine his mother with graying, curly black hair. Try as he might, he could not remember having parents at all. Edward asked Maria about what had happened to them once before.

“How would I know what happened to them?” she had said. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Even if there was no one to tell Edward what the Voices were, he was sure of a few things: He knew that he was not reading minds, and that the Voices were not ghosts or demons. Unless demons have been possessing parchment and paper for quiet sometime, that would not explain why he did not have to read them.

Edward also knew that the Voices did not just come from humans or from human writing. Once, Edward had gone far out into the forest outside the streets of Mitia. There was not a human within earshot of him. Yet still, he could hear the Voices. They were ancient whispers, in a language Edward recognized as belonging to an ancient creature, the Aylfádl, the Wood Fairies, because he had heard Mrs. Wright sing a song in their language once, and there was only thing Edward could hear clearly: Al-Yahood min an-naum.

Edward could hear it in his head, and it was a Voice. And Edward could understand it, though he did not know the language. It meant, Find me in your dreams.

Edward rose up from the cold, stone road, ready to return home. It been at least ten minutes, about the time it takes to walk to the bar. He could tell Maria that he went to the bar and that Morgan did not need him anymore, and that should be enough.

Back to the middle house, Maria had fallen fast asleep on the couch. Drusilla and Kat were in the kitchen, squatting by the hearth, trying to convince a flame to appear there. Reina and Nell were on the floor of the living room, playing with Zahara.

“Ed?” said Drusilla when she saw Edward walk through the door. “Is something a matter?”

To Edward, that seemed like the third time someone had asked him the same thing that morning.

“Everything is good,” said Edward. “Morgan said it appears he does not need me this morning, and that I have to get their early tomorrow.”

“Oh, all right,” said Drusilla.

“Ed,” said Kat, “you know how make this stupid thing alight?”

Kat usually went to Granny Lilly Lorena’s house with Libby and Reina, where they sewed dresses and threaded together blankets which they sold at the markets on Tuesdays. Drusilla, with two of the boys, went to the Bakeria, the house of Baker Panter, and she worked the front shop with the baker’s wife. Neither of them was accustomed to lighting fires. But Edward was.

“You knew how to build up the wood in there?” said Edward, observing their work.

“Yes,” said Drusilla. “I’ve watched Miss Panter do it thousands of times, but we couldn’t get the flint to work.”

“And you’re using those pages the squire left to start it?”

“Maria told us to,” said Kat. “Right before she passed away. Zara’s birth-letter is still on the table.”

Edward nodded and took the black fyrestone from Kat’s hand and quickly struck a small spark. The papers caught the spark and the beginnings of a flame started to be born.

“Zara?”

“Shorter than Zahara, and it sounds like Sara,” said Drusilla. “Nell thought it up.”

When the fire caught on the wood, Drusilla and Kat used it boil whatever potatoes they had lying around, making sure to slice them up as small as possible first. After the potatoes were sufficiently dampened, the girls drained all the liquid out, added some flour to the pot, poured the liquid back in, and then stirred like mad as they heated it up once more, making Maria’s specialty, Potato-Puff Porridge.

Edward watched them, sitting down on the first step of the stairs, listening without his ears, trying to decipher, through all the whispers in his head, if the laughter was still there—if the madman’s Voice was still there.

I found you, don’t you know? was all Edward heard, and he heard it only once, but there was laughter no more save from the mouths of Nell and Reina as they watched Zahara stare at them.

Edward knew what he had to do then, and he laughed quietly to himself as well.