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Chapters (39)
  1. Dedication
  2. Act I
  3. Act I, Scene I
  4. Act I, Scene II
  5. Act I, Scene III
  6. Act I, Scene IV
  7. Act I, Scene V
  8. Act I, Scene VI
  9. Act I, Scene VII
  10. Act I, Scene VIII
  11. Act II
  12. Act II, Scene I
  13. Act II, Scene II
  14. Act II, Scene III
  15. Act II, Scene IV
  16. Act II, Scene V
  17. Act II, Scene VI
  18. Act II, Scene VII
  19. Act II, Scene VIII
  20. Act II, Scene IX
  21. Act III
  22. Act III, Scene I
  23. Act III, Scene II
  24. Act III, Scene III
  25. Act III, Scene IV
  26. Act III, Scene V
  27. Act III, Scene VI
  28. Act III, Scene VII
  29. Act III, Scene VIII
  30. Act III, Scene IX
  31. Act III, Scene X
  32. Acknowledgments
  33. ‘Ghoulish Song‘ Excerpt
  34. First Verse
  35. Second Verse
  36. ‘Ambassador‘ Excerpt
  37. Chapter 1
  38. Chapter 2
  39. Copyright

“I’m still learning,” Vass answered him, sullen. “And I can’t keep anything lit for long without oil to burn. Maybe we should stick a wick in Greasy and use him for a lantern.”

“Shut it,” said Greasy.

“The runt probably doubled back and left already,” Vass said, “or else he went down the tunnel, and the diggers got him.”

“There aren’t really any diggers in the tunnel,” said Greasy. “Are there?”

“Oh yes,” said Vass. “Of course there are. Want to see? Should we toss you down there?”

“Shut it!” said Greasy.

The noise of their voices faded as they found their way out of the Southside Rail Station.

Rownie was left alone.

Act I, Scene VIII

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ROWNIE TRIED TO SUMMON up the feeling that he was haunting the Southside Rail Station, and that other sorts of haunting things should be afraid of him—but he couldn’t quite convince himself that this was true. He felt sure and certain that there were diggers in the tunnel. He felt unsure and uncertain about what Vass had told him.

Graba can’t wear you—you’ve got a little talent for wearing masks.

Rowan had been very good with masks. He had been wearing one the last time Rownie had seen him, the last time anyone had seen him. That had been months ago, in a Southside alehouse.

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“This is just a little alehouse show,” Rowan said. “We’ll stand on tables in the back. Maybe the crowd will listen to us while they eat their supper. Maybe they won’t.”

“Bet the Guard’ll come,” said Greasy. “They’ve been taking actors away. They make ’em into diggers.”

Rowan smiled, and shook his head. “We’re in Southside,” he said. “Since when does Southside pay much attention to the sillier edicts of our good Lord Mayor? Don’t worry about it.”

“Just don’t wear a mask of Graba,” said Vass. “She hates the thought that anyone might ever take her place.”

“You imitate Graba’s voice all the time,” Rowan reminded her. He switched into a Graba-voice of his own. “Run some errands for me, child. Go fetch me the sun and the moon and the stars by suppertime. Do that for me, now.”

Rownie laughed, and Rowan laughed. It felt like the same laugh.

Vass didn’t laugh. Her forehead creased. “Masks are different,” she said.

“Do you get to wear any big, scowly pirate masks?” Rownie asked his older brother.

“Looks like you’re wearing one already,” Rowan told him. He reached down and poked Rownie’s real nose with the tip of one finger. “Nice mask, there.”

“Yours is even scowlier,” Rownie said, and then the two of them tried to top each other for the best scowly face until it was time for the show to start.