Chapter Seventy-Two
They spent only a day in the next world.
One day was long enough to ascertain that there was no one here to help Fuuma. Seishirou had suspected as much—given the price the witch had asked, it wasn't a common cure—but it still disappointed him.
When they first landed, the boy asked if there was any powerful magic in the vicinity. Seishirou checked, unable to brush the kid's request off as he'd wanted. After the traumatic things he'd witnessed in Cirrus, compounded with the turmoil he'd felt after fighting his previous companions, Syaoran's emotional state was likely deteriorating. Stressing him too much now could prompt him to leave prematurely, which would almost certainly result in Fuuma's death.
And besides, Seishirou had thought, as he'd scanned this dimension for feathers, I'm not that cruel.
But there had been no feathers in this medieval world, and the closest thing to magic was the woods witch who served as an apothecary for those who couldn't afford real medicine.
They'd trained for a few hours. The Little Wolf learned the extent of his newfound physical prowess when he accidentally buried his sword up to the hilt into the ground. They finished training, and slept in a tent Seishirou had stored in his glass eye. By the time the sun rose in that world, they were gone.
The next world they visited was sophisticated enough to have a name. They landed in a city called London. They served tea, but not of any flavor Seishirou had known. An alternative to tea was coffee, which was quite similar to what they had in Infinity, but not as watered down by cream or sugar. Seishirou tried both and decided he liked neither while the Little Wolf chased down a feather tucked away in the royal palace. The boy returned with fast-healing burns, clutching the white object in his hands. When Seishirou had seen the line of guards racing after the boy, he'd decided it was better to leave rather than try to solve the problem diplomatically.
"Almost turned yourself into a cinder there, didn't you?" Seishirou said when they landed in the next world.
Syaoran had looked at him for a long moment, his face radiating uncertainty. "Yeah. Almost . . ."
Seishirou knew this Syaoran well enough to guess what he was thinking. "Brooding on one of the Other's memories?"
He shrugged. "Not really."
You aren't as hard to read as you think you are, Seishirou thought, dropping the conversation in favor of a less perilous topic. "So that makes three feathers. One in Avantine, one in Cirrus, and one in London."
The boy clutched the fluttering white thing closer to his chest. "Can I hold onto this one?" he asked, watching for a reaction.
Seishirou forced his lips into a smile. "What, you don't trust me?"
The boy's eyes narrowed. He thrust the feather into his hands. "Never mind."
They didn't speak for the rest of the night. When morning came, they went to explore the world they'd landed in. It was a desert country, similar to Clow, but with a different type of architecture. The buildings here were topped with bulb-shaped points instead of the zipper-like top of Clow Country's buildings. Though architecturally sound, the bulbs sat as if they might tumble down the side of the towers at any moment and crash down on some unsuspecting citizen.
The people here were different, too. Men wore elaborate wraps around their heads, with gems of various types accenting the front. Women walked through the city wearing silky shawls around their shoulders and heads, often with a veil to concealed their face from others. It wasn't until Syaoran spoke that Seishirou realized the boy had more experience with the things in this world than he did.
"They had a country like this in Sakura's world. My father and I spent almost three months exploring the different cities there, getting a feel for the culture."
"Your father?"
"Fujitaka-san. I consider him my father, too."
"Yet you won't acknowledge the rest of the Other's memories."
The boy shook his head. "If he was alive . . . Even if he recognized me as a separate person, he would acknowledge me as his own. I know he would. And that kind of certainty . . . It's not something I feel very often."
So that's why he won't speak to me, he thought, blinking. When I shattered the Other's trust in Outo, this Syaoran realized I couldn't be relied on. And when I killed Reed's soldiers in Cirrus, he realized just how far I'd go to protect Fuuma. Seishirou looked down at the sand. The front of his shoes picked up the fine grains and scattered them in waves wherever he stepped. "You don't trust me."
"I trust you," Syaoran said quickly. Too quickly. If he really trusted me, he wouldn't have asked me to keep out of his thoughts. Or asked to keep the feather to himself.
Then again, it's probably wise of him not to put too much faith in me. After all, he's not going to like the price we have to pay for Fuuma's life. Seishirou frowned. He didn't exactly feel guilty for deceiving Syaoran, but there was part of him that wanted to explain everything: the deals he'd made, the damage he'd done, the prices paid and the prices yet to come. But doing so would ruin any chance of saving Fuuma. Things have to go exactly right, no matter what the boy thinks of me. If he doesn't trust me now, he'll be less broken when we're done . . .
"Are we getting closer to the feather?" Syaoran asked. He moved so gracefully across the sand that Seishirou wondered just how many of the Other's skills he'd picked up.
"Closer. It's still a bit of a walk."
The boy nodded, all business. He must care very deeply for his princess. Anyone else would've broken down months ago, but he's still going strong. Even if he's separated from her, he never stops thinking about her.
Music, high-pitched and reedy, like the sound of an oboe, twisted through the air. Drumbeats underscored the shrill music, adding a lower note to the growing cacophony. As a gigantic red and yellow tent rose from the sand dunes outside the city walls, Seishirou realized why.
"A circus," Syaoran said in surprise. "That's where the feather is?"
"So it would seem. Shall we go in?"
The boy nodded, and they approached the tent. A heavyset man with his a braid extended one hand, palm up, as they neared the flap of the tent. "Ten gold pieces," the man grumbled.
Seishirou smiled and dug through the leather pouch at his hip, using his magic to slip coins from the braided man's cash box into his hand. He dropped the coins onto the man's palm, grinning as if he was excited to watch the circus performers.
Syaoran glanced at him sharply, but said nothing as the braided man gestured for them to pass. It wasn't until they'd found seats that Syaoran turned to him and asked where he'd gotten the money for this world.
"I slipped the money out of the guard's cashbox when he wasn't looking," Seishirou said honestly.
Alarm passed across the boy's face. "But you can't do that!"
"Syaoran, I burned down an apartment building. Petty theft is the last thing we need to worry about. And besides—" he added, before the boy could open his mouth to argue. "How much money do you think these people make? Look at this crowd." He made a sweeping gesture to each of the different sections, indicating the masses of people settling into their seats. "At ten gold pieces each, these performers are making more gold in one night than your average worker could make in fifty. Even taking out expenses such as equipment and animal care, they're still left with a hefty sum to distribute between the workers. These people won't notice a few missing coins at the end of the day."
Syaoran turned his attention to the stage, still radiating disapproval.
"Let's just sit back and enjoy the show. We can look for the feather after."
"Right." More people flooded in from outside the tent, drawn by the music like moths to a candle flame. By the time the torches went out, the tent buzzed with excitement. A voice rose from the blackness, and, row by row, circles of torches came to life again. "Ladies and gentleman, hold onto your seats! The show is about to begin!" As the circle of light spread, Syaoran's eyes flew to one figure. He wore a hat of blue and gold, and carried a black cane that seemed to double as a sort of wand. Syaoran had seen such circuses before, with very similar characters. He recognized the role of a ringmaster. But there was one thing about this ringmaster that drew his immediate and undivided attention.
Sewn into the colorful fabric of the ringmaster's shirt was one of Sakura's feathers.