Komako screwed up her face. “She’s a talent, Charlie. Like all of us.”
“The name’s Ribs,” the voice said cheerfully, several feet away now. “But you got to keep quieter. We ain’t supposed to be in here. Ain’t proper, like. Miss Davenshaw’d skin us alive, she known we was in here. So is that really the shining boy? The one what fought Jacob Marber off an lived, like?”
“Uh,” said Charlie. “Yeah—？”
“Wait. You don’t know who he is? Ko, he don’t even know.”
“Your little friend there is famous,” said Komako. “Everyone thought he was dead.”
“Famous?”
Komako shrugged. “Sure. He’s the shining boy. Stopped Jacob Marber from killing everyone here at Cairndale five years back. He was just a baby. But he disappeared, got stolen away.…”
Charlie glanced over at Marlowe, still sleeping. He was still sleepy and trying to make sense of what the two girls were going on about but it was hard, he was confused. They seemed to be waiting for him to say something more, so he said, “Who’s Miss Davenshed?”
“Davenshaw. Our governess. She ain’t all bad.” The invisible girl, Ribs, made a clicking noise with her tongue. “You’ll meet her soon enough. Go on, tell us: What were he like, on the train? Jacob, I mean.”
“How’d you know about the train?”
“Aw, everybody round here knows. It’s all anyone’s talking about. Hell, Alfie in Mr. Smythe’s class was takin wagers on it. You was on that train, yeah? You did fight off Jacob?”
Charlie wrapped the blanket around himself, sat up. “Marlowe did it mostly. Marlowe and Alice. I never did much.”
“Well, you didn’t die. That’s something.” Komako dropped to the floor, her long braid swaying, and she walked over to Marlowe’s bed. “He’s a little one.”
“Yeah.”
“How old is he?”
“Eight.”
“Seems about right.” Komako’s face had a strange expression on it, part angry, part sad. “We don’t have any little ones here. Not as young as that.”
The mattress creaked beside him; Ribs had sat down. “Well, he’s one of us again. And you is, too.” She dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper. “So. What do you do, what’s your talent, then? You ain’t got a flesh giant under the bed now, do you?”
“Uh … what?”
“He doesn’t know what that is,” said Komako patiently. “You’ll meet Lymenion soon enough, Charlie One-of-Us-Now. Though he’s kind of … gross.”
“Aw, he’s cute, Ko.”
“He’s not cute. Even Oskar doesn’t think he’s cute.”
“I, uh … I heal,” said Charlie quietly. “I’ve always done. I don’t ever get hurt, or killed, or anything.”
Komako’s dark eyes studied him. All at once he felt a sudden sharp pinch on his forearm, and he yelped. “Jesus! What’d you do that for?”
“You said you don’t get hurt,” Ribs complained.
“I get hurt. I just heal.”
“Oh.”
Komako was grinning. “Ribs can be kind of literal, sometimes,” she said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen a new haelan here.”
“What kind of a name is Ribs, anyway?” said Charlie, glowering.
“A fine one, is what kind,” Ribs’s voice replied. “Charlie’s a name for a bloody horse, so what’s it to you?”
Komako seemed to be enjoying herself all of a sudden. “It’s Eleanor Ribbon, actually. But she’ll do worse than pinch you if you call her that.”
Charlie was still rubbing at his arm when the bed creaked. It was Marlowe, sitting up in his nightshirt, rubbing at his eyes with his little fists. He looked around at them all and smiled a sleepy smile.
“Hi,” he said shyly.
* * *
Later, while the boys were getting dressed, Komako Onoe lurked in the corridor outside their room, brooding. They weren’t supposed to be in the boys’ corridor, really; but Mr. Smythe and the other kids were down at breakfast, or already off to classes; and Miss Davenshaw need never know.
Fact was, Komako didn’t know what to think. They seemed ordinary enough, if there even was such a thing at Cairndale. But seeing the shining boy in the flesh, Marlowe, brought a rush of memories back to her. That night, when Jacob had returned, changed, violent, dark as the dust that radiated at his fists … She and Ribs had seen him, at a distance, in the dark, but not been able to get close, not close enough to talk to him. The baby he’d come to murder, or steal, she’d hardly seen, only heard crying sometimes in the night when the window was left ajar. But she’d seen the smashed cradle, she’d seen the shattered window the morning after. She’d blamed herself, since. Maybe if she’d managed to talk to Jacob, maybe she could’ve stopped him.