Pantomime Read online

  "Damien Hornbeam!" Anna said. "He's so handsome. Those shoulders!"

  "He is," I agreed.

  "Would you marry him?" she asked. She was always talking about marriage of late. I supposed it made sense, since this year or next she would become betrothed.

  I remembered the look on his face when his hand had brushed between my legs. How he had refused to glance at me the rest of the day. "No, he's not the one for me."

  "You say that about everyone," Anna said, exasperated and not noticing the strained tone of my voice.

  "And you would happily marry most of the boys in Sicion and Imachara, so we balance out," I said, more sharply than I intended.

  She made an affronted squeak and blushed.

  "Apologies, Anna," I said, rubbing between my eyes. "Mother's trying to matchmake again. It's setting me on edge."

  She sighed. "I don't see why you're so against it. It has to happen at some point. Don't you dream of a wedding?"

  "No."

  "But you don't want to become a spinster in your parents' household. That would be awful."

  I shuddered. "Yes, that would be awful." I shrugged. "Might not be anything for it. We all know I'm plainer than pudding. Who do you want to marry the most?" For this week, this day, this second, I added in my head, unkindly.

  She looked up toward the ceiling and thought about it. Even the ceiling molding around the light fixture featured roses. "How about… your brother?" she grinned mischievously. "Then we could be sisters!"

  I made a face. "Eurgh!"

  She stuck her tongue out at me.

  "Is being my sister such a terrible option?"

  I stuck my tongue out at her in turn.

  "It would be perfect. Your family's star is on the rise, my mother says. You've gone up two titles in the past ten years! It's rare for families to move so quickly after being at the same level for so long." I lifted an eyebrow at her crass assessment of my family, but she did not notice.

  "And Cyril is handsome, and kind, athletic, and intelligent," she said, counting each quality on a finger as if she was ticking off a checklist. She probably did have checklists for every eligible boy in Ellada, balancing their strengths and weaknesses on an imaginary scale in her head. Sometimes Anna horrified me.

  She continued, "He's going to be a solicitor as well as sit in on the councils, and that is a respectable, important position. Combined with those big blue eyes and broad shoulders, he's one of the best prospects in Sicion. Certainly you must have realized that?"

  I made a face. "He's my brother. I'd never think of him in those terms. Would you ever think of George that way?"

  Now it was her turn to make a face. "That's different. George is a catch for nobody."

  For a moment, I was so tempted to tell her that Mother thought him a prospect for me, but it was too embarrassing.

  "Are you looking forward to the debutante ball next month? Have you gotten your dress for it yet?" I asked instead, steering her away from the unsettling topic of marriage to the safer area of clothing.

  Her face lit up. If there was one thing she liked more than marriage, it was clothes. Or best yet, it was the clothes she would wear when she married the boy of her dreams. The whole idea of a wedding to me seemed exhausting more than anything else.

  "Not yet, but mother and I are going to go look for a dress tomorrow. But I did get this the other week." Anna went to the wardrobe, opened it, and brought out a dark blue taffeta gown. It would go well with the pink undertones of her skin and bring out the red in her strawberry blonde hair. I told her so and her face split into a wide, genuine grin.

  "Why don't you try it on?" she said, eagerly. Anna loved to dress up.

  And so I did, taking care to keep my petticoats on as I changed, turning away from her so she did not see my tiny breasts. Anna was well-endowed in that department already.

  The dress looked silly on me. It was too short, as I was a head taller than Anna, the waist was too high, the bodice far too loose. Unsurprising, I supposed. The color was good for me, though.

  "Are you looking forward to the debutante ball?" Anna asked, noticing my somber face in the mirror.

  "Truthfully? No. But you know I'm not normally one for ball gowns and plaiting flowers in my hair."

  She giggled. "That's true. The only time I saw you willingly with flowers in your hair was when you'd crawled through a forsythia bush!"

  I smiled at the memory.

  "But I suppose I always thought you'd outgrow it." My smile faded at her words.

  "Maybe I'm just taking longer than most. I'll make an effort with the ball. Perhaps it won't be so bad."

  We spent the afternoon being young noblewomen, dressing up and applying cosmetics, eating cakes and tea and discussing plans for the upcoming autumn season. I made more of an effort this time than I usually did, trying to fit myself into the role of a girl to see if I could ever make it work, instead of convincing Anna to play board games or go for a carriage ride through the city. But the act was like the dresses – ill-fitting and not quite right.

  11

  SUMMER: BELLS

  "Once, you couldn't stick a spade in the ground without overturning a bit of Vestige – a square key, an arrow that always finds its mark, a light that never goes out. But now, only remnants are found – when was the last time a truly extraordinary artefact was recovered? With each passing year, keys never find the lock they were meant to open, the arrow begins to miss, the light dims. One day, there will be no more Vestige, and Ellada and its former colonies will be the poorer for it."

  VESTIGE, Professor Caed Cedar,

  Royal Snakewood University

  Drystan continued to perplex me.

  He would walk up to me, say or do something strange but not unkind, and then maintain his distance. I had no idea what he wanted or what he was doing. Was he taunting me? Was it some clownish game, or a bet among his fellows? I tried to return his banter and witticisms, but more often than not I was left tongue-tied and exasperated. Running underneath our exchanges was the niggling fear that he had gone through my pack when the clowns had taken it.

  Without his strange makeup, he was quite striking. Fair in complexion and fair to look upon, the girl in me felt a strange surge of excitement when I looked up and found him watching me, though it was also tinged with dread.

  Eventually, I decided that he was waiting for me to approach him. One morning, I found him shuffling a pack of cards by the blackened remains of the campfire.

  He would be unimpressed with a standard greeting. "Tell me a joke," I said without preamble.

  He raised an eyebrow, and scooted over ever so slightly on the log to make room for me. I perched on the edge.

  "Asking me to perform off-duty? It'll cost you."

  "What will it cost me?"

  He pressed a long, thin finger to his lips. "You'll have to answer one question about yourself, and you'll have to answer truly."

  "All right," I said easily, though I had no qualms with lying to him if he asked too pointed a question.

  "I'll tell you a joke I've been banned from telling during the show." He set down the cards. "Novices of the monks of the Order of the Sun Lord and Lady of the Moon must test that they are beyond temptation before they can be declared full monks.

  "Ten novices aiming to serve the Sun Lord stand in a line in the courtyard and are commanded to strip their robes and tie bells around their manly bits."

  I kept my expression blank. "Right."

  "A beautiful woman comes into the courtyard and dances in front of each novice in turn. She is glorious, naked as the day she was born, with full breasts like half globes, eyes of emeralds, hair like sunshine on a winter's morning, and all of that poetic balderdash. She dances past the first novice, undulating like an undine or a sylph. The bell is silent. She dances past the next novice, and the next, and the next, until she has danced in front of the first nine monks. All of the bells are silent. Finally, she dances in front of the last monk, and his
bell jingles merrily. So merrily, in fact, that the bell falls off his tackle. Embarrassed and ashamed, he reaches down to retrieve the bell, and suddenly the bells of all the other monks behind him begin to tinkle!" His blue eyes glinted.

  I thought a moment, trying to puzzle it out. "So they like the sight of him bent over?"

  Drystan stared at me in astonishment and then laughed uproariously, slapping his knees. "Oh, Micah, you have been sheltered!" He shook his head, chuckling. I still looked at him blankly.

  "It's been a long time since I've had to explain a joke to someone, oh my." He wiped his eyes. "The novices weren't tempted by the woman, Micah, because they had no desire of her. They preferred the close company of men."

  I blinked and my blush deepened. "Oh." Cyril had told me about how children were made when I had asked him several years ago, but he had never mentioned this. "Does that happen often? Men preferring men to women?" I thought of my attraction to Aenea. Did I like her as a boy, or as a girl?

  "More often than you would think."

  "Are there any here in the circus?"

  That sent Drystan into paroxysms of laughter again.

  "They're all around you. The circus collects the outsiders like a flame tempts moths. Sal and Tila, for all their flirting with men, are devoted to each other. You really didn't realize that Arik prefers the company of men? Or that I do?"

  My mouth fell open, and I snapped it shut. "Um, no." Drystan was looking at me very intently. "Do you… or they ever prefer both men and women?" I asked.

  "Me?" he said, not letting me get away with my slip. "Sometimes, for a bit of variety. More sample both dishes than would probably admit to it." He looked at me slyly. "Why the fascination?"

  "No reason," I said, quickly. "What do the Lord and Lady think of it?" I did not know if I believed in the Lord or Lady, but I was curious to know what they would think.

  "They're completely silent on the subject. In none of the sacred writings is there a hint that it even exists. Some say that means that they consider it so terrible that it cannot even be spoken of. Others feel it means that it is a nonissue, that the Lord and Lady do not care, as long as those who love each other come together to be complete and to worship them. In ancient Alder, there were no different pronouns for gender. I think that in itself speaks volumes."

  I glanced at him. Drystan used rather varied vocabulary. He toned it down around the others, like Arik and Aenea, but not around me. He knew we had more in common.

  "What's your question then? As payment?"

  Drystan leaned on his hands, languid as a cat. He looked at me, calculating. I was almost certain he was going to ask me whether I preferred men or women.

  "Who do you miss the most, from your previous life?" he asked instead.

  "My brother," I said without hesitating, relieved that I did not have to lie.

  He nodded as if I was confirming something. "I miss mine as well. And my sister, though she was just born when I left."

  I was surprised by his openness. Drystan picked up the cards again and shuffled, clacking them together with such force that it sounded like he was rattling wooden slates. We sat together in silence, watching the fire and thinking of our brothers.

  "May I ask you a question?" I asked.

  "You may, though it'll cost you another." His smile was benign.

  I decided it was worth it. "My pack went missing not long ago."

  An eyebrow rose. "Did it?"

  "I found it."

  "And was anything missing?"

  "No, but I wondered if… anyone would have looked through it."

  Drystan turned toward me, his expression unreadable but still dreamy. "One might have pretended to look through it, to placate one's peers."

  A tightness eased in my chest. He did not seem to be lying, though with him it was difficult to tell.

  "I see," I said. "Your question?"

  "Hmm," he said. "So many I could ask."

  "So there are," I said.

  "What is your biggest fear?" he asked.

  I was quiet, thinking. There were so many things I was frightened of. "Not being accepted or loved for what – who – I am."

  Drystan again noticed the slip but did not comment. "Does no one accept you?"

  "That's two questions. My brother does."

  "What, are you lonely, Micah?"

  His question took me aback. "Yes, sometimes. Aren't most people?"

  "Hmm."

  Drystan became less obtuse around me after that, shedding his persona of the odd, mystic fool and showing the human beneath. But when I looked up at him through lowered lashes and saw him watching me, I still felt a little thrill.

  The after-show bonfires were strange but wonderful.

  There was euphoria after each and every show, the emotions pent up needing a place to go. No one went straight to bed after a performance. There was always laughter, and more food, and a drink or two to unwind.

  Some nights were wilder than others, with the Kymri tumblers and some of the workers playing their penny whistles, guitars, and little hand drums. Workers and performers would cross their divide: Wicket dancing with Juliet the Leopard Lady, or Dirik dancing with Bethany, whom he fancied, despite the moustache – or because of it?

  Though few people spoke to me, I still had fun, clapping along to the music and nursing a mug of beer, chatting with Aenea and Arik, and sometimes Drystan or Frit. I still felt a part of the circus, more or less.

  Bil was in a fine mood one particular night. He had disappeared into town during the afternoon, well before the show was due to begin. He did that, occasionally – leaving and returning with a mysterious package under one arm, stinking of booze.

  "I got somethin' new for the circus today, me lovelies," he said. "Just to make us that much better." He swayed on his feet, and the bonfire behind him cast him in shadow. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a small Vestige figurine of a golden-haired monkey. It was a lovely little thing – the fur seemed to ruffle in the wind, though it was made of metal. Its little face looked like an echo of a human's, its dark eyes large.

  "Now," he said. "I can only show you for a minute. Thing's almost outta power." I could barely understand his slurred words. He pressed a small button on the monkey's back.

  The monkey shook its head and stood upon its bandy legs. It turned and looked up at Bil's face. I could see the little lever in its back. With jerky movements, the little monkey climbed up Bil's arm and perched on his shoulder, cocking its head at us. Bil chuckled and reached up and plucked the little monkey from his shoulder, holding it in his open palm. Bil pushed the lever and the monkey returned to its original pose.

  "That is amazing," I breathed to Frit, who was sitting to my right.

  "It is," she said, but her voice was tight.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "Nothing," she said, pulling her shawl tighter about her, her shoulders hunched. "Never you mind, Micah."

  I looked from her, to Bil, and back again. She looked as though she was mentally doing sums as she stared at the little golden monkey. "Vestige things are rather expensive, aren't they?" I asked.

  She nodded her head once, her eyes on Bil as he laughed uproariously.

  I understood.

  She topped up my glass of ale and toasted me with her own. She drank, and so did I, though I did not like the taste.

  12

  SPRING: PENGLASS

  "There's poetry in glass and stone,

  in the old and the new.

  The sandstone hewn by human hands, stained with soot and time.

  Sounds drift into the street, laughter cruel and kind.

  The pristine glass looks like a shadow, a blue bubble about to burst.

  A memory of music not quite heard, The Alder dream, now cursed.

  Side by side they stand, Each with a treasure nursed.

  Never uttering a word.

  but which will crumble first?"

  PENGLASS OF SICION, Anonymous

  Cy
ril invited some of his friends to our house one afternoon.

  I abandoned my woeful attempt at embroidery on my bed and casually walked past the door to Father's study, straining my neck to make sure that Damien was not there. He was not. I should have realized – Cyril was possibly even angrier with him than I was.

  The sun streamed in from the diamond lead-paned windows and cast patterns on the thick rugs. Cyril, Oswin, and a genial boy named Rojer lounged on the leather sofas of the study, surrounded by my father's law books. Oswin saw me pass and gestured me in.