Pantomime Read online

  Usually when I watched the shows in the evening, I would steal an unused seat. Often, I could be in the best area of the audience because people could not afford the tickets. The merchants who had paid premium price were sometimes a bit miffed at this, though I was always quiet and wore my unpatched clothing. But that night I had to hide behind the stage and peek out. It meant I saw the show from a different perspective. I saw the performers' faces right before they entered the stage. They would pat their hair self-consciously, rubbing their hands and pressing their lips together to steady their nerves despite the fact that they did this most every night. From this angle, I could not see the faces they put on for the audience.

  And so, for this show, I watched the audience. Their faces were small from this distance. Children sat on the rocks at the front, nudging each other and pointing, mouths agape. I marveled that it had been only a few weeks ago that I had been among them, staring so starry-eyed up at the magic of the circus. I felt so much older already.

  The rest of the crowd was little changed from other nights. Old men and women who had been married for decades. Lovers with wandering hands who sat in the back rows. Gaggles of young men and women. Lonely people who came because they had nothing better to do and a spare coin in their pocket. And all of them looked skyward during the trapeze act. It was impossible not to be impressed by Arik and Aenea.

  The applause at the end of the show was extraordinarily loud in the crowded big top. The performers came out and bowed, a funny sight when I was behind them as opposed to in front of them. I remembered Drystan's joke and laughed.

  Most of the performers waited in the tent or returned to their carts as the fun fair outside continued, though some enjoyed going to the carnival. Afterwards, the workers and I would snake through the stalls to pick up the detritus left behind. The carnival was lasting longer than usual because there were so many more clientele willing to part with hard-won coins. I snuck out of the tent and scrounged a meal from the food cart.

  I found Drystan lounging against my cart door, already out of his costume and his face freshly-scrubbed. He would not be recognizable in the carnival with his naked face and shabby coat.

  "Good evening, Micah."

  "Hullo, Drystan. What are you doing here?" I asked.

  "Same as you. Going to the carnival. I go at least once a week. It's fun to walk among them, without them ever knowing I was the clown they were laughing at earlier in the evening."

  "How did you know I would go tonight? I haven't really gone since the night I joined the circus," I said.

  "Because it's an exciting pastime for a young man." He paused and smirked slightly. "And you told Arik that you were thinking of doing so, meaning that everyone now knows."

  I laughed.

  "Why haven't you gone before this?" he asked.

  "Because I don't have the money to buy anything, I see the same acts in the circus anyway, and the freaks make me nervous."

  He nodded. "But the fake freaks are stranger than the real ones."

  "Exactly. I don't know why, though."

  "Constantly pretending to be odd has an effect on you. I should know. Come along, then."

  We walked toward the lights on the beach, the air still warm and stifling. The seaweed stank from its day under the sun, and shells crunched under our feet into the sand.

  The fair was an endless stream of people swirling past each other or caught in front of the stalls. Some stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare for no discernible reason, leaving others to grit their teeth and flow around them, mumbling and cursing to themselves.

  There were twice as many people as the last time I visited.

  "We won't stay long," Drystan whispered into my ear. "Bil will want to prance around and exult in front of everyone in the tent."

  The alchemist was at his usual booth in the carnival. He glared at me. I gave him a two-fingered salute and he turned from me and spat in the sand. I snorted. Charlatan.

  "Friend of yours?"

  "Not in the least."

  I briefly told him the tale of the alchemist and the strange affliction I did not have.

  Drystan cackled. "Genital warts was the best he could do? I'm amazed he earns any coins here."

  Drystan stopped in front of a stall. It was a game where if you threw a ball into the basket on the far wall, you won a few coins or a small prize, like a doll or soldier to give to a child. Most were trying for the coins to spend in the beachfront pubs.

  Drystan made a show of giving a coin to the circus worker manning the stall. I thought his name was Slar or Sar or something similar. He passed Drystan three small, wooden balls from beneath the stand.

  "All right," Slar or Sar said. "Whatcha do is you throw the balls inta the basket. You get one in and you get a coin or a wooden horse." He held up a small, rudely carved horse about as large as a hand. "You get two in, you get two coins, or a toy soldier," he demonstrated. "You get all three and you get ten coins or you can get this," he held up a small porcelain doll. A few murmured appreciatively. It was not anywhere near as fine as the ones from Imachara I had hidden under my bed in my old room, but it was still something any little girl would cherish.

  Drystan cradled the wooden spheres in his long-fingered hands. He balanced the first one delicately on his fingertips, contemplating it. The ball was painted a bright orange with a white star painted on either side. He stared at the wall, at least ten feet away. The wicker basket tacked in the center looked barely large enough to fit the ball into.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A few passersby had stopped to watch him.

  Drystan opened his eyes and lobbed the ball and it landed delicately into the basket on the first try. A few people clapped.

  Drystan held up the next ball, this one blue with an orange sun design. It too landed in the wicker basket. The cheers grew louder.

  "He's the first to get two baskets this night!" Slar or Sar called.

  The last ball was green, with a simple stripe around its diameter. Into the basket it went. Drystan made a great show of acting abashed as people clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Now, now," Slar or Sar called, quieting them down. "Which do you want, the coins or the doll?"

  Drystan paused, scrutinizing both prizes, as if he were torn. I half-expected him to choose the porcelain doll. "Coins, please," Drystan said eventually with a small smile. The coins chinked in his palm and disappeared into one of the many pockets in his coat.

  We weaved our way out of the throng. Many more people were passing coins to Slar or Sar to have their turn at the baskets.

  "It was a trick, wasn't it?" I asked.

  Drystan put his hand over his heart and looked injured. "I'll have you know I have excellent aim. Comes from years of juggling." He grinned. "It worked and got more playing, did it not? And I won enough to buy us some drink before the carnival ends and our meeting begins."

  "But what if someone else also has really good aim?"

  I asked as we walked toward the line of pubs on the beachfront.

  "If anyone else gets two, most of the time someone standing behind the wall will slide a ball into the bottom of the basket so that the third one bounces out."

  "But that's cheating!"

  "Why yes, Micah, that's cheating."

  "Does it happen with other games?"

  "Oh plenty. There's usually one of us out here per night, giving the marks a taste of what it's like to win. We swindle with a swagger," he said, demonstrating his swagger.

  "Hmm, which is the seediest gin shop?" he asked as we wandered down the promenade. They all looked seedy to me, dimly lit with grimy windows. The promenade was far from deserted at this time of night. Some were circusgoers who could not be bothered with the funfair but did not want to socialize with the others in the tent, or other residents of Sicion who came here most every night, circus or no circus. Most of the pubs were incredibly full, people spilling from the entry way and drinking openly on makeshift driftwood benches.


  "Wait here," Drystan said, tucking up his sleeves. "I'm going in."

  I watched as he maneuvered his way between drunken men and women and disappeared into the dark confines of the pub. I waited outside, my eyes darting nervously at the faces of the people passing me, their features harsh in the lights of the gas lamps.

  Drystan returned, a green bottle held in his hand.

  "Let's go down by the docks and celebrate a straw house at the circus and fatter coffers for Bil," he said.

  We wandered down the promenade and onto a dock, our feet clacking against the boards. The briny breeze teased my hair and slipped under the seams of my coat. We sat at the end of the docks and looked out over the dark expanse of the sea.

  Drystan twisted over the bottle, took a swig, and passed it to me. I took a small sip and tried not to gag. It tasted how wet paint smelled, with an aftertaste of juniper berries.

  "Gin," Drystan said. "Cheap, horrible gin. I had to grossly overpay to convince him to let me leave with it."

  I nodded, eyes watering.

  I did not know what to say to him, so I said nothing.

  "Do you think Tauro is actually a Minotaur?" he asked after another gulp of the burning liquor.

  "What?" I furrowed my brows. "There's no such thing as Minotaurs. You might as well say there are mermaids in the ocean and harpies in the sky." Or a Kedi walking about town.

  "Every culture has the same myths. From the east to the west, there are tales of dragons, of mermaids, of harpies, and Minotaurs."

  "And are you a scholar of world mythology?" I asked.

  He smiled, more to himself than at me, and passed the bottle. I took another sip and managed not to cough.

  "Tauro doesn't seem quite human though, does he?" Drystan asked. "It's not only how he looks. It's the eyes."

  "I think he's a little slower and hairier than most. That's all." My head was light and I no longer felt the cold.

  "He's the one of the closest things we have to a real freak," Drystan said.

  I shifted a little uncomfortably.

  "There's Poussin and Juliet," I said.

  "Skin disorders, no more."

  "Even Juliet's fangs?"

  That gave him pause. "Most likely surgical alterations."

  I did not think they were, but I decided to leave it be.

  "There's Tin and Karg, the midget and the giant–" I started, but Drystan shook his head.

  "You see polarization of size in all cultures…" he started but trailed off when I looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

  "What?" he asked.

  "Well," I said, "you don't make much of an effort, do you?" I said, dropping the roughened voice that had become almost second nature and using my former, posher voice. "When did you go to university?"

  He laughed. "The others all know that I come from a lofty background. You're the one that insists on hiding yours, though you don't do it very well. And yes, I went to the Royal Snakewood University in Imachara, and nearly finished as well. I studied philosophy. It opened my eyes and so I became a fool."

  "Were you originally from Imachara?" I asked.

  "No, I was raised in Sicion," he said. His voice was slightly slurred. I wondered if he would be answering so frankly were it not for the gin. The bottle was half-empty.

  "What was your family name?" I asked, pressing.

  He looked at me, sizing me up, his eyes slightly unfocused. "My, but it's been a long time since I've said it. Hornbeam." He almost sighed the last word.

  I gasped. "You're from one of the noblest families in Imachara… and you're a clown in a circus?"

  And not only were the Hornbeams the strength behind the crown, but it meant that Drystan was related to Damien and Darla.

  He drew himself up. "I'll have you know, boy, that I would have been a clown back in Imachara but in fancier motley!" His voice had hardened.

  I took another sip of gin. My head spun. "Sorry," I muttered.

  We drank in silence, listening to the crashing of the waves.

  The silence begged to be filled. "Are you Darla and Damien's brother, then?" Memories were coming back to me, tales of the eldest Hornbeam boy who had been cast out of the family tree, raising Damien to the status of heir.

  He blinked at me. "Yes."

  My, but our world was that small. Damien was the brother that Drystan missed. I tried to remember, but a decade ago we did not have a house in the Emerald Bowl, and so I would not have seen him at the afternoon teas.

  He made a noncommittal sound and swigged more gin. "Your turn," he said. "Your family name."

  I opened my mouth but hesitated. I wanted so badly to tell someone, anyone. "Can I trust you?"

  He leaned close. His breath reeked of gin. For a moment, I wondered if he was going to kiss me. "I trusted you, didn't I, Iphigenia?"

  My breath caught in my throat.

  "You already know," I whispered.

  He leaned back, closed his eyes. "Laurus of Sicion." His eyes opened. "They had their child go missing not long ago."

  "They did."

  "I read about it in the paper. They still have their son. Your brother."

  "So they do," I said. I was shaking.

  He looked at me, and I knew he was trying to see the woman in me. "You're a brave little thing. I'll give you that," he said, but his voice was cool, almost disappointed.

  "Are you… going to tell anyone?" I forced the words from my throat.

  He looked out to sea. "We're all entitled to our secrets. I'll not say a word about yours, and you'll not say a word about mine."

  A little tension left my body. "How'd you guess? About me?"

  "The dress in your pack was quite the hint. And your letter."

  I pushed him in the shoulder. "You did search it." My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I had been quite frank in that letter, unleashing all of my uncertainty. At least I hadn't spoken about any members of the circus specifically. Like Aenea. Or Drystan.

  "Of course I did. But I was the only one, I'll promise you that."

  He hauled himself to his feet and tossed the bottle into the sea. How much of that bottle had I drunk? The world would not focus. Drystan had to help me up, and I nearly fell. I giggled.

  "I, Master Hornbeam, would like to take Miss Iphigenia Laurus's arm, if it is not too forward." He gave a courtly bow.

  I laughed again and gave my best curtsey, holding out imaginary skirts. Something in my chest felt lighter. Someone knew, though like everyone else, he did not know the whole truth. I was good at keeping a certain secret. "Of course, Master Hornbeam. As long as you never, ever call me Iphigenia again. It's the most hideous name. Before I ran away, I called myself Gene."

  "Yes, it is rather horrific, Gene." And we, two nobles living secret lives, weaved and tilted our way back to our circus.

  Bil was so pleased with himself he looked as if he were about to burst. He strutted in front of us, his grin wide and yellow, tugging on his coat until the gilt buttons threatened to pop.

  He was proud; a specific sort of pride that I did not think anyone could possess unless they had started something from nothing. Arik had told me that Bil had grown up desperately poor – his mother was a widow who worked in the laundry to keep Bil and his sister clothed and fed. He had gone to see the circus whenever it was in town and decided that he would start one. And so he did.

  The circus used to be a sham, with every member an alcoholic or delirious on Lerium. The acts were pathetic, and the entire circus had a seedy air, far more burlesque and boudoir than carnival. The main draw had been buxom ladies in scanty costumes that showed more than a little ankle or leg.

  After seeing Riley & Batheo, he began to transform the circus, and now, though it was still far seedier than the other "Circus of Curiosities," it was far more professional than any other small circus in Ellada.

  And Bil was not yet satisfied, dreaming of showing his circus in the fixed amphitheaters in the metropolises of Ellada. He yearned to perform before royalty.
Bil was a man who would never be content until the next goal had been met, and then he would promptly set another. I admired this trait, but also felt sad for him, that he would forever be striving and never content.

  "That was beautiful, my circus, just beautiful," Bil said, standing with his legs apart before us, pointing his cane to each of us in turn. "Never have so many people gathered round our humble tent to see our performances. This is a milestone for our circus. Who knows, my lovelies – we may need to invest in a bigger tent once we arrive in Imachara!"

  We clapped, whistled, and stamped our feet. I was sitting in between Arik and Aenea, and the world was still not quite focusing, though the sensation was fading and my head ached. Arik and Aenea had not commented on the smell of gin about me, though I was sure they noticed. It would have been hard for them not to.