From a High Tower

by Mercedes Lackey

  The Captain paused in throwing up clay targets; perhaps his arm was getting tired. But there was still plenty of ammunition in the bucket they had brought her, and she decided that she was not through trying to impress them.

  Although on the whole neither Joachim nor Pieter approved of what they would have called “boasting shots,” they still taught her several when she begged them. She looked at the Captain, fished in her pocket, and pulled out a pfennig. Inwardly, she winced at the waste of even one small coin, but then she reminded herself that if she could get supper out of these people, it would certainly be worth more than a pfennig. She mimed tossing it in the air and handed it to him. His eyes widened, but he nodded, pulled back his fist and flung it as hard as he could.

  Of course, she was taking no chances; the sylphs assisted the trajectory of the pfennig as well as that of her bullet.

  The Indian had sharper eyes than the rest of them, and strolled over to where it fell. He brought it back and the Captain let out a long, low whistle, when he saw she had punched a hole in it, slightly off of center.

  If only I had a mirror, she thought, just a little smugly. I’d make their eyes bulge!

  And as if the Indian had actually heard her thoughts, he reached into a bag he had slung over one shoulder and handed her a little ladies’ mirror.

  If she had not read Karl May’s books, she would probably have been taken aback that he had such a thing—but she knew that Indians often used mirrors they got in trade for signaling each other at great distances. She took it with a smile and a little nod she hoped he recognized as thanks and turned her back on the target.

  The trickiest thing about shooting backward, using a mirror, was setting the shot up and keeping the rifle steady once you had it sighted. When she had shot for Joachim and Pieter she had been scrupulous about not cheating using the sylphs. Now, however, she had no such compunctions.

  With the hand holding the mirror firmly on the butt of the stock, and the other on top of the stock with her thumb on the trigger, she set the shot up, and gently squeezed . . .

  The butt kicked back into her hand, jarring the mirror and ruining her view of the target. But this time the Captain threw his hat in the air, he was so excited.

  I think we made the shot, she thought wryly. With another bow she handed the mirror back to the Indian, who took it with the faintest of smiles.

  The Captain all but snatched the carbine out of her hands, and once again, seized her by the wrist. This time he dragged her back to the big tent, intercepting a man who was clearly on his way somewhere else just before they reached it.

  The Captain dropped her hand, and went into a rapid-fire speech, gesticulating wildly. The other man listened closely, his brows creased with concentration. Finally he made a placating gesture with his hands and got the Captain to calm down and stop talking. He turned to Giselle and, to her relief, he spoke in perfectly understandable tones, even if his accent was not one she was used to.

  “If I understand my good compatriot, the Captain, you, fraulein, are something of an extraordinary shot with a rifle?” he asked. That was when she recognized his voice; this was the man who had provided all the announcements during the show.

  She sensed that this was no time to be modest. “Yes,” she said, drawing herself up as tall as she could, and setting her chin. “I am.”

  “Forgive me for asking this, because it is, after all, a rather personal question, but—do you live in this town? Is your family here?” He looked extremely uncomfortable at this point, and indeed, this was not something that a stranger should be asking a young woman whose name he didn’t even know.

  “Tell him everything! Tell him!” The sylphs had followed along, and now they were fluttering overhead, dancing in midair with excitement. Giselle didn’t look up at them, of course, but it was clear that this was something other than idle interest.

  “I come from a small village quite some distance away,” she said, ignoring the complete impropriety, and with growing excitement. Could it possibly be—no, she wouldn’t dare hope. But . . . I’m a girl. What if they want me to disguise myself as a young man? Would those who were looking for Gunther possibly seek him in the middle of a Wild West Show? No, she would not dare hope. Maybe they wanted her to teach one of the others. “My only relative was my Mother, who died a year ago. I was going to seek employment with some family friends when I came upon your show—” she shrugged a little “—I am a great admirer of Karl May’s books, you see—and I could not resist.”

  “Ah! Karl May! Of course!” He nodded wisely. “I haven’t read any myself, but I am not much of a reader of fiction. Well! In that case . . . I shall come straight to the point. Captain Cody wishes to offer you employment here, with our show. Provided, of course, you have no objection to taking on the guise of a frontierswoman.”

  “As a—” She felt stunned, and couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “A young lady trick-shooter is considered to be a necessity to a Wild West Show,” the announcer hurried on, perhaps fearing she would object. “Buffalo Bill has Fraulein Annie Oakley. Pawnee Bill has Fraulein May Lillie. The 101 Ranch Show has Princess Winona. But Captain Cody—well, you saw.” He made a helpless little gesture. “Some audience members in our previous two towns have expressed disappointment that we do not have such a star attraction. We can offer you a wagon of your own for traveling and living, already furnished, or a tent, if you prefer. We can supply the wardrobe and the arms. You will have all meals that you care to take with the Company. And we can offer you a salary.” And when he named the price it was all she could do not to show her shock and delight and jump up and accept right there. Because it was fully as much as she had expected, in her wildest and most optimistic estimates, to make from every shooting contest she entered put together. And that was just for a single month! This would be a similar income, every month!

  “How long do you expect to tour?” she asked, pretending only mild interest.

  “At least until November, and the rest is a long and complicated story, that I must, in all honesty, tell you before you accept.” Captain Cody interrupted the man then, and they exchanged some words—a bit of worry on both their parts, although the Indian nodded confidently at her, as if he fully expected what her answer was going to be. “Would you come sit down with us, so we can give you a fuller explanation?”

  “My horse is in your stabling tent. Would you have her and my belongings taken somewhere less public?” she asked. For answer, the man signaled a passing cowboy with a sharp whistle, she handed over the tag representing Lebkuchen, and the cowboy trotted off. She had the opportunity to look him over carefully while this exchange was taking place, and . . . well, aside from his fancy scarlet uniform, he looked quite ordinary. He had a very square face, short, pale hair, and nice, mild blue eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. Truth be told, he looked like a clerk or a merchant.

  With Lebkuchen taken care of, the trio conducted her to a spacious tent in what appeared to be the Army Camp. This, evidently, belonged to Captain Cody, and looked as if it consisted of two canvas-walled rooms. Access to the back one was closed off, but the front was equipped with a table and comfortable chairs, lanterns, a small desk, chests, some comforts such as a rug on the canvas floor and a pile of cushions in a corner, and a barrel of beer. The Captain made himself the host and pulled glasses for all of them.

  Meanwhile, the sylphs were flying mad aerobatics above her head, urging her to take the offer. She wanted to, naturally, and fully intended to—but it seemed to her she should not be too eager. Best I find out everything I can before I agree.

  She accepted the metal stein of beer with a nod of thanks—beer was food of a sort, after all—and waited for them to explain just what had led to this extraordinary offer.

  “So, let me first introduce myself,” said the announcer. “I am Heinrich Kellermann.”

  She smiled. He was so f
ormal! And she remembered then that they did not know who she was. “Greetings, Herr Kellermann, Herr Cody.” She made a little bow. “My name is Giselle Schnittel.”

  Kellermann gave her a little bow from the waist. But Cody flamboyantly captured her hand, and with a roguish look, kissed it. She snatched it back, but couldn’t help but smile at him. He winked.

  Kellermann cleared his throat, and she politely turned her attention back to him. “I was working as the assistant manager and under-concierge of the Hotel Splendido, in Bagni di Rabbi, a spa town in Italy near the Austrian border, when this show came into our town. As it happened, the show was managed by a complete scoundrel, who, the day before the show was to leave and cross the border into Austria, ran off with every bit of money he could get his hands on. Cody and some of the other stars of the show were staying at my hotel, and since I speak English and Italian as well as our native tongue, and because I had come, in that brief time of acquaintance, to consider him a friend, I took on the task of explaining the situation to the authorities and everyone else.”

  Cody said something at length to Heinrich, once again gesturing broadly. Heinrich nodded, then turned back to her when Cody paused for a pull at his beer.

  “I have to say that my confidence in my American friends was not misplaced. The show remained to pay their debts. Despite sometimes lackluster ticket sales, the Captain and his company did not leave until all debts were paid.” He seemed as proud of that as if he himself had accomplished it.

  “That’s more than honorable!” she exclaimed, as the sylphs continued to dance about over her head. The owl on the Indian’s shoulder watched them with bemusement, but of course, no one else could see them.

  “Indeed. But once that happened, the company split up, to an extent. Word of their misfortune had spread, and several recruiters arrived with offers. About half the troupe left for other shows or smaller exhibitions, taking only their personal baggage. This left the rest with no money to return home and no good prospects except to somehow continue on. And with that, the Captain offered me the opportunity to manage what was left of the show.” He shrugged. “Foolish of me, perhaps, to give up my position, which was secure.”

  “If your position was secure—” she raised an eyebrow.

  “It was a boring little Alpine hotel,” he replied. “And it was unlikely I would succeed to the position of manager or concierge until I was sprouting gray hairs. I had always wanted to be in the theater, and here was my chance! I knew that my own countrymen were keen on the American frontier, so I made certain of the original bookings, then made some more arrangements through the trade papers and friends, and here we are.”

  “Do you really think you can make enough money for all of these people to return home?” she asked, concerned. It was one thing for the sylphs to be agitating for her to join this show . . . but they had offered her what seemed to be a ridiculously huge sum of money, when they had only just extricated themselves from large debts.

  “Absolutely,” he replied with confidence. “It will take time, but we will. You understand, it is not enough merely to earn the money to return home for these good people. That would be a failure. They must return home with something substantial to show as well. If not a fortune, certainly enough to live on comfortably for some time, perhaps to purchase ranches or businesses of their own.”

  The Captain got them all another beer, and Kellermann paused to speak to him in English for some time. Cody’s brows creased and he said something anxiously, then turned to her and repeated it, even though he surely knew she didn’t understand a word he was saying.

  “The Captain is most anxious to learn whether or not you will join us, fraulein—” Kellermann began—when he was interrupted by the Indian. That worthy gentleman spoke only a few words, in comparison with the Captain, but Kellermann’s eyes widened and he glanced from one side to the other before leaning over the table toward her.

  “Chief Leading Fox says you are not just a sure-shot, you are a magician . . .” he whispered. “Like him.”

  She sat up as straight as if an electric current from a nearby thunderbolt had passed through her. In fact, it felt rather as if one had. “He said—” She glanced up at her sylphs. They were all nodding, eagerly. She looked back down. “You know about magicians?” she demanded.

  Slowly, Kellermann nodded. “I was not blessed—or cursed—with that myself. But I have relatives among the Bruderschaft der Förster.”

  And it was Cody who now leaned over the table, and added, in a confidential tone, something she (of course) could not understand.

  “The Captain says to tell you that although he is not a great magician like Chief Leading Fox, he has some small abilities with fire himself.” Kellermann’s face showed no sign that he was trying to fool her—but still—this seemed altogether too convenient.

  Could they all be trying to trick her, just to get her to join the show? Did they need her that badly?

  Then she went cold all over, as she remembered another man who had seemed kind and amusing, and had only wanted to trick her into giving him access to her tower—and her—

  But before she could move or speak or—well, anything, really—the Captain was peeling off his long, fawn-colored, fringed leather gauntlet from his right hand. He closed it into a fist, briefly, then opened it.

  In the center of his palm, a little flame danced.

  The Indian made a little sound of approval as she stared, mesmerized, at the flame. Which was not just a “flame” at all, really, for it was easy for her to see that in the heart of it, there was a little fairy-like creature, nude but for her long hair, performing a little dance of her own.

  The Captain closed his hand, gently, and when he opened it, the Fire Elemental was gone. He put his glove back on, and gave her a long and solemn wink.

  “So,” said Kellermann, after a very, very long pause. He regarded her, as she tried to get her head around the fact that not just the Indian but apparently several of these people knew about magic. “Now will you join us?”

  She licked lips gone dry, but from excitement now, not fear. “I would be very glad to do so. It seems I have stumbled on a place where I am a perfect match in all things.”

  It seemed the Captain did not need Kellermann’s translation. As soon as she finished, he whooped, pulled off his hat, and slapped his leg with it in glee.

  5

  CAPTAIN Cody was, as they said in the Karl May books, a “man of action.” As soon as he had her agreement, he jumped up and opened the front of the tent, barking orders to someone outside. A moment later, two sturdy, dark-complexioned men appeared. One was still in his fringed leather from the show, the other in dark, worn trousers and a faded plaid shirt.

  “Would you prefer a tent, or a wagon?” Kellermann asked her. “The wagon will be better in bad weather and afford more privacy, the tent will be more spacious.”

  “Wagon, please,” she said, and Cody issued unintelligible orders to the men, who nodded and ambled off. “Well, now we must get your signature on a contract, and then go to our surplus wardrobe and get you outfitted.” He stood up, and so did she. “Then we will go to the mess tent and introduce you to the company and get you fed, and by then your wagon will be ready and you can settle into it.” He rubbed his hands together with immense satisfaction.

  “But—I don’t understand English—” she protested, the main problem facing her suddenly occurring to her. “How am I to feign being a frontierswoman when I cannot understand English?”

  Never mind all the problems of trying to join an ongoing production!

  Kellermann smacked himself in the middle of his forehead, and turned to Cody. But he had not gotten more than a few words out when Cody and the Indian both broke up with laughter.

  Kellermann looked baffled. He looked even more baffled when Cody gave him some sort of explanation. “He says—and fraulein, I have no idea how t
his is to be done, but I have seen amazing things and I have no reason to doubt—that Chief Leading Fox will teach you English and Pawnee tonight.”

  English? And Pawnee? She turned to look at the Indian, who chuckled slightly, and nodded, then said a few words himself.

  Kellermann just shook his head. “And he says that somehow, you will be teaching him and the Captain German. I look forward to seeing the results of this miracle.”

  And so am I. . . .

  But she was given no time to think. Kellermann, trailed by the Captain and the Chief, took her to the wagon that served as his office and translated the simple little contract for her before she signed it. Then they all made their way to a spot in the Army Camp where a wagon and another, larger tent were presided over by a trio of black-haired women, who listened to Cody, then took charge of her. They took her into the tent and pantomimed that she was to undress. She stripped to her underthings, which seemed to satisfy them. They measured her all over by means of strings, then two of them disappeared and reappeared with armloads of costumes.

  She had thought that Tante Gretchen’s hunting suit was practical, but now she saw garments that were, if possible, even more comfortable and practical. Well, that did make sense. Women could not do all the things they had to do on the frontier if they were burdened with corsets and lace and ribbons and bustles and overskirts and . . . well, things. She quickly realized, as she was fitted not only with fringed skirts that only came to her knee, leggings, and fringed and embroidered shirtwaists, but with what looked like the same sort of costume that the Indian women had been wearing in the parade, and one of the voluminous satin skirts and blouses of the Quadrille, that she must be doing double and triple roles. Well, I’d rather be doing something than sitting about, she decided.

  Once the costumes were fitted to the three ladies’ satisfaction, they more or less helped her dress and shoved her out the tent flap into the hands of the three men who were waiting patiently for her.