by Patty Jansen
“Someone spotted my daughter in the eating house at the Civic corner yesterday.”
“That was my fault, I—”
“I was given assurance that she would be provided with food by the theatre company.”
“That is what normally happens, but yesterday the food ran out, so I asked her to come with me. If that was the wrong thing to do, my apologies. I didn’t know.” Heck, this had to be the strangest family she had come across.
He nodded. Whether it was an agreement or acknowledgement she didn’t know. “You said my daughter’s work was good?”
“Yes, it is. It’s very good. She knows a lot about period costumes and knows all the details. She will be an asset to the theatre. If you’re concerned about something, I will personally make sure that she is looked after in the way you want.”
He thought about that for a while. “Your personal guarantee, right?”
“Yes.”
“Your guarantee that she won’t mingle with people from outside the theatre?”
“If that is your wish, yes.” Not that she could see why, but that was another story.
He met her gaze squarely and she returned the stare of those pale blue eyes. If this was how he treated his family, no wonder his previous wife had walked out on him.
“Maybe my daughter doesn’t want to work for the theatre anymore.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk over her head. Ask her.”
“My daughter does not deserve the option of answering questions.”
Sariandra’s cheeks grew even redder.
What the hell was going on here? Ellisandra had to bite her tongue. If she hadn’t needed Sariandra so badly, she would have shown him a piece of her mind, and it wouldn’t have been a very nice piece, either. “I will guarantee that she doesn’t leave the theatre anymore, except with one of us on theatre business. Can I point out that she was on work business yesterday. We discussed the play.”
His lips twitched.
“It’s not going to look good if she is to withdraw from the production now. We have enough trouble already finding the right people.” Like good musicians for that blasted orchestra. “I can’t afford to lose anyone. This is for the council year’s opening. The play is a favourite of Nemedor Satarin’s. He’s been watching our rehearsals.”
He blew out a deep breath. “You promise?”
“Yes, I promise. And I’d like to take her back with me right now. The production isn’t too far away and we really can’t waste time.”
He laughed. “And I’m wasting your time.”
Oops. Her cheeks grew hot. “We are a theatre company. We don’t have parties, we don’t go out. No one drinks at work. We don’t discuss politics. I’m about business. I need the play to be performed. I need costumes to be made.”
“You amuse me. All right. Take her. But if anything happens to her it will be on your watch.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“Can I go?” Sariandra asked, her wide-eyed gaze on her father.
“If you wish.”
Sariandra shot up from the table as if she had been sitting on a spring. She ran into the hallway, simultaneously wiping tears from her face.
Ellisandra followed after having made polite farewells. In the hallway, she was almost swept off her feet by Sariandra’s hug.
“Whoa, whoa, calm down.”
“Thank you, thank you. I want to go back so badly!”
“Well, be quiet now. Let’s go.”
Without speaking much, they put on their boots and cloaks, walked through the yard to the gate and into the street.
“Thank you so much for coming. I’ll be grateful forever. I thought he was going to lock me up, and—”
“I don’t know what is wrong with going outside for something to eat or why he kept you home. I’m not sure I want to know or that you should tell me, but you can stay at the theatre for as long as you like.” Then she remembered something Asitho had said. “Are you getting married soon?”
“Yes.” The joy vanished from her eyes. Her shoulders slumped.
“Did you know that when you came to us?” How old was she anyway? Too young to be married, Ellisandra thought.
“No, it was only recently arranged.” Sariandra sniffed.
Ellisandra put an arm around her shoulders.
So, here was another girl being married off to stop her from being wilful. And being wilful in Asitho Bisumar’s house obviously justified being married off to the first available candidate.
14
ON THE WALK back to the theatre, Sariandra chatted about dresses and fabrics and in fact wouldn’t shut up, so that Ellisandra suspected she didn’t want to be quizzed about what had been going on at home. But her cheeks were red and she seemed happy and Ellisandra didn’t need to know any more. She knew what older men did to their daughters when they failed to obey. The fact that she could see no bruises didn’t mean that there were none. The fact that Asitho’s former wife was a very timid woman who had felt so desperate that she had seen no other option but to leave was another sign. Everyone knew that he was a hardline manipulative bastard.
To be honest, she didn’t understand why Nemedor Satarin was happy to have this arrogant, controlling prick in the High Council. She thought better of him. She thought better of all the other councillors, too, but obviously, they were standing by while all this had gone on. They’d even promoted Asitho Bisumar to the High Council after his former wife had made no secret of how he had treated her. Come to think of it, did Sariandra’s mother ever leave the house? Were their lives worthless just because they were Endri women?
Damn it, she was getting really angry about this. That slow-burning anger that got her into trouble.
It started to snow again, a heavy drift of fine snowflakes that whirled in the wind and added to the snow banks already on the lee side of walls.
In the draughty halls and passages of the theatre, it felt like it was only marginally warmer inside than outside. A couple of men walked past carrying wire webbing of the type that Loret would hammer to constructed frames. He would then cover these with fabric and spread cement over the fabric until it resembled an old wall or rock face or whatever the script required. He had become really good at making these backgrounds.
Strains of music came from the main hall, mixed with the sounds of hammering.
That was odd. They looked like Loret’s men. They were not supposed to be here until later.
While Sariandra went upstairs, Ellisandra went through the backstage area onto the main stage and found Loret and his team working there. The stage itself was a giant revolving platform, subdivided into three sections that would be turned for each act. Loret and his men were on the section of the platform that would display the setting for the final act.
“What are you doing here?” Ellisandra asked.
“ ’S no work when it’s snowing like this. ’S too dangerous, so we thought we’d make a start here. Found th’ drawings on yer desk. Sorry if I wasn’ supposed t’ go into th’ room, lady.”
“It’s fine. You’re a gem, Loret. You know that.”
He grinned a gap-toothed grin.
That was why she liked this team. They needed no explanation or instructions, because they had done this type of work before and they were competent and independent workers.
She and Loret spent some time discussing the building of the fake prison based on Ellisandra’s rough sketches: where the main wall needed to go, what the floor should be made out of, because if she went ahead with her interpretation of the play, she wanted the fake blood to pool and drip off rather than be absorbed.
Loret suggested, “We could put a layer of wax on th’ boards. That would make them water-repellent.”
Then they discussed how many cell doors there should be in the main wall, where the lighting was going to be and how much light the set required.
“It should be fairly dark because we’re supposed to be underground. You remember how you did that old house last time with th
e mossy-looking walls? It would be great if you could make something like that.”
Loret said that he could and Ellisandra was happy with progress made here.
At least this part of the production seemed under control.
When Ellisandra was about to go to the office, she noticed a single person sitting in the middle of the many empty rows of audience seats.
It was Vayra.
She froze.
He sat huddled in a thick cloak, one of the heavy, mottled type. His silver hair hung loose over his shoulders. The golden tinge wasn’t as obvious in the semidarkness of the hall. There was nothing in his face or clothing that suggested he wasn’t a Mirani Endri.
She hadn’t noticed him before. Had he been sitting there watching all the time she was on the stage?
Loret must have seen her watch him. “That’s jus’ our other boss. Youz know him, right? He’s got nothing t’ do either, what with th’ guards crawling all over th’ site trying t’ find th’ thieves who took off with his building materials.”
“I heard a bit about that. Were many things stolen?”
“Enough t’ create trouble.”
“That’s terrible. Has anyone been caught yet?”
“No, but some things have already been found, ’cause it was easy t’ follow th’ tracks of stuff being dragged through th’ snow. Looks like they jus’ wanted t’ disrupt us. A warning, like. They’d have been jealous workers, ’cause we got th’ good jobs.”
That was just one of the possibilities. She could think of many more disturbing scenarios, some involving both her brothers. “Has he reported it to the guards?”
“He doesn’ work like that. He went t’ th’ markets to hire some guards. He doesn’ trust th’ guards. I wouldn’ either, if I were him.”
Did she detect a measure of loyalty to a foreigner in his words?
Loret seemed to understand what she was thinking. “It’s a beautiful house he’s building, lady. I’d hate people t’ destroy th’ work. Besides, he’s going all th’ right things by us. No one else is payin’ us that much, and giving us damn good soup, if youz pardon th’ expression.”
Vayra met her eyes across the empty rows of seating. She could probably have told him that he was going to have trouble.
Ellisandra wasn’t sure if she should go to him, or if talking to him could have any unforeseen consequences. For one, if people saw her taking to him, they might tell Nemedor Satarin and he might come back to bother her with questions. Also, she was sure that Vayra didn’t meet the “approved persons” list that Asitho allowed to come into contact with his daughter. If word got out that he’d been inside the theatre at the same time Sariandra was in the building, would she be berated for it?
And then she was angry with herself that she should care about something like that. This dancing to influential men’s orders was not something she either liked or was very good at.
It wouldn’t worry her so much if Asitho Bisumar didn’t control much of the theatre’s funding. She’d be happy to jeopardise her own livelihood by talking back to him, but not that of her colleagues.
While she stood there in indecision, Vayra solved her dilemma by rising and coming to the edge of the stage. He gave a little formal bow. “Good morning, lady.” His sand-coloured eyes met hers. “Good morning.” What a strange colour. Any brown eyes she had seen had been dark brown. His eyes were pale brown in the way Endri eyes were pale blue.
“My apologies if I unnerve you or your workers. Unfortunately, there won’t be much work done on the house today with this weather.”
Interesting that he said nothing about the thievery. He had to have some idea of the feelings of distrust people had towards him.
He continued, “Changing Fate is not an easy play to pull off well.” He looked around the stage. “I look forward to seeing the performance. I’ve seen only a recording.”
“Recordings exist?” She had never heard of any.
“Yes, as part of the cultural education program, the Mirani council used to pay for all plays to be recorded. There is an archive of them which you can access if you know where to look. You can watch all the plays. It’s a bit old and the quality is not the best. The recording of Changing Fate is from before I was born.”
“When did you watch this?”
“When I was a boy. My teacher made me watch all the classic plays. I think they show a fascinating side of the history of that time. The fear of the other is palpable in those plays.”
Hang on. “You watched the plays as part of your schooling in Barresh?”
“I had a very thorough teacher.” He smiled.
Now that was unnerving. Not even Mirani children watched more than one or two classic plays. They usually did so when the theatre had school days, and they performed an easily accessible play, like The Invasion.
“Why?”
“Because they’re beautiful. I love Mirani theatre. Is that wrong?”
“Well, no, of course not, but . . .”
“You’ve always been forced to watch plays as a kid and most people here think they’re boring?”
She chuckled. “Pretty much. I like them, though. They’re full of drama.”
“Of course. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
Truth be told, she loved working in the theatre much more than the actual plays. She loved the independence, she loved completing a production. As far as the art was concerned, she would love to work in modern theatre, but there just wasn’t the money in it. The classics were history, the modern pieces were political commentary, and everyone knew what the council had to say about that.
There was a small, awkward silence, in which Ellisandra really wanted to say that she should go back upstairs and continue to work, but was afraid he might consider it impolite. She could ask about the break-in, but he might say something that she didn’t want to have to report to the council.
Again, he solved the awkwardness. “I was wondering . . . The weather is going to be pretty foul for the next couple of days. Could you use an extra player in the orchestra?”
“Do you play?”
“I’ve played quite a lot of Mirani music.”
“What instrument?”
“The flute.”
Yes! “Are you any good?” She tried not to sound too keen. It would be too much to hope for that his skills were adequate.
“I’m competent.”
“Come with me.” She jerked her head at the backstage area. He ran to the side stairs and climbed up. Again, she noticed just how tall he was. Easily as tall as Enzo. Very Endri.
In the back room, the orchestra was just taking a break, with most of the players gathered around a trolley where one of the theatre people was serving tea and cakes. The room was filled with chatter and laughter.
Aleyo stood at the conductor’s dais, flicking through the score. When Ellisandra came in with her charge, she raised her eyebrows over the sea of empty chairs.
“Can we borrow a flute?”
One of the players put her tea down and went to get her instrument, which she handed to Ellisandra.
Vayra took it from her.
“You want a score?”
He shook his head. He raised the instrument to his mouth, closed his eyes and started playing. Within a few notes, she recognised the solo from the Lover’s Dance. The warm notes filled the hall. The musicians who were gathered around the tea trolley stopped chatting and turned to watch. Tolaki appeared at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. Her mouth fell open. Even Aleyo, who would normally rather die than admit that someone else did something right, was looking on with more than casual interest. She would know very well that the orchestra had problems.
More and more people were coming into the hall, crowding around others. The builders, the seamstresses, the other theatre workers. Everyone looked on with wide eyes.
When Vayra had finished there was a moment of intense silence in which the last note died in the echoes of the building.
> Then one of the orchestra players cheered, and someone else started clapping, and soon, everyone in the hall applauded, including Aleyo.
Vayra gave a flourishing bow, and handed the flute back to its owner. The lady blushed.
Ellisandra knew two things: one, they needed him badly, and two, she had secretly hoped that his playing wouldn’t be any good so that she wouldn’t have to face the decision of whether it was appropriate to have a foreigner play in a Mirani theatre performance.
He rejoined her. “Do you think I passed?”
“You call that merely competent? Where did you learn to play like that?”
“Our teachers made us play music. Playing instruments is very important in Barresh.”
“But Mirani music?”
“All kinds of music. Rest assured that we spent enough time being taught betanka rhythms as well.”
She repeated the strange word. “Betanka?”
“It’s a five-beat dance rhythm, native to Barresh. It goes like this.” He went over to a chair and beat a rhythm on the seat of three beats and then two and then three and two. “And there are variations like this.” He made some of the beats shorter or longer, while they still fit in that basic three-two pattern. “Someone beats this on a drum and there is music over the top.” He kept beating the rhythm and sang a strange tune with words in a language she had never heard before and that she was sure had never been spoken between these walls. “The trick is to never lose your rhythm, no matter what you do and what happens.”
He said all this while still beating the seat of the chair.
“It’s Pengali dance music, but it’s very popular with visitors, including many Mirani Nikala who work in Barresh.”
“Pengali?”
“They’re one of the two native peoples of Barresh. They’re quite small, nocturnal and have patterned skin and tails.”
“Tails?”
Maramarang had tails, which broadened out with flanges in flight. They used them for steering. Tiyuk had tails, but only very short furry ones. They were said to cover the animal’s private parts in cold weather. But people with tails?
“They use them for sign language and for picking up things.”