by Laura Lam
He breathed hard. "My shoulder. And – my arm," he managed. Even within his coat I could tell the arm was bending in a way it should not.
"Can you walk? We're not far from home? Should I call the Constabulary? Oh, Cyril, I'm so sorry."
I heard muffled shouting from up above. Several people in the scaffolded tenement and the building across from it had opened their windows. They were gaping at the two long swathes of light left by my hands as I slid down the Penglass. Oh, Styx.
"Cyril, I don't think the Constabulary is an option anymore," I said. "We have to get out of here."
My brother sat upright and gasped with pain. I put his good arm around my shoulders and hauled him upright, thankful that I was stronger than I looked. We hobbled home, Cyril grunting in pain. At one point, he staggered, and I fell against another Penglass dome.
I knew before I pulled my hand away that it would be glowing beneath my touch.
13
SUMMER:
THE GIRL IN THE NEWSPAPER
"The prognosis for Miss Laurus is difficult, but my plan of action is the correct one. She has not yet reached menarche, and may not be able to do so. Yet according to her parents, her behavior and appearance has been growing steadily more male. I have received confirmation of this treatment from several other esteemed doctors, including a doctor who has already treated her, Dr Birchswitch, and even a foreign correspondence with the Royal Physician himself."
UNPUBLISHED MEDICAL NOTES, DR LEONARD AMBROSE
"I feel like I'm going to be sick," I said, bowed over my breakfast.
"How much did you drink last night, Micah?" Arik asked, poking me in the shoulder.
"I don't remember," I said, covering my eyes with my hands. I barely recalled the bonfire.
"I've had more than my fair share of sore heads the next morning. You should eat something, drink plenty of water, and go into town and have a beer or two," Arik said. "Works every time."
My stomach clenched at the thought. "Maybe some water," I said. I drank a glass of water, managed one spoonful of porridge, and staggered to my cart to lie in darkness until practice began.
I dozed, dreaming of nothing, for once. I woke at noon, groaning and blinking. I promised myself I would never drink another drop of alcohol as long as I lived.
I struggled into my clothes and stumbled to the cook's tent. I was starved and ate the cold cut sandwiches with glee, not caring that the bread was stale and the ham dry. The food turned to sawdust in my mouth, mid-chew, as I saw the open newspaper on the table. I swallowed with effort and moved my plate on the front page hurriedly, hoping that Arik and Aenea had not seen my face staring out from the ink.
Arik discussed his plans for our training after lunch. I could not hear him, my heart thudded so loudly in my skull.
"Are you all right?" Aenea asked, laying her hand on my shoulder.
"I think… I think I'm going to be sick," I muttered, and I thought I would be.
Arik and Aenea looked alarmed. My face must have been ashen. I clutched the newspaper and my plate and staggered away, nearly throwing the plate to the cook as I made my way back to my cart to read the news article that might end my new life in the circus.
I held the newspaper with trembling hands.
SCANDAL! YOUNG NOBLEWOMAN OFFICIALLY DECLARED MISSING
Words by correspondent Charles Hodsworth
Authorities are questioning the Laurus family of Sicion after it has been revealed that their daughter, Miss Iphigenia Laurus, had gone missing several weeks ago and the parents had not reported her disappearance to the Policiers. Friends and acquaintances, when inquiring after Iphigenia, were told that she had been sent to Primrose, a remote finishing school in the Emerald Bowl for a semester. But when a concerned family friend sent a missive to the school and discovered that Iphigenia was not an enrolled pupil, the friend alerted authorities. The Constabulary had already begun a covert search for the missing Laurus daughter.
The Laurus family declined to state why they had not felt the need to announce the disappearance of their only daughter, though they did state they had also hired a Shadow to discover her whereabouts directly after her disappearance. They claimed to have several leads, which they have now shared with the Policiers. The Laurus family insisted they love and miss their daughter very much and had reasons for keeping her disappearance out of the public eye.
Iphigenia Laurus is sixteen years of age, tall and slim with auburn hair and hazel eyes. She vanished from her home in Sicion on the night of 17th of Eral. Foul play may have transpired. Information leading to the discovery of Miss Iphigenia Laurus will result in a substantial reward. Please contact your local Policier station if you know anything to help authorities find young Iphigenia.
"Oh no," I breathed, my head suddenly all too clear. Bile rose to my mouth. Crumpling the newspaper in my hands, I struggled to keep hold of my lunch, my thoughts scurrying about my head.
I already knew that the Constabulary was looking for me, but my eyes kept returning to the phrase "hired a Shadow." A Shadow worked outside the law. They did not need probable cause. A Shadow could whisk me away from the circus and deposit me back home.
I looked again at my face, trying to be rational. The photo had been taken a year ago. My face was fuller, surlier. My long hair had been curled about my face, with flowers and ribbons plaited into it. I wore a high-necked lace gown and rouge and cosmetics Mother had forced me to wear. I looked uncomfortable in my skin. In the tarnished mirror of the cart, a very different face gazed at me now. My face was thinner, and my body taller and more muscular. Looking at the photo, someone would see my hair and the lace, and not necessarily me.
But if someone looked close enough, they would be able to tell. And plenty of people would hazard a guess for the chance of gold or silver. Everyone knew I could read and that I came from money. The people I worked with were uneducated, not stupid. Eventually, someone might remember that I joined the circus at the end of Eral, that I never visited the bathing cart.
Someone might notice a little too much.
• • • •
That night, I had a bad belly and did not go to the aftershow bonfire. I lay on my pallet, cursing the cramps that radiated through my lower stomach. A bad meal and I had missed an entire day's practice and had to find someone else to cover for my animal-caring duties. Even more humiliating had been begging others, bowed over in pain, to cover for me. I asked half of the circus before I found Drystan and he offered to help.
"Are you all right, Micah?" he asked me.
"Fine," I managed. "Ate something bad, I think."
His brow furrowed. "That's odd. I feel all right, and we ate the same lunch."
"Maybe Jive smuggled something in my food that he shouldn't have. I wouldn't put it past him."
Drystan narrowed his eyes at me. "Perhaps. I'm sure it's nothing serious."
From the way he said it, I wondered if he knew more than me. But he only smiled at my puzzled glance.
"I'll take care of the animals, Micah, don't worry about it. Go rest."
The cook gave me a piece of ginger root to chew, telling me it would ease a sour stomach. It did not help.
Throughout the afternoon I had slept, fitfully, dreaming of distorted circus folk chasing me through the freakshow tent, ripping my clothes from me, putting me into a cage and feeding me Saitha's peanuts before my parents finally came to take me away to Doctor Ambrose. I woke up drenched in a cold sweat.
The pain became too much to bear and I dragged myself from the pallet. Mid-crouch, I paused, aghast. There was a small bloodstain on the pallet. I looked down and saw the stain echoed on the crotch of my trousers.
"No," I whispered. I put a shaky hand between my legs. My fingers came away blushed with blood. My breath was shallow. This was not supposed to happen.
Anna Yew had told me about moon blood. My mother never spoke to me of things like that. Anna loved to complain about how pained she was by the "woman's trial," taking to bed
the first day of her cycle with a damp cloth against her forehead and a bladder of hot water against her stomach, a box of chocolates at the ready on her bedside table.
She had looked sympathetic when I said that mine had not started, putting her hand on my arm and saying that some girls started later than others. Anna had started very young.
I had grown to doubt such a thing would happen to me. I had thought that I was not woman enough. As time passed, I only seemed to grow more male. My voice had lowered, occasionally cracking when I spoke. A small layer of down sprouted on my cheeks.
I stood there, blood on my hands, more scared than I had ever been. I did not know what to do next, and I had no one to turn to. I fought back a sob. Did it mean I would be able to bear a child someday, if I so desired? The thought was terrifying.
Snatching my discarded trousers and the thin sheet I put over my pallet, I stuffed them into a bag. Thank the Lord and Lady the blood had not soaked through to the straw ticking. I wiped my hands on an old rag and stuffed it between my legs and pulled on my only other pair of trousers. Holding the sack close to me, I snuck out of the cart and down to the water's edge.
I walked far enough down the beach that no one from the circus would be likely to see me. I shivered as I scrubbed my trousers and the sheet with sand. The cold water removed all traces of blood.
I went to the laundry cart to wash the salt from the cloth. Mara entered with an armful of washing just after I had thrown my sheet and clothes into the tub. She did not look at me and hummed under her breath as she worked.
I rubbed lye into the trousers and scrubbed them as hard as I could against the washing board.
"You're going to wear holes in them like that."
I looked down. My knuckles were bright red from the lye and the cold.
"Sorry," I said, unsure what else to say.
She gave an amused sound, something between a cough and a snort, and fished out a blue and black costume and worked it against the board.
I hung the washing on the door of my cart and more cramps ripped through my abdomen. I crouched down and gasped with the pain, wondering how women could bear it.
Crossing my arms over my stomach, I staggered to Bil's carts hoping he was still at the bonfire. Bil aligned two carts with a corridor of canvas to make three rooms: a "reception room" with two worn wooden seats in the middle, an office, and his sleeping quarters. I stood in the reception area at the door to his office, my hand resting on the doorknob. I was not sure if Bil would be there, but I thought the door would be locked.
The doorknob turned, to my surprise. Not the best security. A cramp clutched my belly and I opened the door. The cart was dark and smoky. Opulent rugs covered the wooden floor in front of me, sand ground into the swirling designs. I took one step to find Frit in front of the open safe, a hand full of gold coins, and the other holding the Vestige golden monkey. She had a little open chest by her feet filled with more coins. I froze.
She started in surprise, throwing the coins back into the safe – which was emptier than I would have expected – and knocking closed the lid of the chest. "What do you want?" she asked. She still clutched the golden monkey.
"I, um, need something from the medicine cabinet," I said.
She swallowed and gestured toward the cabinet. "Help yourself."
I walked to the small chest and picked up bottles, squinting to read their labels and until I found the one for pain. I could feel Frit's eyes on me and gooseflesh rose on my arms. I choked a spoonful of the medicine, making a face at the horrible taste.
I turned to leave, but something stopped me. Curiosity, perhaps. Frit looked so guilty, but her gaze was hungry. The Vestige monkey sat like a little human on her lap, its face turned towards mine. I felt inexplicably drawn to it.
"Can… I see the figurine?" I asked, gesturing to the golden monkey, as if finding her with her hand in the safe had never happened.
She passed it to me. "Don't turn it on, please." she said. "The power's nearly out." Once the power was out, it would likely never move again. Extra power packs were rare and dear.
It felt light in my hands. The detail was exquisite, from each carved strand of fur to the little pores on its nose. I passed it to her. Frit gave me a wavering smile as she tucked it into the safe. Aside from the coins, I noticed the smoke machine and a few other Vestige circus props. She took out a flat disc of metal that glowed like a rainbow in the gaslight.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked.
I shook my head. She held it out to me.
"It's the Phantom Damselfly."
I jerked my hand away. "The ghost?"
She made a sound that was almost a laugh. "It's no ghost, except a memory of the past. Probably just an illusion or a parlor trick for the Alders. I convinced Bil to stop the haunted tent. It wasn't making enough to justify the expense, and eventually someone would have realized what it was and stolen it." She turned the disc around in her hands. It had a small button in the middle.
"It never speaks, does it?" I asked.
She shook her head, setting the disc back into the safe. "No, of course not. It's just a projection. Why?"
"No reason." We lapsed into silence. Frit rubbed her fingers together. The awkwardness grew. "Thank you for the pain medicine."
"What did you need it for?"
"My head aches terribly."
"What you took doesn't help too well with that, I'm afraid. It's better for body pains." She fastened the door of the safe and stood. "I'll get you some tablets." She went to the medicine cabinet and shook out a few pills from a bottle, which she set down on top of a newspaper. I swallowed. It was yesterday's newspaper. Frit's gaze fell onto the photograph of my former self. She stared at it for a long moment, and then met my gaze. Her eyes flicked to the newspaper and to my face. She passed me the tablets. I clutched them in a sweaty palm.
She knew.
When she spoke, she kept her voice carefully neutral. "You didn't see me here tonight. You'll speak of this to no one."
"I won't," I promised, my hand on the doorknob again. "It's nothing to do with me." But it was to do with me. My wages were in that little chest. And whatever Frit wanted those coins for, I knew it was not for the circus.
"You can't judge me," she said. I twisted toward her.
"I'm not."
"You are. But you can't judge me. You don't know."
"What don't I know?" I asked.
Frit pulled back the shoulder of her dress. A mottled bruise was there, just beginning to yellow at the edges. In the dim light of the tent, she slumped forward, as if the act of sitting up was too much. She looked both older and younger than she was.
"He seems to always treat you like a queen," I said, remembering Bil doting on Frit, bringing her flowers, dancing with her at the after-hours parties.
"Some of the time, he does."
And the rest of the time, he does not. The words floated through the air between us.
"You can't judge me," she said again, a waver in her voice.
"Believe me, I do not."
She smiled at me, and it was the first genuine smile I had ever seen from her. "We're all entitled to our secrets. Aren't we… Micah?" It was not a threat. Not quite.
"We are," I said. The door clicked shut behind me.
14
SUMMER: STRAW HOUSE
"Moonstone gin is only one small step from Moonshine."
WELL-KNOWN ELLADAN SAYING
One night, our circus sold out. Every seat was filled, and some sat in the aisles or on the hard rock at the edges of the ring.
This was a rare occasion for our circus; there was no room for that many seats to begin with. Most of the poor could not afford tickets. Many of the rich found it too low-brow an entertainment to trouble themselves with. The middle class were too tired after their ten hours of work that day.
But today, it was full. The local schools had just released their pupils for four weeks of freedom, and many children had been taken b
y their parents to celebrate, or they had snuck out to go on their own.
More people were in Imachara as well for the week of the international market. It brought larger numbers to the city center, the beach, and therefore the circus. For these few weeks, everyone ate food fresh off the boat from Byssia and the other colonies, rather than nearby Girit.
In keeping with the spirit, many men wore imported silk cravats and women dressed in jewel-toned robes and wore headdresses of bright plumage. Balls were held in Imachara and Sicion with international themes. I went to one last year at my mother's insistence and wore a violet dress and a mask made of gold, purple, and blue feathers and flowers in my hair. When the market left, things returned to normal, save for a few lingering feathers.