Pantomime

by Laura Lam

  "Things are going well, indeed they are, my fools and friends," Bil said, beaming. "Tonight, we celebrate! Two extra casks of ale cracked!" We cheered, but not quite as loudly.

  "That is what Bil considers a bonus," Aenea whispered in my ear.

  "I've heard him mention bonuses before," I murmured.

  "That's all he does, is mention them. He conveniently forgets or says the money has already been spent by the time the season comes to an end."

  I remembered the open safe in Bil's tent, the clink of gold in Frit's long, thin fingers. Frit remembered this as well. When I looked at her, her dark eyes were already boring into mine from her drawn face. She shook her head ever so slightly.

  Bil noticed the lack of enthusiasm. "Why the long faces? This is a night to celebrate."

  There was a pause, but then: "Our pockets do not celebrate," the young contortionist, Mara, said loudly. I was a bit surprised. From what I had gathered from watching her, she was a young girl who frequently spoke but often did not have much of import to say. She stood.

  "Pardon me, Miss Mara?" Bil said with exaggerated politeness. "Perhaps I misheard you?"

  "I've spent years in the circus, now," Mara said, dragging a toe over the sandy rock. "You promise bonuses, but you never give 'em. I understood the first year – I was new, and we was still a small circus. Sometimes the seats was over half empty… but this year, it's different. The circus is doing better than ever. I'm happy for you and for every member of the circus. We all worked so hard… shouldn't we all be rewarded?" It was an obviously rehearsed speech, and Mara glanced over her shoulder at other contortionists and acrobats, who nodded encouragingly.

  Bil laughed, and it appeared warm and genuine. "This circus is doing well just now, m'dear Mara, but what happens when we're practicing for the new acts for Imachara in Cowl next month?" He hitched his thumbs under his suspenders and leaned forward. "I'll be honest with all of you. Who pays for the great expense of packing and unpacking the circus, of the train that takes us from town to town? We put on shows up the coast, most of which are empty because the entire population of the town could fit in the tent with room to spare. I pay for it because it's practice, valuable practice, whether an audience is there or not.

  "And I have accrued such debts from the years when this circus did poorly, and the creditors howl and scratch like cats if I cannot pay. I paid you when I could not pay myself. It was a struggle to support my wife. You have no idea, little Mara, the true costs of running a circus. It is more than you could possibly imagine." He had kept the small smile on his face and earnest set of his eyebrows, which, while he wore his full Ringmaster regalia, made him look like a possessed nutcracker.

  It was a convincing speech and I looked around to see a scattering of heads nodding. The circus was nearly on the brink of financial ruin, but I knew why – it was because Bil bought Vestige, and because Frit was skimming off the top. I could still feel her gaze on me.

  Mara's slight shoulders sagged, her shoulder blades jutting against her thin costume. She was so small, especially next to Bil. But she drew herself up and tilted her chin up at Bil. "That may be so, but the numbers still don't make no sense. If everyone who comes to see the circus pays enough to get in and then buys food and games at the carnival…"

  She trailed off as Bil began to slowly shake his head from side to side and chuckle. His chuckle grew into a laugh that echoed deep within his chest.

  "You're an uneducated girl from Niral, Mara, and you and your little friends have no idea of the true costs of a circus. None. I will pay bonuses, and I will pay them when I can. Would you rather have bonuses and no job next season?" The performers exchanged glances, looked away from little Mara. She was on her own now.

  She saw her fellow performers' subtle rebuff and her nostrils flared. "Then I quit!" she said. "There are other circuses and I won't be treated unfair."

  Bil snapped. "Treated unfair?" he sputtered. "You're treated a hell of a lot better than you would be in any other circus in Ellada, you ungrateful little wretch. You could barely do the splits when I took you on. I let you train under my best contortionists; I took you on when there were dozens of other little nymphs who liked to bend before the men in the audience." He stepped close to Mara, and to her credit she did not cower. She stared stonily into his blotched face. For the briefest of moments, it seemed he was about to strike her.

  "You're not quitting, little Mara," he spat. "I'm throwing you out. You go and try to get another circus job. No one will take you on. You'll have to make your living how you would always have if I had not let you into my circus. On your back." Mara blanched. Everyone was very silent, especially Tila and Sal.

  He gave a contemptuous look at the performers. "No ale at all tonight. If anyone else feels as Mara does, you can leave with her in the morning." Bil pointed toward the flap of the tent.

  Mara fled, hunched, her hand over her mouth. After a moment's hesitation, Frit followed, probably to offer comfort. Bil did not like that. His fists clenched at his sides and his jaw was tight.

  "Styx," Aenea swore quietly under her breath.

  "Styx," I agreed.

  15

  SPRING: DEBUTANTE

  "One must memorize the Twelve Trees of Nobility: Ash, Balsa, Cedar, Cyprus, Ebony, Elm, Hornbeam, Oak, Poplar, Redwood, and Walnut. And, of course, Snakewood. This forest shelters Ellada, bringing it life.

  Levels of bowing and curtseying vary depending on your ring of nobility compared to the Twelve Trees. Please see the next page for more detailed diagrams.

  Failure of correct royal etiquette is one of the most egregious offenses one can make."

  A YOUNG ELLADAN LADY'S PRIMER, Lady Elena Primrose

  "Where did you and Cyril go last night?" my mother demanded as soon as she had closed the door to Cyril's room. She grabbed my upper arm and frog-marched me into the study. Father was still at work.

  "N… nowhere," I stammered. I knew for a fact Cyril had not told Mother where we had been, no matter how much pain he had been in. It had been terrible to see him lying on the sick bed, his arm wrapped in plaster, a bandage on his head. He was the very picture of a sick bed patient, from his sweat-matted hair and clammy skin to glazed eyes from the laudanum Doctor Walnut had given him.

  "Though I know you may feel differently, Iphigenia, I am not stupid." Her anger slipped and I could see that she was worried about Cyril.

  I found a way to modify the truth. "We couldn't sleep, so we went for a walk. We went to the Emerald Park, and I convinced Cyril to climb a tree with me to watch the sun set. He lost his grip and fell. That's all." I would never have told her we climbed Penglass. I would not be allowed to leave the house for a month or more, but for the ever-looming debutante ball.

  My mother shook her head in dismay. "Iphigenia, the time has come for all of this to stop."

  "For all of what to stop?"

  "Just as Cyril must accept his future responsibilities, so must you." Her gloved hands worried with the beads of her long necklace.

  "Aren't I?" I asked, puzzled. "I'm studying all that is asked of me, and I'm going to the debutante ball next week."

  "I've no complaints about that, aside from your terrible embroidery." She said it with a smile, as though to lessen the blow. My stomach was still in knots. I braided a section of my hair, concentrating on the weaving of the strands so that I did not have to look at her.

  "Iphigenia," my mother said, and I paused in my plaiting and met her gaze. "You need to grow up and accept what is to come. You do as you're asked, but I am not blind. I know you enjoy none of it, and that you prefer to at times pursue… boyish pastimes. But you are a woman and must accept a woman's responsibilities."

  "Do you mean marrying and birthing and mothering? We do not even know if that is possible for me, Mother. And you know as well as I do the possible reason for my occasional interest in 'boyish' pursuits."

  Mother cleared her throat delicately. "I mean that despite your condition, you have been r
aised as female and you are female. With the name Laurus comes a future of privilege, and you will be presented to society next week as a young woman of consequence. I think you might be happier if you try a little harder to behave as a young lady should." Her voice was rather tender, but the words cut to the quick.

  "I'll try, Mother," was all I could say in response.

  "I know, Iphigenia." She took my hand and squeezed. Her hands were cold through the gloves. "I must be off as I've promised to visit Lady Candlewood this afternoon. She's just returned from her lecture tour around Southern Temne, and I'm sure she'll have wonderful stories to tell."

  I nodded, and she swept from the room.

  I felt the sudden urge to weep. It felt as though I was being pulled along a certain road and I was not sure it would lead me to the right place. I rubbed a hand over my face, squeezing my eyes shut so they would not fill with tears.

  "Miss?"

  I raised my face from my hands.

  Gale, our butler, hovered in the doorway. "Yes, Gale?"

  "Cyril has asked for you."

  "Oh. Of course. Thank you, Gale."

  He hesitated. "Are you all right, miss?"

  "I'm fine, Gale, thank you for asking. I'm just fatigued."

  He nodded and left.

  Cyril clutched a newspaper to his chest. He looked scared.

  "What is it, Cyril?" I asked, my stomach dropping.

  Wordlessly, he passed me the newspaper. The front page had an image of a Penglass dome with two streaks of light. The Penglass from the night before. Another, smaller photograph showed the glowing outline of a hand. My handprint. Did Mother suspect?

  I read the article, which was from a less-reputable paper, the Sicion Searcher. It stated that a strange light from the Penglass had awoken the inhabitants of the tenement on the corner of Emerald and Silver Streets. They saw the light for only a few minutes before it mysteriously disappeared. An inhabitant of the tenement managed to take a photograph just before the light vanished. The constables had been alerted and scientists conducted tests on the dome this morning to ensure it was safe. The Constabulary had no official theories, but the Sicion Searcher had plenty. The Penglass Dome was an Alder vessel and had awoken to travel back to the stars. The Penglass around the city had finally grown unstable with time and could explode at any moment. The person or monster that had left the handprint and the streaks of light had set in motion events beyond the average citizen's control.

  "Styx Cyril," I said, crumpling the newspaper in my lap. "Styx."

  "They don't seem to have any leads."

  "I think Mother will suspect, if she sees this. I told her we were in the Emerald Park last night."

  "Why did you do that?"

  "Well, I didn't bloody well know it'd be in the papers, now did I?"

  "Keep your voice down," Cyril hissed.

  My eyes darted toward the door. "What do we do?"

  Cyril shrugged, and then winced in pain. "I don't know. Just try not to draw attention to ourselves. Hope Mother doesn't see this newspaper. And I'm afraid you probably shouldn't touch any more Penglass," he said regretfully.

  "I know," I said, but my heart sank. Creating those trailing swirls of light had been one of the most amazing moments of my life. It had been frightening, but it had also felt almost right. Like I had been doing something I was always meant to do.

  Cyril's features twisted in pain again. "Do you need more medicine?" I asked.

  He nodded. I measured out a small spoonful of laudanum. Cyril grimaced as he drank it, despite the honey in its mixture. Soon his face relaxed. I sat with him, holding his unbroken hand, until he fell asleep.

  I burned the newspaper in the fireplace.

  "I am deathly ill. Terribly, dreadfully ill."

  "Poppycock," my maid, Lia, said, hitting me on the head with a pillow. "Get yourself up."

  "But I am… dying!" I had been reading in bed that afternoon and fallen asleep, the book open on my chest. The warm bed enveloped me; I did not want to leave it to go to the debutante ball.

  I half-fell out of the bed onto the carpet, clutching my stomach. "I cannot move for the pain. Tell my brother I love him," I said, reaching out to her, my legs hopelessly tangled in the covers. Lia tugged the quilt so that I fell to the floor.

  "Lo, I have perished," I said, my cheek resting against the rug.

  "You should join the theatre, miss," Lia said. "What with all your carryings on."

  I sat up, pushing my tangled hair out of my face. "Mother would love that. But please, tell Mother I am an inch away from death and I cannot possibly go to the ball tonight. I'll be sick all over the guests. That should do the trick."

  "Don't be daft, Miss Iphigenia."

  "Gene," I corrected her. Cyril seemed to be the only person in my life who actually called me by the name I liked.

  "Do you realize what a thrashing I would get if anyone heard me calling you Gene, miss?" she said, as she always did.

  I made a face at her and got out of bed. "Fine, but call me Gene in here."

  "Of course, miss," she said with a small smile. "Come on, love. Your bath is ready."

  "Please tell Mother I'm unwell," I begged, tossing my dressing robe and nightgown onto the bed. Lia was one of the few to know what I was. There was no way she could avoid doing so – she dressed me every day, and when I was little she used to bathe me. She was paid a handsome wage and swore never to tell anyone, not even the other household staff. She was fifteen years older than me and had always been kind.

  "To what point and purpose, little miss?" Lia countered. "You've been preparing for this for weeks, and it'll be quite the embarrassment for your mother if you do not go at the last minute. And this will only be delaying the inevitable, miss – if not this ball, then the next. You might as well get it over with now."

  I sighed. "You're right. I'm being childish."

  She smiled. "Only a little. Go, and try to enjoy yourself. Your dress is beautiful and all your friends will be there. There will be food and dancing and flirting. It need not be so bad. I would have given my eye teeth to go to such a ball at your age." She winked. "I wouldn't say no to going now, neither!"

  I laughed. "All right, then, we can swap. You can wear my dress and I'll stay at home."

  "Nice try, love," she said, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "It won't be so terrible, just you wait and see."

  I hoped she was right.

  And so I bathed and brushed and shaved and scented myself. All the while, I tried to stifle the feeling that it was like a holy animal from the rural parts of Byssia being pampered and perfumed before slaughter to the Chimaera demi-gods. I may have been feeling a little melodramatic.

  Lia had laid all of my clothing on the bed and helped me into my petticoats and undershirt and slid the corset around my torso.

  Lia grunted slightly as she pulled the stays. My ribs constricted and I clutched the bedpost.

  I felt caged in a corset. The device did give me a bit of an illusion of a waist, I thought, looking at my body in the mirror of my dressing table. Lia slipped the dress over my head and it fell about me in a wave of blue fabric so pale it was almost white. I twisted my hips and the fabric settled into place and Lia fastened the dozens of tiny buttons on the back. The dress was lovely, with simple lines, the only decoration pink satin ribbons about the waist and the high neckline and the hem of the skirt. Mother and I had disagreed on every other dress I had tried on, but as soon as I had come out of the dressing room in the shop on Jade Street, we had both agreed it a success.

  Lia plaited my hair into a crown about my head with more ribbon and tiny sprays of baby's breath. She left little curls about my face and another at the nape of my neck. I sat patiently as she powdered and painted my face in such a way that it did not look as though I was wearing cosmetics at all, which I did not see the point in. I stepped into heeled pink dancing slippers. A little strand of pearls about the neck and elbow-length gloves and a feather fan completed the look.<
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  All dolled up to look like a girl and the illusion was fairly convincing.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek as I waited to enter the ballroom. I kept clutching at the fabric of my skirt and fiddling with the ringlets of my hair. I felt like an imposter – like I was not meant to be here, about to parade in front of Sicion's highest society and declare myself ready for offers of marriage.

  "This is so exciting," Anna Yew said next to me, smoothing down her dress. She looked pretty and tempting as a cupcake, and all eyes would slide past me and land on her and stay. That was fine by me. She flipped open a little mirror from her handbag and scrutinized her reflection, plucking an errant eyelash from her cheek and freshening her lip stain. I had not thought to bring a mirror, so I borrowed hers. I looked nervous.