Pantomime

by Laura Lam

  I climbed away from the scene. The pipe was cold and slippery with damp, but I found purchase on the bolts and did not look down. I clambered onto the roof and stayed there, despite the cold. The past few hours did not seem real. I almost felt as if I were dreaming – that soon I would awake in my bed, Lia would bring me tea and sing me the song she sang every morning as she combed my hair, and my old life would continue to march along.

  The sun rose and thinned the fog to a pink and orange mist before burning through it and illuminating Sicion. I could see to each horizon and the view was breathtaking. Twin limestone spires of the churches of the Lord and Lady of the Sun and Moon reached toward the sky. The light filtered through the cobalt-blue Penglass domes that threaded their way through the city like the backbone of some gigantic beast, illuminating the black veins of the glass and the murky shapes within. In this light they looked delicate, like dragonfly wings.

  The sun rose over Sicion, and the first day where I was no longer Miss Iphigenia Laurus.

  As I was about to climb down from the roof, I peered through the window of the attic. The flat had been long since abandoned, with the roof in poor repair. I managed to open a window and shimmied in. Slivers of early morning light peeked through holes in the roof, and dust rose in a cloud about my feet, the motes golden in the light of dawn, and I sneezed.

  Sheets stained with damp and mold covered irregular lumps of furniture. Nothing covered the walls but cobwebs.

  I wondered who used to live here and what their jobs were. I could almost feel their ghosts lingering like the layers of dust. Families gathered about the battered dining table passing food, laughing or arguing. Children huddled together like puppies against the cold on the sagging spring bed. Generations of entire families surely lived here, as many as eight to ten people in the cramped quarters. I wondered why they left and where they went.

  The families would have been as different from mine as night and day. This was a hovel – an abandoned flat in a poor part of town. These families may never have had quite enough food or ever fully chased the cold from their bones. But they had left furniture. With a start, I hoped this was not a plague house. I rubbed my hands along my arms, trying to warm them against the early morning chill.

  I spent the morning clearing a corner of the worst of the dust with an old broom I found. After a failed attempt to nap, I ate some of the food in my pack, and decided the place seemed safe enough to leave my belongings hidden under one of the musty sheets. I filled my pockets with my coins and more of my food. And I climbed down the gutter pipe and back into the Sicion I had not seen before.

  • • • •

  The day passed in a haze of fatigue. I did not know where to go and simply went where my feet took me. Before long, I was hopelessly disoriented in the twisting streets of the darker side of Sicion. Here, the streets had missing cobblestones, and refuse gathered in the gutters. The air smelled of coal smoke and garbage. The streets were lined with pubs and second-hand clothing stores. More beggars than I had ever seen slumped on the streets, some performing off-key music, others not bothering with pretense and holding a battered tin for spare coins.

  I held a hand over the bag of coins in my trousers, wary of pickpockets. In the cold light of day, running away seemed a silly idea indeed. I ate the last of the food I had packed, but it did little to fill my belly. Perhaps I should simply go home and admit my mistake before I became a beggar on the streets.

  I didn't want to be like the men slumped on the pavement, reeking of gin, their stained smiles more gaps than teeth.

  After tentatively asking a washerwoman for directions, I found my way to the merchant quarter. Here would be a good place to stay and eke out a new life for myself. I peered in the shop windows of flower shops, grocers and bakers, bookshops and jeweler's and illuminary shops. The latter advertised a "help wanted" sign in the window. I walked past the shop thrice, striving for nonchalance. I gathered my courage and stepped into the shop.

  Crystal glittered and glass globes of all different sizes hung high on the ceiling, burning in all colors. I was the only person in the shop but the owner.

  "Can I help you, sir?" the man behind the counter asked, looking over his half-moon glasses at me. His face was decidedly unfriendly.

  "I saw… the sign in the window…" I began, hesitantly.

  He took in my frayed clothing, and his gaze lingered on my face in such a way that I wondered if I had a smudge of dirt on it.

  "Have you worked in an illuminary's before, boy?" he asked.

  I shook my head.

  "We're looking for someone with experience. Thank you for your interest." He looked beyond me, to the door, clearly signaling for me to leave.

  And I did, the bell clinking shut behind me. I saw other signs on Jade Street asking for assistants, and I asked at each one. I told them I could read, that I could count, that I would work hard. But they couldn't look beneath the patched clothes and the smear of dirt on my face, and I received the same reply at all of them, with varying degrees of contempt.

  In late afternoon, I found my way to the Emerald Park. The sunshine warmed my shoulders, and the green of the grass and the trees calmed me. I sat on the barrier for the mermaid statue in the middle of the park, trailing my fingers in the water, staring at the Penglass dome that Cyril had fallen down only scant days before. Home was but a few short steps away and it was risky to be here, but I wanted to be among familiar surroundings. If only it could be easy to return, to climb the scaffolding covering the Elm residence and slip through my window. My parents would be angry but relieved I had returned.

  But I did not know if they would cancel their plan to operate. I did not think I could forgive them for being willing to operate without giving me a choice. I rubbed my nose, so close and so far from my old life.

  I needed a new name. I couldn't call myself Iphigenia – not like I would want to. And though Gene could be a boy's name, it'd link me to my former life. I wanted to shed my old life. Try on a new one and see how it fit.

  Water trickled down the mermaid's face as she reached above her for something that seemed just out of reach. The mica flecks of the grey granite caught the sun. I smiled. I had a new name.

  Micah Grey.

  I liked it. It was short, it was different from my real name, and it had a nice ring to it. Micah Grey. It would do.

  The light of the day faded. I left the park, drawing my cap low on my forehead. I felt exhausted and could not wait to fall asleep, even if it was in a cold, abandoned flat.

  I was also too tired to be aware of my surroundings. A moonshade, one of the ladies of the night, crept close to me and grabbed my shirtsleeve when I was nearly "home."

  "How are you today, sir? Fancy a night on the town?" she asked.

  I shook my head, trying to shake her off my shirt. "No thanks, Madame."

  She laughed, showing her yellowed teeth. One of her canines was dark with decay. "Madame, he calls me. Ain't that sweet. Come along, young thing, you'll enjoy yourself, I promise."

  I tugged harder, reclaiming my shirtsleeve. "No, but thank you for the offer. I'd best be getting back."

  She steered me toward an alley. "We needn't go out and about. Just here would suit us fine."

  I was shocked by her audacity. "I really must be getting home. My parents are expecting me."

  "What's a few minutes?" she asked, backing me into an alley. She glanced over my shoulder, and I knew someone was behind me. I twirled, and the club aiming for my head missed and hit where my neck met my shoulder. I cried out as pain radiated across my torso. Another moonshade dragged me to the floor, and the first straddled my lower legs.

  "Hurry, Mattie," the first hissed. Mattie rummaged in my pockets. I struggled to throw her off, but they were strong and the pain blinded me. Mattie found the coins in my pocket. All of my coins.

  I opened my mouth to plead, but Mattie pressed her hand over my mouth. She smelled of cheap perfume and a body not recently washed. "You hush y
our mouth, young sir, and be grateful we're letting you go." She shook the bag, the coins clinking. "My, my. What's a little scamp like you doing with all this dosh?"

  She tossed the bag behind her, and I heard the first woman catch it.

  And then Mattie drew her fist back and hit me, hard. Pain exploded in my head and the night darkened further.

  I awoke in squelching filth in the dark of night. My face felt as though it had been broken, and I could barely move my neck. I groaned. I struggled onto my elbows. I was alone.

  Painfully, I pulled myself upright and hobbled to the gutter pipe that led to my new little nest. I rested my head against the cool metal, trying to find the will to climb. I did, eventually, and made my slow ascent. My pack was still where I left it, at least. I searched through it. No coins. I had not a copper to my name.

  I had a small mirror in my pack. A black eye had bloomed on my face. I pressed my fingers gently against it and cried. I missed Cyril, and even the parents who were not truly my parents. I missed Anna Yew, and Oswin, and everyone.

  But I cried even more, because without any sort of money or any way to gain employment, it felt like I was going to have to slink home within a few days, and take up life as Iphigenia Laurus once again, before I could even find out who Micah Grey could be.

  The next day, I felt as though I had shed all emotion along with my tears. I had no more food, and my stomach ached in hunger. Judging by the looks people were giving me on the street, I was quite the sight. I wandered Sicion's merchant quarter again, hoping to see more help wanted signs but not going in, knowing that my black eye would immediately disqualify me. But I needed employment. I needed to eat, and to sleep somewhere where the wind did not whistle through the crumbling walls.

  I passed a bakery. Fresh brown rolls lay on a ledge, topped with an egg glaze and toasted oats. I stared at them, my eyes large as dinner plates. My stomach was too hungry to even rumble at the sight. Before I knew what I was doing, I had picked one up. The fresh, yeasty smell made my mouth water.

  "Hey, boy," the baker said, sticking his head out of the shop. "You going to pay for that?"

  I gulped. What had I been thinking? I had nothing to pay, and nothing to trade. We stared at each other in an impasse. The baker had a clean-shaven face and rosy cheeks, his hair receding on his forehead. My face must have been smudged with dirt, the skin underneath pale but for the lurid bruise. His eyebrows were furrowed in annoyance.

  "I'm sorry," I said, and then I ran.

  "Hey!" the baker cried after me. "Thief!"

  I clutched the roll to my chest, dodging the people strolling down the street. The baker thundered after me. Several people tried to grab me, but I evaded them, their fingers only just grasping my clothes. The baker soon gave up the chase before returning to his shop in defeat.

  I held my prize of a now sadly dented roll. I bit into it in a shadowed alley, and closed my eyes in ecstasy. It was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten, though I felt terrible not paying for it.

  I could not do this much longer.

  20

  SUMMER: FAREWELL TO SICION

  "Searchers find what they seek through the regulations of the Constabulary, working closely with Policiers. Shadows appear on their heels almost immediately, sneaking and spying around the law as much as they are able. While sometimes, it must be said, their methods are fruitful and aid existing investigations, many others believe they steal money from Ellada's citizens and lessen the implicit trust in the law of the land."

  A HISTORY OF ELLADA AND ITS COLONIES,

  Professor Caed Cedar, Royal

  Snakewood University

  A man in a dark suit strode up the beach.

  He stood out as I gathered my lunch dishes to take to the cook's tent. On such a lovely summer's day, the beach was busy. A small gaggle of children made sandcastles nearby, openly gawking at the circus folk. People strolled along, pausing to pick up seashells or take in the view of the sea. The man walked with a purpose, his legs stiff, hands in his pocket, chin tilted upwards beneath the wide brim of his hat. No one else seemed to notice him. I brought my dishes to the cook and then loitered, watching. The man in the dark suit surveyed the circus, taking a notebook from his pocket and jotting something down. He didn't look like a Policier. I licked my lips.

  I waited with bated breath. The man took a last long look at the circus, taking in each member. His face lingered in my direction for a moment, or maybe I imagined it. He tucked the notebook in his pocket and strode down the beach.

  Surely he couldn't be the Shadow?

  The man in the dark suit lingered on my mind, even as Aenea and I bid farewell to Arik before we left for Sicion.

  We both hugged him close. Aenea was openly crying, and I only barely stopped the tears.

  "Now, now, don't cry, little one," he said, stroking her hair. He clasped hands with me and kissed me on the cheek. "This is a happy day."

  "You've been like a father to me," Aenea said, voice thick.

  "And you're the daughter I never had. And like father and daughter, we'll part ways but still see each other. You come to Sicion every year. And every year, I'll be here. Come see me. You know where I stay."

  "I will," she said, wiping her eyes.

  "And you too, Micah. We may not have known each other long, but I've become quite fond of you."

  "I've become quite fond of you too, Regar Bupnik."

  Arik sputtered. "Aenea! You promised never to tell anyone else my name!"

  "Oh come on, old man, Micah doesn't count, surely?"

  "I should spank you for your impertinence," Arik said, lifting his palm threateningly with a smile.

  She gave a watery laugh. We all hugged each other one last time. Arik shouldered his bag and made his way along the beach, making sure to limp for appearances.

  "He can rest, now," Aenea said.

  I put my arm around her, feeling chivalrous. "He's gotten what he wanted. Time for us to pack as well."

  We left Sicion.

  Everyone, worker or performer, had to work together to dismantle a circus. We all scurried about as quickly as we could, but it took all day and long into the evening to pack up possessions, to link the carts together into a caravan, to dismantle the tents. Bil hired several mudlarks to pick up the garbage, and they scuttled about, throwing anything flammable into the fire and leaving a long trail of smoke. Just as the smoke would eventually dissipate and leave no trace in the sky, we would leave no trace on the ground.

  A half-dismantled circus is a pathetic sight. The horses of the carousel were piled into a cart with no ceremony. The collapsed tents looked wilted upon the sand, and there was no trace of magic left. Everything was broken down and stored away.

  After the last bonfire on a Sicion beach, we slept in our carts, crowded amongst our possessions. The next morning, the workers ensured there was enough fuel in each cart and we drove them. Behind us, the site of the circus was nothing more than another part of the beach, nothing left behind but footprints and tracks.

  We drove our carts to the train station, rattling through the cobbled streets. Bil, ever the entrepreneur, turned it into a parade. On the sides of all the carts were simple but colorful painted circus scenes. I had two clowns dancing on the side of mine, with kernels of popped corn clustered around the edges. A few balloons floated from the tops of each cart, and bells jingled on the wheels. Saitha, the elephant, strolled through the streets, occasionally trumpeting along with the musicians. People gathered and waved at us as we passed.

  They would not miss us for long. The Riley & Batheo's Circus of Curiosities would be coming soon to the small hippodrome in the city center, with their three-ringed circus and twice as many acts and animals. We were the taster circus, and it rankled Bil no end. The ringmaster's rival circus would not stay long in Sicion and would be performing in Imachara soon after we arrived, and when it did, business would drop off sharply even if we cut prices, and the crowd would become rougher.

 
At the train station, Bil the ringmaster turned into Bil the train master. The locomotive was already there, steaming, the sides of the train cars painted in similar scenes to those on our carts. The animals were loaded in the first two cars behind the engine, where the ride was the smoothest, one car for the prey and one for the predators. The animals growled and squawked as they were loaded – the cats howled and Violet even swiped at Tym and was duly reprimanded with a crack of a whip. I did not mind no longer working with the animals.

  Everyone strained to load an entire circus into a train that seemed far too small for a procession of our size. Bags and boxes were stacked floor to ceiling, tied haphazardly with rope. Without the room to sprawl along the beach, I realized just how many things a circus required – animal feed alone needed a substantial amount of space. Costumes, props, the tents, the trapeze, high rope, balance beams, practice mats, the personal wagons, the various equipment that I had no idea what its purpose was, or how everything could hope to fit.