Pantomime

by Laura Lam

  "Never have I seen a lady so fair,

  How I long to touch your long, flaxen hair

  A mere man like me – I'm in awe of you.

  With a brow so noble and eyes so blue.

  "How is it that I dare to speak to thee?

  Some spirit of love has o'er taken me

  Oh, strike me, stone me, good Lady and Lord

  I am too base to call her my adored."

  Drystan must have taken theatre training as a child or at university. He embraced the clunky lines, making them seem like natural speech, earnest and sincere. When mentioning my flaxen hair, he had nearly stroked my head, but his fingers had danced away at the last second, as if he did not dare. He drew me closer, pressing me against his chest. I felt a stir a little too similar to how I felt when I had been alone with Aenea. It was easy to act bashful, to gaze down at the floor and turn my face away from his.

  "Oh sir, you waste the coin of your rich words

  My face is not fair, though I come from lords

  My looks and my fortune are plain indeed

  I confess I know not how to proceed –

  "I fear that my speech is modest as well

  When compared to the words of your love's spell

  So I must speak plainly when I tell you

  That I, kind sir, do dare to love you too."

  Characters seem to fall in love so easily in plays. Drystan put a finger under my chin and lifted my face toward his and met his lips with mine. I tried very hard not to choke or break away. I also found myself wanting to deepen the kiss, which unleashed an avalanche of guilt. My palms dampened, and my limbs tingled. Drystan broke the kiss and stepped away from me, and his sardonic grin returned, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and how I was feeling. I stood there, blinking.

  The circus clapped. "Micah, that'll do," Bil said. "You're Iona. Zahn, you'll play the Lord at the finale. That's settled then. Come along, me lovelies, let's eat," he said, and people began to file out of the tent, a few clapping me on the shoulder as they passed.

  Aenea left last and we walked out of the tent together.

  "Congratulations," she said, her tone impassive.

  "You're not angry with me, are you?" I asked.

  She was surprised. "Why would I be angry?" She raised an eyebrow, daring me to mention my kiss with Drystan. But I could not mention it. I worried she would ask if I liked the kiss, and that was a lie I would not be able to tell.

  "No reason."

  "You both did very well," she said, twisting her head slightly away from me. "Have you acted before?"

  I grinned, relieved she was not pushing the issue, though still remorseful. "My brother and I put on little performances growing up, and commandeered some of our friends to join in, though my brother was always the hero and I was always the heroine."

  She laughed, though it sounded forced. "Your brother is older than you, then?"

  "Yes." I hoped she did not ask more about my past. She did not realize that she had already met my brother, after a fashion.

  "He's a little cruel, to have had you dress up as the woman all the time."

  "I didn't mind. It was good fun."

  She knocked her hip against mine lightly. "It'll be funny to see you dressed as a woman."

  I raised my eyebrow at her. "Maybe you'll like it."

  She laughed again and slapped me lightly on the shoulder. "Maybe, but I think I'll still prefer you in trousers."

  We did not have enough time to do everything that needed to be done by the time we reached Imachara.

  We had to arrive before the beginning of the highest point of summer, to take advantage of the warm weather and visiting nobles from all over Ellada and various colonies for the summer balls. Not only would some nobles perhaps wish to dip into the "peasantry" entertainment of the circus, but all of their servants and liverymen would definitely wish to attend. Combined with the fact that there were over four or five times as many people in Imachara as in Sicion, Bil was not about to let the opportunity for more money to go to waste.

  But he should have had us leave Sicion much sooner. We were there as long as possible to eke out as much coin as we could, but now we had barely practiced, let alone learned, our new routines. In addition to their clowning, which were some of the most varied and different in the circus, some clowns also had to practice the sleight of hand needed for the "magic" in the play.

  I was still trying to master the trapeze, could only do the most basic of tricks, and had to also learn far too many lines. Costumes for the pantomime were sewn as quickly as possible, and the sets had only just started to be designed, much less made. From dawn to past dusk, the entire circus was working as quickly as they could, but with speed came mistakes. And with mistakes came Bil's temper.

  Bil could not admit that he had made an error, and he screamed at anyone who was, by his standards, working too slowly or not up to snuff. Threats of expelling people from the circus occurred multiple times per day, but they were empty threats. He needed us all, and disliked that we knew it.

  When he realized the risk of mutiny at his rate of abuse, he become conciliatory, offering various bonuses and saying over and over again that this would be the year that R.H. Ragona's Circus of Magic would truly become the best circus in Ellada. He said that after the summer, there would be no more struggles, as if he believed it.

  Nightly fights between Bil and Frit became louder and more frequent, and they would snap at each other during rehearsal, which had never happened before in all of their years at the circus, according to Bethany.

  If Bil could pull off the pantomime and the various acts in Imachara, I had no doubt that it would be an extraordinary circus. It had seemed incredible the first time I had seen it months ago. But I feared what would happen if he could not keep up his delicate equilibrium.

  I ducked my head and performed my own balancing act – learning my lines, learning my new trapeze routines, hoping Aenea and the rest of the circus did not discover what I was.

  Bil never remembered to put someone else into my cart and I declined to remind him. Aenea would enter without a word, hang up her cloak, and visit long into the evening. I felt as though she knew me better than almost anyone – but I had still not told her my secret.

  I wanted to tell her, but I was a coward.

  I told myself that the time had not been right, that the moment had not presented itself yet, but it was a lie. I could have created the opportune moment. Moments had appeared, and I had let them wash over us.

  It wasn't even so much that I did not trust Aenea. I did not trust secrets. Someone could overhear, Aenea could act differently around me without meaning to. Perhaps I would act differently towards her. Someone, like Frit, would notice. Secrets, once spoken, have a way of running away from you. They cannot be gathered in again.

  "Do you miss your old life?" Aenea asked, once, as we were sitting together on my tiny pallet, holding hands.

  "A bit," I said.

  "Tell me something of your past. You so rarely mention it. Just a little detail. I'll tell you the same."

  I rested on an elbow and looked at her. "I don't mention it much, do I?"

  "Not really." She smiled. "I don't mind, but sometimes I am curious."

  I tilted my head, considering what to say. "I miss my family, and the parents I felt I never knew. I miss my servants, who were my friends. Our maid raised me more than my mother did, in many ways."

  Aenea's eyebrows shot up. "I can't imagine having a maid."

  I shrugged a shoulder, knowing she did not really expect an answer. "But I also miss little things that I never thought I would. The smell of the soap we used to wash our clothing. The teacup I had my tea in every morning. The shape of the little crack in the window of my room. My books and the stray cat that lived in the alleyway by our tenements that I saw every day. Small things that I'll probably never see again."

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It must be strange. I've almost always be
en moving. Everything I own fits into the trunk in my cart. I can't remember the last time I was in the same place for a year."

  She leaned against me, wrapped her arm around me and rested her head on my shoulder.

  "Do you…" she hesitated. "Do you have a bandage about your chest?" she asked, rubbing her hand over my back. "I think I've noticed it before."

  I stiffened, my mind whirring. "I have a bad spine sometimes. It's not enough to affect my tumbles, but it feels better to have the extra support." Damien's face was another reason the truth froze on my tongue. I remembered the night of the debutante ball when he realized he was partnered with me. The widened eyes, tinged with disgust, the curl of the lip, the way he backed away from me as quickly as he could, despite knowing how bad it looked.

  I knew that Aenea was different from Damien. That she had grown up in the circus, with people with differing tastes. But the risk felt too great.

  Aenea shifted, pressing her lips together. I did not know if she believed me. "You should be careful, then. Tell me if your back is too sore for practice."

  "Of course," I said, miserable. I racked my mind for a change of subject. "You said you'd tell me something of your past."

  "I did, didn't I?" She stared off into space. "It may not be a cheery thing. Is that all right?"

  I focused on her face. The lines had hardened. Foreboding washed over me. "Whatever you feel like telling me."

  She stayed silent a long time, and then spoke softly into the dark. "Two years ago, when I was fifteen, I met a man after the circus one night. He passed me a rose. From afar, it looked like it was real, but as I took it, I noticed that the petals were made from paper. He told me that the writing was love sonnets.

  "He was a handsome man, though easily ten years my senior. But he was charming, and I was smitten. And he was every inch a gentleman. So I thought."

  I cupped her hand in mine.

  "This was in Imachara. He wooed me, taking me to lovely restaurants. He bought me little presents – trinkets and the like. He held me in the palm of his hand. I was ready to quit the circus for him, to leave everything. I knew I would follow him wherever he wished to take me.

  "But he started to change. He'd manipulate me, subtly at first. He'd steer the conversation the way he wanted. He'd go just a little further than kissing, a little further than I wanted him to or I was ready for. And I wasn't stupid," she said, running a hand through her hair, turning her face away from me. I squeezed her hand.

  "I knew he was doing it, but I thought it was perhaps what men did when they were… impatient. But he also started acting more secretive, disappearing for longer periods of time before visiting me. I wondered where he went. The circus season was closing, and I planned to go to Linde in the winter. So, when he next visited me and took his leave, I followed him."

  She paused again, swallowing. The foreboding only grew. I said nothing; what could I say?

  "He had a family, of course. He returned to his wife. I had suspected, but I was so heartbroken. I had thought him my knight and that soon he would propose and we would marry. He obviously came from wealth; I even imagined myself a lady – isn't that funny?" She laughed, bitterly.

  "He saw me. Through the window. And he was terribly angry. He must have thought I was there to blackmail him, though I wouldn't. But he was… very cruel. The circus closed a week later, and I escaped to Linde."

  There was so much more to the tale, hidden in the pauses and in the veiled meanings of her words. I did not need to know more. He had hurt her.

  "Every time we go to Imachara, I worry that I'll come across him again. That he'll come to the show with his family, looking at me with that knowing smirk." She shuddered.

  I drew her toward me. She had opened up so much to me. And I had left so much of myself closed to her.

  "That's a terrible thing to go through," I said, my words feeling inadequate.

  She tilted her head upwards and I comforted her without words, kissing her as tenderly as I knew how. She ran her hands along my back, her fingertips dancing over my bandages, twining about my ribs, to the plane of my stomach, to the waistband of my trousers–

  Gently, I pushed her hand away. She pulled away, embarrassed.

  "I'm sorry–" she began.

  I pressed a finger to her lips. "No need," I said, and kissed her again.

  We cuddled on the straw pallet.

  "Micah?" Aenea asked, hesitant.

  "Yes?"

  "Did something happen to you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Like what happened to me. When you were younger? Is that why you're shy? I thought you were comfortable, but…" she trailed off.

  I thought of my many visits to the doctors. I thought of the humiliation of disrobing and presenting myself to inspection, of being poked and invaded. I thought of how I was nearly mutilated, without a say in the matter. I remembered my mother's cutting words, always telling me that I had to hide what I was, that no one would accept me. That no one would love me. I remembered the feel of Damien's wandering hand and the look in his eyes in that tree and on the dance floor.

  "I've been hurt. I don't think anywhere as much as you, but I've been hurt."

  She kissed my neck. "I'll try not to hurt you."

  "I'll try, too." I rested my cheek against the top of her head, wondering if it was a promise I could keep.

  We drifted off to sleep.

  23

  SPRING: THE POLICIERS

  "Under our Bow."

  THE CONSTABULARY'S MOTTO

  Mister Illari, after learning I had not slept the night before, urged me to rest. He brought me some brightly colored quilts and striped furs. The cyrinx fur had a purple sheen to it and was impossibly soft. Though Mister Illari and Calum seemed trustworthy enough, I still made sure that I slept with my satchel underneath my head. I slept fitfully, uncomfortable in strange surroundings, and dreamed of my parents chasing me with knives. My dreams were never cryptic.

  When I awoke, it was early afternoon. "So, Micah," Mister Illari said as I stumbled into the small kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "What are you going to do now that you're in the big, wide world? How long have you been out on the streets?"

  "A few days," I said, staying vague.

  "Not very long at all, then."

  "No, not very. And I don't know what I'm going to do. I haven't quite figured that out yet."

  "You may want to have a bit of a think about that."

  "I have been, believe me." I stared at the ground, brooding.

  Mister Illari gave me a light slap on the upside of the head. "Come now, no moping! What are you good at? Did these noble parents teach you anything useful, or was it all horseback riding out at your country home and hunting with the hawks?"

  "We didn't have horses or hawks, I'll have you know." I paused, thinking. "I can speak Byssian and read a bit of Temri." I could also read a bit of Alder, but I kept that to myself. It was a very difficult language to learn for most, but I found it easy.

  "Useless. All you could do is apply to be a scribe. And then you'd come into contact with the nobility and risk discovery by someone who knows of you. They like their scribes to be illiterate, in any case, just knowing how to copy letters in the alphabet. Less chance of error if they don't know what they're writing."

  They might not recognize me, but I could not risk it. My shoulders slumped. "You're right."

  "Well, what else?"

  What else, I thought? I could sew and embroider, though not very well. I could dance the woman's part to all of the court steps and dance passable ballet. I could play the piano badly and sing even worse. I knew a bit of history and could do my sums. Nothing my mother taught me was useful for the streets. Perhaps that was why they only taught women useless things – so that they did not run away.

  "I'll find something," I said. "I'm good at climbing."

  "Then there's always thievery."

  I paused and considered it, imagining myself scaling walls in the
dark, sliding open windows, and shimmying into houses to pluck gold and valuables from jewelry chests. Then I imagined a gas light igniting, the call of alarm, the strong arms of Policiers and the cold metal of prison bars. Pilfering food to fill my gut when I had no other option was all the stealing I was willing to do.

  "I don't think I'd be comfortable with that. Wouldn't I have to steal from nobility? I would run into the same problem if I were caught. And I can't pick locks."

  "You could always learn. But no matter." Mister Illari bustled about the kitchen and took out a pan and some meat, potatoes, and capsicums. "How about this?" he said, turning to me. "We'll offer you our sofa for a time and you can help with my spice business. I won't be able to pay you anything other than room and board and the odd coin or two, but at least you know that you won't have to sleep on the streets if worse comes to worse."