Pantomime

by Laura Lam

  I was silent for a moment, stunned. "Thank you," I said quietly. "That's very kind of you."

  "Don't mention it," he said gruffly. "I like children."

  "I'm not a child!"

  "Fiddlesticks! You are, even if you think you're wise and grown. In as little as ten years, you'll look back on your previous self with a mixture of fondness and embarrassment."

  "Will not."

  "Suit yourself."

  Mister Illari chopped meat that looked like cow or horse. The knife made a steady thump against the stone chopping block. He lit the gas cooker and poured oil into a pan.

  Once the cooking was done, he set down plates of meat and vegetables all lightly dusted with spices of red, orange, green, and brown, with a carafe of more terrible coffee. The spices made my eyes and nose run, but the meal was delicious.

  "So why did you leave home?" Mister Illari asked as I wolfed down my food. "Were you striking out to find fame and fortune? Is the plan for you to dance back into your parents' home and prove you didn't need their money?"

  I fiddled with the fork. "No, I don't really want either. Just a life of my own. I don't think I'll ever return. But thank you for your kindness, Mister Illari."

  He waved his hand at me. "Don't mention it. You did good work. It's good business to keep you on for a time." He reached into his pocket and handed me a coin. "Here's an advance."

  I pocketed the coin. "Thank you, Mister Illari."

  "You might not thank me in a wee while. You'll be grinding the peppers this afternoon. I've got a mask, but you'll still sneeze something fierce."

  Before I could reply, there was a knock at the door.

  "Who'd be visiting me?" Mister Illari muttered as he pulled himself upright and limped toward the door.

  "Who is it?" he yelled.

  "Policiers," came the muffled answer behind the door.

  The blood drained from my face.

  Mister Illari turned a keen eye on me. "Your parents might have missed you, boy," he whispered. "Or Mattos must have noticed the description of a missing child. Quick, hide in the cupboard.

  "Just a minute!" he called more loudly to the door. "These old bones don't move so quickly anymore."

  I darted into the pine wardrobe, filled with spare blankets and towels, sweet spices like cinnamon and vanilla tickling my nose.

  Don't sneeze, I prayed.

  "Sorry to bother you, Mister Illari," one said. I couldn't see what he looked like, but his voice reverberated deep in his chest. "But have you seen this young child? She's been missing for several days."

  Mister Illari made a great show of huffing and hmming. "A missing girl? No, I can't say that I have. Calum, have you seen this girl?"

  "No, definitely haven't seen no girl about here."

  "Why do you ask, my good fellows?" Mister Illari wheezed.

  "A fellow Policier sent a child to assist you who may have matched the description. Policier Mattos. He said the girl might have been dressed as a lad," the other Policier said. He had a reedy voice.

  "Ah, that young fellow. He sure didn't look like a girl. He helped me carry up the spices, I tipped him, and he scampered off. That'll probably be the last I see of him, I expect. I'll be sure to let you know if he shows up."

  "Be sure that you do," Deep Voice said. "Can we take a quick look around?"

  "Now why would you want to do that, as I've already told you the pipsqueak ain't here. Do you have a warrant or anything?"

  "No need to take that tone, Mister Illari," Reedy Voice answered.

  "If that's all, boys, I'm afraid I've lots of work to be getting around to right about now."

  "Fine, but we'll be checking back occasionally, to see if you remember anything else. Her family is mighty worried about her. Might be fruitful of you to remember something – they'll be thankful if she's returned safe and sound."

  "I'll keep that in mind, young lad."

  Their footsteps retreated down the stairs. Mister Illari waited a minute before opening the doors.

  "So you're a girl, eh?" he said.

  I grimaced guiltily. "I guess."

  Calum gaped at me. "You don't look like a girl." He squinted. "Well, maybe a little."

  "They'll keep coming back, they said. Maybe I should go. I don't want to cause a fuss."

  Mister Illari shrugged. "I'm not too worried about them."

  But even though they were both nice, I felt like I was intruding on their little life. I did not think Mister Illari really needed another helper, and suspected that he was digging into his retirement fund to help me.

  "It's all right, Mister Illari," I said. "I think I'll leave and try and find my own way."

  He scratched his balding head. "Maybe it might be best, until the dust with the Constables settles. One of 'em, Smythe, thinks I'm cheating on my dues to the Crown. And, truth be told, I do, because otherwise they'd rob me blind. He's always starting trouble. He'd love to find me harboring a young scamp like you."

  I nodded, though dread settled deep within me. Just as I thought I had found a safe place, I learned that it was no such thing. And this flat was too small for three.

  "But if you see yourself with a decided lack of food and face sleeping in an alleyway, you come right back, you hear?" He waggled a finger at me.

  "I will," I said, relieved, though I realized I would probably never actually return. "How should I go about acting less… noble, then?" I asked, timid.

  Mister Illari laughed. "It'd take too long to teach you and I'm not sure you'd catch on all that quickly. No offense," he said as I opened my mouth to protest.

  "So what do I do?"

  "The best advice I can give you is this: listen far more than you talk, and listen to what others say and how they say it. You'll get the noble knocked out of you in no time."

  Calum plucked at my sleeve. "What?" I asked.

  "Your clothes are too posh," he said, wrinkling his nose.

  I held my arms out and looked down. "They're just a linen shift and trousers," I said defensively. And they were none too clean any longer.

  "With no holes, no mends, and no threadbare bits?" Mister Illari shook his head. "Tut, tut, lad. You stood out a mile away. That's likely why Policier Mattos sent you over to me, and why he thought of you again when the Constabulary received your description. Give your clothes to Calum and we'll give you some proper street rat clothes."

  "You're a sly merchant," I said. "You get a nice pair of clothes for some shoddy ones? That hardly seems fair."

  "Calum gets something he can grow into and you don't get your throat slit one night for them to be taken off your corpse." Mister Illari shrugged. "Seems fair enough to me."

  I swallowed, remembering the two moonshades who had stolen all of my money. Be grateful we're letting you go. "Good point."

  Calum grinned as wide as his mouth would allow. "Come on," he said. "I'll let you choose any outfit of mine you like. I'll even give you an extra shirt!"

  I followed him into a small bedroom. A large bed was covered with more bright quilts and furs. Books lined the shelves in haphazard order, dotted with yet more figurines.

  Calum rummaged in a canvas bag and dumped a small pile of clothes onto the bed. "Here," he said. "Take your pick." He snatched at a couple. "Well, except for these."

  They were all nearly identical. I grabbed two shirts and a ratty pair of mostly-brown trousers. One of the shirts was more patch than original fabric.

  "Your… master seems to be fairly comfortable. Why do you wear such shabby clothes?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "I'll outgrow them soon enough. Mister Illari says when I'm full-grown I'll have nice clothes. But not too nice, because then you start attracting unwanted attention."

  "He seems to be a wise man."

  He nodded proudly. "That's why I love him."

  "Is he a relative of yours?"

  "Nah. Policier Mattos chose me to help with the spices, just like you. I was the wee one of my family. Got six brothers and two sisters.
When my ma fell with a babe again, I asked Mister Illari if I could come stay here instead, and he said aye. I think he was lonely, and I like it here. I'll probably take over the spice business when Mister Illari gets too old."

  I nodded.

  "I'll be out in a moment," I said. "I'll leave your new clothes on the bed."

  "Ah, right," Calum said, coloring. "I shouldn't watch a girl change. Are you a Lady of the Sap, then?" Sap was the slang-term for nobility. It was borderline rude, but I knew Calum meant no harm.

  I half-smiled. "I was, I guess. But not anymore." Calum shot me a grin and scuttled from the room. I changed quickly and slung my rucksack over my shoulders. The clothes were too small, and my bony wrists poked far out of the sleeves.

  I felt suddenly awkward in the lounge. Here were two people who had shown me true generosity. I wish I did not have to leave them so soon. I gave them both handshakes. "I'll never forget your hospitality." I took the coin he had given me from my new pocket. "Here, you should keep this, as I haven't ground the chili pepper."

  Mister Illari gave me a dismissive wave. "It's no bother. Keep it. I feel rotten having to throw you out so soon after inviting you into my home. And come see me at the market some time for some spices, if you end up doing well enough on your own." His tone was joking, but underneath, I could tell he did feel badly for having to turn me out. Or maybe he regretted taking me in the first place.

  One side of my mouth quirked in sad imitation of a smile. "I will," I said. "Thank you." I hesitated.

  "Get on with you, then," he said, waving me toward the door.

  • • • •

  Again, I had no idea where to go. I clutched the Kedi ornament in my hand as I walked through the streets, keeping an eye out for Policiers, hiding behind the people in the crowd when I saw one. I did not know what Deep Voice and Reedy Voice looked like.

  Constantly glancing over my shoulder, I made my way to the little nest in the attic of the tenement in the Pauper District. But setting foot in the attic, I realized I could not stay there any longer, either. I must have left some crumbs from my food, for between that and the weather warming, I saw a rat or two, and heard more scrabbling in the walls. Scrunching my face with distaste, I left, vowing only to return if I had no other choice.

  Evening was turning to dusk as I made my way toward the beach. I had always wanted to go the beach when I was young, but we rarely went. Father was always too busy, and Mother did not exactly love the outdoors.

  "You brown too easily. Besides," she had said whenever I asked. "It's not like you would be able to wear a bathing costume with your… condition." My mouth twisted at the memory.

  The few times we did go to the beach, I had to be weighted down with skirts. I loved walking barefoot in the sand. So while I had swum in ponds in the summer, I had stuck little more than a toe in the ocean, and Mother had chided me for it when I had salt-stained a dark green dress.

  The beach was quiet other than the soothing sounds of the waves rising and crashing, a rush and swoosh as if the ocean was breathing. The sea mist sprayed my face. I breathed in time with the waves and rolled up my trousers and waded into the ocean until it reached mid-calf. The water was beyond freezing and my feet and ankles had gone numb, but I did not care.

  Life had been strange, the past few days. When I think back to that time now, I cannot believe how lucky I was. Had the moonshades seriously harmed me, had Mister Illari been a darker sort of fellow, had someone attacked me under the docks, then my time may have been cut short.

  Maybe I would have never run away in the first place, had I known.

  The beach was deserted but for fewer than a dozen people. I sat down, buried my frigid feet in the sand, and wished I had some food to eat. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself, staring at the dark horizon. When the cold became too much to bear, I walked up the beach, my feet in the sea water. I remembered that tonight was the last day of spring, and that tomorrow would be the first day of summer.

  I could see lights up ahead, not just the sickly amber glow of gas lamps lining the streets and the beach promenade, but lights of white, red, green, and blue. As I approached, sounds floated towards me. Bright brass instruments, a low thumping of a drum, laughter, shouting, and the throaty roar of an animal. When I realized what it was, my salt-caked face split into a grin.

  The circus was in town.

  24

  SUMMER :

  THE SCALED HERO OF A COWL

  "There has been a sharp rise in birth defects in the last score of years. Many have not been live births, but sad, twisted creatures that the doctors have hidden from their mothers. Something that could never live. Some say it's a curse from Styx's Darkness. Others say it's the fault of the mother, for feeling too many lustful or vengeful emotions during pregnancy. Some say it is caused by Penglass or Vestige, or that it is the first sign of returning Chimaera. No one truly knows, but doctors are working to find a cure."

  HEALTH REPORT TO THE ROYAL SNAKEWOOD

  UNIVERSITY OF MEDICINE

  When we put on our final show for the tiny village of Cowl, the villagers loved it.

  Every man, woman, and child came. It was an annual event, the first look at the circus worthy of the great city of Imachara, which most of them had never seen. It made the villagers feel privileged, and livened up their town while we were here. They dressed in their best garments. The girls tied ribbons, little more than colored rags, in their hair and the wives twisted their hair into patterned cloth. The men wore fabric flowers in their buttonholes, for fresh flowers were too rare and dear.

  Even so, we only had to erect one small stand to fit the entire population of Cowl. But we performed for them as if we were already in Imachara, as if royalty were in the stands. Many of the circus performers were from small villages like these, and they remembered how precious any bit of entertainment could be. The villagers stood up after the circus was over, and even the old men and women, whose faces seemed to have never been touched by a smile, beamed at us. I felt happier performing for them than I would have performing for the queen and princess of Ellada themselves. Well, perhaps.

  And so one night, the circus came into the village square of Cowl.

  We did not go into the city center more than once per visit, for the small village had trouble finding enough food to feed us. And, as much as they might enjoy our performances, we were still the outlandish outsiders, ones that, as Drystan had put it, played a joke on the world.

  The thatched roofs of the dilapidated buildings were greying. But although everything was third-hand, the people were responsible curators of their few possessions, and the town had no refuse in the streets. The air smelled of salt and smoked fish.

  We all entered the room of the sole pub and inn of Cowl, the Scaled Hood. Tauro and Karg had to stoop under the low ceiling timbers. The pub smelled of paraffin and roasting meat. No residents of the village sat at the rough tables. They were in their homes.

  The innkeepers, a husband and a wife whose family had owned the Scaled Hood for generations, entered and bid us welcome. As soon as we were all seated, they brought us tankards of ale, which was surprisingly good, though perhaps anything tasted wonderful compared to the swill we drank at the circus.

  "Who was the scaled man?" I asked Aenea as we waited for the food.

  She shrugged.

  "Oh, petal, you don't know the story of Fisk? He was the hero of this little village, many, many years ago," Bethany answered, dabbing the beer foam from her moustache with a cloth. "He was a malformed weakling at birth, and very nearly left to the elements. He had red eyes and large red lips, but the strangest part was his skin. White as snow but cracked deeply into diamonds."

  "Like a fool's motley," Drystan interrupted from several seats down. The whole table was listening to Bethany's tale, though most had probably heard it before.

  "Don't interrupt, poppet. The poor boy looked more demon than fool. The village wanted him killed, but the parents persuaded them to wai
t and let the babe die of natural causes. Babies like this were, and still are, born more often in Cowl than any other town in Ellada."

  "Are there any here, now?" I asked.

  "Don't know. If there are, they've never come to the circus as long as we've been practicing. But stop interrupting, dove."

  "Yes, Beth."

  "The parents made the villagers promise that no harm would come to the boy. He was called Fisk, for as a child he looked like a fish. As you can imagine, he did not die, but grew. He swam in the sea every day, no matter the weather, to soothe his skin, and he took herbs his mother gathered or bought for him, for she was a great healer. Perhaps he was indeed part-fish, as he was the best fisherman in Cowl at the time. And because he was kind and good, the villagers loved him despite his strangeness, and any other scaled babies were left to live."