The Hare’s eyes narrowed beneath the mask.
‘I forgive you, miss, for I assure you that we have all seen your kind before.’ She licked her lips slowly. ‘And we do very much tire of it.’
Flushed in face, Alis kicked her chair back, her lips tightly bound together in outrage. She stormed off, pausing momentarily to get her bearings and discover the exit, then marched in the relevant direction.
The man erupted in laughter, slamming the base of his glass against the table in jubilation. ‘She has no stomach, that girl. That’s what time away for education does to you. Leaves you with … with a head full of delusions.’
The Hare bowed modestly. ‘I apologize. I meant no offence to your party.’
‘Yes you did.’ The man grinned, gulping down the last of the golden liquid.
‘Yes,’ the Hare corrected, ‘I did.’
‘Will you join us?’
The Hare politely declined, explaining how others were to be conversed with, playfully adding that there were numerous other insults to administer. But before he allowed her to leave, he asked a burning question that had been of some interest to those around the table.
‘Please enlighten us, we have been talking about it endlessly. Everyone beneath you seems to showcase a talent! May I ask what yours is?’
The Hare paused, curious as to how to respond. The others at the table tried not to keep any sort of prolonged eye contact in fear of facing the Hare’s wrath.
‘I keep all what you see here ticking along. That is a special expertise in itself,’ she stated.
‘Nothing else?’ he drunkenly slurred.
The Hare tilted her head. It had been quite the time since someone had challenged her so brazenly and as was her nature, and the nature of all of those aboard the Morning Star, challenges were to be risen to. Without doing so, there would be a danger of word getting around that their most gracious host was bland in comparison to those in her employ. This, of course, would not do.
The Hare gestured with a grey-gloved hand to a man lighting his cigarette with a silver flint lighter.
‘If you would be so kind as to do me a favour,’ she requested, quite politely.
Confused and intimidated in equal parts, he held out his lighter still aflame, the snifter of fire bobbing this way and that.
The Hare pinched it as one would pinch from a bowl of spice, raised her hand, with the flicker of light now in her possession. The hand offered it to the other, which pinched at it, stealing the flame for its own. The Hare twisted her wrists so they were upturned, raising her arms now in a wide circle. The flame was returned to the opposite hand. The fingers snapped open, revealing the fire now adorning her thumb and every fingertip. They closed once more, transferring to a single flame, snapping wide once more showing just the one balancing on an index finger.
This was repeated in the other hand, identically. As the hands jabbed at one another the flame transferred back and forth, then it became two, one for each hand, rolling in the palms, appearing, vanishing, appearing, vanishing, with every flex and thrust of the limbs. Then the flame separated, adorning both sets of fingers, was conjoined into one before being brought to the woman’s lips, balancing on the black and grey fabric of the glove.
Tilting her head to the heavens, the woman spat a puff of air, jetting the flame out just a hand’s length but still enough to make the onlookers recoil in their seats. It faded away into nothing, leaving those watching in awe.
The Hare took her applause graciously.
The bar began to populate with drained glasses, and sales of fine alcohol eventually dwindled to naught. Cards were folded and final pots given. Those who gambled with too much of their pay had not the heart to try and win it back, embracing their defeat with dignity. Others who were up on their luck sauntered away with glee.
As is true of any enjoyable experience, the evening went far too quickly for the people of Landusk. Midnight passed, forcing a good number of those to retreat to their beds. As time went on even the most avid card player reluctantly made their way home, walking, and in a good number of cases staggering through the streets in drunken song. The last of the most stubborn residents were escorted out of the station and stillness became the norm once more.
The Morning Star sat at Platform Three, with its cargo and companions, quite alone.
The furniture and games were efficiently loaded back onto the carriages, packed for transport as had been done time and time before. The clatter of clean, stacked glasses finally ebbed away and the showgirls’ banter now moved into the carriages with not a scrap of evidence remaining as to what had just happened at Redmane station.
The Hare sat upon a carriage, embracing her legs and gazing down at the rooftops before her. Her focus wasn’t on the spotless rooftops but instead on the tracks that ran into the darkness to the city gate, which was now very much closed. Still she looked, with dulled hazel eyes and enough make-up beneath her showpiece to cover the evidence of too little sleep.
The man beside her was ensuring that.
‘Forgive me if I’m wrong,’ he stated, mimicking her posture and absent stare, ‘but I distinctly remember us having a conversation about avoiding cities like this. Too many powerful folks with moneyed connections playing power games. Experience has proven that crap is bad for business.’
‘I know.’ She turned to him, taking in the splendid black and gold show suit. The mask on his own face, that of a stag with grand horns, was significantly imposing. ‘And like most of your advice, I decided to ignore it. The profits speak for themselves.’
She stared at the mask’s eye sockets, the owner’s pupils quite invisible in the darkness.
‘It’s not all about money you know.’
‘Obviously. Not that you’ve ever admitted that to me before, but I know.’
The stag exhaled. ‘I remember a time when you would listen to me. I miss that.’
‘Things change.’
‘I was never under the illusion that they didn’t. The Morning Star is evidence of that. Speaking of the train, you’re going to run it in to the ground aren’t you?’ He sighed, steering the conversation to something he dreaded.
The Hare didn’t attempt to refute this accusation.
‘If I need to. I’m doing what’s necessary. You of all people can’t chastise me for following that creed.’
‘Obviously not.’ The stag lowered his head, putting a bold statement forward: ‘But everything I did was to keep people safe. Even you. What you’re doing is the exact opposite. It’s dangerous. Are you honestly willing to sacrifice –’
‘I know full well what I have to give up,’ she interrupted. ‘Don’t attempt to lecture me on that front.’
‘That’s always been your problem. You take advice as an insult. If you stopped for just a moment you would realize that, even if you achieved a miracle, even if you somehow pulled this off, things won’t end well for you. Is it actually worth it?’
‘Yes,’ she responded bluntly. She stared at the man’s disguise. It was a question she had asked herself so many times that her decision was borderline reflex.
He turned back, slowly nodding. He finally spoke. ‘I don’t approve.’
The Hare shrugged her shoulders. Of course he wouldn’t. He never would have. It wasn’t his choice to make.
‘Then it’s a good thing you’re not real, isn’t it?’ the Hare confessed.
An interruption came in the form of noise, welcome noise, but enough to derail her thinking.
A burst of sudden heel clicks was followed by one of the more senior showgirls calling for her attention.
* * *
All the while the showgirls attended to the clean-up, the Hare had not moved in posture or averted her gaze. It concerned the one referred to as the Owl. Truth be told, this oddly stoic behaviour concerned the others too, who dared not begin a conversation with her in fear of where it might lead. Some whispered among themselves about what she was doing. One pointed out that she rese
mbled a gargoyle atop a church buttress, playfully of course but nobody laughed.
‘Who are you talking to?’ the Owl put to her, quite confused. ‘I heard voices.’
The Hare slowly looked to the empty space beside her. The phantom her imagination conjured had vanished, a construct that had been increasingly haunting her as the days went by. Its appearance was almost routine now, not that such a thing subdued the pain she felt in its presence.
‘Apparently nobody,’ the Hare confessed with a pained sigh.
‘What’s the plan? Are you going to spend all night up there?’ the Owl, Corinne, called with her hands on slanted hips. A shock of her raven-black hair stirred gently with every motion. Like the others, she had removed her mask when the last of the patrons had left, leaving no need for such things. ‘There is a perfectly comfortable bed in your carriage you know.’
‘I will be fine. Thank you for your concern.’
‘May I ask what it is you’re even doing?’ Corinne sheltered her eyes from the gaslight’s glare with a raised hand.
The response was slow. ‘On the lookout for troublemakers.’
Surely she jested? Corinne took stock of the platform, and their own security – or what passed for it – who had begun to retire for the evening. What possible trouble could there be?
‘There’s nobody here, much less anybody who would cause a ruckus. Even if there was, the station has enough muscle around to deter would-be chancers. I keep saying that we need someone to provide some protection, not a part-timer like you’re satisfied with. Listening to me will allow you to spend time in that comfy, comfy bed of yours.’
‘That you do.’
‘So?’
‘My answer is the same as before,’ the Hare said. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Corinne’s hands dropped to her sides. ‘You’ll think about it. Right.’
‘That’s my decision.’
‘It’s a stupid decision. Look, just come down won’t you? I’m getting a crick in my neck and you need to eat.’
* * *
The Hare didn’t respond.
‘Katerina has made stew!’ Corinne sang. The encouragement fell on deaf ears. The Hare avoided the request and resumed her stare. In her mind, the night concealed dangers, considerable ones at that. It is best I remain, she convinced herself, just in case.
‘I’ve tasted her cooking. That’s not exactly swaying me.’
‘It’s better than nothing.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’ll catch a cold up there as well.’
‘Of that, I’ll take my chances.’
* * *
Corinne leant against the carriage side and patted its surface. This persistent stubbornness was becoming tiresome. At every stop they made, the owner of the Morning Star would retreat like this, paranoid over some unseen threat that stalked them. No matter how many times Corinne insisted that there was nothing to worry about, new excuses were made to the contrary.
‘Your chances mean that you’ll be stuck in bed, and my days will be spent bringing you nothing but soup. We have to be awake in four hours. That’s not a lot of time to get some sleep, especially if we’re to stick to this overly busy schedule of yours that you’re so keen on pushing.’ Corinne glanced at the illuminated city gates down the tracks, barely visible, but still noticeably barred. ‘According to Ferry, the gates won’t be open until nine at the earliest. There’s a curfew in effect, something about random trouble. I don’t know. It’s all very sudden.’
This was enough for the Hare to finally look down to the platform.
‘What sort of trouble? Do we know?’ she asked, quite concerned.
‘No idea. Whatever’s happening, nobody is telling. The law refuses to whisper notions, though I did try to sweet talk them when they were hanging around trying to bum drinks. We have no option but to sit and wait it out I’m afraid. We are going nowhere, dear. You’d best get comfortable if you’re staying up there.’
‘I’m used to the waiting – that’s not of concern. I just don’t necessarily like it.’
‘Don’t like the boredom?’ Corinne asked.
‘I don’t like being trapped,’ the Hare muttered flatly, resting her chin on her forearms.
Again, there was silence.
Corinne finally spoke. ‘Are you sure I can’t convince you?’
‘I’m sure,’ came the reply, though this time she turned again and made eye contact. The pair watched one another until Corinne relinquished with a shrug.
‘Well, if you insist. Wait here. Not that you’re doing anything else of course …’
* * *
Corinne stormed along the platform and into the warm glow of one of the few illuminated cars. There was a good couple of minutes where there was nothing. There was no noise, there were no interruptions, only the perfect stillness of the city night. Landusk had seldom seen such tranquillity and whilst it may only last a scant few hours, it was something quite wonderful to treasure.
Then Corinne returned.
‘If you’re not coming for food, then the food’s coming to you.’ Corinne’s voice floated from over the carriage side, joined by the striking of shoe on ladder. The woman hoisted herself up, balancing two flower-decorated bowls with protruding spoons. One was placed before the Hare and the other was set aside temporarily. ‘Compliments of Katerina. Come on, take that stupid thing off – the show’s over.’
Corinne reached to relieve her manager of her mask, though she was met with immediate hesitation. In truth the Hare had forgotten that she still wore the showpiece. Its presence was so invisible that it felt as natural as her hand or foot. The flinch given was telling, though her eyes softened momentarily, allowing for Corinne to it relieve her of its burden.
* * *
Beneath the mask, the woman gave a long exhalation, patches of skin red from the mask’s pressure. Pits of black eye shadow reduced her eyes to a pair of dulled gems in a lagoon of make-up, hiding tell-tale signs of insufficient rest and obsessed troubles. Her lips, glossed slick, had worn a fake smile all night but this too had been removed, leaving a thin stoic line. Misu’s eyes softened in thanks.
The disguise was placed carefully beside her and just out of reach to ensure it wouldn’t be accidentally kicked aside. Corinne made her best effort to coax a smirk with one of her own though this was sadly ineffectual. Admitting defeat, she offered the food, relieved when it was finally accepted.
‘Here. It’s good for what ails you.’
‘Thank you,’ Misu said, cupping the bowl in her hands. She stirred the contents. Meat and vegetables bobbed around, suspended in a thick, pungent gravy. Its smell was a distinct comfort, a musky, woody aroma with the tang of onion.
‘Don’t mention it.’ Corinne crossed her legs and began to take spoonfuls of stew to her hungry mouth. A carrot dissolved to nothing as it rolled around on her tongue. A cube of meat required more chewing than she was comfortable with, but despite these flaws they contributed to a substantial meal.
Corinne wagged her empty spoon about.
‘I see why you like it up here. It’s pretty peaceful.’ She surveyed the darkened gothic buildings that sandwiched the train tracks. Barely any windows accommodated the glow of candle or oil lamp with most of the city’s occupants in their beds, unsurprising given the hour. ‘We don’t have much of that these days given the circumstances. I wouldn’t have imagined it could be so quiet being smack in the middle of such a big city.’
* * *
Misu changed the subject immediately, knowing full well when someone was probing for answers to challenging questions. ‘It’s a nice city, this. I wouldn’t mind returning sometime soon. There are good people with deep pockets. The takings were fine, or at least from what I’ve been told so far.’
‘Elizabeth says this place is all too claustrophobic. Doesn’t like that everything is built on top of itself. Tight streets and all that.’
Misu began to scrape at the remains in her bowl, taking the
last few mouthfuls. ‘That’s a normal country girl reaction. Big cities don’t suit ’em. How is our songbird coping? We could have used her tonight. The punters were receptive. Could have brought in a lot of extra money if she did her set.’
‘She’s resting her voice. It won’t be long until she’s fully recovered. The worst is behind her or at least that’s what she insists. The girl has practically been living on sweet tea. I’ve been told she’ll be fine for the next show. Despite that, it should be said that she still manages to muster complaints.’
‘I have to confess, she’s a complainer that one,’ Misu stated with concern. ‘Always with something to say, rarely good.’
‘Nerves I’m sure. Do you think she’s trouble?’
‘Hard to say. What I know is that we need her on form and quickly. It’s been a month and she’s only done two performances.’
‘Come now, you can’t blame her for falling ill. That’s just bad luck.’ Before her manager could respond with a rebuttal that would sour the conversation, Corinne placed her bowl down on the rooftop and scrunched up her face in thought. ‘You’re right you know.’
‘Huh?’
‘The stew could be better.’
Misu finally gave a small smile, the first one witnessed tonight outside of the performance. Corinne took the bowls and stacked them atop one another. They both leaned back on the carriage.
‘You’re not going back in?’ Misu asked.
‘And leave you alone out here? That’s just not right in my book. No, you get my company – and no objections.’
‘No objections, boss,’ Misu corrected.
‘As you wish. That’s still difficult to get used to.’
‘You and me both, but these are the times. It’s strange days when you’re being dragged from place to place by, technically, a dead woman.’ Misu snorted in amusement, glancing to her mask that held a subtle hint of her reflection. The ruse created to conceal her identity fit in well with the natural theatrics that the Morning Star thrived on.
Den of Stars Page 5