It further displeased her that Cade continued to avoid looking at her or initiating conversation. It was as if nothing had happened between them that night in the mill. As if—as if she were naught to him.
She thumped him soundly on the leg with her bonewood.
“Ow! What was that for?” He rubbed his calf where she’d struck him.
Karigan smiled beneath her veil. Not only had she roused his attention, but she’d forced him to look at her.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “I thought—I thought after . . .” Now she found herself at a loss. Why did things never go well for her when it came to men? She shook herself and flipped the annoying veil out of her face so there was no barrier between them. Did Cade actually flinch upon seeing her face bared? “I thought,” she now said with resolve, “that after that night when we . . . well, that you might be a little more . . . that you’d at least talk to me.”
The light of passing street lamps flashed across his face. He squirmed in his seat and stared at his knees.
“You can’t even look at me,” she said, her voice higher in pitch from frustration.
“It’s not appropriate,” he quietly replied, balling his hands together on his lap.
“Looking at me is not appropriate?”
“No. I mean, none of it. I shouldn’t have . . .” He shuddered.
She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper in case Dr. Silk had chosen to breach the trust of his peers and the Hastings Livery Company by finding a way to eavesdrop. “Is it because I’m not like the empire’s women, obedient and modest?”
“No, no!” he said hastily. “Nothing like that. On the contrary. I . . .” And now he also leaned forward and whispered. “I like that about you, that you are different. I find it . . . stimulating.” He actually blushed. Karigan said nothing and waited for him to go on, which only seemed to add to his discomfort. “Well, it’s inappropriate.”
“Why, because the empire likes to hide its women behind veils and cloth and treat them like children?”
“No.” He paused, then, “Like children? Really? Is that what you think?”
She fixed him with a stony glare.
“All right, I guess I can see that,” he mumbled. “But no, that is not the basis of my feelings of impropriety.”
The carriage gently rocked as it rounded another corner. Improper. Impropriety. She was getting sick of those words. “Then what is the problem?”
“Something I thought you of all people would respect,” he replied.
“And what is that?”
He licked his lips, moved in even closer so he could whisper directly into her ear. “My aspiration to be a Weapon, a true Weapon.” His breath was warm against her cheek. “To protect Arhys without distraction.”
“But I’ve helped you with your training. I wouldn’t call that a distraction.”
“I am to be celibate.” He’d whispered it so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “I must be so I can focus on my duty alone.”
Celibate, she thought, and then realized that it insinuated he’d considered its opposite. With her. She did not know whether to laugh or be pleased that the idea had entered his mind. They were cheek to cheek, nearly touching. Her neck and face warmed. She felt that urge to kiss him coming over her again.
“Weapons do not marry,” Cade continued. “You must know this. They commit themselves wholly to those whom they serve.”
Karigan thought maybe he was reading too much into one kiss to be worrying about marriage.
“It’s true, Weapons do not marry,” she whispered, all too conscious of his pleasant musky scent, of the heat he radiated from so intimate a proximity, “but it does not mean they are celibates.”
“You know this for certain?”
The Order of the Black Shields was secretive and there had been plenty of speculation among her friends as to what actually went on in the private lives of the Weapons. Although the Weapons had allowed her into their world more than any other outsider she knew of, it wasn’t like she’d casually chatted with them about the state of their private congresses, or lack thereof. “No,” she admitted, “I don’t know for certain.”
“For me,” Cade said, “it is assumed.”
This time it was Karigan who looked away, suddenly tired and defeated. She wrenched herself away from him, sliding back in her seat, and pulled the veil down over her face. She’d done it once again, opened herself to someone, exposed herself only to be rebuffed. She was glad she could hide her humiliation behind her veil.
I should stay celibate myself, she thought. Forget about men, period. Probably it was all for the best, wasn’t it? That he didn’t want her? It would be less messy that way when it came time for her to leave.
Cade took her hand into his. “Look, Miss Goodgrave . . . Karigan . . . I—”
She snatched her hand away. “Forget I brought any of this up. Just forget it.”
“But . . .” The word hung in the air for a while, then Cade gave up and leaned back into his seat, his posture rigid, and a painful silence followed. It engulfed the cab, and the space felt too close, stifling.
“I am sure you will find a proper gentleman to settle down with,” Cade said eventually.
“What? Settle down? Here?” she whispered harshly and then laughed. It was a bitter sound. “If you think I’m staying here, you are most profoundly mistaken.”
“Where will you go?”
“Home. Back where and when I belong.”
Cade looked like he’d been punched. It was a mixture of surprise and hurt. “How?” He mouthed it more than whispered it.
She did not answer him for she did not know the answer. A moment later, the carriage eased to a halt. She was relieved when a gentleman in a long-tailed serge coat, with a tall silk hat atop his head, opened the door. He smiled at them, and she found her relief short lived when she realized who he was.
“Welcome,” said the ringmaster of Rudman Hadley’s Imperial Circus. “Dr. Silk awaits you in the big top.”
INTO THE BIG TOP
“The circus?” Cade demanded after he jumped out of the carriage, landing beside Karigan.
“Yes, sir, the finest entertainments you will find in the whole empire.” The ringmaster removed his tall hat and extended it toward the big top with a flourish. The walkway was lit with torchlight. “The most amazing, the magnificent, the original, Imperial Circus lays before you!”
Acrobats came tumbling out of the dark. A man appeared before them and inserted a torch into his mouth, then expelled a fiery breath. Karigan and Cade slowly made their way along the path, dazzled by contortionists, jugglers, a woman wound up in a bloated snake.
Karigan was not sure which was worse in the flickering torchlight—the snake or the clowns with their pale faces and false expressions. Whether their painted masks were jolly or grotesque, they all seemed to leer at her even as they cavorted around her.
“If there is all this before we even enter the tent,” Cade said, “I wonder what we shall find inside.”
She had no idea and wasn’t sure she wished to know. From outside they could hear the strains of music, fulsome, metallic tones different than anything she’d ever heard before. It was closer to horns than strings, and deep and powerful.
A harlequin in motley with a half red and half black face bowed them into the tent. All the activity and clamor, the light and color, was too much to take in all at once, and Karigan was glad to have her veil to filter some of the visual assault. Footlights surrounded the entire center ring and were augmented by crystal chandeliers suspended from rigging up above, sending shattered light twinkling across the red and white diamond pattern of the tent ceiling and walls. The tent reminded her of the costume she’d worn to the king’s masquerade. How long ago had that been?
Up above, a tightrope walker balanced her way across a wire
. Like Karigan, many guests turned their faces up to watch. She wondered if the men enjoyed the novelty of being able to gaze openly at scantily clad females who didn’t even conceal their faces with veils.
The source of the music was at the far end of the tent. A man sat at a keyboard contraption with four levels of keys and several pipes that rose up into the heights of the big top, spewing periodic hissing clouds of steam. The man operating it not only had his fingers dashing across the keys and pulling levers and knobs, but also his feet never stopped pumping treadles.
“What is that thing?” Karigan pointed it out to Cade. When the man hit the low notes, it made her bones rattle.
“A music steamer,” Cade said. “It can make all the sounds of a band. It means Hadley doesn’t have to pay a whole lot of musicians for the same effect, although it doesn’t sound as good to my ear.”
He did not appear terribly impressed by it, but then he had lived his whole life in this time where mechanicals were commonplace. Karigan wondered fleetingly what Estral would make of the music steamer.
“Hello, hello,” a man said, striding right up to them. Karigan recognized him as the circus boss. “Welcome to the Imperial Circus. I am Rudman Hadley. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure . . . ?”
Karigan started to speak, but Cade cleared his throat and passed her a warning look. “I am Cade Harlowe, and I’m escorting Miss Kari Goodgrave this evening, niece of Professor Bryce Lowell Josston.”
“How interesting,” Hadley said, giving Karigan a second look. Once again she was glad of the veil. What if he recognized her as the “corpse” that had “risen” from his sarcophagus the night she arrived? “Professor Josston’s mysterious niece. Your custodian has managed to keep you sequestered it would seem. Is this truly your first evening out since your arrival?”
She nodded.
“Very good. Enjoy all that Dr. Silk offers tonight—the entertainment, the food, the exhibits.”
He gave a slight bow and moved on to other guests. Karigan thought she and Cade both exhaled in relief at the same time. “Now what?” she asked.
“I guess we do as Hadley suggests—enjoy what’s here.”
Nearby, a burly man in a black mask hurled knives at a woman splayed against a wooden board behind her. The knives thunked into wood, outlining her figure with a precision Karigan could only admire. When he finished, he bowed to a smattering of applause. To Karigan, the one who deserved most of the acclaim was the woman who had stood unflinching as sharp blades flew at her.
Servants passed among the guests with glasses of wine. Cade demurred for both of them. “No spirits for us tonight. Perhaps there is punch somewhere.”
They drifted on past the next attraction, a caged lion with full tawny mane, padding around in circles. Nearby, another cage, this one tall and domed, was draped and guarded. Some of the guests tried to get the guards to tell them what was hidden beneath, but the guards only smiled and told them it was a surprise of Dr. Silk’s.
“Not sure if I like the sound of that,” Cade murmured.
A goodly number of guests filled the circus ring, supplemented by entertainers and servants. It was odd to be among so many women with their faces blanked by veils, but a few wore veils that barely reached their rouged upper lips. They wore gorgeous gowns that bared more of their necks and revealed more of their curves than any attire she’d seen thus far. Jewels glittered on their fingers, hung from their necks and wrists. All the other women, Karigan included, looked staid in comparison. If Mistress dela Enfande had been hoping for Karigan’s gown to make a statement of daring, she had fallen short.
“These women of the Capital,” Cade muttered, following her gaze, “no modesty at all.”
Karigan raised her eyebrow. There was something about these women. They were less reserved. They laughed more loudly and wore the most dramatic colors—vivid reds, and blues, and golds. The Mill City women were almost like mourners haunting a side show with their quiet demeanors and comparatively drab clothing and lack of baubles.
“What about the circus women?” Karigan asked him.
“Huh?”
“The circus women. How is their modesty level?”
“That’s different. They don’t count.”
“Really? Why not?”
“They’re circus performers,” he said, as if that should explain all.
“So it’s all right for them not to cover themselves with veils?”
“It is the way it is,” he said gruffly.
Some of the so-called modest women were giving Cade studied second looks through their veils as they passed by. If they only knew he wanted nothing to do with the opposite gender.
Something caught his attention and without warning he angled off across the ring. Karigan hurried to catch up. Fortunately the sawdust of the ring had been removed and replaced with wood flooring, otherwise her skirts would have raised quite a cloud and all the fine attire of the guests would be coated in a layer of dust.
Cade halted before one of the exhibits Hadley had mentioned. It was a life-sized sculpture of a p’ehdrose—part man, part moose—and enormous. The moose part looked authentic, as if the neck and head of a real moose had been removed, the body stuffed by a taxidermist, and the torso of an oversized man inserted into the shoulders and chest of the moose. The human part was not quite so well rendered, the skin looking like the texture and color of parchment, and puckered, the hair of his beard and head strawlike. The figure held a bow with arrow nocked, as if about to loose it.
“I’ve read about this,” Cade said, an expression of wonder on his face. “It’s part of the emperor’s private collection.”
Karigan had thought Amberhill had better taste than this. The figure was, she thought, grotesque. Then she read the inscription on the brass plaque on the platform that held the figure: This, the last known p’ehdrose in the world, the chieftain, Ghallos, was hunted and slain by the emperor in the first year of his reign.
“Ghallos’s mate must still be at the palace,” Cade said.
“Mate?” A horrible feeling came over Karigan.
“Yes, her name was Edessa. The emperor hunted all their people to extinction.”
“They’re real?” Karigan clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent further outbursts. As it was, Cade wasn’t the only one giving her peculiar looks.
“Of course they were real,” Cade said. “You see the evidence before you.”
Karigan was glad she hadn’t had any wine for she suddenly felt ill. The figure before her was not just an artistic rendering of a p’ehdrose, but an actual p’ehdrose. A taxidermied p’ehdrose.
No one in her own time had ever seen one, in fact no one had in known history. They were legends, just like Eletians had been, until the Eletians decided to make themselves known to the world again. It was said that the horn carried by the First Rider had been given to her by a p’ehdrose, but that had been a story.
She could hardly believe it. The p’ehdrose were real. She was both appalled and fascinated by the stuffed specimen and could not help but stare at it, the human part muscular and powerful, the head positioned in a proud tilt, glass eyes shining in the light.
“Admiring old Ghallos, are we?” It was Dr. Silk, and before Karigan knew it, he was bowing over her hand.
“I’ve always wished to see him,” Cade said, “and his mate.”
“Ghallos is on loan for this one special evening,” Dr. Silk replied. “Alas, we left Edessa at the palace as insurance that should some accident befall Ghallos, at least one specimen would remain. He is in good condition, is he not? When he was mounted, though, the technique for preserving the human part of his flesh had not been perfected. A tricky thing, that, the preservation of human flesh.”
Karigan felt even more nauseated and turned her back to the display, unable to look any longer at poor Ghallos. She was thrilled that th
e p’ehdrose were real, but now they were extinct. Why had Amberhill done that? Why had he destroyed everything?
“I’m sorry, is it too much, the display of this beast?” Dr. Silk asked her. “I know you have, er, delicate sensibilities.”
Cade stepped between the two of them. “Are you all right, Miss Goodgrave?”
Now he decided to pay her attention?
“They stuffed a p’ehdrose,” she murmured, still incredulous.
“Miss Goodgrave?” He peered at her as if trying to see through her veil.
She shook herself remembering who she was and who stood nearby. “I wish to see something else.”
“I have just the thing,” Dr. Silk said, pushing Cade aside. He hooked his arm around hers and led her away.
At first Karigan stiffened at his touch, but she forced herself to relax. It was a perfectly acceptable and gentlemanly gesture, though in her time she would have been asked for her approval first.
Cade followed so closely he practically stepped on her heels.
“I am sorry your uncle could not join us this evening,” Dr. Silk said.
She doubted that very much, but she nodded as if accepting his apology. “He is busy with work tonight.”
“I’m sure he is,” Dr. Silk said in a voice like a purr. “He is often busy. And what is my esteemed colleague working on these days?”
Karigan narrowed her eyes. Was he hoping to attain some unguarded information from her? In answer, she shrugged, and said very carefully, “Old forks and spoons, I think. Mr. Harlowe would know the particulars.”
“That would be about it,” Cade said, striding alongside them almost too eagerly, Karigan thought. Unlike Dr. Silk, Cade lacked subtlety. “With the Old City closed off to excavations due to . . . due to the recent incident, the students are learning to catalog the artifacts we already have.”
Their host chuckled. “Industry to keep idle hands from finding trouble. I approve.”
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