by Jeff Kamen
Crouching, his hair no longer in his way but cut level with his ears, he opened up the wings and worked the joints he’d replaced, or in some cases had glued and splinted, ensuring that the moving parts operated smoothly. He wiped away the dust that had fallen from the underwing, then, satisfied by his progress, he wrapped the glider in its sleeve and drank some water and left.
Downstairs, he went to the little washroom to shave, then on returning to the hallway he paused at the basement door. It stood ajar, and after hesitating, he opened it wider and looked down into the shadowed passageway. It had been his own suggestion that they use the Cage to carry out his father’s rescue — something which Paget had admitted troubled him, so strong was the Cage’s pull upon the enemy, and so great the force of will required to mask its purpose — and yet oddly, he thought, peering down at the worn dark steps, in spite of them reaching an agreement on this, going so far as to plan ways of smuggling it on and off the premises, he’d not been permitted to see it for himself.
Yet he wondered if he needed to. It was their strongest weapon. He could feel it down there. Its presence. Protecting them. It had to be. ‘Save us,’ he whispered, then he turned away and went across to the dance room.
Paget was there, talking with a skinny street girl. He walked in uncertainly. She had a bad complexion and dark rings under her eyes. Frowning, he saw that her small pointed breasts were half exposed; she seemed to be complaining about something. As soon as she noticed him approaching, she buttoned up her shirt and asked Paget how much she was going to get paid, adding, ‘You aint one of them rip-off merchants, are you?’
‘Oh, you’ll be paid very well, child,’ Paget said coyly, shaking his tambourine, ‘verily and twice verily and yet more.’ Then he motioned with a fingernail for them to stand together. Moth went to her side without enthusiasm, struggling to smile as he greeted her, then stood listening as Paget described the key features of the dance he’d choreographed so far — to welcome what he referred to obliquely as the Great Arrival.
The girl stood yawning and scratching herself as Paget spoke, and after a few minutes he found himself glancing anxiously aside. He felt her presence there unnerving, unused as he was to speaking with others outside the Fraternity. Equally unpleasant was seeing her roll her eyes in contempt at what she was hearing, then quickly lower them as Paget fixed with her with a stony glare.
Clearing his throat, Paget continued, ‘In enactment of this dance, you are continuing a marvellous tradition in which the old world gives birth to the new. Think of the dance as a toy which hops around the feet of those who would stifle it, and yet it is no toy. Oh, no, the enemy is mistaken. It sees it ready to jump, to pounce, to do the unexpected at any time, but it fails to understand the reason. We however … we know why so very well. We know that without it …’ — he beamed, catching Moth’s eye — ‘life is death. As with all traditions, the dance is vital and it is severe. It demands to be understood, but understood at a price. For all things of value must be paid for, children, as you well know. It is the first law of all Creation.’ Paget smiled up at the tarnished yellow ceiling, then to Moth’s surprise swung his head at him. ‘To this joyous end, child, signalling the beginning of our victory, the dance will furnish you with the privilege of taking this ... delicioush creaturesh hand in marriage.’
He nodded, swaying uneasily. The girl scratched her armpit.
‘I will train you both in the ceremony as required. Your dance together will bring great joy to many, and in this vision of unity, the Aeon shall come forth with great gifts to bestow upon us, and we shall forever be covered in its glory, et cetera, et cetera, and so on.’
Straight after that, they began rehearsals. For the first hour Paget concentrated on basic floor exercises, all of which Moth was familiar with, and executed with ease; the girl less so. As a result of this, Paget took her aside for an additional session, then they rested. A short while later he called them together again, so they could practise some steps with their partner, work hand in hand with them; but it turned out that neither were used to dancing in time with another person, and he quickly grew impatient. After watching them stumble into one another yet again, he came over to join them, teeth splayed, concerned that neither were agile enough to deal with the complexities of the manoeuvres he had planned.
‘Stretch, girl,’ he ordered, ‘like thus.’ He placed a palm on the small of her back, then yanked her arms behind her, saying, ‘Be more rubbery, be melted with adoration for young Marty here, soon to be your lovely husband.’
At lunch, Kol came in with the pipe. Moth snatched it from him and kept it until half the bowl was consumed before passing it to the girl, who coughed and shuddered as she smoked, yet would not let go of it until prompted. After they’d eaten, Paget explained that they were to take turns to lead during the next session, and set them to work. They alternated as he’d requested, and while one of them took centre stage, crawling and leaping, weaving in abstract motions as they developed their role, the other looked on.
All the time he was coaching them, Paget reminded them of the significance of the ceremony. In explaining what he wanted, he was at pains to convey the importance of getting their gestures just right, of ensuring their positioning was inch-perfect as they executed their actions. Moth found him surprisingly detailed in his commands, even though much of the dance had yet to be developed, and although he was barely able to focus at times, he became aware that, while he was managing to do most of what Paget wanted from him, the girl was singularly failing to impress.
‘Up, girl,’ he said, as she ran about on tip-toes. ‘Wherefore this string in your step? Up, I say. What ails your posture? You stoop, you lean, you fall when you should rise. Reach, child, how many more times? Reach.’
‘Look at her,’ Kol muttered, entering the room. ‘Eh? It’s like watching a fish.’
‘I’m trying,’ she gasped, lunging towards the mirror, then she sprang upwards in a flurry of paws that caused Paget to turn to Kol in quiet consultation.
She danced away from the mirror, panting, then sprang again. Still watching, arms folded, Paget nodded. ‘Better,’ he called, motioning Moth to join her.
‘It’s the slippers,’ Kol muttered, ‘she keeps slipping on em. You wait, she’ll break her neck in a minute.’
Paget eyed him darkly. ‘I think the shoes are the least of our problems, Mr Kol. The very trifling.’
Kol shifted his feet. ‘Why don’t we try some other ones, eh? No one’s going to watch this rubbish.’
‘Oh, very well,’ Paget sighed, ‘nothing too fancy though. And grip, they have to grip.’
The heat grew cloying in the room. The light through the shutters turned to an amber glow. Paget became increasingly irritated by the girl, and as time wore on, Moth came to understand his mood: it was obvious that she was not only physically clumsy, but that her heart was not in her motions at all. After several restarts and black silences in which Paget threw his tambourine across the room, went around stamping, kicking over chairs, he announced he’d had enough. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he instructed them to work their way from the beginning one last time.
As they took up their starting positions, he whacked the tambourine against his leg and watched them as they moved, glaring, trembling in rage.
‘Leap, girl! Leap, damn you!’ he roared after a minute. ‘Think of the Arrival! Think of the dance like a bird in flight! Up, girl! Higher! Cherish your husband! Show him some love, or at least some class, you sullen little hussy! Leap! I said leap! This is the very wedding of Life! For pity’s sake, child, put some beef into it!’
They wove and ducked and trotted and drew enticingly together, then skipped apart, the girl staggering a little; then they linked arms and began to pirouette in ever tightening circles. Right on the beat they leapt apart again, then wove back closer, then closer still; then after several long sweeping motions, they collided, Moth just managing to retrieve his balance well enough to end up at her side. The
y finished the piece barely facing in the same direction, their arms clasped at an awkward angle behind each other’s back, kneeling shakily.
There was a long silence.
They continued to kneel, dripping. Paget’s silhouette stood tall against the streaming light. Eventually Moth lowered his arms; the girl followed.
‘How much do we get in advance?’ she asked the shadow.
The silence bloomed.
Moth felt himself grow cold, began itching for the pipe.
Paget told the girl to go downstairs with Kol. She got up and ambled towards the door, Kol following her.
Then he turned his gaze to Moth. ‘And you,’ he said, ‘you may return to your room.’
He obeyed without question. An hour later, he was served a platter of warm ribs. The pipe was brought to him soon after. He smoked it to ashes, then collapsed into bed.
The next day another street girl was skulking listlessly against the screen, and the rehearsals began again.
~O~
He watches them come and watches them go, none meeting the basic requirements. He never sees the same girl twice, nor does he ask where they go upon discharge. The days are passing quickly, and while part of him is concerned about not yet having a partner, so much of his time is spent plotting tactics and sitting over diagrams of the house that it becomes a routine matter to block out anything but the actions to be taken at the critical moment of escape — the moment when his father will be at his most vulnerable, and when all those involved must undertake to the full what is required of them. It is clear to him that each individual must know exactly where to be at that moment, and at what time to be there; all must be experts in minimising suspicion, no matter the boldness of what they pursue.
Hours he spends with Paget and Kol discussing this. Hours marking out doorways and entrances, the comings and goings of guards, the risky locations in which they must wait and hide; the help they will need within the enemy household in order to get away unseen. There is no argument between them that the Cage is the only viable means of transportation, yet still it comes as a surprise to him to hear that Paget has already arranged for its collection.
When he presses Paget on this, concerned about the haste of the arrangement, he insists that everything is safely in hand; he says the collection will be prior to the dance, on the same day if necessary, although preferably earlier, so that it can be put in place during a quiet period when few staff are about.
At this, Moth nods to himself, still thoughtful, then with a certain scepticism he asks how safe it will be for the Cage to stay hidden during this time. To which Paget replies with confidence, ‘The house is now infiltrated. Fear not, for staff we shall soon see with our own eyes are conspiring against the master. Indeed, treason is afoot. We have friends there in the dozens, friends of blood. Now we must work in faith towards the freeing of all that are captive — firstly in the house, and then in that far beyond. This, child, will help us during the extrication itself, most certainly, but moreover it strengthens our numbers as the Fraternity’s work widens its reach, and the days of the Aeon draw nigh ...’
Whenever he is alone downstairs, he stretches, practises complex dance routines. Whenever upstairs, he focuses on the glider. Thanks to a strong adhesive, it has largely been rebuilt: all he requires is a little more material to patch up the wings. Progress is being made on many levels, he can feel it, and when he thinks of his father now, he has a strong sense of him being near, a once-lost shadow taking ever-firmer shape, becoming individualised, soon to turn into a person. In mere days they will have a chance to hug each other — weeping no doubt — hug and make plans for the future. Then they will put matters right, not just the two of them, but all those who support the Fraternity: a powerful group who will put right in the world all that is wrong and harmful. ‘Come, Aeon,’ he whispers, pulling the bonelike wings open. ‘Arrive.’
~O~
‘I said no herbs,’ Kol muttered, standing before the table.
Paget was picking at his teeth. ‘I did in fact hear you, Kol, believe it or not. But what, pray, does it mean? None today, none tomorrow? What?’
‘No herbs means no herbs. They said it’s a drought.’
Moth sank into his rehearsal chair, gasping. Just when he was most in need, when yet another girl had disappointed them; just when he was starting to feel a little desperate. In frank disbelief Paget sent Kol out again, but when he returned he had only a wrap of silver-grey crystals to show for his efforts, confirming the news. ‘I’m telling you,’ he said, handing it across to Paget, ‘the whole city’s gone to pot.’
Paget wearily sprinkled a pinch of the crystals into the pipe bowl and suggested they sit down. They sat together on the floor, Moth blinking in the failing light. Paget used for a taper a long splinter of wood and held it over the bowl and sucked. The thin flame drew down quivering and danced a moment before sputtering out in a rising dome of scented smoke. The smoke thinned and trailed and grew ragged in the air and Moth pulled it into his nostrils, hooked it into his lungs, bit dryly at its essence. ‘It’s … it’s nice,’ he said weakly, almost focussing, almost soothed.
‘Aint much difference anyway,’ Kol muttered, taking the pipe as Paget passed it to him, and from there the pipe continued on its rounds. During those first heady inhalations, Moth could only agree with him, agree profoundly — but in the night he was not so sure.
He no longer felt safe, cocooned. It was as if something was missing, as if the Fraternity’s warm embrace had left his body, slipped away from him, leaving him naked and cold and afraid. He lay there in sweats, fighting back at an old familiar host of faces that had risen through the boards; lay kicking at them in icy grief and terror. Grey dawn came scratching at the window like so many rapiers and talons, forbearers of some roaring calamity. He sat up weeping, not knowing where he was.
The next day it seemed to him that he was not the only one affected by the crystals. Kol came snarling through the door and appeared to be shaking as he threw down the breakfast tray. Downstairs, Paget was pacing restlessly up and down in the practice room, and could barely look at him as he lurched inside the doorway, begging him to send Kol out again in search of the herbs.
‘Silence, boy!’ he cried. ‘Get on with it. Take those shoes off. Do your stretches. Do something … useful, damn you!’
A new girl arrived perhaps an hour later, shoved brutally into the room by Kol, who then went across to whisper something to Paget. Uneasy, Paget lit a pipe as soon as Kol had departed, giving the girl directions from behind a swirling white plume, speaking in a harsh and restless monotone. After the girl had taken a toke or two, Moth grabbed the pipe from her and turned aside, where he stood shaking, inhaling greedily, until Paget pulled it back from him and sprinkled in more of the crystals before smoking it himself. Twice more the pipe went round, then a door crashed shut in the hallway. As Moth looked up, startled, he found the pipe being snatched away by long sharp fingers.
‘Ignore him, just dance,’ Paget growled, as Kol snorted dully in the street, and then on directing him and the girl to the centre of the floor, the day’s rehearsals commenced.
That afternoon, the girl left them in much the same way she’d appeared, cuffed into the hallway by Kol while Paget prowled about the room in a fury, gasping, clutching at his head. Sinking to the floor, Moth had a sense that everything was poisoned, doomed, falling away from them, and he cried out to the Cage for guidance, for inspiration, for the strength he needed to get through the coming events.
Scenes of ugly turmoil followed, the house becoming more like a rickety trapdoor asylum than a place of rhythmic nurturing and contemplation. A house of crashes and yells, of seething anxiety, hours of groaning helplessly in bed and Kol slapping him awake, pinching him, dragging him out from the covers ...
When the maid appeared, Paget followed her around the house criticising her work and carping at her, prodding her at times, leering cruelly as she scrubbed at the walls; he was seen clicking his
fingernails and occasionally screaming at her, once so dreadfully that she ran from the house with her apron to her face, dabbing at her tears. Doors banged open and shut on all floors and rehearsals ground to a halt. No more girls appeared. Paget and Kol could be heard arguing viciously in the basement and even threatening each other, their shouts accompanied by smashing noises, the sound of breaking glass, the furious wapping of the tambourine.
In lucid intervals, Moth saw that they were growing ever more sick, ever more wildly restless. The joints Kol served him came up tardily, and left a sour and unfresh taste in the mouth that had him retching and puking; clotted pink strings hanging from his lips over the bathroom stinkhole. The crystals seemed to be the only thing stitching their sanity together: long smoky sessions followed by a woollen silence.
Then, just when it seemed that matters could not be more unbearable, they worsened still. One shuddering afternoon he was on his way downstairs for water when Kol came running in from the street. He slammed the door behind him and leant back against it breathlessly. He had blood on his face, was grimacing, drenched in sweat. A moment later Paget emerged from the practice room. He stood with a palm flat against the doorjamb, fingers drumming in growing agitation until Kol opened his eyes and began to wave at the pair of them, unable to speak.
‘And what, pray, is the matter, running one?’ Paget demanded, scowling. ‘I spy a little story, Mr Kol. I smell a little tale.’
‘Blimey, what a carrion,’ Kol groaned as he came down the hall, where he continued panting, hands propped on his knees.
Moth watched on numbly as Paget took him inside the practice room, then he shuffled on a few steps to listen to what they had to say.