“And is he to be believed?” said the woman. “He says it happened by pure chance, but he could be lying.”
The three of them nodded, and the old man continued rolling up his sleeves.
“No,” said George. “No, honestly, I just came here by accident.”
“Stop,” said the girl. “Let me search him, and see what I can find. I will see if he is lying.”
“The group has voted,” said the old man. “He is to die, and I shall kill him. Don’t let it trouble you. I will make it painless enough.” He took another step forward. His knuckles crackled like thunderstorms, and his brows settled down around his eyes like drifts of snow at the feet of mountains.
“You cannot kill him if I claim patronage,” said the girl.
The old man stopped short at that, and the other two gasped.
“Patronage?” said the man in orange. “Are you serious? You would do such a thing?”
“For someone you do not know?” said the old man. “For a stranger?”
“You cannot trust him,” said the woman.
The little girl held up her hand, and they were silent. She took George by the hand and gently turned him, and her small, rosy fingers were warm and soft. Then she walked in a circle around him, her bright green eyes tracing him up and down. Her gaze was very sharp and fierce, and George soon felt uncomfortable, as though he were naked and she were seeing every inch of him and he could do nothing to stop it.
“There is something different about him,” said the girl.
“Different?” said the woman. “He looks unexceptional to me.”
“Perhaps it is a trap,” said the man in orange. “Maybe there is some danger hidden within him.”
“There is something hidden within him, yes,” said the girl, surprised. “And… I do think it dangerous, but not for us.”
“Then you cannot lay patronage with ease of mind,” said the woman. “Not if he could be dangerous to anyone. There are few shames greater than a beneficiary who acts poorly.”
The girl continued peering at him. Then she shook her head. “No. I do not see that potential in him, either. Yes. Yes, I think I will. I will lay patronage.”
The old man looked at her gravely. “None of us have laid patronage to any man in many, many years. Are you sure you wish to do this?”
“As he says, he is an artist. And I am allowed to claim myself a patron for whom I wish,” she said.
“But he could be a nothing!” said the old man. “A tuneless clinker, a silly hack!”
“How can you be his patron if you have not even heard his music yet?” said the woman. “Even the lesser winds may be shamed by this! Are you serious about wishing to claim patronage for this… this boy?”
She looked at George, thinking, and smiled. “I am.”
The man in orange nodded unhappily. “Well. Then we cannot speak against that. The pianist has your patronage, and so shall live. Though I cannot see how he could ever be of use to you.”
“I’m sure you can’t,” said the young girl.
“Are we finished here?” said the woman. “It has been an exciting diversion, but we have our lands and our flocks to tend to.”
“True,” said the old man. “The storm spends itself, and now I must drive what remains elsewhere. I will close the meeting as it now stands.”
“Be sure you keep to your intents, Boreas,” said the woman. “When your breezes are done playing, round up every last one of them. I once found one loose to the west of here, long after your possession had passed from you, and I have not forgotten it.”
The old man stuck his nose high in the air and walked down the passageway and into the snow. The wind rose and he seemed to vanish. The woman looked at the rest of them, nodded, and walked down the eastern passageway. As she broached the veil of snow the wind seemed to take her as well.
The man in orange looked George over and gave him an unpleasant smile. “I hope for your sake that fortune is in your favor, boy. We are patron to very few, since many that we admire come to unpleasant ends. And should you shame us, I doubt if anyone will bother to hold Boreas back.” Then he turned and walked down the southern passageway. The wind rose and the veil of snow twitched, and he was gone.
Immediately the snow fell in a thick sheet all throughout the courtyard. George gasped in shock as the flakes started collecting in the back of his collar. The young girl tutted and cocked her head, and it tapered off again.
“He didn’t need to do that,” she said.
“How did… how did that happen?” asked George. “Wait, where did they go? Are they coming back?”
“Calm down,” she said. “You’re safe, for now. And I don’t think he means what he said.”
“Who were they? Why… why were they going to kill me?”
“They are artisans, of a sort,” she said. “Or maybe shepherds would be a better description. We meet here to discuss what we plan to make, and do. What we say here is extremely private, so they were distressed to find you’d overheard. But I realized you were here by accident, boy. It was not your fault you heard what you did.”
“How on Earth did you get mixed up with them?”
She frowned sadly. “I did not get mixed up with them. They are my family.”
“Those people were your family?” he asked. “They didn’t look anything like you, or treat you well at all.”
“Families are complicated. Especially when one is the favorite, which is unfortunately the case with me. And I’ll run the next meeting, and they always treat the successor very poorly, perhaps to be preemptive. One just has to bear it, I suppose.” She gave him a sharp look. “A more important question is, who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m George,” he said, and stuck out his hand.
She looked at it, then up into his face, but did not shake. “What are you doing here, George?”
“Well, I’m… I’m lost,” he said. “I’ve been having the worst day, and I went out for a walk to cool off… But then I didn’t know where I was, and it started snowing, and I ran in here for cover and… and I don’t even know how to get back to my hotel.”
She pursed her lips as she thought. “Which hotel would it be?” He told her, and the girl cocked her head again, but this time it was like she was listening to something. “I know where it is,” she said.
“You do?”
“Yes. I’ve been there before.”
“Can you get me there?”
She smiled. “At some point in time, boy, I have worked myself into nearly every nook of this city, and many more beyond it. I know quite a few places. This one should be no trouble.” She gestured to him and padded off down the western passageway, and George followed.
As they neared the veil of snow it seemed to recede until the snowfall had halted on the street before them. The girl took no notice, but George stopped and looked up at the sky. It was as if some gust of wind was parting the clouds directly above them like a curtain, freeing the way ahead of snow. He was about to say something when the gust apparently moved too far away and flakes began to patter on his hat. He ran to catch up with the girl, who had moved down the street.
“This is odd snow,” he said. “It’s extremely spotty here. But maybe it’s like that out here. Everything seems different.”
The girl looked at him out of the side of her eye. “This is your first time out in the world, isn’t it?”
“No,” said George, offended. “I’ve… simply been traveling more than I’m used to.” There was a pause. “Is it so clear?”
“Very. You need to be on your guard more.”
He sighed. “It feels like I’ve been doing nothing but making bad decisions lately. I feel so silly.”
“It can be easy to get by in the world,” said the girl. “At least, it is if you remember one thing: there is the way things appear to work, and then there is the way things really work. You must train your eye to discern between the two. Though I feel that you’ll need very little training.�
��
George laughed unhappily. “Do you? It seems I’ve been doing a terrible job of it so far.”
The girl stopped and whirled around on him. He had to quickly come to a halt and nearly ran into her.
“Back in the courtyard. How did you find the way in?” she asked. “How did you see us?”
“How?” said George. “I don’t know. I just did.”
“But that never happens. I can’t remember the last time that happened.” She squinted at him again, studying his every inch as though searching for something. She seemed very confused by what she found. “I can almost glimpse it,” she said to herself as she examined him. “But it is very elusive… It is so faint, so fundamental that I can barely even notice it.”
“Notice what?” said George.
The girl stood back and looked at him, slightly impressed. “There is something different about you, boy,” she said. “Something you must have picked up at some point in time. It is inside you, somewhere. And I don’t know where it came from, but I think it to be very, very old. Even older than me. I can hear it, I believe… Singing, very softly…”
George suddenly recalled that strange memory he’d experienced during Silenus’s performance: the darkened barrow, and the squiggle of light, and the voice chanting in the dark, waiting to be heard…
“I believe you will have no issue seeing how the world really works,” said the girl. “Doors that are shut for others may be open to you. And for that I pity you, for not all doors lead to places one wishes to go.”
Then she turned and continued walking down the street, the little bubble of clear sky following her as she went.
George caught up to her and said, “Why are you helping me?”
She thought about it. “Because you were kind when you did not have to be,” she said. “I don’t think you understand how rare that often is. Why did you stand up for me?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It just seemed mean, what they were saying to you. I’ve seen a lot of meanness recently, and I didn’t want to see any more of it.”
“What you did was very brave,” said the girl. “You were facing things far greater than you, whether you knew it or not. What’s brought you here, boy?”
“My father,” he said. “Silenus. He leads our performing troupe.”
The girl stopped when she heard that. “Silenus, you say?”
“Yes. Why?”
She frowned. “I’ve heard of him.”
“You have?” asked George. “What have you heard?”
“Only whispers,” said the girl. “And vague ones at that. But I have heard that he is a very powerful man, and not to be trifled with, not even by my kinsmen. And we are very powerful in our own right.”
“But why?” asked George, awed.
“I can’t say for sure,” she said. “He passes under my skies very rarely. But when he does, all my clouds nudge toward him, and the drops of my rains suddenly slant to fall at his feet, just a bit. No one would ever notice it but me. It always seems like he is carrying something… heavy with him. Very heavy. Heavy enough to be the heart of all the world.”
“How could anyone carry anything like that?”
She smiled. “You have already forgotten what I told you.”
“I have?”
“Yes,” said the girl. “That there is the way the world seems to work, and then there is the way it really works. Come on,” she said, and led him farther into the blizzard.
Eventually the hotel emerged from the swirling snow ahead. She looked it over, and nodded. “This must be where he’s staying,” the girl said. “There is a pull here. I have felt it only when Silenus was near. It makes sense—Boreas complained that his storms drew themselves to this city, as if they had minds of their own. But you and I know the truth, don’t we?”
“I don’t know,” said George. He stared at one lit window, imagining it to be his father’s. “I feel like I don’t know anything.”
She smiled sadly. “Well. You should know that I am your patron. You stood up for me when it did you little good. And you should know you have a good heart, boy, and I will not forget that. I find you very curious, and I think I will watch you closely. If you ever need me, you can simply call my name. If I am close, I will come to you.”
“But I don’t know your name,” said George.
The girl leaned close to whisper into his ear. She smelled of jasmine and moist earth, and hay and freshly cut grass. When she whispered the word he felt a warm breeze slide across his cheek, and to his ears her breath had the sound of gentle rain.
“Oh,” said George. “I think I’ve heard of you before.”
“Like I said, I am the most popular of my kin,” she said. “Whether I like it or not. It does pain them so. But we are a squabbling sort.” Then she leaned back in, and placed a cool kiss upon his cheek. “You bear my blessing now, George. It is a small thing that may do you some good, but I am not sure if it will be enough for what you may encounter. I was once told Silenus is a hunted man, and that he deals with peoples powerful and hidden even to me. I cannot guess at what you will see or where he will take you. But should you call, I will come if I can.”
“All right,” said George. He rubbed his cheek. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “Goodbye, boy,” she said, and padded back down the street.
George watched her as she left. He had never been kissed by a girl before. As this first kiss had occurred under such strange circumstances, George was not sure if this numb, floating sensation was normal. And for some reason he thought of Colette, and felt ashamed. It was as if that chaste kiss was a betrayal of her, even though she’d shown him little affection so far.
Then the wind rose in the little street, and a flurry of flakes seemed to surround the girl, and she was gone. The bubble of clear air collapsed, and snow again began to fall on George’s hat. He jumped up the steps and ran inside the hotel.
It took George a long time to get clean. He was covered in coal dust, and icy water had soaked into his coat and socks. When he finally managed to remove and clean his sopping clothes, he’d spent nearly every bit of energy he had. He lay down on the bed, confused but eager for sleep. Yet no sooner had his head touched the pillow than a knock sounded at the door.
He opened it to find Stanley and Silenus standing in the hall with a lantern shining in Stanley’s hand. “Where the hell have you been?” asked Silenus.
“What do you mean?” asked George.
“We knocked here nearly an hour ago and there was no answer.”
“Oh,” said George. But he was not inclined to tell his father what he’d seen; Silenus had been keeping so many secrets that George thought it only fair to have a few of his own. “I was… out.”
Silenus cocked an eyebrow.
“I was delayed by a very interesting conversation with a stranger,” George added primly.
“If you say so,” said Silenus. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
George nearly despaired at the idea of venturing out into that weather again. “What? Why?”
“Your three weeks are up, kid,” Silenus said. “It’s time for you to know.” He turned and began to walk down the hall with Stanley close behind.
George struggled back into his clothes and followed them. “To know what?” he asked.
Silenus said, “How the world was made.”
CHAPTER 10
“In the beginning…”
George was not at all sure where they were taking him, but when they were outside they headed directly for the theater. On finding the door to the backstage locked Silenus stepped aside and said to Stanley, “Do your thing. And hurry. I’m fucking freezing.” Stanley knelt and produced a set of lock picks, and within seconds his nimble fingers had sprung the door open.
The inside of the theater was a threatening place in the night. No outside light found its way in, so it was lit only by the lamp in Stanley’s hand. The wind beat against the walls and window, moaning and whistlin
g. The looming vacancy of the place grew oppressive as George walked onstage and stared out at the dark curtains, or the distant hint of rafters, or the row upon row of empty seats. It felt like the theater was playing host to an invisible audience, and they were not impressed by the show.
Stanley went to pull down Kingsley’s backdrop (which was now blank again) and Silenus walked to the edge of the stage, looking out on the empty theater. “There are few things creepier than a place that is intended to be full of people, and yet is empty,” he said. Then a thought seemed to strike him, and he said, “Let me ask you something, kid—why did you get into vaudeville?”
George was startled by the question, since he had not yet tried to explain his relation to Silenus. He did not feel especially ready now, at any rate. “I’m not sure I know.”
“An honest answer. And probably a common one. We get into this game with grand plans and great delusions, but after a while the reasons we started with fade. Why do we keep doing it? I wonder. We spend our whole lives preparing and perfecting an illusion that will last only for a handful of minutes, the less the better. Our daily employment is but a momentary flash and flame, then nothing. Most of us old ones no longer do it for the audience. That attraction is the first to go. To us, every day is like performing for an empty theater. So why keep going? Is it just routine, the comfortable familiar? Or are we playing only for ourselves? Or perhaps for the amusement of something greater, something beyond men and mortals… It vexes me so.”
Then they heard the click of chalk, and turned to see Stanley writing on his blackboard with great agitation. “Now what’s going on here?” said Silenus.
Stanley finished what he was writing, and held it up to the empty backdrop as though it could see him and read. He’d written: PLEASE BE REASONABLE, WE DO NOT HAVE ALL NIGHT. While George could not understand what Stanley expected from the backdrop, it still did nothing.
Silenus passed by Stanley and walked right up to the sheet of canvas. “Listen, you touchy fuck,” he said to it, “I’ve spent too much of my time dragging you around to be willing to abide one more minute of your little fucking temper tantrums! I ain’t the one that killed your originator, but I’d be willing to start a bonfire and kill you all the same! Now wise up and get on with the show, or I swear to God, I will put this cigar out on you and smile.”
The Troupe Page 13