The House on Durrow Street

by Galen Beckett

  As Eldyn neared the stage, Dercy leaped down and caught him in a great embrace; this Eldyn returned with enthusiasm.

  “So the priests let you go for the day, did they?” Dercy said with a laugh. “I’m surprised, for you’re just the sort I’m sure they’d like to hold on to.”

  His embrace grew tighter yet, and Eldyn was aware of the other young man’s breath against his neck, and of his lean body pressing close. Eldyn suffered a pang of alarm. The others were surely watching, and they were not the only ones. Did not God see everything?

  Eldyn turned his head so that Dercy’s lips fell upon his cheek, then stepped away from the embrace. Confusion flickered in the young man’s sea-colored eyes.

  “Come now, Dercy,” Eldyn said, affecting a boisterous tone, “you can’t expect me to just stand here while you all pass a bottle around.”

  Dercy grinned, the confusion in his eyes replaced by a light of mischief. “What was I thinking? That was most uncouth of me to force you to greet me before greeting the bottle!”

  He reached up to the stage, the aforementioned bottle was handed down, and Eldyn took a long swig, grateful for the heady rum even though it burned his throat. Would this pleasure be forbidden to him as well? Not entirely, he supposed, for priests did take wine, if only in moderation.

  Then again, moderation was not on anyone’s mind that night, and for all his plans Eldyn was not a priest yet. Hands reached down and pulled him up to the stage. The bottle was handed back to him, then seemed to return almost as soon as he passed it on.

  It was not long before a pleasant tingling danced upon his skin, though whether it was from the effects of the liquor, or from the power and light that shimmered on the air, he could not say. The stage was awash in flickering blue, while schools of fish as bright as jewels darted all around.

  Much of it was Dercy’s doing, and Eldyn watched him with a growing wonder. He seemed hardly to make any sort of effort as he moved his hands, shaping a glittering ball into a sleek shape. Suddenly a dolphin went racing upward through the ocean of blue light, to the accompaniment of much applause.

  “That is very beautiful, Dercy,” spoke a voice as the dolphin burst into a spray of silver like a thousand darting minnows, “but I do trust you are being careful.”

  Eldyn turned around. It was Tallyroth who had spoken.

  “We are dark tonight, but tomorrow we perform,” the master illusionist went on. His was the voice of an actor: clear, bell-like, the words enunciated so they were crisp and carried easily. “You do not wish to spend yourself.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? A rich man spends freely of his gold. Why should I not spend some of my own riches?”

  “You should. You have been given a gift, and it would be wrong for you not to use it. Yet even a rich man may become poor if he spends too much.”

  “Ah, but I am rich beyond compare,” Dercy said with a laugh, and coins fell from his hands, suddenly turning to goldfish that wriggled in all directions. The other illusionists applauded.

  “I thought as you did, once,” Tallyroth said. He raised an arm as if to conjure an illusion, but his hand trembled in a violent spasm, and he pressed it to his chest. Though Tallyroth was the master illusionist at the Theater of the Moon, it occurred to Eldyn that he had never seen the older Siltheri conjure illusions. He directed the players and oversaw all the staging, but he never performed himself.

  “I have a different view now,” Tallyroth went on. “Thus I say to you, Dercy, and to all of you—revel in the light, embrace it, but be prudent as well. You know of what I speak.”

  The blue light flickered and dimmed, and suddenly the ocean was gone, replaced by a bare stage. Dercy’s grin had vanished as well. He bowed to Tallyroth, then found the rum bottle and took a long draught.

  “What use is there in being prudent?” said a tall illusionist with dark hair and an aquiline nose. His name was Merrick, and he was a little older than Dercy, though far younger than Tallyroth, who Eldyn supposed was well over forty.

  “What use is there in saving a portion of ourselves when the whole of our lives can be taken like that?” Merrick snapped long fingers together. “Do you think Braundt was glad that he never overspent himself at the Theater of Emeralds? What use was it for him to have saved anything back? For he will have no chance to spend it now.”

  At once the mood on the stage went grim, and now Eldyn understood the fierceness with which the illusionists had been drinking rum and conjuring sights of beauty. Braundt—so that was the name of the young Siltheri who had been murdered.

  Merrick turned away, and some of the others went to him, putting their arms around his shoulders. Master Tallyroth watched them, a look of sorrow upon his powdered face. Dercy approached Eldyn, bottle in hand.

  “Have you heard?” Dercy asked in a low voice.

  Eldyn nodded. “I read it in the broadsheet.”

  “I’m surprised they bothered to report it at all.” Dercy’s voice was hard. “He was only an illusionist after all.”

  Eldyn pressed his lips together. What could he say except that there was a truth to his words? The Swift Arrow had printed the story not to arouse any sympathy in its readers, but merely to thrill and horrify them.

  Dercy glanced over his shoulder at the other illusionists. Merrick had been a friend of Braundt’s, he explained. They had both hoped to work at the same house on Durrow Street, but Merrick had not been accepted at the Theater of Emeralds.

  Eldyn sighed. That was hard news. He asked if they had any idea who had done the deed. Had Braundt done something indiscreet, as they believed Donnebric had? Dercy didn’t know.

  “I met Braundt several times,” he said. “He was a quiet fellow, modest even. It was his illusions he wished others to see, not himself. It’s hard for me to believe he did anything to openly invite this. And yet …”

  Yet death had found him all the same. And if a man could win the same ill fate being sensible and modest as by being brash and foolish, then was not Merrick right? What did it matter if one was cautious or not?

  Except somehow he didn’t think it was the sort of danger that had found Braundt that the master illusionist had been warning the others about.

  “So what did Tallyroth mean earlier?” Eldyn said. “When he told you to be prudent, and that you knew what he meant. What is it you’re supposed to be cautious about?”

  “Nothing a clerk needs to worry about,” Dercy said loftily. “It’s only of concern to illusionists. And, as you’re so fond of telling me, you’re a scrivener, not a Siltheri.”

  It was foolish of him; he was giving up illusions. But provoked by the rum as much as Dercy’s mocking tone, Eldyn could not resist.

  “Is that so?” He gathered his thoughts, then spread his hands apart. A ball of light appeared between them. He concentrated, and it took on shape, leaping toward the rafters in a pewter streak: a dolphin. It was not so perfectly formed as Dercy’s had been, nor so well-defined at the edges. However, it was dazzlingly bright.

  Dercy’s eyes went wide, then he grinned. He opened his mouth, only before he could speak applause sounded behind him.

  “That was very nice, Mr. Garritt,” a woman’s voice echoed across the theater.

  Surprised, Eldyn turned to see the speaker walking down the center aisle. She wore a red gown, and her black wig was wrought into an intricate sculpture atop her head, twined with artificial birds and flowers: a creation as fantastical as any illusion.

  “Good evening, Madame Richelour,” Dercy said. He bowed, as did the illusionists on the stage.

  “It grew rather vague toward the tail,” the madam of the Theater of the Moon said as she drew near the stage. “A completeness of form is required for a phantasm to be considered perfect. And it vanished a bit too quickly. An illusion must exist for precisely the right amount of time, neither too long nor too short, to have the correct effect. Yet the brilliance of it was quite lovely. What do you think, Master Tallyroth?”

  The older illusioni
st rose slowly from his seat. “Your eye for illusion is keen as always, madam. I would not argue with your criticism, for it is correct. Though I would add, for all its faults, there was a grace to the phantasm, a lightness of quality, that is sometimes lacking in illusions that are more precisely crafted.”

  Madame Richelour nodded at the master illusionist. “And your eye is subtle as ever, Master Tallyroth. But what are all of you doing here? The theater is dark. It is not an umbral to labor upon the stage. Fly away, all of you! Go amuse yourselves. I am certain you can think of many ways to do this. Here, this should aid you.” She tossed a bag up to the stage, and it jingled merrily as an illusionist caught it.

  The young men let out a cheer, then made bows of the most florid and ridiculous manner to the madam, some of them sprouting peacock tails as they did. Then they departed through the wings of the stage. Dercy moved off as well, and Eldyn started to follow, but a touch on his arm stopped him.

  “If you have a moment, Mr. Garritt, I would speak with you.”

  He could not have been more startled if Madame Richelour had struck or kissed him. “Of course,” he stammered.

  “No, Mr. Fanewerthy, I do not need you,” she said as Dercy started back toward them. “Mr. Garritt alone will do. Go after the others, and see that they spend well the coin I gave them. Do not worry. I will send Mr. Garritt after you soon enough.”

  Dercy raised an eyebrow, but he made no argument. “As you wish, madam.” He bowed low, then as he rose he flashed a grin at Eldyn. “We’ll be at the Red Jester,” he said, then departed the theater, leaving Eldyn alone with Madame Richelour and Master Tallyroth.

  “Tell me, Mr. Garritt,” the madam of the theater said, “how long have you been working illusions now?”

  Dazzled by this attention, he could form no other reply than the truth. “Since last year. But I was awful. It was only when … that is, it was about a month ago when I found my abilities suddenly improved.”

  She smiled. Her face was smooth and white as porcelain, not due to youth, but rather to a careful application of paints and powders. The madam was easily as old as Tallyroth, if not older.

  “It is not unusual for an illusionist’s abilities to take a sudden leap. Is that not so?” She looked up at Tallyroth, and he nodded.

  “I have found it often to be the case,” he said. “There comes a point when, after much fumbling, one suddenly understands how to grasp the light, to call it forth, and to shape it. It is as if, after lurching around in a darkened room, one’s hand brushes a doorknob, and he thrusts the door open, letting light stream in.”

  “Yes, it was just like that!” Eldyn said, then was at once embarrassed.

  Madame Richelour returned her attention to him. “So how many houses have approached you so far?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Come now, Mr. Garritt. There is no reason to withhold. I could hardly be cross. Every madam and master on the street is always looking to win the best new talent for their house. How many theaters have offered a position to you? One, two? Is it more, then?”

  He was incredulous at this question. “But none at all have!”

  “None, you say?” Her eyebrows rose in thin, perfect arcs above her eyes. “It seems Mr. Fanewerthy has concealed you well. How like a true Siltheri! I will have to give him my thanks for that. If I am the first to approach you, I hope I will also be the last.”

  Eldyn shook his head. “Approach me?”

  The madam let out a rich laugh. “Mr. Garritt, you are the most delightful creature! You tease, yet with utter innocence. Any other young man would have gladly taken the most subtle suggestion, yet you make me speak in the plainest terms. Very well, let me be clear: I would have you work at my theater. As an understudy to begin, of course. There are many who have been here before you, and you have much to learn. Yet I have no doubt, should you accept, that you would soon become, like our own Mr. Fanewerthy, a prized member of our troupe at the Theater of the Moon.”

  At last Eldyn understood, and he was dumbfounded. Dercy had said the madam of the theater had noticed him, but he had merely ascribed it to Dercy’s flattery and encouragement. Eldyn listened as she described the particulars of the offer, and his astonishment was renewed. The wage was over double what he presently earned. How quickly he would be able to save for his and Sashie’s futures with such an income!

  Madame Richelour looked up at the stage. “Well, what do you think, Master Tallyroth?”

  “I think we would be very fortunate to have Mr. Garritt in our troupe. That is, if he is willing to work to improve his craft. While it is the goal for illusions to appear effortless, there is in fact a great deal of effort behind them, Mr. Garritt. I would have you understand that before you join us.”

  “I have no worry on that account,” Madame Richelour said. “Mr. Fanewerthy assures me that Mr. Garritt is the most industrious sort of being. You are currently a scrivener, is that not so?”

  “Yes, at present. But I—” Eldyn swallowed the words that followed. He could not tell her what he intended, that it was his plan to be a priest.

  “Do not fear, Mr. Garritt.” Her voice grew low, and there was a gentleness in her blue eyes. “It is not my intention to force an answer from you this very moment. I know it is a great decision to choose to enter the theater. I ask only that you consider my offer ahead of any you might receive from the other houses on Durrow Street. Right now you should find your friends. Go on, then, before they’ve spent every last coin I gave them!”

  Eldyn could do no more than nod and manage a weak thank-you. His mind was abuzz and his heart fluttered. A kind of fear had seized him, but it was not entirely unpleasant. He hurried to the front of the theater. However, just before he passed through the curtain, he cast a glance back.

  Madame Richelour had gone up on the stage. She stood beside Master Tallyroth, who sat in his chair again. He reached up a trembling hand, and she took it in her own, stroking it, stilling its spasms. She smiled at him, only there was a sorrow in the expression, and he gently shook his head.

  Eldyn felt keenly that the tableau upon the stage was not for any audience to see. He turned and passed through the curtain.

  ELDYN LET THE shadows fall away from him just as he reached the Red Jester. The doorkeeper gave a start as Eldyn appeared abruptly in the circle of lamplight before the tavern, then he scowled and jerked a meaty thumb at the door. Eldyn should have cast off the shadows sooner; however, his mind was still consumed with what had happened at the theater.

  He gave the doorkeeper an apologetic bow, then headed into the smoky interior of the tavern. The Red Jester was a frequent haunt of illusionists of the Theater of the Moon not because of its quality or character, but solely due to its proximity to the theater.

  A flash of light and a burst of laughter let him know which direction to go, and he followed them to the back of the tavern. The other young men hailed his arrival with raised cups and a spray of multicolored streamers that burst from thin air. Eldyn could only laugh, and some of the tumult in his mind was eased as a cup of punch was placed in his hand.

  He took a long swallow, but before he could take another Dercy had his arm and pulled him away into a dim corner. His eyes were alight.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Eldyn said.

  “Don’t you play coy with me, Eldyn Garritt. Your innocence is an illusion I know how to see through. Something went on after I left the theater. What did Madame Richelour say to you?”

  There was no way to say it except plainly. “She offered me a position as understudy at the theater.”

  Dercy let out a great cry, like the war whoop of an aboriginal from the New Lands. He caught Eldyn in a fierce embrace. Energized by the punch and by the other’s enthusiasm, Eldyn could only return it with all his might.

  “I knew she was going to do it,” Dercy said when at last they drew apart. “I just didn’t know when. Madame Richelour has been watching you since the moment I brought you to the
theater. I knew she was bound to want you, and Tallyroth, too. She wouldn’t have made you an offer if he didn’t agree. They’re together on everything at the theater.”

  Eldyn thought of the moment he had witnessed, the way Madame Richelour had held Master Tallyroth’s hand. He described what he had seen to Dercy. The other young man’s mirth faded a bit.

  “She loves him,” he said. “We all know it. And he loves her, too. He always has—though of course not in the way she might have once wished for long ago. That sort of arrangement could never have happened between them. So she did the next best thing, and she married the theater instead.”

  Eldyn thought he understood. Illusionists never took wives, at least not that he had seen, yet Madame Richelour and Master Tallyroth had found a way to be together. Only there was something more to what he had seen onstage and the way she had stilled his trembling hand. Before he could ask about it, Dercy’s grin returned.

  “So what did you tell her, then? What was your answer?”

  “She didn’t ask me for an answer tonight.”

  “What’s there to think about? You’ll accept, of course. You’ll be a quick study, I have no doubt, now that you’ve gotten past whatever it was that was blocking you. Soon we’ll be onstage together, and ours will be the finest illusion play on Durrow Street.” He grasped Eldyn’s shoulders. “Come, let’s tell the others.”

  “Wait,” Eldyn said, pulling back.

  “Wait for what? There’s no reason not to tell everyone. Giving Madame Richelour your answer is a mere formality.”

  Eldyn opened his mouth, then shut it again. The warmth of the rum vanished, and his dread returned.

  Dercy’s smile faded. “You are going to accept her offer, aren’t you?”

  Eldyn shook his head. “I don’t … that is, I haven’t decided yet.”

  But that wasn’t true. He had decided, hadn’t he? To be a Siltheri, to stand upon a stage and craft wonders while audiences gasped and applauded was an idea as intoxicating as the punch in his cup. Yet it was an illusion itself, wasn’t it? For all the beauty they conjured, the Siltheri lived in an ugly world—one of ramshackle theaters and grimy taverns and men who would murder them for the simple fact of what they were. A life of squalor and violence was what his father had lived; Eldyn wanted something different for himself.