Steadfast

by Mercedes Lackey

  No . . . she didn’t want him to know there was a cellar.

  “I have to go,” she said. “The ’bus is a penny.” And she scrupulously took two pennies, no more, making sure he saw that. She took nothing to buy luncheon with, but she had already put a sandwich wrapped in newspaper in her bag. Making an effort not to wince when movement jarred a bruised spot, she hurried out.

  It might have felt like freedom to anyone who had never lived with Dick. Katie knew better. This wasn’t freedom. It was only a slightly bigger cage, and a long chain around her neck.

  At the hall, she went straight past Jack without saying a word other than a murmured “good morning” and a glance that she hoped he interpreted as a warning. Dick had said he had a confederate here, as he’d had at the circus, and she knew she would have to behave as if she was being watched every single moment. She changed into her rehearsal clothing, and went immediately out onto the stage to warm up.

  She had gone through her three dances twice when Lionel appeared, signaling the start of the magic act rehearsal. She didn’t say a thing to him besides “good morning,” “yes sir,” and “no sir.” But there would be one safe time to talk to him. . . .

  When she was in the sword basket she hissed wordlessly to alert him, and she was rewarded by a whisper through one of the sword-slits.

  “Katie—” Lionel began.

  She cut him off. “It’s not safe to talk. It’s not safe to be too much together. Dick says he has someone here watching me and I believe him. He says if I do anything he doesn’t like, he’ll know about it. He says if I run from him, he’ll start breaking necks, beginning with yours.”

  There was silence. Lionel slid a sword into place. “Well. That’s unsettling.”

  “He’ll do it, too,” she warned. “In the circus they said he’d done it before, men that crossed him. They said, circus roustabouts, people Andy Ball had no trouble replacing, and who weren’t missed. Some said he’d done in village men who’d vexed him, too, but I don’t know about that. He won’t do it open, he’ll find a time and a place to sneak up on you in the dark and break your spine.”

  “It’s very difficult to sneak up on an Elemental Magician, Katie,” Lionel reminded her, as he drove another sword home.

  She was trying not to cry and not succeeding very well; tears burned down her cheeks. Why was it men had so much trouble believing that another man could harm them? Why did they dismiss a warning from a woman as if it didn’t matter, or was some sort of challenge they had to meet? She turned her arm to take her position for the next sword. “Please listen to me, Lionel! Even if he doesn’t manage to catch you by surprise, he will catch you alone, and you’ll be just as dead!”

  Silence, the third sword, then “You have a point.”

  She rubbed her tears off on the shoulder of her shirt. Thank God. He was being sensible. . . .

  “He won’t kill me as long as I bring him pay packets,” she said, despair leaking over into her words as she peered up through the slit. It seemed hideously appropriate that she was trying to tell him all this while contorted around the blades of swords. “He won’t hurt me where it will interfere with my dancing. Just—don’t do anything. I’ll be all right,” she added flatly. “I’ll manage. I did before and I can do it again.”

  There was a long silence. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.” Lionel said just as flatly. “You know as well as I do there’s no ‘managing’ about this situation. Sooner or later his temper is going to get the better of his greed, and then you’ll be hurt or worse. So no more gammon. We’ll find a way to get you away from him without anybody’s neck getting broken.” The fourth sword slid in.

  “Just remember he has a man watching!” she reminded him frantically. Damn the man! Why did he keep trying to put himself into danger for her? Didn’t he even think that if he got hurt because of her, she’d want to die? “Warn Jack! We can’t be seen talking outside of what’s needed for the act!”

  “We’ll be careful,” Lionel promised as the fifth sword slid home. “But don’t you give up hope.”

  A nice sentiment, but that was all it was. Katie’s only real hope was that the craze that had put her on the top of the bill would continue. As long as she could bring home a fat pay packet, Dick would regard her as his golden goose. And that was the best she dared hope for. Anything else was fairy dust and rainbows, and nothing would ever come of the hope.

  A fat pay packet for him to spend on drink and whores; that was what he needed. That was what she needed.

  And someone else for him to take his rage out on . . .

  There was no other opportunity for her to talk to Lionel, though now she found herself watching every one of the stagehands covertly, trying to see if any of them was paying more attention to her than was needed by his job. Who was the confederate? If only she knew! If she knew, then she wouldn’t have to guard herself every single moment!

  When rehearsals were over and everyone else had gone off for luncheon, she retreated to her dressing room in a state of drained, nervous exhaustion. All she was expecting was her slightly drying sandwich, and perhaps a chance to sponge off a little of the sweat from the little pitcher of water she kept in there to drink.

  Instead, she found a surprise.

  Someone had wedged a big basin in here, sticking out from under the lounge, and had left two buckets full of cool water. That same someone had left a packet of fresh cucumber sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade.

  It had to be Jack or Lionel, or both. On the face of it, such special treatment could cause more trouble than it was worth, and for a moment, she was terrified by the sight. But then, she realized that they could arrange it all without incurring any suspicion just by saying Charlie had ordered it for her. They might even have gone to Charlie and got him to order it. Certainly Peggy had gotten heaps of special considerations because of all the money she brought into the hall—champagne in buckets of ice, boxes of bonbons, and meals brought in for her from outside so she never had to leave the hall except when her taxi came to take her to her lodgings. By those standards, a few sandwiches, some lemonade and a sponge bath was very modest.

  It wasn’t as good as the big tubs at Mrs. Baird’s, or the shallower cabinet bath in the cottage—but standing in the basin, she could get a cool sponge bath without finding herself yanked out of it by her hair, beaten because she was “trying to make herself pretty, and for who?” If she hurried, she could probably even manage a bit of a second bath, getting off the makeup, before she ran to catch the ’bus after the last show.

  She locked her door for privacy, sponged herself down, then redressed in her special performing underthings, which were light and tight enough not to show under the tights. Then she ate her luncheon, saving the sandwiches she had brought with her for dinner, and as she heard the rest hurrying back to their dressing rooms, changed into the rest of her costume for the statue dance.

  And all the time, she repeated, like a prayer, over and over, what she needed, absolutely needed. A fat pay packet. Keep him happy. Don’t do anything to provoke him . . .

  • • •

  Lionel had gone to Charlie and told him that Katie was feeling poorly because of the heat. That was all it had taken; the music-hall owner had ordered a big basin, cool water and sponges left in her dressing room from this point on, all on his own. And bottles of lemonade. After all, Charlie had promised everyone could drink beer free at the bar for helping him come up with his substitute ballerina, and since Katie didn’t drink beer, a couple of bottles of lemonade seemed only fair. Then, as an afterthought, he sent one of his errand boys for cucumber sandwiches from the tearoom down the street. “That way she don’t have to rush out. She can cool down right and tight.” He looked very pleased with himself for thinking of it all.

  Lionel went to his dressing room in a state of mixed emotions, all of them negative.
When he got there, his sylphs buzzed about like restless dragonflies, unable to settle for a single moment. Lionel’s sylphs were agitated and unhappy. He didn’t blame them. He was pretty agitated and unhappy himself. He’d woken with a knot in his stomach, posted off his letters immediately, and got to the theater half afraid Katie wouldn’t be there—and entirely unsure what he was going to do about it if she wasn’t. His mood hadn’t been improved by what she had whispered to him.

  He didn’t doubt her, when she whispered the threats her husband had made against him if she didn’t do what the strongman wanted. His encounter with Dick Langford had left him convinced that the circus strongman was a dangerous man; a bully, yes, but cunning. And very probably with blood on his hands; he didn’t doubt that, either. So far as the law of the “good” people of the Kingdom was concerned, there were other people, not “good” people, who were disposable, and if something happened to one of them, well, that was one less troublemaker to worry about. Circus people came under that category.

  There was no way that Langford would get away with killing him—there were too many eyes in the city, and someone would squeal even if Langford thought he was doing it in secret. Police would be involved, and they would look first at people Lionel worked with—and the insanely jealous husband of his magic assistant would be the first suspect on their list. But that would be cold comfort to Lionel, who would be dead. And he had every intention of living to an age where he was a nuisance to those around him with his endless stories and cackling.

  So, no. He was not going to provoke this man. He was going to do everything in his power to convince this man that it would be a monumentally bad idea to cross him.

  The information that Dick Langford had a cohort in the hall was equally unwelcome. That was something he had not even considered as a possibility.

  So there was a lot that needed to be discussed, urgently, and once he’d gotten Katie sorted out as to the little comfort he could get for her, he went straight to Jack.

  Jack had left the arrangement in place for someone to relieve him at luncheon on the door. Lionel dragged him down to the workroom, and bluntly laid out for him everything that that Katie had told him.

  Predictably, Jack had not taken it well. But rather than breaking into a fit of angry cursing, as Lionel himself would very much have liked to have done, he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a very long time. Instead of going hot with anger . . . he seemed to have gone cold.

  Or perhaps—perhaps the anger was so white-hot by now that it was searing away everything but calculation and logic.

  “I don’t imagine he’s lived in a city before,” Jack said, finally.

  “Probably not, no,” Lionel agreed, wondering where on earth that train of thought was going.

  “So this morning, dairy and eggs turned up at the door. He won’t be surprised if other things turn up too.” Jack chewed his lip ferociously. “In fact, I don’t think he would think twice about it. Look, here is where I am going. A drunk man—drunk past a certain point, that is—is nothing like as dangerous as a sober one. That business about delivering a jeroboam of gin to Katie’s door might not be such a bad idea . . . especially if he’s asked to pay for it, and it’s cheaper than he expects.”

  “Oh now . . . that’s a good thought.” Lionel thought furiously, running through all the possible ways he could get liquor into the hands of the strongman. “I have an idea. Stay here, and think. Let me run over to the pub.”

  There was, of course, a pub right across from the music hall. This was Brighton, and there was a pub or a chophouse, or both in every block of the entertainment district. After so many years of performing here, the publican knew him very well, so much so that his request to buy the cheapest possible gin in case-lots took him by surprise.

  “Cheapest possible Blue Ruin?” The man shook his balding head in disbelief, and polished the bar top with his rag. “I can’t do that for you! Master Hawkins, you’ll like to kill yourself if you drink that—”

  “It’s not for me,” he said, and laughed. “Or rather, it is for me, but I’m working up a new act for winter, and I want a steady alcohol fire for it. We’re looking at an Arabian Nights theme, which I can adapt for the panto at Christmas. I fancy the blue flames; they’ll look smashing on stage. I tried it today and I reckon I’ll need half a bottle for each show, so a bottle a day.”

  The publican’s face cleared immediately. “Well, I can get it by the case, and I can give you a very good deal on it. I can have a case here, waiting for you, tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to put that kind of temptation in the path of the stagehands,” Lionel said. “I don’t suppose you’d mind storing it for me?”

  “It’s not a bit of a problem, and that way I can keep track and order a new case when it’s needed,” the man replied, and pulled a pint. “Your usual for luncheon?”

  Lionel returned feeling as if he had finally accomplished something. Jack was still waiting for him.

  “I’m getting cheap gin by the case from Hobson across the street,” he explained, as Jack listened intently. “Hobson thinks it’s for a new act I’m working out that needs an alcohol fire. I’ll have Katie tell the bastard she can get hold of a bottle of gin a night for sixpence.”

  Jack let out a sigh. “Brilliant. She can build up some money hidden here, and he’ll have plenty to get drunk on every night. Let’s hope he’s a sodden drunk.”

  At that point, Jack had to return to his post, and Lionel headed for his dressing room, well pleased. Now he just had to work out how to tell Katie what he’d done, get her to understand what her part would be, and then work out how to get the bottle of gin into her dressing room before she left for the night without anyone noticing.

  Then he chided himself for being such an ass. Are you a magician, or not? he scolded himself.

  And it wasn’t an Elemental Magician that he meant, either.

  Half of being an illusionist was being aware of what other people ignored. And what other people ignored was routine. They got used to how something happened, and as long as nothing occurred to break that routine with something wildly unexpected, they drifted through their routine in a haze of preoccupation, and never saw what was right in front of them.

  He knew the routine of this music hall as if he had choreographed it as a trick himself. How hard would it be to make someone disappear and reappear without anyone noticing? And even if he didn’t know who the watcher was, he knew who it couldn’t be.

  He waited in his dressing room, listening for the musical cues, until he heard the one that told him Katie’s statue dance was over. She would have to make her way through the chorus girls heading for the stage. The next act was putting the finishing touches on his makeup and costume. Every stagehand would be busy with the set change and Charlie supervised backstage like a drill sergeant; if Charlie missed one, or saw one lurking in the corridor to the dressing rooms at this point, he’d fire the man on the spot—and Dick had specified to Katie that he had a man as a confederate in the hall. So Lionel listened for the frantic rush to the stage, opened his door as soon as it was past, spotted Katie, and yanked her into his dressing room before she even knew he was there.

  “Look—” he said, before she could get out a word. Her face was a mask of terror at being in his room. “You’re safe. Right now every man in this hall is doing set-change or in his dressing room. We’ve got a few minutes of safety. We’ve had an idea. You tell Dick that one of the bartenders said he’ll sell you a bottle of gin for sixpence, but he can only get you one a night without getting in trouble.”

  Her terror turned to puzzlement. “But—”

  “I know, a bottle is twice that, and as soon as Dick realizes this, he’ll figure the man is stealing from Charlie and making money off you, but he’ll be so pleased at the cheap drink he won’t quarrel with it.”

  She n
odded, slowly. “And I can hide the money here.”

  “It won’t add up to much, but it will be enough you can take a taxi if you need to, or take care of some other needs you might have. And you’ll be bringing Dick a bottle of gin every night. If we’re lucky, he’ll drink it dry and leave you alone.” It was the best he could offer, but her face lit up with such gratitude that he felt ashamed for not being able to think of more.

  “He’s not used to strong drink,” she said haltingly. “Last night he slept like a dead horse. It might give me some peace.”

  “Right then—get yourself across to your room. I’ll find a way to get the bottle in there tomorrow night.” He listened to the music, to the sounds of footsteps—performers were utterly predictable; unless there was something wrong they always did the same things at exactly the same time backstage, most of them even timed their actions to the cues they could hear out on stage. Well, they had to. Everything in music hall ran on so tight a schedule that the least deviation could throw everything into chaos. When he knew there would be a moment when no one would be in the corridor or looking out a door, he whisked his door open, shoved her across the hall, and closed his own door silently.

  It wasn’t enough, dammit. It wasn’t nearly enough.

  But at least it was something.

  • • •

  Katie hurried back to the cottage, running from the ’bus stop, arriving at her own door slightly out of breath. Dick was waiting impatiently, of course, and yanked the door open as soon as she set her hand on it.

  She shrank into herself, and let him see her fear. Sometimes that helped. This time, it did.

  “’Bout time!” he snarled, and then she saw he was in his favored outfit again, and his hair had been oiled back. “Oi’m goin’ out! Just ’bout stifled in here!”

  “Dick!” she interjected. “I have some good news. I saw how you liked the gin, and I asked the barkeeper at the hall if he could sell me some, so I could bring it home with me every night. He said he could only sell me one bottle a night, but that it would only be sixpence.”