“And they are where?” the voice persisted.
“Where I told them to wait,” Bryte snapped, losing patience. “I’m not saying anything more to a puppet. Why don’t you show yourself?”
“Oh, very well.” The puppet dropped its hands and moved away from her, its long legs moving loose-jointedly as though being maneuvered by strings.
It shambled to a corner of the stage and collapsed in an awkward heap. A man came out from behind one of the backdrops. He was much shorter than the puppet, almost as wide as he was tall, and bald except for a fringe of silver hair that looped from ear to ear. A matching mustache graced his upper lip and a neatly trimmed goatee decorated his chin. He smiled at Bryte, a friendly, cheerful smile, but his eyes were chips of blue ice. “So, you’ve found me out,” he said. “I’m the puppeteer. Clever creations, mine, no?”
“Guess so,” Bryte said with a shrug. “I’ve never seen a puppet show.”
“No? Then you must watch my next one. Bring your friends in to watch, also. I’ll give you front row seats, the best in the house. You can try to figure out how I manipulate my wonderful dolls, eh?”
“No, thanks.” Bryte moved toward the front and side of the stage, looking for a way off the stage and out of the theater.
So quickly she scarcely saw him move, the puppeteer jumped in front of her, blocking her way.
“I wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave,” he said. “Peace Officers have been nosing around, asking if anyone’s seen a girl and two young women, one a priestess of Mibor. They say the girl has an injured hand. As you do. One of your companions wouldn’t be a priestess of Mibor, would she?”
“One’s my sister,” Bryte said, avoiding his question, not liking or trusting the hard look in his blue eyes, however much his lips smiled.
“Oh? And would your sister happen to be a priestess of Mibor?”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Bryte was losing patience. Ileta and Kanra would be frantic. She had to get away from this infuriating little man and get them all out of here. She was angry, so her rage-light should flare and blind him. It didn’t. Try as she might, she could not call it forth; she’d expended too much energy in the stressful descent of the stairway.
The theater in front was empty; she’d heard the audience file out and no sound indicated that any had lagged behind. The puppet master was blocking her way to the front of the stage, but he had come in from behind a backdrop. Maybe she could escape that way. But this one man could not manipulate all the puppets himself. She had seen only the single puppet, but she knew there were others. The posters in front of the theater showed four or five. One puppeteer could not manage them all. This man must have helpers.
The puppeteer grabbed her arm. His fingers dug into her flesh. “I think I know where you came from just now,” he said. “You’ll tell me how, won’t you?”
“I walked,” she said. “And you’re hurting my arm.”
Actually, his short, pudgy fingers hurt her less than the puppet’s had, and a well-aimed kick to his fat stomach should put him out of commission for a few moments—time enough to get away if she didn’t have the others to think of. But she had to get Ileta and Kanra out of the narrow hall to a safe place, if such a place were to be found.
The barrel organ music started up again, startling her. He laughed a mirthless laugh. “Time to attract customers for our next show,” he said. “And since you refused my offer of free seats, I mean to get this settled before the show starts.”
“Settle what?” Bryte decided to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you now, little lady? We’ll see, won’t we?”
She was aiming a kick when a clacking sound distracted her. She followed the puppeteer’s gaze and saw Peppet the Puppet lumber to its feet and stride toward her, its awkward gait under no one’s apparent control but its own.
“You!” she said, “You’re using power! You control the puppet with power instead of with strings.”
“Peppet’s too large for strings,” the puppeteer said as the puppet approached. “What do you know of power?”
If only she could blind him with her light, she’d show him what she knew. But the light would not come. The puppet grabbed for her. She raised her arms to push it away, and it clamped its wooden fingers around the wrist of her injured hand. The pain that shot up her arm made her scream so loudly that the sound had to be audible to the audience filing into the theater.
The puppet did not release its grip on her wrist, but its other hand covered her mouth, stifling a second scream.
Other ears than those in the arriving audience had heard that first scream. Ileta and Kanra raced out of the dark passageway onto the lighted stage. Ileta halted and stood looking about in confusion, but Kanra ran to Bryte and hit at the puppet. Her blows had no effect on the wooden doll, but Bryte managed, despite the hand covering her face, to nod toward the puppeteer.
Kanra smiled grimly and left off her futile attack on the puppet to move toward its controller. In a moment the puppet loosed its grips and collapsed at Bryte’s feet. Kanra had wielded her “useless” gift of quenching power.
At the puppet’s collapse, Ileta unfroze and sprang to Kanra’s aid. Together they grabbed the puppeteer, while Bryte recovered from the puppet’s assault on her hand.
A second life-sized puppet, a female, emerged from the wings and moved purposefully toward Kanra and Ileta.
“He’s not controlling that one,” Ileta said. “It’s someone else.”
“Come on!” Bryte helped Kanra and Ileta drag the puppeteer back to the passage from which they’d come. The female puppet clattered after them.
They made it into the passage before the puppet caught up with them and wrenched the puppeteer from their grasp.
A voice shrilled from the stage, “Who are you and why are you trying to break up the puppet show and expose us?”
Bryte turned.A woman only slightly taller than the puppeteer and as skinny as he was fat marched toward them, hands on her hips, fire in her eyes.
“That’s not what we were trying to do,” Bryte said indignantly. “We were just looking for a way out.”
“Ha! You’ll be the three the Peace Officers been nosing around, looking for, I’ve no doubt.”
Bryte saw no point in denying it. “They’re after us ’cause we’re gifted,” she said. “You are, too, but I’ll bet they don’t know it.”
“If they did, we’d be dead by now,” the woman said.
“You talk too much,” the puppeteer warned.
“You ought to help us,” Bryte said, pressing her advantage. “If you turn us in, we’ll turn you in.”
“She’s right,” Kanra put in quickly. “Gifted have to help each other.”
“Don’t know as you can be trusted,” the woman said. “The Peace Officers said you’d abducted somebody.”
“They mean me,” Ileta said. “But I’m here willingly. My friends helped me run away, that’s all.”
Bryte was coming to love this newfound sister.
“And who are you, missy?” the woman probed, frowning at Ileta.
“I’m Ileta Hallomer, Lord Hallomer’s daughter.”
The puppeteer and his wife both gasped, and the wife threw up her hands. “Lands, you’ll get us both killed. You’ve got to get away from here.”
“Wait, Frannie,” the puppeteer said. “We can’t just let them go. What I still want to know is, how did they come out of this passage.”
“We came down the steps from the Widow Kipley’s boardinghouse,” Bryte said, deciding that being truthful was the best policy.
“Pauline Kipley,” the puppeteer’s wife exclaimed. “She let you come down here?”
“She was helping us,” Bryte explained. “She hid us from the Peace Officers. She never had time to tell us where the steps went. I think she meant just to hide us until she could get us out, but the Peace Officers beat her. They might have killed her. She didn’t tell us how to open the la
tch, and anyway, I’m pretty sure they left a guard there. So we came down the steps and came out here.”
“Pauline may be dead?” the puppeteer’s wife exclaimed. “Aubie, we’ve got to find out. Suppose she’s alive and badly hurt? We’ve got to help her.”
“But you heard the girl. The boardinghouse is guarded. If she’s telling the truth.” The puppeteer glared at Bryte. “She also said she was with her sister, and her sister wasn’t a priestess of Mibor.” He switched his glare to Kanra. “So, if you aren’t a priestess, why’re you dressed like one?”
“She is a priestess, but she’s not my sister,” Bryte said. “She is.” She pointed to Ileta.
“But she just said she was Lord Hallomer’s daughter,” the puppeteer said with an air of triumph. “See, you can’t tell the truth.”
“I’m Lord Hallomer’s daughter, too,” Bryte said, relishing the taste of the words. Ileta and I are sisters. Well, half-sisters. We have different mothers.”
“Hah!” The puppeteer spat.
“Wait, Aubie,” his wife said, placing a hand on his arm. “Lord Hallomer’s second wife did run away. I’ve heard a rumor that she was pregnant when she disappeared.”
“That’s right,” Bryte said eagerly. “That was my mother, and she was pregnant with me when she ran. My mother’s dead now, but she hid me from Lord Hallomer till I was old enough to take care of myself.”
“Humph! How old are you?” Aubie demanded.
“Thirteen,” Bryte said, giving the age she’d be soon enough. Just a few more days now.
“That’s about right,” Frannie mused. “But why’d your mother have to hide you? You gifted?”
“Yes.”
“Haven’t seen any evidence of that, have we?” Aubie said, refusing to relinquish his skepticism.
“You will if you don’t help us or let us go,” Bryte said, her anger rising.
“I believe her,” Frannie declared. “We have to find a way to help Pauline.”
“We have a show about to start,” Aubie objected. “We can’t go anywhere.”
“We’ll cut the show short as we can,” Frannie said. “You three stay here, where you can’t be seen when the curtains open. We’ll do the show and then we’ll go and check on Pauline.”
“We can’t climb those steps!” Aubie said.
“We’ll find another way up, you old fool,” Frannie said. “Come on. We’ll cut out the whole middle part.”
“Can’t do that,” Aubie objected. “It won’t make sense.
“Nobody’ll notice,” Frannie said, pushing him toward the stage. “You three’ll wait for us, won’t you?”
“We don’t have any choice,” Bryte said.
Frannie led her husband away, still grumbling. Peppet and his female counterpart lumbered to their feet and followed like trained animals. Bryte looked questioningly at Kanra, who shrugged.
“Might as well let them use their power,” she said. “I couldn’t hold them both, and they do seem disposed to help us.”
“Frannie is, but I don’t trust Aubie,” Bryte said.
“It’s our best chance, though,” Ileta said.
So they waited, and Bryte followed the progress of the show, which consisted solely of the antics of the two puppets. The audience applauded loudly. Frannie had been right: No one seemed to notice the omission of the comedy’s middle section. They were there to observe the clowning of the puppets. From the dialogue and the sound of their dancing around, Bryte judged that the act must be hilarious, and she wished she could see it.
Kanra and Ileta, not having Bryte’s hearing, waited impatiently, Ileta pleating and unpleating her skirt, and Kanra pacing nervously about the narrow space.
The wait only seemed long; the show did end quickly, a fact that didn’t please the audience, as evidenced by boos and jeers. But the curtain, once closed, remained so, and after a time Bryte heard the audience filing out of the theater. Frannie and Aubie returned and led them back onto the stage. The puppets lay in a heap. Aubie gathered up Peppet and Frannie picked up Peppine, carrying them rather than moving them with power. The two puppeteers led the way through the wings to a door that opened onto an alley.
Bryte followed cautiously, keeping to the side of the alley and looking about for any sign of Peace Officers. But the alley was empty, and they only went down it as far as the end of the building that housed the theater. Behind the building was parked a horse-driven cart decorated in gaudy colors and proclaiming in gilt letters painted on the side, home of peppet and peppine, world’s greatest puppets.
The cart was fully enclosed and entered by a door in the rear. Vents provided air, though the interior was still hot and stuffy, the more so because it was lit by a small oil-fueled lantern. But inside they all went except for Aubie, who would drive from the seat in front, once he’d harnessed the horse, which Frannie said was stabled nearby.
Again it was hard to wait, doubly so for not being able to see outside. But after a time the wagon lurched into motion and Bryte heard the steady clip-clop of a horse’s hooves. They all breathed more easily as the wagon moved forward, and they all caught their breaths when the wagon halted only a few moments later. Bryte was sure that only she could hear the conversation between Aubie and the Peace Officer who’d stopped him.
“What you carrying inside the cart, old man?”
“Why, just my puppets, like the sign says,” Aubie responded. “Oh, and my wife is back there with them.”
“I’ll have to check the cart. We’ve got a kidnapped girl to find, and we’re stopping and searching all vehicles. Where you bound to this time of night, anyway?”
“To give a command performance at the home of a high lord, sir.” Aubie was being too deferential for Bryte’s liking, but he hadn’t given them away, though the officer would find them when he searched the cart. The cramped space offered nowhere to hide.
“They’re gonna search the cart,” Bryte whispered. “What’ll we do?”
“Wait,” Frannie counseled.
“Which high lord?” the officer asked.
“Lord Inver. He won’t want to be kept waiting.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” the officer said, and walked toward the rear of the cart. He must be alone; she heard only a single set of footsteps. Maybe they could overpower him.
“Get to the rear of the cart,” Frannie instructed. Even as they did so, the cart door rattled, but the latch held firm.
“Driver, I need this unlocked,” the officer bellowed.
Bryte listened as Aubie descended from the driver’s seat and walked slowly to the rear of the cart, fumbled with keys, and all the while Frannie was herding them together into an awkward clot in the rear of the cart and arranging Peppet and Peppine in front of them. Not that the two gangly wooden figures could hide them, Bryte thought, wondering what the woman’s aim was.
The cart door opened slowly. Frannie stood in front of the puppets. She was short enough not to have to bend in the low-roofed cart.
“What’s going on?” she asked shrewishly. “Why’ve you stopped us? We’re in a hurry. The lord’ll have our hides if we’re late.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I’m just following orders.” The Peace Officer peered past her into the dim reaches of the cart.
He had to see them; they weren’t well hidden, and the officer had a hand light that he played on the faces of the puppets.
“What’re those?” he asked, and Bryte heard fear in his voice.
“Why, they’re the puppets, Peppet and Peppine and all the rest,” Aubie said, his tone jovial.
Frannie was far from jovial. “You can see that I’m the only person back here,” she said, her voice full of righteous indignation. “Don’t know why you have to bother folk trying to make an honest living. We’re well known in the bazaar, and there’s never been a complaint against us.”
“All right, ma’am, all right.” The officer lowered his light and backed away. “Those puppets look almost real. They gave me a turn, I don
’t mind admitting. But I can see you aren’t hiding anybody in here, so you can be on your way. I hope Lord Inver enjoys your performance.”
“He will if we can ever get there,” was Frannie’s parting shot as Aubie shut and latched the door.
Bryte heard the officer move off and Aubie walk back to the driver’s seat and urge the horse into motion.
When they were again under way, she and the others moved out of the tight, hot rear of the cart. “How did he miss seeing us?” Bryte asked Frannie, still not believing that good fortune.
“Why, I put a glamour on you,” Frannie said. “To him you looked like puppets. And I made him see Peppet and Peppine not as the innocuous wooden dolls they are but as things of horror, demons of destruction. That’s why the officer was in a hurry to leave.”
Bryte had a new respect for these puppeteers. But one thing worried her: In telling her tale, she had never mentioned Lord Inver. Aubie’s story was only an excuse for the Peace Officer, but it worried Bryte that he should have named Lord Inver as the lord to whom they were to give a command performance. It might be only coincidence, but it reawakened all of Bryte’s suspicions.
The cart tilted; it must be climbing the ramp. It swayed as it turned, probably heading toward the Widow Kipley’s boardinghouse, but Aubie couldn’t just pull up in front of the house. How would they reach it without alerting the Peace Officers left to guard it?
The cart swayed around more corners and again tilted sharply. The boardinghouse was on the second tier; why were they ascending to the third?
More turnings, and the horse slowed, bringing the cart to a stop. This time Bryte heard no conversation, only Aubie climbing from the driver’s seat and walking back to open the cart’s door.
“Everyone out,” he said. “We’ll leave the cart here for now.”
He’d stopped in a darkened lot behind an old building that looked like some kind of warehouse. “Where are we?” Bryte demanded, peering out of the cart.
“In a safe place,” Aubie answered.
“That doesn’t tell me much,” Bryte groused. “I thought we were going to the Widow Kipley’s.”
BRYTE'S ASCENT (Arucadi Series Book 8) Page 19