Shadow Road

by A. E. Pennymaker

  "The red or the peach?"

  I sat down on the end of the bed, watching as Jinny brought out her ribbon ring and Grenna picked the one she wanted. Umelle arrived a few minutes later under a mound of colorful clothing, and in short order I found myself dressed in a skirt of gauzy ruffles dotted with yellow and green flowers, a wide black belt, and a dainty white lace sleeveless blouse, with faux pearls at my ears and a black ribbon around my neck. I looked like a doll, but Umelle was so enthusiastic that I smiled when she asked if I liked it.

  While Umelle put my hair up, several other girls stopped by to talk and swap things. Some of them had been on the gopher, some were friends of someone who was already there. They laughed and gossiped, their bond evident, their manner easy. It would have been a scene straight out of Kingsbridge before the spring gala, if Mistress Floratina had allowed us to slouch or sit on the floor.

  And still, that weird, hollowed-out, sinking feeling lurked in my middle, as if I had just gone over the top of a hill too fast in a horseless.

  Not a single one of them knew who I was.

  ~~~

  Rikkafilla: (rick-uh-fill-uh) Tradeslang insult for a rich woman who has no cares beyond spending money on herself at the expense of a man. The equivalent of calling someone a spoiled gold-digger or a kept woman.

  43. Dancing in the Dark

  11th of Nima, Continued

  Apparently, pirates used paper lanterns in all of their decorating. It was just like on the Angpixen, only bigger. Hundreds of lanterns in every shape and color had been strung crisscross in a bright canopy over a broad stretch of raked white sand. Under one end of the lantern canopy was a bamboo sonularri platform, with a grilling pit off to the side next to a row of trestle tables laden with food. At either end were bonfires in massive metal fire pots. Everything was lit up and glowing in the last rosy rays of a vibrant tropical sunset.

  We strolled over the sea laurel-studded rise above Fox Cove, and Umelle immediately squealed, "Oh! Just look at all of them! Big ones, blond ones, tall ones, dark ones, oooh! There are even some in uniform!" She took off at a run down the footpath to the beach.

  Grenna stared after her. "There is a fuse shorting in that girl's brain."

  Jinny shook her head, then gathered her skirts and started down at a much more ladylike pace.

  Umelle wasn't wrong. There were many men on the beach, and a few of them were sporting naval officer's jackets. I spotted Raggan, his bow-legged frame recognizable even from a distance. There were lots of women and children, too. The entire Island had come out for the festivities. Several hundred people were gathered beneath the lanterns, eating and talking, sitting on blankets, standing in groups and bunches, milling about in front of the sonularri. The sound of them was loud even from the top of the hill, and for a moment I balked, that weightlessness in my ribs turning into a knot.

  I firmed my chin. It was either this or sitting alone in a silent room, fighting with ghosts. Right. Go on. Get down there.

  The musicians were arranging their instruments and working the crankshaft on the generator, warming up the coils of the transistor under the sonularri stage. As Jinny, Grenna and I reached the bottom of the hill and started across the sand, the lead musician finished what he was doing and turned to face the crowd, his fiddle at his shoulder. He spoke into the copper trumpet of the sonulator receiver that had been set up for him, his words amplified by the resonator drums in front of the stage. "Right. Ya know who I am, ya know who's up here wi' me, so let's just get rollin', aye?"

  There was a loud chorus of 'ayes' and a loud 'get on with it then,' followed by quiet as he drew his bow over the strings, pulling long, sweet notes out of his fiddle. Then, with a snappy burr, he set off into the wild beginning bars of an Illyrian folk song. Whooping and hollering, the crowd moved to form two lines beneath the lights and the dancing began in a flurry of stomping and clapping as the sollenskriek player started up a toe-tapping beat.

  It was very loud, and lively, and very definitely unlike any of the dances I had ever learned at Kingsbridge.

  "I'll just wait over there," I announced, and attempted to veer off in the direction of the food.

  Jinny grabbed my arm rather resolutely for someone who seemed so calm. "Oh no you don't." Then she dragged me into line with her.

  "But I don't know this one —"

  "Nobody cares, Rikkafilla," Grenna shouted over the music, teeth flashing in a saucy smile as she slid her feet out of her sandals and faced off with us.

  "It's not so much about the footwork as the clapping," Jinny said loudly, taking off her slippers and tossing them off to the side with Grenna's. "Just give it a chance! It's a lot of fun once you stop worrying about what you look like doing it!"

  I burst out with a short, incredulous laugh. That was the least of my worries. Then I thought of my empty room again. Grimly, I bent, slipped off my boots, and started clapping when Grenna clapped and stomping when Grenna stomped. There was some hopping that came as a surprise, some synchronized yipping and howling, and then the lines switched places, hopped some more, stomped some more, clapped some more. Switched places again. Other people joined the line, and I found myself across from a spry old man I'd never met. But not knowing who you would wind up with was supposedly half the fun, and I had to admit it was. My dance-fellow could lift his feet like he was in his twenties, and yip with the best of them, blue eyes bright beneath bushy white brows.

  I was laughing for real by the time the song ended.

  Then the next song began, and the lines broke apart. My old man gave me a wink and a grin and went prancing away in the other direction, Grenna prancing right along after him. Jinny grabbed my arm again and off we went, following the matronly woman in front of her as the sollenskriek struck up a syncopated rhythm. I recognized it. This dance I had at least seen once on the Angpixen, so I was slightly more prepared when our group linked arms and formed a ring, feet kicking up sand as we went flying around and around and around.

  It wasn't until the second stanza began and everyone abruptly paired off that I discovered who else was in our group.

  I came to a breathless halt, unsure who, exactly, I was supposed to pair up with, and found the only other person left without a partner standing there watching me, a little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Lieutenant Penweather stopped smirking, bent into a courtly bow, then held out his hand as he came forward, closing the distance between us. "Miss Westerby."

  "Lieutenant." I sank into a curtsy, then took his hand while making a quick study of the couple next to us to see what we were supposed to do. Turn. We were supposed to turn while facing each other, hands together. Like a passavada. I knew how to do that.

  The lieutenant was smirking again. He held up his other hand for mine and started moving to his right. "How are you finding the Island?"

  I blinked. "It's alright, I suppose." I followed his lead, still observing the others, trying to guess what came next. Keep turning, apparently.

  "You know, since we are on an island, I thought it would be easier to run into you, but you're really quite difficult to locate most days."

  Surprised, I brought my head up. "You were looking for me?"

  His smirk grew into a devilish grin. "Not anymore."

  Oh dear.

  Everyone began switching directions, then, and for some daft reason the musicians decided they should increase the pace. Penweather's grip tightened and he peeked surreptitiously at our feet.

  I gave in and looked down too as we switched directions again.

  "Blast, this is tricky," the lieutenant grunted, trying to keep from trampling on my feet as the tempo doubled again to a quick jog.

  I couldn't help it. A giggle crept out of my throat.

  Other couples were already wavering and collapsing to the ground, laughing and out of breath.

  We switched directions again, then again, somehow managing not to fall over each other before the song came to a boisterously silly end, all t
he musicians hitting random notes, the drummer making a show of drumming his way right off the stage.

  Breathless and dizzy and laughing, we slowed to a halt. Around us everyone was picking themselves up and dusting themselves off, and there was a pause as the band regrouped and the dancers got their bearings.

  Then the fiddler began playing a simple, elegant melody, sending it drifting into the balmy evening air.

  Penweather still had hold of my hands, and when he realized what the next tune was, he pulled a wry face. "Hah! One I know. I'll bet you know this one too." He waggled his eyebrows. "Care to go again?"

  I smiled a little. I did know that particular dance. It had been all the rage at every ball in Edon a few seasons ago.

  Penweather let go and took two steps back, then struck the opening pose, right foot slightly forward, hands behind his back. When I hesitated, he rolled his eyes. "Oh, come now, you know you want to. There aren't any society Mamas to catch us. I won't tell if you don't."

  I bit my lower lip. If we were back home, he knew accepting a second dance with him would have meant I was singling him out as an acceptable suitor. We were far from home. Things were different here. No one would notice. No one would care. Everyone was too busy having fun. The breeze was warm, the scent of jasmine hung in the air, and there was pretty music on a beach lit by lanterns at sunset. Why not? With a shake of my head, I relented, backed up the required distance and sank into a curtsy.

  The first bars of the opening segment began, and we both took four steps toward each other.

  Penweather held out his hand, and I placed my fingertips on his. He brought our hands up, and I spun beneath them, coming around to face away from him, my fingers in his behind my back. The first segment was done in tandem. Right toe-touch to the side, crossover, crossunder, crossover, crossunder, left toe forward, to the side, return spin on the eight count... spine slightly loose but shoulders squared, keep your movements graceful... you are a swan, you are a beam of light. Warring! Keep your chin up —

  "You're an excellent dancer."

  Penweather's words feathered my cheek, breaking through Mistress Floratina's Advanced Grace and Movement class as he pulled me into a spin.

  I felt myself blushing and looked away... just in time to catch the gleam of firelight on silvery blond hair by the nearest bonfire. I frowned.

  A few people were in the way, and he was dressed like some sort of day laborer in brown pants and a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but there was no mistaking that military close-crop, or the sprawl of those long, rangy limbs. He was sitting on a driftwood log, legs bent, his elbows propped on his knees, and Arramy's gaze met mine. Then he glanced quickly away, then down at the drinking mug in his hands.

  I kept moving, my feet carrying me along without missing a beat, although something had gone weirdly hot in my chest and my face decided to heat even more. Blast the man. What is he even doing here? I didn't know basilisks liked music. No. Don't you look again... Don't you dare... But really, must he glower quite so much?... He's obviously not enjoying himself. Stop that, he'll see see you! I couldn't help it, though. My eyes kept returning to that log by the fire whether I wanted them to or not. I didn't have a choice. Penweather moved us into the third set of steps, clapping as I sashayed around him, and with every half-bow and twirl I wound up facing the bonfire.

  It was a drama in snatches: a girl came to stand in front of Arramy. A very pretty girl, with hair that glowed copper in the firelight. She said something. Held out her hand. He stared up at her —

  "Is something wrong?"

  With a start I dragged my attention back to Penweather. "No. Nothing."

  He lifted an eyebrow. "The ramrod in your spine says otherwise."

  "I stepped on a clamshell," I blurted. Without blinking. Then I relaxed my shoulders.

  Penweather's eyebrow arched a little higher, but he brought our right hands up for the final series of spins and didn't say anything more.

  I told myself it was none of my business if Arramy had attracted female company. She was lovely. With any luck, she would do him some good. Maybe he would thaw a little, but my eyes still weren't listening to my brain. I caught blurry glimpses of the girl putting her hands on her hips. Then turning. Then walking away, leaving Arramy still sitting there, alone, drinking from that mug. I couldn't be sure, but I thought he looked at me again.

  Then the dance was over, the ending chords drawing out into the final statement. Everyone faced the musicians to applaud, and Penweather was smiling as he bent over my hand, pressing his lips to the backs of my fingers.

  Like a rattlebrain, I found myself fighting an almost overwhelming urge to peek at the bonfire to see if the captain really was watching. What is wrong with me?

  The lieutenant released my hand and straightened. "Thank you, Miss Westerby. I haven't enjoyed myself quite this much in a long time."

  "Neither have I." I pasted on a smile and dipped into a curtsy. That really should have been the truth, but the fun was gone, frozen by the captain's wintery glare. I could feel it boring into my back, right between my shoulders. Which was ridiculous. The captain wasn't watching me. Why would he be? He found me about as interesting as a bent doornail. I was imagining things.

  There was a pause and then the lead musician announced over the resonators, "The frolicking shall resume shortly, I've just developed a bit o' thirst." He made a rolling gesture with his finger in the air. "Talk amongst yerselves."

  There wasn't anything else I could think to say. None of my rules and deportment lessons had ever advised what to do if you danced twice with a dashing Navy lieutenant on a tropical beach and didn't feel like making it a third because his commanding officer was scowling at you. I settled for giving Penweather another, more genuine smile, turned, and began searching for Jinny.

  "I hear you're going to be staying on the Island," the lieutenant said behind me. Loudly.

  I went still, my heart kicking over.

  Then I rotated on my heels, coming around to face him. "You did?"

  "I did," he admitted, quirking that eyebrow again. "Am I wrong?"

  A shiver of suspicion was prickling the back of my neck. Why would he be surprised that I was staying on the Island? Did he think I might be going somewhere? What else did he know?

  Penweather frowned slightly. "I'm sorry. One of the girls from the Dorm just said you were going to be working here. I didn't mean any offense."

  Abruptly, I schooled my face into an impassive mask and knotted my shaking fingers in the ruffles of my borrowed skirt. "No offense taken."

  "Good," he said, flashing a broad smile. "Oh. I've been meaning to ask, have you had an iced orange at the Creamery?"

  "No, not yet." I began craning to see if Jinny was over by the sonularri. She was. Grenna was with her, and they were talking to a few of the students from the school. She saw me, though, and waved. Her eyes flicked from me to Penweather, and she narrowed her eyes, then said something to her friends and started in my direction.

  "You really should," the lieutenant was saying. "In the words of Mannemarra, they are 'sublime.' We could go tomorrow, if you like." He took a step toward me.

  Jinny arrived, then, smiling ever so politely as she linked her arm with mine. "My apologies, Lieutenant, but I must steal Miss Westerby."

  Only too glad for the rescue, I offered a little shrug and a grin and a non-committal, "Perhaps some other time," and let Jinny pull me away.

  Penweather didn't say anything more. The last I saw of him that evening, he was standing where we had left him. When I glanced that way again, he was gone. The captain, however, remained on the log for the duration of the party, drinking and looking about as happy to be there as a cat in a doghouse.

  I kept close to Jinny and Grenna after that, while studiously ignoring the bonfire closest to the right of the stage, that knot in my stomach tightening every time I accidentally noticed that the captain was still there.

  It was dark when we finally left
.

  Jinny, Grenna, Umelle and several other girls were with me, all of us talking and giggling, but as we wound our way back up the footpath and over the ridge to the village, I could have sworn someone was following us. It was never more than a suggestion of footsteps in the sand, but that feeling of being stalked radiated through my shoulders and didn't stop until we filed into the Dorm and Ydara locked the gate after us.

  I sank into bed exhausted. I was hardly aware of drifting off, but I must have, because there was a monster sitting outside my window until dawn. It was huge, with thick, stony hide, and eyes that gleamed like ice in the moonlight. It wasn't my friend. I knew that much. It was frightening, wild and dangerous, able to tear me to pieces with fangs and claws. It didn't like me, either, but for some reason it was standing between me and the other monsters swarming through the trees. If they came to get me, they would have to go through that big one.

  For being lost in such a disturbing dream, I slept surprisingly well.

  ~~~

  Sonularri: A sound stage that's made with a projection coil underneath it. The sonulator would be a microphone, and the whole lot is powered by a hand-cranked electrical generator.

  44. Starting to Feel Like Home

  20th of Nima

  The next few weeks passed quickly, in many respects.

  I was able to keep very busy translating for the Doctor and the Director at the School, enough that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Then I woke at dawn every day, dragged into consciousness by the Island guinea fowl that roosted in the overgrown vines outside my window.

  On the 15th, my name came up on Ydara's chore rotation and I learned that it does not require an entire tin of scouring powder to scrub twenty pots and pans. That discovery went hand in hand with finding out just how many suds it took to swamp the scullery floor.

  Yesterday, the 19th, I finally had enough spare time to slip over to the school library.