Pantomime (17 page)

  He blinked at me. "Yes."

  My, but our world was that small. Damien was the brother that Drystan missed. I tried to remember, but a decade ago we did not have a house in the Emerald Bowl, and so I would not have seen him at the afternoon teas.

  He made a noncommittal sound and swigged more gin. "Your turn," he said. "Your family name."

  I opened my mouth but hesitated. I wanted so badly to tell someone, anyone. "Can I trust you?"

  He leaned close. His breath reeked of gin. For a moment, I wondered if he was going to kiss me. "I trusted you, didn't I, Iphigenia?"

  My breath caught in my throat.

  "You already know," I whispered.

  He leaned back, closed his eyes. "Laurus of Sicion." His eyes opened. "They had their child go missing not long ago."

  "They did."

  "I read about it in the paper. They still have their son. Your brother."

  "So they do," I said. I was shaking.

  He looked at me, and I knew he was trying to see the woman in me. "You're a brave little thing. I'll give you that," he said, but his voice was cool, almost disappointed.

  "Are you… going to tell anyone?" I forced the words from my throat.

  He looked out to sea. "We're all entitled to our secrets. I'll not say a word about yours, and you'll not say a word about mine."

  A little tension left my body. "How'd you guess? About me?"

  "The dress in your pack was quite the hint. And your letter."

  I pushed him in the shoulder. "You
did
search it." My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I had been quite frank in that letter, unleashing all of my uncertainty. At least I hadn't spoken about any members of the circus specifically. Like Aenea. Or Drystan.

  "Of course I did. But I was the only one, I'll promise you that."

  He hauled himself to his feet and tossed the bottle into the sea. How much of that bottle had I drunk? The world would not focus. Drystan had to help me up, and I nearly fell. I giggled.

  "I, Master Hornbeam, would like to take Miss Iphigenia Laurus's arm, if it is not too forward." He gave a courtly bow.

  I laughed again and gave my best curtsey, holding out imaginary skirts. Something in my chest felt lighter. Someone knew, though like everyone else, he did not know the whole truth. I was good at keeping a certain secret. "Of course, Master Hornbeam. As long as you never, ever call me Iphigenia again. It's the most hideous name. Before I ran away, I called myself Gene."

  "Yes, it is rather horrific, Gene." And we, two nobles living secret lives, weaved and tilted our way back to our circus.

 

Bil was so pleased with himself he looked as if he were about to burst. He strutted in front of us, his grin wide and yellow, tugging on his coat until the gilt buttons threatened to pop.

  He was proud; a specific sort of pride that I did not think anyone could possess unless they had started something from nothing. Arik had told me that Bil had grown up desperately poor – his mother was a widow who worked in the laundry to keep Bil and his sister clothed and fed. He had gone to see the circus whenever it was in town and decided that he would start one. And so he did.

  The circus used to be a sham, with every member an alcoholic or delirious on Lerium. The acts were pathetic, and the entire circus had a seedy air, far more burlesque and boudoir than carnival. The main draw had been buxom ladies in scanty costumes that showed more than a little ankle or leg.

  After seeing Riley & Batheo, he began to transform the circus, and now, though it was still far seedier than the other "Circus of Curiosities," it was far more professional than any other small circus in Ellada.

  And Bil was not yet satisfied, dreaming of showing his circus in the fixed amphitheaters in the metropolises of Ellada. He yearned to perform before royalty. Bil was a man who would never be content until the next goal had been met, and then he would promptly set another. I admired this trait, but also felt sad for him, that he would forever be striving and never content.

  "That was beautiful, my circus, just beautiful," Bil said, standing with his legs apart before us, pointing his cane to each of us in turn. "Never have so many people gathered round our humble tent to see our performances. This is a milestone for our circus. Who knows, my lovelies – we may need to invest in a bigger tent once we arrive in Imachara!"

  We clapped, whistled, and stamped our feet. I was sitting in between Arik and Aenea, and the world was still not quite focusing, though the sensation was fading and my head ached. Arik and Aenea had not commented on the smell of gin about me, though I was sure they noticed. It would have been hard for them not to.

  "Things are going well, indeed they are, my fools and friends," Bil said, beaming. "Tonight, we celebrate! Two extra casks of ale cracked!" We cheered, but not quite as loudly.

  "That is what Bil considers a bonus," Aenea whispered in my ear.

  "I've heard him mention bonuses before," I murmured.

  "That's all he does, is mention them. He conveniently forgets or says the money has already been spent by the time the season comes to an end."

  I remembered the open safe in Bil's tent, the clink of gold in Frit's long, thin fingers. Frit remembered this as well. When I looked at her, her dark eyes were already boring into mine from her drawn face. She shook her head ever so slightly.

  Bil noticed the lack of enthusiasm. "Why the long faces? This is a night to celebrate."

  There was a pause, but then: "Our pockets do not celebrate," the young contortionist, Mara, said loudly. I was a bit surprised. From what I had gathered from watching her, she was a young girl who frequently spoke but often did not have much of import to say. She stood.

  "Pardon me, Miss Mara?" Bil said with exaggerated politeness. "Perhaps I misheard you?"

  "I've spent years in the circus, now," Mara said, dragging a toe over the sandy rock. "You promise bonuses, but you never give 'em. I understood the first year – I was new, and we was still a small circus. Sometimes the seats was over half empty… but this year, it's different. The circus is doing better than ever. I'm happy for you and for every member of the circus. We all worked so hard… shouldn't we all be rewarded?" It was an obviously rehearsed speech, and Mara glanced over her shoulder at other contortionists and acrobats, who nodded encouragingly.

  Bil laughed, and it appeared warm and genuine. "This circus is doing well just now, m'dear Mara, but what happens when we're practicing for the new acts for Imachara in Cowl next month?" He hitched his thumbs under his suspenders and leaned forward. "I'll be honest with all of you. Who pays for the great expense of packing and unpacking the circus, of the train that takes us from town to town? We put on shows up the coast, most of which are empty because the entire population of the town could fit in the tent with room to spare. I pay for it because it's practice, valuable practice, whether an audience is there or not.

  "And I have accrued such debts from the years when this circus did poorly, and the creditors howl and scratch like cats if I cannot pay. I paid you when I could not pay myself. It was a struggle to support my wife. You have no idea, little Mara, the true costs of running a circus. It is more than you could possibly imagine." He had kept the small smile on his face and earnest set of his eyebrows, which, while he wore his full Ringmaster regalia, made him look like a possessed nutcracker.

  It was a convincing speech and I looked around to see a scattering of heads nodding. The circus was nearly on the brink of financial ruin, but I knew why – it was because Bil bought Vestige, and because Frit was skimming off the top. I could still feel her gaze on me.

  Mara's slight shoulders sagged, her shoulder blades jutting against her thin costume. She was so small, especially next to Bil. But she drew herself up and tilted her chin up at Bil. "That may be so, but the numbers still don't make no sense. If everyone who comes to see the circus pays enough to get in and then buys food and games at the carnival…"

  She trailed off as Bil began to slowly shake his head from side to side and chuckle. His chuckle grew into a laugh that echoed deep within his chest.

  "You're an uneducated girl from Niral, Mara, and you and your little friends have no idea of the true costs of a circus. None. I will pay bonuses, and I will pay them when I can. Would you rather have bonuses and no job next season?" The performers exchanged glances, looked away from little Mara. She was on her own now.

  She saw her fellow performers' subtle rebuff and her nostrils flared. "Then I quit!" she said. "There are other circuses and I won't be treated unfair."

  Bil snapped. "Treated
unfair?
" he sputtered. "You're treated a hell of a lot better than you would be in any other circus in Ellada, you ungrateful little wretch. You could barely do the splits when I took you on. I let you train under my best contortionists; I took you on when there were dozens of other little nymphs who liked to bend before the men in the audience." He stepped close to Mara, and to her credit she did not cower. She stared stonily into his blotched face. For the briefest of moments, it seemed he was about to strike her.

  "You're not quitting, little Mara," he spat. "I'm throwing you out. You go and try to get another circus job. No one will take you on. You'll have to make your living how you would always have if I had not let you into my circus. On your back." Mara blanched. Everyone was very silent, especially Tila and Sal.

  He gave a contemptuous look at the performers. "No ale at all tonight. If anyone else feels as Mara does, you can leave with her in the morning." Bil pointed toward the flap of the tent.

  Mara fled, hunched, her hand over her mouth. After a moment's hesitation, Frit followed, probably to offer comfort. Bil did not like that. His fists clenched at his sides and his jaw was tight.

  "Styx," Aenea swore quietly under her breath.

  "Styx," I agreed.

 
 

  
Levels of bowing and curtseying vary depending on your ring of nobility compared to the Twelve Trees. Please see the next page for more detailed diagrams.

  
Failure of correct royal etiquette is one of the most egregious offenses one can make."

A YOUNG ELLADAN LADY'S PRIMER
,

Lady Elena Primrose

 

"Where did you and Cyril go last night?" my mother demanded as soon as she had closed the door to Cyril's room. She grabbed my upper arm and frog-marched me into the study. Father was still at work.

  "N… nowhere," I stammered. I knew for a fact Cyril had not told Mother where we had been, no matter how much pain he had been in. It had been terrible to see him lying on the sick bed, his arm wrapped in plaster, a bandage on his head. He was the very picture of a sick bed patient, from his sweat-matted hair and clammy skin to glazed eyes from the laudanum Doctor Walnut had given him.

  "Though I know you may feel differently, Iphigenia, I am not stupid." Her anger slipped and I could see that she was worried about Cyril.

  I found a way to modify the truth. "We couldn't sleep, so we went for a walk. We went to the Emerald Park, and I convinced Cyril to climb a tree with me to watch the sun set. He lost his grip and fell. That's all." I would never have told her we climbed Penglass. I would not be allowed to leave the house for a month or more, but for the ever-looming debutante ball.

  My mother shook her head in dismay. "Iphigenia, the time has come for all of this to stop."

  "For all of what to stop?"

  "Just as Cyril must accept his future responsibilities, so must you." Her gloved hands worried with the beads of her long necklace.

  "Aren't I?" I asked, puzzled. "I'm studying all that is asked of me, and I'm going to the debutante ball next week."

  "I've no complaints about that, aside from your terrible embroidery." She said it with a smile, as though to lessen the blow. My stomach was still in knots. I braided a section of my hair, concentrating on the weaving of the strands so that I did not have to look at her.

  "Iphigenia," my mother said, and I paused in my plaiting and met her gaze. "You need to grow up and accept what is to come. You do as you're asked, but I am not blind. I know you enjoy none of it, and that you prefer to at times pursue… boyish pastimes. But you are a woman and must accept a woman's responsibilities."

  "Do you mean marrying and birthing and mothering? We do not even know if that is possible for me, Mother. And you know as well as I do the possible reason for my occasional interest in 'boyish' pursuits."

  Mother cleared her throat delicately. "I mean that despite your condition, you have been raised as female and you are female. With the name Laurus comes a future of privilege, and you will be presented to society next week as a young woman of consequence. I think you might be happier if you try a little harder to behave as a young lady should." Her voice was rather tender, but the words cut to the quick.

  "I'll try, Mother," was all I could say in response.

  "I know, Iphigenia." She took my hand and squeezed. Her hands were cold through the gloves. "I must be off as I've promised to visit Lady Candlewood this afternoon. She's just returned from her lecture tour around Southern Temne, and I'm sure she'll have wonderful stories to tell."

  I nodded, and she swept from the room.

  I felt the sudden urge to weep. It felt as though I was being pulled along a certain road and I was not sure it would lead me to the right place. I rubbed a hand over my face, squeezing my eyes shut so they would not fill with tears.