Redoubt (9 page)

He just wondered how much he would be able to watch . . . depending on whether Nikolas
wanted him and Amily to “work.” Well, at least there was plenty to do this afternoon.

As they left the Collegium, Dallen was waiting for them. The Companion presented himself
broadside to them and gave them both a
look.
Mags didn’t even need to Mindspeak to know what he meant, and it was pretty clear
to Amily too, who laughed. “Thank you, Dallen,” she said, with a little mock curtsy.
“Since you are going to insist that I ride instead of walk and stand, who am I to
thwart the will of a Companion? If we are going to watch the tumblers and acrobats,
I don’t mind having a seat up higher than anyone else.”

Mags boosted her up onto Dallen’s back; she was wearing a split skirt today, perhaps
in vague anticipation of riding at some point, so there was no question of her having
to try to ride aside
and
bareback. Not that Dallen would ever let her fall.

“Ropewalkers or acrobats?” he asked. “Though the acrobats might turn up too.”

“Ropewalkers,” she said instantly, and they made their way through to the courtyard
at the front of the Palace. It was a side of the complex that Mags had only rarely
seen, since he usually came and went through one of the back or side gates. The entire
area was paved over, with trees set in stone boxes along the edge. Today a net had
been strung from one side of the courtyard to the other at about head height from
the trunks of those trees, and at about the same distance above it was a single rope
strung between two small platforms. A young lady in a very short outfit of colorful
stockings and breeches and a tight tunic was posed on one of the platforms, looking
as calm as if she were standing on the ground. She looked as though a rainbow had
been cut up and made into her clothing. Her hair had been wound up into a fanciful
heap on the top of her head, ornamented with feathers and artificial flowers.

Mags watched her with professional admiration. Most people, even Heralds, would not
be able to stand so far above the ground on such a small space. And even he would
not dare to do what she was about to, without an awful lot of practice. Rooftop-running,
fine. Walking along a rope? Even with a net for safety beneath you?

Not without a damn lot of practice, thenkee. Not only is it narrow, it’s gonna be
moving. Moving more even than a tree branch.

When the crowd had quieted, she stepped out. She kept both arms outstretched for balance,
but moved like a dancer along the swaying rope, walking toe-heel, but lightly and
quickly. She walked all the way to the other platform, back to the first, and paused
for applause.

She got it and bowed, but her face was an expressionless mask of concentration. She
set out again, this time going out to the middle, where she turned in place on one
foot, not as fast as a dancer but not so slowly that she was likely to lose her balance
over it. Then she eased herself down as the crowd went silent. The rope trembled under
her. She got all the way down to a knee and knelt.

She didn’t pause for applause this time. She rose, turned, and lowered herself again,
this time with her weight centered farther back and one leg stretching out in front
of her. Mags understood what she was doing probably before the rest of the crowd did,
as she sat on the rope, that outstretched leg lying along it. He could tell she was
pausing for breath before she got up again, turned, ran down to the other platform,
and bowed.

Mags found a part of his mind suddenly springing into action, watching and taking
notes on her performance. He noted her shoes—thin things, with soles of very flexible
leather, with a split between the big toe and the rest. She could probably feel the
rope through those soles, and the split allowed her to grip the rope between her toes,
although normally she walked with the rope along diagonally along the sole of her
foot, just as he would walk a rooftree. He watched how she balanced, how she was making
it look more difficult for her than it really was, exaggerating her balancing movements.
He saw how she kept her center of balance directly over her feet, no matter what her
posture was. He noted the rope itself—how thick it was, how stiff it was, how slack
it was.

He wondered in that analytical part of his mind how this could be of any use to him . . .
surely, if he found himself in a situation where he had to cross by rope, it would
be both more secure and more efficient to hang under it and pull himself along . . .

But wait . . . what if it was fastened to something in such a way that if he got to
the other end, he’d find himself faced with a blank wall, no way to pull himself up,
and nothing he could lower himself down to? In that case, assuming there was a roof
or a ledge he could reach by standing on the rope, it would make much more sense to
cross it standing than upside down. Or practice until he could get himself to a standing
position without anything to pull himself up by.

Well, that could be tricky.
It could be done, though. It would take a very strong body, but it could be done.
If he could get himself lying flat and balanced on the rope, he could then get himself
into a seated position, and, as this girl was doing, from seated he could get to his
feet.

She waited for the applause to die, then went out to the center again, this time carrying
a child’s skipping rope. Mags could scarcely believe his eyes, nor, from the sound
of the intake of collective breath, could anyone else. But she did it. She swung the
rope in her hands over her head and did three skips, and how she managed to keep from
being flung off the rope, he had no idea.

At least, not at first. Then he realized that the trick was that she kept her feet
so close to the rope that there was barely enough room for the skip rope to pass beneath
them. The rope was stiff enough it didn’t move that much, and she had kept her knees
so flexed that she didn’t bounce it much. Not much use to him. He couldn’t imagine
a need for being able to skip rope while standing on a rope . . . but it certainly
was a pure marvel to watch, and he was more than prepared to applaud her wildly when
she returned to her platform.

Back to the first platform she went and then back out to the middle of the rope. This
time when she went out to the center, she paused and balanced on one foot, with the
other behind her rather than in front of her. Slowly, slowly, she brought that foot
up behind her, reached around behind her head with both hands and seized it, and stretched
that foot and leg up over her head, while the rope trembled and swayed under her.
She held that pose for as long as ten heartbeats before releasing her foot, bringing
her leg back down, and running back to the second platform.

All righty, then. Not only is that little thing all sinew and muscle, I think she’s
just a tad crazy, too.

This time the applause made the very stones tremble. But it appeared that she wasn’t
done yet.

Now she went out to the center, posed there for a moment, and began bouncing on the
rope. When it was moving at an alarming rate, she suddenly let her feet go from underneath
her, and bounced her rear on the rope, bounced back up again, and got her feet underneath
her. Then she did it again. Then she twirled at the top of a bounce, making a full
rotation before she landed on the rope again.

He couldn’t think how he would use this either, until it occurred to him that if the
rope started to get out from underneath him, he could probably manage to use this
to get things back under control.

She ran back to her platform and posed with one arm flung up, for applause.

He thought that surely, surely now she was done. But no!

A tiny little girl swarmed up the little ladder leading to the platform and stood
beside her. They were dressed identically and even had their brown hair done in the
same fanciful way, with feathers and flowers on the side and a kind of pad of hair
on the top. The first girl knelt down, and the little one climbed up onto her shoulders.
Now with the little girl balanced there, the two of them went out on the rope together.
They paused in the middle, then the little girl put both her hands on the top of the
older girl’s head.

Now Mags understood that hairstyle. The feathers and flowers hid what must have been
a headband, which held the pad in place securely so that it wouldn’t move. The pad
gave the little girl something to balance on rather than slippery hair.

He thought he knew what she was going to do, but he could still scarcely believe it
when she inched her way up into a handstand, then inched her way back down again as
the crowd held its collective breath. With the tiny thing perched on her shoulders,
the older girl executed several deft turns, then balanced with one leg outstretched
in front of her, turned, and then balanced with one leg behind her, as the little
girl took the same pose, but kneeling on her shoulders rather than standing.

So . . . it was possible to carry a weight on your shoulders and keep balanced. That
was useful to know, too.

Then the older girl held out her hands, and the little one put both feet into them.
With a quick toss, the little girl went up into the air and down into the net. As
soon as she had rolled off the edge and dropped to safety, the older girl jumped down
into the net herself. Then both of them raced up the ladders to the two platforms
and posed there, one hand on the support, leaning precariously out with the other
hand waving, collecting their well-deserved applause.

A moment later, a set of tumblers in bright yellow tunics and trews came rollicking
through the crowd, which cleared away from the center of the courtyard to give them
room. They had brought with them a drummer, whose rapid beats set the rhythm of their
performance. Mags noticed there was a strong family resemblance among them, and between
them and the ropewalkers.

They leaped over one another, somersaulted through the air, cartwheeled, and threw
one another about as if they weighed no more than balls of feathers. The two girls
joined them, to be flung about, balanced on shoulders, turned into the tops of stacks
and pyramids of people, and balanced on a single hand by one foot. Mags could only
stare at them and marvel. He knew they must have been training since they were mere
babes to achieve what he was seeing, and he couldn’t help but think that if he’d been
born into any other body, he’d like to have been in one of theirs.

What a wonderful life they must have! To be able to travel wherever they wished and
to get paid for making people gasp and applaud! And to be able to do the feats of
skill and strength they were doing now! Of course, he was under no illusion that any
of this was easy; he knew from his own training how hard it was. But his skills were
used in terribly serious ways, and it would have been so liberating to be able to
use them just to make people smile. For a moment he imagined himself doing just that,
with no more cares in the world than to have to think of and train in some new trick
to amaze the audience.

But even before he heard Dallen’s chuckle in his head, he knew that this dream was
rather silly—because he would
never
be happy living such a shallow life, and he would always be getting himself into
trouble trying to help other people. At least as a Trainee helping other people was
what he was supposed to be doing, and if he got into trouble, there were plenty of
people who would help him out of it again.

But such a strange life he had now . . . one he could never have imagined when he
had been a mine-slave. Strange to think that once he had spent most of his life crawling
through claustrophobic, dangerous tunnels under the ground, seldom seeing daylight,
only to now be studying the techniques of these creatures who seemed to live in and
move on the air.

:They really are awfully good,:
Dallen observed.
:Perhaps we can get them to train you. I’ll mention it to Rolan. I assume if they
are performing here, they are certainly to be trusted.:

When they finished and ran off, they were succeeded by two fellows who made a succession
of small balls do quite amazing things. Amily watched them in delight, but Mags paid
only half his attention to them. That was another odd thing about this life of his—at
least of late. Unless it was something that could be of use to him, he was never able
to devote all of his attention to just
watching
something anymore, nor just to be simply entertained. Half of him might be absorbing
the entertainment, but the other half was like a watchful cat, keeping track of everything
else that was going on around him.

I guess nearly getting killed a few times does that to you,
was all that he could think. Not an entirely comfortable way to live . . . but it
certainly beat the alternative: being caught unprepared and unaware.

He snorted to himself when he realized that in the back of his mind he had actually
been wondering if those colored balls could be used as weapons. It was only when the
jugglers were finished that the afternoon performances seemed to be at an end, and
a small group of musicians who had gathered there unnoticed by everyone except Mags
began playing on the steps of the Palace. Some folk who were
not
dressed in very fine clothing began to sort themselves into a contra-dance, but this
seemed to be not to the taste of the more refined, who drifted back to the gardens.

While they had been watching, Mags had also been debating with himself about revealing
Bear’s plan to Amily. She was, after all, one of the cleverest people he knew. But
on the other hand, would she consider herself bound to tell her father?

:What do you think?:
he asked Dallen, as they moved out of the courtyard and back toward the trees and
some shade.
:Should I talk to her about it? Or not?:

:Bear didn’t specifically ask you to keep it in confidence,:
Dallen observed.
:But I am not at all sure that he would want you to tell anyone else, either. He seemed
reluctant even to discuss it with you, and I got the impression he hadn’t talked with
anyone else. Thinking about it, I don’t think you should, until you can ask him whether
he wants you to keep it quiet.: