Pantomime (13 page)

  I thought a moment, trying to puzzle it out. "So they like the sight of him bent over?"

  Drystan stared at me in astonishment and then laughed uproariously, slapping his knees. "Oh, Micah, you
have
been sheltered!" He shook his head, chuckling. I still looked at him blankly.

  "It's been a long time since I've had to explain a joke to someone, oh my." He wiped his eyes. "The novices weren't tempted by the woman, Micah, because they had no desire of her. They preferred the close company of men."

  I blinked and my blush deepened. "Oh." Cyril had told me about how children were made when I had asked him several years ago, but he had never mentioned this. "Does that happen often? Men preferring men to women?" I thought of my attraction to Aenea. Did I like her as a boy, or as a girl?

  "More often than you would think."

  "Are there any here in the circus?"

  That sent Drystan into paroxysms of laughter again.

  "They're all around you. The circus collects the outsiders like a flame tempts moths. Sal and Tila, for all their flirting with men, are devoted to each other. You really didn't realize that Arik prefers the company of men? Or that I do?"

  My mouth fell open, and I snapped it shut. "Um, no." Drystan was looking at me very intently. "Do you… or they ever prefer both men and women?" I asked.

  "Me?" he said, not letting me get away with my slip. "Sometimes, for a bit of variety. More sample both dishes than would probably admit to it." He looked at me slyly. "Why the fascination?"

  "No reason," I said, quickly. "What do the Lord and Lady think of it?" I did not know if I believed in the Lord or Lady, but I was curious to know what they would think.

  "They're completely silent on the subject. In none of the sacred writings is there a hint that it even exists. Some say that means that they consider it so terrible that it cannot even be spoken of. Others feel it means that it is a nonissue, that the Lord and Lady do not care, as long as those who love each other come together to be complete and to worship them. In ancient Alder, there were no different pronouns for gender. I think that in itself speaks volumes."

  I glanced at him. Drystan used rather varied vocabulary. He toned it down around the others, like Arik and Aenea, but not around me. He knew we had more in common.

  "What's your question then? As payment?"

  Drystan leaned on his hands, languid as a cat. He looked at me, calculating. I was almost certain he was going to ask me whether I preferred men or women.

  "Who do you miss the most, from your previous life?" he asked instead.

  "My brother," I said without hesitating, relieved that I did not have to lie.

  He nodded as if I was confirming something. "I miss mine as well. And my sister, though she was just born when I left."

  I was surprised by his openness. Drystan picked up the cards again and shuffled, clacking them together with such force that it sounded like he was rattling wooden slates. We sat together in silence, watching the fire and thinking of our brothers.

  "May I ask you a question?" I asked.

  "You may, though it'll cost you another." His smile was benign.

  I decided it was worth it. "My pack went missing not long ago."

  An eyebrow rose. "Did it?"

  "I found it."

  "And was anything missing?"

  "No, but I wondered if… anyone would have looked through it."

  Drystan turned toward me, his expression unreadable but still dreamy. "One might have pretended to look through it, to placate one's peers."

  A tightness eased in my chest. He did not seem to be lying, though with him it was difficult to tell.

  "I see," I said. "Your question?"

  "Hmm," he said. "So many I could ask."

  "So there are," I said.

  "What is your biggest fear?" he asked.

  I was quiet, thinking. There were so many things I was frightened of. "Not being accepted or loved for what – who – I am."

  Drystan again noticed the slip but did not comment. "Does no one accept you?"

  "That's two questions. My brother does."

  "What, are you lonely, Micah?"

  His question took me aback. "Yes, sometimes. Aren't most people?"

  "Hmm."

  Drystan became less obtuse around me after that, shedding his persona of the odd, mystic fool and showing the human beneath. But when I looked up at him through lowered lashes and saw him watching me, I still felt a little thrill.

 

The after-show bonfires were strange but wonderful.

  There was euphoria after each and every show, the emotions pent up needing a place to go. No one went straight to bed after a performance. There was always laughter, and more food, and a drink or two to unwind.

  Some nights were wilder than others, with the Kymri tumblers and some of the workers playing their penny whistles, guitars, and little hand drums. Workers and performers would cross their divide: Wicket dancing with Juliet the Leopard Lady, or Dirik dancing with Bethany, whom he fancied, despite the moustache – or because of it?

  Though few people spoke to me, I still had fun, clapping along to the music and nursing a mug of beer, chatting with Aenea and Arik, and sometimes Drystan or Frit. I still felt a part of the circus, more or less.

  Bil was in a fine mood one particular night. He had disappeared into town during the afternoon, well before the show was due to begin. He did that, occasionally – leaving and returning with a mysterious package under one arm, stinking of booze.

  "I got somethin' new for the circus today, me lovelies," he said. "Just to make us that much better." He swayed on his feet, and the bonfire behind him cast him in shadow. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a small Vestige figurine of a golden-haired monkey. It was a lovely little thing – the fur seemed to ruffle in the wind, though it was made of metal. Its little face looked like an echo of a human's, its dark eyes large.

  "Now," he said. "I can only show you for a minute. Thing's almost outta power." I could barely understand his slurred words. He pressed a small button on the monkey's back.

  The monkey shook its head and stood upon its bandy legs. It turned and looked up at Bil's face. I could see the little lever in its back. With jerky movements, the little monkey climbed up Bil's arm and perched on his shoulder, cocking its head at us. Bil chuckled and reached up and plucked the little monkey from his shoulder, holding it in his open palm. Bil pushed the lever and the monkey returned to its original pose.

  "That is amazing," I breathed to Frit, who was sitting to my right.

  "It is," she said, but her voice was tight.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "Nothing," she said, pulling her shawl tighter about her, her shoulders hunched. "Never you mind, Micah."

  I looked from her, to Bil, and back again. She looked as though she was mentally doing sums as she stared at the little golden monkey. "Vestige things are rather expensive, aren't they?" I asked.

  She nodded her head once, her eyes on Bil as he laughed uproariously.

  I understood.

  She topped up my glass of ale and toasted me with her own. She drank, and so did I, though I did not like the taste.

 
 

  in the old and the new.

  The sandstone hewn by human hands,

  stained with soot and time.

  Sounds drift into the street,

  laughter cruel and kind.

  The pristine glass looks like a shadow,

  a blue bubble about to burst.

  A memory of music not quite heard,

  The Alder dream, now cursed.

  Side by side they stand,

  Each with a treasure nursed.

  Never uttering a word.

  but which will crumble first?"

PENGLASS OF SICION, Anonymous

 

Cyril invited some of his friends to our house one afternoon.

  I abandoned my woeful attempt at embroidery on my bed and casually walked past the door to Father's study, straining my neck to make sure that Damien was not there. He was not. I should have realized – Cyril was possibly even angrier with him than I was.

  The sun streamed in from the diamond lead-paned windows and cast patterns on the thick rugs. Cyril, Oswin, and a genial boy named Rojer lounged on the leather sofas of the study, surrounded by my father's law books. Oswin saw me pass and gestured me in.

  "Genie!" he said, grinning.

  "Don't call me Genie," I said automatically, crossing into the room that was as masculine as it was possible for a room to be. The air smelled of musty books, the acrid tang of old smoke and the orange oil used to treat the furniture. Everything was maroon, hunter green, and brown.

  I collapsed into a leather armchair without ceremony, sprawling across it as they did. My cream and pale blue lace contrasted with their dark city suits. And though I had often joined in when Cyril had his friends over, it felt different this time, much like when we had smoked cigars in the woods, as though they were all growing closer and I was only growing further apart. An invisible barrier of age and propriety had come between us.

  "How are you boys?" I asked.

  "Well and good, Iffygenial," Rojer said. He never, ever pronounced my name properly.

  "For the hundredth thousandth time – I'm Gene," I said, as I always did. It was a game, though I grew tired of it. I never felt as though they took me seriously, if they could not even pronounce my name properly.

  "What were you speaking about?" I asked.

  "Dull political stuff," Cyril said wearily. "We're supposed to be studying for our exam tomorrow. We were doing all right until you interrupted us." He wrinkled his nose at me to show he was not truly upset.

  "What sort of political stuff? Maybe I can help."

  "What do you know of politics, Genie?" Oswin asked.

  "Lord's teeth – it's Gene. More than you, I'm sure. I'd be very surprised if you've ever stayed awake through an entire lecture about Elladan history or politics."

  "I'm sure I must have stayed awake through one. Possibly." Oswin thought. "Maybe not."

  "I'm shocked."

  "Come now, we should really study at least a little more," Cyril said, dragging the open book beside him on the sofa into his lap. "I'll ask you each a few more questions and then we can take a proper break."

  "All right," Oswin sighed. Rojer settled into his chair, blinking as though he were already struggling to stay awake.

  Cyril squinted at the book. "When will the Princess Royal come of age and become queen?"

  "That's easy," Rojer said. "You should try a little harder to stump us. She will come of age when she is sixteen and have the full responsibilities of the monarchy," he intoned, as if from memory.

  "How are decisions made now?" Cyril asked.

  "Through the steward," Rojer said, bored.

  "Only the steward?" Cyril pressed.

  "Mainly, I think."

  "Wrong!" Cyril said, gleeful. "Decisions are put to vote in the council, but the steward has the final say with the power to veto decisions."

  "You're asking boring questions," I said. "Give me the book."

  Cyril clutched it protectively. "I'm asking the questions."

  "What? Afraid you'll be wrong if you're put to the test?"

  "Give the book to Gene, Cyril. Let's see what you're made of."

  I beamed at Oswin. He had called me Gene. Cyril gave me the book.

  "So," I said. "What date, exactly, did the Colonies last secede from the empire?"

  "The year?" Cyril asked.

  "Exact date, I said. Are you deaf?"

  "Easy," Rojer said. "The first day of autumn, 10822. Everyone knows that one."

  "Not everyone. Oswin didn't. What were the reasons that Ellada became the head of the Archipelago Empire in 10353?"

  "Lord and Lady,
boring,"
Oswin said. "We had most of the Vestige weapons. The Colonies didn't have as many and the ones they had were often damaged by damp."

  The history was more complicated than Oswin made it seem. Ellada constantly needed more water from the mountains. We would soon need more food than the farm island of Girit could provide. We needed nearly all of our fuel from Kymri, which kept creeping its prices higher. We needed more than the colonies wanted to give. Only the inflated prices we were willing to pay kept them selling.

  For a long time, there had been too many people for the small amounts of land. Supposedly there had once been much more land, vast stretches where one could travel for months and still not reach the other end. Now as far as we knew there were a handful of islands still above the water's edge, and all else had been sunk, still below the waves. Explorers who set out to sail the world's circumference never returned. I would like to think that they found large, wonderful places to live, but they probably perished.

  I had read a few books on economy, much to Mother's disapproval and Father's quiet sanction. Ellada had managed to gather so much power, not due to natural resources, but because there was a higher concentration of Vestige weapons.

  Over the past centuries, we had fought countless wars that always resulted in the same cycle – we would conquer and use our opponents' lands for their resources, they would grow increasingly hostile to us stripping their lands free of crop and mineral, they would rebel and secede, we would conquer them again.

  If I were actually an outside observer, I would find this period in history fascinating. For the past two centuries, Ellada had tried peaceful negotiations with Kymri, Linde, Northern and Southern Temne, and Byssia, spending the money to trade for goods rather than pouring the coin into the war effort. People had begun to immigrate and emigrate to and from different lands, mingling with the natives of each.