by Samuel Fort
Chapter 50: The Funeral Dance
Lilian, blindfolded, stood with her hands on the balcony rail three floors above the Great Hall. Her blindfold was specially made for such occasions, with cuneiform spells of protection sewn into the fabric in a circle above each eye. Persipia, similarly blindfolded, stood two steps behind her, head bowed. The two women were alone and unrestrained, there movements unhindered as long as they did not leave the balcony. They had placed the special blindfolds on one another in preparation for the “Funeral Dance,” the Nisirtu’s ceremonial sendoff for a recently deceased king or queen.
Unseen be either women, the massive room below was illuminated only by candles. A long line of men stood motionless on one side of the hall, and opposite them, some thirty feet away, stood an equally long line of women. Though not mandatory, such dances were also frequently conducted upon the death of a high noble. Consequently, the requisite “costume” was maintained by all Nisirtu, and every citizen and noble at Steepleguard had brought theirs with them.
The men wore black tuxedos, silk top hats, red vests, and white gloves with cuneiform embroidery. As a group, they could have been mistaken for a line of dancers in an old Broadway musical, except that hanging over the face of each man was a tattered piece of brown canvas. In ancient times such masks were cut from the same bolt of cloth used for the dead regent’s burial shroud. Three centuries ago, however, the Council granted each Nisirtu male the right to retain and reuse a single funeral mask. Each was required to extend from the man’s forehead to his chest and to have three holes cut into it, one for each eye and a third for the mouth.
The women wore black ballroom dresses adorned with rubies. As intended, rubies sparkled in the dim candlelight like shiny drops of fresh blood. The women’s faces were coated with a thick white paste that completely concealed their features, making it appear as if they were wearing kabuki masks. Their lips were painted black and their hair tied into buns atop their heads.
The most peculiar feature of the women’s costumes, however, were the ancient, deformed silver coins that were held in place over their eyes by strips of black lace that were wrapped seven times around their head and tied at the backs of their heads. The women, like the dead, were compelled to dance in darkness, relying on years of ceremonial training, and the occasional guiding hand of their partners, to perform the movements required.
Steepleguard had no orchestra and its greatest Nisirtu musical talent, Lilian, had understandably abstained from contributing to the macabre affair. Fortunately for Porazo and the queen’s other enemies, the old hotel had a superb sound system. The invisible speakers came to life with a frightful crackle that made the daughter of Sargon wince.
Seconds later, the dreaded organ masterpiece began: Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.
Unseen by her, the two lines of Nisirtu below began to move slowly toward one another.
Persipia felt something brush against her hand. Flesh.
“Who is it?” she asked, alarmed. No one but Lilian and Persipia had been granted permission to attend the dance, albeit remotely.
“It’s me. Celeste.”
Persipia’s body went rigid. Oh, no…
“What’s going on?” the young girl whispered.
Persipia willed herself to move. She crouched and turned toward the girl’s voice. “Nothing. Go back to your room, okay?”
“Why are you and Annasa blindfolded?”
“It’s a kind of game,” Persipia whispered.
“What kind of game? Why are the people below dressed like that? Is it a costume party?”
Persipia stifled a cry of despair. “Oh, Celeste! You saw the dance?”
“They weren’t dancing. They were just standing there.”
There was still hope, then. Releasing a held breath, she whispered, “Good. You can’t watch it, okay? Why did you come out of your room?”
“I don’t know,” mumbled the girl. “I was bored.”
Persipia felt the girl moving back toward the rail. “No,” she said, reaching out and gently pulling her back. “Don’t look.”
“Why not?”
“Because girls aren’t allowed to watch,” Persipia said impatiently. “It’s forbidden.”
“But there are ladies down there.”
“They can’t see anything, Celeste. Their eyes are sealed shut.”
“Is that why you’re blindfolded?”
“Yes.”
“Can the men see things?”
“Yes. Just a little.”
“That’s not fair,” the girl protested.
Persipia, surrounded by darkness, dared to move the girl further away from the balcony, using her hands to feel her way. When her hand contacted the opposing wall, she bent forward and said, “Celeste, you must not look. You must not tell anyone you were even here, okay? Wasn’t your room door locked?”
“No.”
Persipia wondered at this. The only Ardoon with a room above the Great Hall were Sam, Eliza, and Celeste. Lilian had commanded that their room door be locked each night for “security reasons.” Yet this night, of all nights, that had not happened. Or worse, it had happened and someone had later unlocked it.
A trap?
“Celeste,” she whispered anxiously, “promise me you won’t tell anyone you left your room tonight.”
“Why?”
Theatrical screams rose up from the hall below. Persipia felt Celeste shudder.
She turned her head left and right, listening for the click of a door closing or the squeaky hinge of a door opening. No spectators were allowed on the night of a Funeral Dance, but she worried that someone might be watching her. Hearing nothing, she put her mouth against the girl’s ear and said more urgently, “Promise me.”
“Why?”
At wit’s end, the woman said, “Celeste, there are rules. You are a girl. There are…” She racked her brain for a word that would not alarm the girl. “There are consequences if you see.”
“See what?” asked the girl.
“Never mind that. Does your mother know you’re gone?”
“No. She’s asleep.”
“Good. Just go back to your room and go to bed and pretend this never happened, okay?”
Celeste pulled at Persipia’s dress. “Can you come with me?”
Persipia shook her head. “No, I can’t see. I will slow you down.” She kissed the girl’s forehead. “Just go, please. Everything will be fine. Don’t look back, okay? Don’t look over the rail. Stay against the wall.”
“Can’t you just take your blindfold off?”
There was another scream from below, this one not theatrical. This one sounded real.
The girl came closer to Persipia and in a tremulous voice said, “Persy, something’s wrong.”
“Celeste, shut your eyes,” the woman commanded.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong-”
“Celeste, be quiet, please!”
The girl’s body convulsed, just once.
Persipia hugged her.
“Are they children?” Celeste asked, her voice strangely metallic.
Persipia reached up and put her hand over the girl’s eyes. “Shhh. Don’t speak!”
She felt the girl’s tears and Persipia buried her forehead into the girl’s shoulder. It was an impossible situation. If Celeste continued to cry someone was going to hear her and then all hell would break loose. If the girl spoke another word she would go mad.
“Okay,” Persipia said. “Are your eyes closed?” When she sensed the girl’s nod, Persipia reached back and loosed the knot that held her blindfold in place. She closed her eyes, pulled the blindfold away and felt for Celeste’s head.
“Here,” she said, turning the girl around and placing the blindfold over her eyes. Persipia’s hands shook so badly she almost failed to tie the knot necessary to hold it in place. The task finally complete, she whispered, “You’ll be safe if you’re wearing this. We’ll go to your room together.”
>
Only then did Persipia realize how disoriented she had become. She couldn’t remember which room Sam and his family were residing in, but she was certain it wasn’t nearby. She thought it was on the other side of the building, in fact, though on the same floor. How could she ever lead the girl there? Even if the girl could lead her back, how long would it take? A single misstep would result in disaster.
She struggled with the urge to rip the blindfold from the Ardoon’s eyes and again place it on her own. What was an Ardoon’s life in the scheme of things? Especially if she, a Nisirtu, could remain alive?
A child, Persy? You will sacrifice a child to save your own skin?
Of course. I am the daughter of my wretched mother.
She didn’t, though. Instead, the woman placed a hand over her eyes, a pointless gesture if she was caught, though that was now the least of her worries. Without the blindfold or silver coins she was defenseless. The seductive, sing-song whispers had already begun.
Persy…open your eyes…
See us…
“No,” she said aloud.
We are so cold…and you, so warm…just for a little while…
Grabbing Celeste’s hand, she said, “We have to go.”
She made it only two steps before she felt a hand on her chest.
An adult’s hand.
It took all of Persipia’s willpower not to shriek. It had been a trap, of course. She had already come to grips with that probability. She’d been caught unmasked at a Funeral Dance, just as her unknown opponent had planned. Had Celeste been entrapped, too, or was the girl the primary target? She was the daughter of a slave befriended by a slave king. There were a few nobles who didn’t care for such gestures.
At best, she would be killed.
At worst, she would be forced to watch the dance.
No, I will throw myself over the rail first…
She felt a finger press upon her lips. “Shhh. Quiet.”
It was Lilian. Persipia knew the woman’s touch. She almost fainted with relief as the queen ran the finger from her consort’s mouth, up her nose, to her forehead.
The queen whispered, “You gave her your blindfold.”
Persipia, not sure if this was a statement, a question, or an accusation, mumbled, “Yes, Annasa. I’m sorry. She’s only-”
“Go into the room just behind you.”
Behind her? No, that wasn’t right. She had personally escorted Sam and his family to a room on the opposite side of the building. “Annasa-”
“The room is empty,” whispered the queen. “The door is unlocked. Go.”
Persipia obeyed.
