“Let’s go back,” she said.
Grimya understood. They rose, and walked slowly past the dead fires and unlit wagons to the Brabazon encampment. A faint and pleasant smell of woodsmoke lingered on the air; at the caravan Indigo looked back across the field. Nothing stirred, and with the she-wolf at her heels she climbed the steps and returned to the peace and security of her sleeping companions.
•CHAPTER•III•
“Indigo, I can’t find my mask! Oh, help me, please!”
Indigo was sitting on one of the costume-chests, head bent over her harp as she made adjustments to the tuning. On the raised platform beyond the screen that formed a cramped and makeshift preparation area for the Revels performers, a troupe of acrobats were nearing the end of their routine. It was almost impossible for Indigo to hear the notes her fingers were plucking, so she set the harp aside—she’d have time for a final check later—and went to answer Honesty’s wailing plea.
“Which mask have you lost, Honi?”
“The one for the Drover’s Dance.” Honesty was holding a lantern over a wooden box with one hand and rummaging frantically through its contents with the other. “I know I don’t need it yet, but I’ve got to have it ready; there won’t be time to look later.”
A gleam of yellow satin among a pile of cloaks caught Indigo’s eye, and she reached out. “This one?”
“Ohh!” Honesty put a hand to her heart and made a mock show of roiling her eyes up as though about to faint. “Thank you!”
Stead appeared around the screen. He paused, casting a professional eye over the seeming chaos, then said:
“Everybody ready? The acrobats are finishing.”
A scatter of applause, mixed with a few cheers and good-natured catcalls, sounded from the square, and Forth looked up from lacing seven-year-old Duty’s leggings.
“What about the audience, Da? Is it as bad as we feared?”
“Could be much better, but then again it could be worse,” Stead told him. “There’s no shortage of numbers, at least; a lot more have come in since sunset and they’re packing the square like kittens at a milk-saucer. But there’s far too many doleful faces for my liking.”
“Well, we’ll just have to make extra efforts to cheer ’em.” Forth stood up, his task completed, and Duty flexed his legs experimentally. There was a sudden flurry of activity as the acrobats—small people from the far southwest, with pale skins and near-white hair—came running round the edge of the screen. Their leader smiled and bowed to Stead, then the group flopped breathlessly down on the ground and began to chatter in their own unintelligible tongue.
“Right,” Forth said. “This is us, then. Got your pipe, Chari? And you young ones—line up, now.”
Stead swore. “Damn me, I almost forgot, Forth—we’re going to have to cut out the Tree Spirits Masque.”
“What?” Forth stared at him. “Why, in the Harvest Mother’s name? It’s one of our best acts!”
“I know. But there’s a new rumor going about—I heard it just now, from the landlord of the Apple Barrel Inn. Seems people are talking about some kind of forest that’s sprung up where there wasn’t one before.”
“Eh?”
Stead shook his head. “Don’t ask me what it’s all about. All I heard was some garble about black forests and trees that move. It sounds like someone got carried away in his cups and started seeing things, but the story’s spreading like a grass fire. So if we don’t want to upset the good townsfolk, we’d better leave out that masque.”
Forth said something that made Chari look at him in sharp disapproval. “All right. But what can we put in its place?”
“See how it goes, and we’ll discuss it during the interval,” his father said. “The way things are, it might be as well to make our act shorter than usual anyway.”
Piety, who had poked her carrot-red head round the screen, said, “Come on. They’re waiting for us,” and Stead waved Forth away.
“Go on, boy. Mustn’t keep the crowd waiting.”
Rance picked up a hide drum and, still hidden behind the screen, began to beat a smart, formal rhythm. Esty joined in on tambourine while Forth and Chan stood ready with their reed-pipes: at a nod from Stead they launched into a lively tune, and the four youngest Brabazons, with Piety in the lead, marched in single file round the screen and up the rickety wooden steps to the platform.
There was a ripple of warm applause, and Indigo saw a faint smile crease Stead’s face. He knew the wisdom of opening his entertainment with an item from this little quartet; and Piety, who hadn’t quite lost her babyhood lisp, was perfect for the central role. The sight of that pretty, winsome child with her freckles and vivid curls was guaranteed to touch an audience’s hearts and put them in a receptive mood.
The procession halted in the middle of the stage, then Gentility, Moderation, and Duty spread out in a line, so that Piety stood alone before them. The light of the flamboys on long poles which illuminated the platform made her hair gleam like a newly minted gold coin, and from a group of old women who had gaggled together in one section of the crowd came a soft, affectionate sigh. The music stopped on a last, crisp beat, and Piety held out her skirt and curtsied deeply to the assembled throng before striking a dramatic pose.
“Good people all, we bring you greeting,” she piped, with the confidence of a lifelong trouper. “And welcome you to this night’s meeting. Gather round, all grief forsaking—And join us in our merrymaking!”
The three older children linked hands, and all four chanted in chorus:
“For we can dance and we can sing,
“And so to you our gifts we bring,
“With mirth and music, jest and play
“To wish you joy this Revel day!”
Forth, Chari and Rance struck up again, this time a lively skip-tune. On the stage, the children began to dance. The boards thumped and creaked alarmingly, but no one seemed to notice; behind the screen Stead picked up his fiddle and Cour his hurdy-gurdy as the others jostled into order. Indigo took her harp—she’d have no chance now to finish tuning, but it didn’t matter; any sour notes would be lost in the general cheerful noise—and abruptly the music of the pipes was augmented, swelling into full flood as Stead led the rest of his players on to the stage.
Esty, Honi and Harmony swung immediately into the dance, flourishing tambourines as they spun in a swirl of bright-colored skirts. Two of their brothers also joined in, while the musicians lined up behind the whirling dancers. There was a gasp from the crowd as Grimya, exactly on cue, ran in a wide circle around the stage and up to Piety; then the gasp changed to applause as the she-wolf made a good imitation of a bow to the little girl and they circled each other, looking for all the world as though they were dancing together.
At the back of the stage, Indigo smiled at her friend’s antics and the crowd’s reaction. The music’s exuberance and the excitement of being on stage once again were already banishing her unhappy thoughts of the previous night, and in spite of the problems afflicting Bruhome the audience seemed ready to put aside their troubles and enjoy the entertainment.
The dance ended to enthusiastic applause, and as the younger children ran off, Piety waving and blowing impudent kisses, the older ones hurried to set the scene for the one-act play that followed. Prudently, Stead had decided on The Dame and Her Indiscretion a comic melodrama with ample room for overacting and an abundance of innuendo and salacious jokes. Indigo had no part in the play, and so retired behind the screen to keep watch on the little ones and listen to the play’s progress, which was punctuated with roars of laughter from the townsfolk. Esty, who had great natural comic talent, was in fine fettle as the Dame of the title, while Stead as her cuckolded husband and Cour and Rance as her two constantly squabbling would-be swains supported her with gusto. There was cheering as well as clapping when they took their bow; a sure sign that the Fairplayers’ skills, together with the wine and ale now freely circulating in the square, were working their own brand of magi
c.
After the play came a medley of songs, followed by the Drovers’ Dance, and lastly more singing, this time popular melodies in which the audience was encouraged to join, before a half-hour break for the players to refresh themselves. During this interval, Indigo—fortified with a spiced harvest-cake and mug of apple ale—joined Esty and Cour to walk about the crowded square and look at the floral decorations. The aromas of food and drink mingled with the more basic smells of humanity and the stink of pitch from the blazing flamboys; studying faces and overhearing snatches of conversation, Indigo detected few signs of the troubles that beset Bruhome. People talked of mundane matters: the weather, the latest domestic scandal, the shortcomings of this new apprentice or that tavern landlord. Only once or twice did a sour note interpose—the words “dark forest” as one voice stood out momentarily from the general hubbub; another voice, shocked, “three more stricken since this morning, so I’ve heard”; a whispered, inaudible but clearly urgent conversation between two women whose faces were drawn with worry. Indigo didn’t know if her companions were aware of the tenuous, uneasy thread weaving through the atmosphere, and thought better of drawing their attention to it. Stead, with his more intimate knowledge of the town and its leading citizens, would find out what more there was to know in good time. Until then, she thought, best to forget this undercurrent and concentrate on the night’s happier aspects.
With the interval over, what Cour ruefully referred to as the real hard work of the evening began. The second half of the Brabazon Fairplayers’ show consisted almost entirely of music and dance: by this time, it was reasoned, the audience would be too lively, or too drunk, or both, to want their powers of concentration taxed by plays and recitations. They wanted only to roar their way through the simple old songs that everyone knew, and—with some encouragement from the Brabazons themselves—to take part in the final dance sets.
Indigo’s hands ached from harping; beside her Cour was hunched over the hurdy-gurdy, fingers flying as the wooden drone-wheel spun, while Stead’s fiddle and Forth’s reed-pipe threaded a rapid, complex melody through their thrumming background. The girls had jumped down from the platform and were inviting men in the crowd to partner them; the boys, taking their cue, approached a group of giggling women and bowed to them, holding out their hands. But as suspicion and self-consciousness broke down, and more and more people started to join in the dancing, Indigo glanced sidelong at Stead and saw the quick, worried frown of the previous day cross his face once more. It didn’t last—he was too intent on his playing to be distracted for more than a moment—but she had a shrewd idea of its cause.
At long last the final set came to an end. The Brabazon dancers left their partners with kisses and light-hearted promises that wouldn’t be kept, and made a last circuit of the stage, waving to the crowd. The musicians stepped forward, surreptitiously flexing tired fingers as they smiled and bowed. And when, light-headed with exhilaration, relieved and sad that the evening’s revels were over, Indigo followed the others back behind the screen, she looked at Stead again, and saw the uneasiness returning.
“My body and soul for a mug of beer!” Cour pleaded, dumping the hurdy-gurdy on the ground and flapping his hands to loosen their tension.
Esty, who was sitting on an upturned box unlacing her shoes, looked up. “You started the dance sets early. Da,” she said to Stead. “Another few minutes and my feet would’ve caught fire—we danced more than an hour, d’you know that?”
Some of the others concurred with her protest, and Stead scowled. “Better that than lose our audience, my girl. They were getting restive; they wanted to be part of what was going on, to take their minds off other things.”
“But—”
“Never mind ‘but’. When you’ve been about as long as I have, you’ll know how to read the signs if you’ve any wits at all.” He glanced at his eldest son. “Forth knows what I’m talking about.”
Forth nodded. “We had to work hard to get them to join in at all. Usually the men’ll fight over who gets to dance with the girls, but this time …” He let an expressive shrug finish the point for him.
“So that’s why you had to dance for so long.” Stead glowered at Esty. “Satisfied now, miss? Any more complaints?”
Esty looked away. Her eyes were still mutinous but she knew better than to argue.
Forth started to pack their gear into its boxes and chests in readiness for the trek back to the caravans. “What about tomorrow, Da?” he asked. “Can’t do the same show twice running, so if tonight’s anything to go by we’ll need to make some more changes.”
“We’ll talk about that in the morning.” Stead scrubbed at his eyes. “Right now, I’m dry as a bone and I want nothing more than a taste of a decent brew. Anyone else coming to the Apple Barrel for a few mugs?”
Forth, Cour, Rance, and Esty immediately elected to go with him. Chari, a little primly, said no, and Indigo shook her head with a smile.
“Thanks, Stead, but I slept poorly last night. Grimya and I’ll go back to the vans with the others.”
“As you like. Leave what you can’t carry and we’ll bring it later. The town militia will be watching to see nothing gets stolen.”
The party split up and went their separate ways. A few people still lingered in the square and its surrounding streets, and light and noise spilled from all the taverns, but for most of Bruhome’s inhabitants the evening was over. A fresh breeze had sprung up, and the sky was clear and dark as velvet. Last night there had been no moon; tonight it was a thin, glimmering crescent, hanging low on the eastern horizon as it began its nocturnal voyage.
“The wind’s blowing from the moon tonight,” Chari said softly as the riverside encampment came in sight.
She and Indigo were carrying the largest of the costume-chests between them, and Indigo looked across at the tall girl in curiosity. “Is that significant?” she asked.
Chari smiled. “Oh, it’s just an old superstition. They say that when the wind blows from the point where a new moon rises, it heralds great change.”
“For good or ill?”
“It can be either.”
“Then let’s hope it’s good this time.”
“Yes.” In the dark, Chart’s face looked like a pale mask. “Let’s hope it is.”
To everyone’s surprise, Stead and his companions returned an hour later. Many people in the meadow were still awake; banked-down fires glowed here and there, and the occasional murmur of subdued voices drifted across the lea. The four youngest Brabazons were abed and asleep, but the others, enlivened a little by the walk back from the town, had gathered in the main caravan to drink hot mulled ale and talk idly over the evening’s events. The clump of booted feet on the steps alerted them, and they looked up to see Stead framed in the doorway.
“Well,” Stead said with rancorous humour. “It looks like there’s more enjoyment to be had under our own roof than in any of Bruhome’s taverns tonight!”
They squeezed into the cramped space and Chan fetched more mugs. “What’s amiss, Stead?” Indigo asked. “They surely haven’t all closed their doors?”
“No; but they might as well do for all the pleasure there is to be had. We went to the Apple Barrel; then—let me see,” Stead counted on his fingers. “The Fleece, the Hop Pickers, and the Five Vines, and everywhere it was the same. Long faces and frightened eyes.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “I’ve never seen the like of it.”
“And the talk,” Cour put in. “Rumor piling up on rumor. This tale about a moving forest’s all over the town now.”
Grimya’s ears pricked, and Indigo said uneasily, “Then the story’s true?”
“People are behaving as though it is,” Stead told her. “More and more claim to have seen it with their own eyes. Black trees, they say, with thorns long as a man’s arm growing on them. And dense as the strongest wall ever built.”
“But if there really is something there, Da, we’d have seen it on our way here,” Chari objected.
“Or if we hadn’t, some of the other travelers would, and we’d have heard of it from them by now.”
Stead patted her hand. “I know, lass, I know. It doesn’t make any sense. But people hereabouts are starting to believe the tale.”
“And that’s not all,” Forth added grimly. “Five more people went down with the mysterious sickness today, and another two have disappeared.”
Stead gave him an angry look. “I told you not to say that. Not in front of the younger ones.”
Forth shrugged. “If they don’t find out from us they’ll hear it from someone else soon enough.”
“Da, this place isn’t healthy,” Rance said. “I think we should go, before it gets any worse.”
Forth snorted contemptuously, but Stead held up a hand. “No, Forth. I’ve been thinking along much the same lines, and I reckon I’ve decided what to do. We’ll put on another show tomorrow, just like we planned; but after that we’ll make our farewells to Bruhome and move on.”
“And miss the end of the Revels?”
“Yes. For what little that’s going to be worth now.” Stead gazed in turn at each of their faces. “Well?”
There were murmurs; shuffles. Harmony said, “You know best, Da,” and several others voiced agreement. Forth continued to scowl, but for the most part the overwhelming feeling seemed to be one of relief. Though everyone pretended to be unaffected by the blight that hung over Bruhome, there was no doubt that, at least subconsciously, the town’s unquiet atmosphere had made its mark.
But while her friends seemed glad of Stead’s decision, Indigo felt as though a cold, leaden weight had lodged beneath her ribs. She looked at Grimya, and knew that the she-wolf shared her apprehension. One more day, and the Brabazon Fairplayers would be moving on. And she must break the news that she and Grimya would no longer be traveling with them.
Nocturne Page 4
