Pantomime

by Laura Lam

  "I will not tell anyone," he said stiffly. "It was my own fault, for being too forward."

  I smoothed my hair from my face, still shaking. "I had never even been kissed before."

  He started. "My apologies." His voice still sounded flat. I realized that Damien had probably found his way beneath several skirts before this, with his social standing and pretty face. There were tavern wenches and he would have the money for tarts, but even some noble girls will kiss and pet, though most do not engage in anything that would result in a child. My friend Anna Yew had let a boy or two beneath her bodice. But Damien had never discovered anything quite like me, nor would he likely again.

  Damien would recover from this. Someday, he'd barely remember what had happened this day in the woods. At least, I could only hope he would. But this was something I would never, could never forget. That the first person to discover what I was had recoiled in revulsion and would no longer look at me. I stared at the charred interior of the hollow tree, determined not to let him see me cry.

  We sat in total silence until Cyril found us. It felt like hours had passed, but it had only been a couple of minutes. Damien did not look at me, the muscles in his jaws working furiously.

  I disgusted him.

  Cyril looked between the two of us but said nothing. When Oswin finally found us, we headed home as the light faded. I had a long streak of mud down the side of my skirt. I hid behind Cyril as we walked to the dwindling afternoon tea party, but there was no way to keep Mother from noticing. She admonished me the entire carriage ride home. At least she did not appear to have smelled the smoke.

  She railed on about how no man would wish to marry a girl who runs along and plays with the boys, who cannot keep herself tidy. I said nothing, her words barely registering, and looked out the window at the trees streaming past, my knees pressed tightly together to stop them from shaking. I felt as though my mind and heart had been dragged through a thicket of rose bushes and caught on every little thorn. After all, no man would want me in any case. I was both man and woman. No one would marry a monster.

  9

  SUMMER: THE BURNING CHALK

  "The Royal Snakewood family has ruled for over eight hundred years. Queen Nicolette Snakewood will come of age on an auspicious date – an eclipse that marks the date of the fortieth generation of Royalty. On that bright night, Ellada will have a celebration such as none have seen before."

  THE SNAKEWOOD DYNASTY, Professor Caed Cedar,

  Royal Snakewood University

  The tightrope shook violently under my feet as I made my way across it and I pinwheeled my arms to keep balance. I refused to fall.

  "Focus!" Aenea said, poking me in the ankle. I bent my knees, gritting my teeth as I balanced.

  "Don't do that!" I cried.

  "Who's to say some unruly member of the audience won't throw something at you some night? You can't ever lose focus."

  "Someone's going to hit me with something when I'm sixty feet in the air?"

  "They might have a very strong arm."

  "Then we can recruit them to the circus and replace the strongman. Did you know that his barbells are fake? Even I could lift them a bit!"

  "Yes, it's true that he's more fat than muscle," she said as I continued walking across the rope, trying not to wobble and weave as much. "Bil's had plenty of men stronger who wished to join, but they weren't as big and Bil is all about appearances."

  Aenea pulled a wisp of brown hair out of her face and furrowed her eyebrows. I itched to reach out and touch her hair. In our time practicing, she remained teasing but detached, aside from the odd flirtation, which left me flustered. I could not stop thinking about her, and frequently felt tongue-tied when she spoke to me. Did I like her, a girl? Was it wrong to like her? Did she like me?

  "You look so ungraceful," she said.

  "I'm trying," I said, slumping down in the middle of the rope and dangling my legs. "I haven't been sleeping well," I added, which was a gross understatement. Dreams of the Phantom Damselfly haunted me nightly, and I woke up covered in cold sweat, wondering what it meant and unable to go back to sleep. "Why are you being so hard on me? It almost makes me wish to give up."

  "Would you give up that easily?"

  "I said 'almost!' I don't plan to give up. This is the only thing I can see myself doing. But I'm trying as hard as I can."

  She relaxed. "I can see that. And you're learning."

  "Really?" I asked.

  "Really. Last season, we took on another hopeful trapeze replacement for Arik. The boy showed great promise. He had been trained in one of the smaller circuses. But weeks passed and he did not improve at all. The boy was as good as he was going to get, which is probably why he left the other circus. He was rather displeased when we let him go before we carried onto Cowl. Arik was devastated. He was hoping to retire last year. We were planning to try to steal another already trained trapeze artist from Imachara when we got there, but you would be far cheaper. Trained, very good artists cost a pretty penny."

  I gazed at my feet in reply.

  "I'm only hard on you because I want you to be a competent partner," she said.

  "I understand. You're going to put your life in my hands and I'll put mine in yours."

  She looked at her toes. "I'm sorry if it made you feel I disliked you." The words were frank, almost childlike.

  "Thank you." She looked up, gave me a smile, and hopped up beside me, her side pressing against mine. I felt a stirring between my legs and crossed them quickly, mortified.

  Arik padded over and sat on my other side. I felt a surge of kinship, yet sadness at how little I knew of their lives. All I knew of Aenea's parents were that they had also been performers, but I did not know if they still performed or even if they were still alive. Arik's parents had been merchants with a failing business, and he had run away early to support himself and lessen the burden on them, sending home what money he could. It did not help – their business still failed and they died a few years later.

  "What if I don't improve more than I already have?" I asked.

  "You're catching on quickly enough. It just takes time. For goodness sake, it's not even been a month yet," Arik said.

  I pitched my voice lower, my eyes darting toward Frit up in the stands. Bathed in the sodium light of the gas globe, she scribbled in an open book in her lap. She returned my gaze. "How much longer are you planning on staying?"

  Arik stared at a patch in the tent canvas. "I don't know. Depends on you," he said with a smile in my direction. "Let's get to practicing and find out, shall we?"

  The days settled into a routine.

  While most of the circus had seemed content to ignore me as much as possible, others were enraged that, two weeks later, I was still clinging on, stubborn as a limpet. I performed my chores, no matter how awful – and the circus folk could be quite creative – day after day without complaint. Though each muscle constantly pained me, I practiced my rudimentary tumbling, tightrope walking, and trapeze swinging, and I stretched on my pallet each night before bed. No one could accuse me of not working hard.

  Those who did not like me made it known. The pranks were harmless enough – someone would slide a chair out from behind me as I tried to sit down and I'd land on my arse in the sand. Arik and Aenea dared not warn me of my impending victimization or they would lose face with their peers, but neither of them approved of the pranks that occurred at my expense. Others spoke to a space above my head or behind my shoulder, barely acknowledging my presence. Such jibes nevertheless left my stomach twisting and my eyes burning. But my tormentors never saw me cry.

  When they failed to illicit a response, the pranks worsened.

  One breakfast, nearly three weeks after I joined the circus, I waited in the queue for porridge with everyone else. Nothing unusual had happened in three days, and I was torn between hoping they had given up and dreading what may come.

  The atmosphere of the circus that morning was quiet but cut through with ten
sion. A member of nobility was supposedly visiting from Imachara and would be in the audience that night. Aenea told me that rumors like this circulated from time to time, but people always wished and feared that the nobility would arrive.

  "Think the Princess Royal herself is gonna be hiding in the stands, boy? Gonna try to steal a kiss?" Fedir, the yellow clown, asked when I was at the front of the queue. I started, unused to being addressed directly.

  "No," I said honestly, holding out my bowl for food. Fedir tapped me on the shoulder.

  "Yes?" I said, turning to look at him.

  "Why not? Could be exciting for her, watching the oiled, nearly naked tumblers, eh?"

  "Were she to come to a circus, she'd probably go to the Imacharan show," I said, annoyed at him and wishing to return to my seat.

  "Aye, well, when she does, I reckon she won't be able to stay away from this," he gestured to his body which, though well-muscled from his tumbling, was still somewhat gawky and gangly.

  Fedir took his bowl of porridge and sauntered away, glancing over his shoulder at me as he did. As I walked to my seat near Aenea and Arik, I laughed at the thought of the Princess Royal in our roughened wooden stands, eating sugar floss and whooping with the other spectators. Our princess might have liked it.

  The king and queen died four years ago, along with her brother, the prince. They were being flown across the sea to Byssia in a gyrocopter, but midway through the flight, the machine malfunctioned, and they crashed into the water.

  At the age of two, the princess became the ruler of the land. But as she obviously was not yet able to rule, her uncle had assumed the role of steward, and did the job well enough, aside from watching the ranks of the impoverished grow. The princess was already receiving a vigorous education to help prepare her to take the throne as soon as possible. She probably had little to no time to play with dolls or see circuses.

  I sat down and shook my head, breaking my reverie. Out of the corner of my eye, people stared at me. Snickers erupted and quieted. I sighed. What would it be this time?

  Aenea's and Arik's faces were confused. Like me, they sensed the tension. I swallowed and set my bowl down.

  "Hello," I said to them, determined to act normally.

  They muttered suitable responses.

  I stuck my spoon into my porridge and froze. Something was in it.

  I fished out the remains of a decomposed rat. It stank of cooked oats and decay. Bile rose in my throat. I was no longer a stranger to foul smells, but to have it in my food was too much.

  The callousness of the prank left me despondent; I felt as if I would never fit in and that I should leave at nightfall. Perhaps Master Illari would let me return and work for pennies and a simple roof over my head. I could hope the Policiers would not look for me there. I might even run back to my parents.

  I would have failed.

  Aenea ground her teeth in anger. Drystan's face was curious underneath his makeup, his head tilted to one side, wondering what I would do next. Nina rearranged some scarves around her waist, but I knew she was looking at me from the corner of her eye. Juliet the Leopard Lady blinked at me. Tym stared at the table, though he had stopped chewing his porridge.

  I swallowed the bile in my throat and forced out a laugh. It came out high and girlish. I grabbed the rat by the remains of its tail and threw it into the sand some feet away from Sal and Tila. They squealed and laughed and the rest of the circus roared with laughter with them. At me.

  I brought the remains of my porridge to the cook.

  "Cook, I'd like a new bowl, please. Hold the rat."

  The laughter grew louder and the chef snorted. I felt injured at this – he had helped me with the animal feed.

  "Coming right up, boy," he said, straight-faced. He swapped my dish and gave me an extra scoop. I sifted my spoon through the porridge for a long time before I added my sugar. I could barely eat any of it. Visions of the rat swam in my vision every time I tried to take a bite. Under the breakfast table, Aenea rested her hand on the tip on my knee and squeezed. I took her hand, warm and calloused. When I looked up, she was smiling at me sadly. I returned the smile.

  It was just a prank. I would not let them win.

  I thought that the pranks could not get any worse. I was just as naïve as I had been my first night on the streets after running away.

  The morning practice was going well. In addition to stretching, I could now perform simple tumbles, balance on a low beam, and swing on a lowered trapeze over old straw tick mats.

  After warming up, I dusted chalk into my hands, slapping them together and looking forward to tackling a particularly difficult double twirl. The twirl I could do. The landing I could not.

  I leapt onto the trapeze and swung, once, twice, three times as I readied myself to twirl. One last big swing, kicking my legs to drive me forward and my hands began to itch, and then to burn.

  I cried out and slipped from the trapeze. My legs tangled in the rope, flipping me upside down and I banged my head on the pallet, hard. I hung there like an undignified puppet before slipping free and thumping onto the mattress. I rolled to my knees and rubbed my hands frantically across the hard rock, gasping and shouting.

  "Micah! What is it?" Aenea rushed to my side.

  "My hands…" I managed to gasp.

  "Oh, son of a whore!" Arik exclaimed. "Some pox-ridden bastard switched your chalk for itching powder. I'll fetch medicine." He raced from the tent.

  Other people were practicing in the tent. Most of the clowns were there. Drystan wandered over for a closer look. The Kymri tumblers stopped their routines. Plenty of others had been drawn in by my cries. Heads appeared in gaps in the canvas of the tent.

  I was blinded by anger so strong it finally loosened my tongue.

  "If I ever find out who did this, I'll rip their balls out and give them to Violet for an appetizer! You hear me?"

  I heard laughter and turned my head to see some of the clowns hiding smiles behind their hands. My pain swept away in a fit of anger, I rushed them, ramming the blue clown in the chest with my head and jabbing at others with my elbows. I could not use my hands. Blows rained down on me, and someone kicked me in the kidney. I went down, Jive's impish face leering above me. I reached my hands up, smearing itching powder into his eyes. I had time enough to smile before one good kick sent my head spinning and the tent grew dim, warm, and fuzzy.

  I woke to find myself in our cart and Arik applying a cooling salve to my hands. "How long have I been here?"

  "Most of the day."

  I emerged that evening, bruised and shamed. That night, Bil stepped in.

  "You may think you're clever clowns," Bil said after the show and carnival.

  "I am a clever clown!" the green clown, Rian, called out.

  "Shut it." Bil glowered. "But if anyone pulls a stunt that costs me any equipment, men, or money, then you're out. I don't give a tinker's damn who you are. You're out with no pay and no reference." He slapped his teak cane on the ground for emphasis. He did not look at me as he spoke.

  But while his words stopped the pranks, they only heightened the resentment. And that night, my pack went missing.

  I searched the cart, and it was not there. My heart pattered in my chest. I tried to keep my breathing steady and stay calm as I rifled through my bedclothes. It was not anywhere.

  In my pack there was the Kedi figurine, a strange possession for a teenage boy. More importantly, there was also a dress, and a rambling letter to Cyril I had not sent because it was not in code, signed with "your loving sister, Gene." I bashed my fist on my pallet, angry at myself for being so foolish. My mouth felt dry.

  My bandaged hands had stopped burning. I walked along the beach to gather my thoughts, barefoot in the sand as the afternoon lengthened to evening. I climbed a dune, the long blades of beach grass tickling my ankles in the wind. The air smelled of brine and smoke. The wind was chill and I shivered beneath my thin, patched coat. The sun disappeared over the sea.

&n
bsp; I turned and looked toward the city. The ridge of Penglass had almost disappeared in the gloom. But as the darkness increased, the Penglass grew brighter, glowing first a dark midnight-blue, and then brightening to a luminous sapphire. Penglass only glowed on the night of the full moon. The light transformed the city of Sicion from a dreary, soot-stained sandstone city to something magical.

  I stared at the glowing Penglass for a long time before climbing back down to the beach, my thoughts tumbling around in my mind. It felt as though I had only just joined the circus, but I would soon be heading home. Jive had probably taken my pack as a prank, and he would not hesitate to rifle through my belongings. Empty shells crunched beneath my feet. The sea foam of the dark water lapped around my ankles.