Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence)

by W. R. Gingell

  I readjusted my ideas and found myself intrigued. “Your beau wants to see your real face? Well now, that’s not quite what I was expecting. Can you not remove your mask?”

  She shook her head. “It’s part of the Manor. Only the master can un-spell the masks, and that won’t happen until-”

  “Until?”

  “Until forever!” Damson rejoined darkly, sniffing. “It’s comfortable, lady. I like wearing a mask.”

  “I take it your gentleman friend is less favourably inclined toward the masks.”

  The lip of her mask trembled. “He showed me his real face. He said that he’s going to keep his mask that way now.”

  So I had been right: the servants could change the appearance of their masks as they pleased.

  “I begin to quite like your young man, Damson. Didn’t you like his face?”

  This time a tear trickled down her porcelain cheek, and I watched it in fascination.

  “I didn’t, lady! What does he want to go and do that for? I won’t show him my face, I won’t!”

  “What is it you’re afraid of, Damson?

  Damson sat down beside her wash basket and hugged her knees. “I don’t know.”

  She traced the paisley of her skirt with one finger, and gave another sniff, this one more watery. “What if he thinks me as ugly as I think him?”

  I sank down beside her on the mossy tiles, resolutely not thinking of the damage to my gown, and rested my back against the Manor wall. “What if he does?”

  She gave a surprised hiccough. “I don’t want him to think me ugly!”

  “Oh, it’s too late for that now,” I told her quietly. “Now that he’s started thinking, he’ll never be satisfied with a pretty canvas again. Do you love him?”

  “Yes!” she said, too surprised to equivocate. “Oh yes, lady!”

  “Well then,” I said briskly, rising and sorting through the washing. “It seems you have only two choices.”

  I pegged a second stocking beside the lone one Damson had left, and she trailed after me.

  “What do you mean, lady?”

  “I mean that you must either lose him, or show him your face and begin to learn his.”

  “I don’t understand, lady.”

  Promising! She hadn’t given the idea of losing her beau a moment’s consideration: she really did love him.

  “There’s a disadvantage to your masks,” I told her, pinning to the line a pair of drawers of a truly impressive size. “You’ve lived so long with them that you’ve forgotten the way a real face moves; all the little lines that make up an expression, and all the shades of colour. You see perfect white and perfect smiles, and perfect teeth. I see walking marionettes.”

  “I used to have nightmares like that,” Damson said, looking rather thoughtful. “When I first came here I used to dream that every night. Then I forgot.”

  “Now you must begin to remember. Show him your face. Don’t be afraid: he will think you beautiful. And you- begin to learn what his face looks like when he’s delighted, or when he’s angry, or happy. Study him.”

  Damson wrapped her arms defensively around herself and rocked on the balls of her feet, thinking in silence. She flicked a look up at me.

  “Can I show you first, lady?”

  No doubt Damson’s beau would have been jealous of the first sight, but no doubt also he would prefer her to show him her face at all.

  “Certainly,” I said, appropriating the last stocking. Now there remained only sheets to be done: a two person job that would be very useful in just a moment. Damson spread her hands over her mask, heaving a sigh, and then pulled them away.

  “Well, lady?”

  “Sheets,” I prompted her gently, sorting corner from corner. Damson had apple pink cheeks and blue eyes in a face that was slightly round but pleasant; a face which at present looked startled as she darted to help me. It was a very different proposition from the mask, with its flawless porcelain features and high, delicate cheekbones.

  “Yes, lady. Sorry, lady.”

  I snapped my side of the sheet briskly, observing her, and then said: “I like it.”

  She smiled as though she couldn’t help it, making her cheeks plumper, and colour glowed. “Would you say that I’m beautiful, lady?”

  I considered her for another moment. “No. But then, I don’t know that I like beautiful people particularly well. You have a pleasant face- it smiles even when you’re not smiling. Any boy worth his salt would be a fool not to appreciate it.”

  Damson gave a surprised laugh. “I knew you’d tell the truth. That’s why I wanted to show you. Do you think Jason will like me?”

  “Dear girl, he showed you his face!” I said tartly. “He opened himself up to you, which means that he will love you no matter what you look like. As to whether he likes your face or not, you’ll simply have to find out.”

  She grinned, and for once I saw the true Damson, with lights in her eyes and dimples in her cheeks. “Yes, lady. Thank you, lady.”

  *

  The day of the picnic arrived, both warm and cloudless, with a light summer breeze that teased through my hair when I stepped briefly out onto my terrace. The weather didn’t matter in the slightest, of course, since my objective for picnicking was purely investigative, but I found myself cheered despite that fact. I hadn’t been woken unseasonably early, by which I inferred that Damson and her beau were getting along well once again. I found myself very well pleased with the change, though I did wonder if she had begun to wear her own face yet.

  In fact, it was promising fair to be a wonderful day out, when I received a rude shock in the shape of Lord Pecus’ large form. I was walking briskly through the great hall, pinning my hat as I went, and found myself startlingly face to face with him as he entered the great hall from the opposite end.

  “Alexander! What a pleasant surprise!”

  I gave him my hand to kiss, and he did so with a quirk of the lips.

  “Is it? I’m glad to hear it.” He gave me a proper smile, and added: “I have a few hours free this afternoon, and cook mentioned your desire for a picnic. As you can see, I’m fully prepared.”

  I blinked a little at the perfectly huge picnic basket that three footmen were presently struggling to fit through the door.

  “I shouldn’t like to disturb your day,” I told him firmly and insincerely. Drat the man! Was it a particular foible of his to always show up when he was least wanted?

  He grinned, and said with an even greater firmness and insincerity than mine: “There’s nothing I would like better. I insist on accompanying you.”

  Now where had he learned that I was to meet the earl? For learn it he certainly had: there was no other way of accounting for his sudden and curious presence in the middle of the day. I felt a single pulse of pure anger sear through me, right to my fingertips, but it vanished as suddenly as it had struck. It occurred to me that I knew now how Lord Pecus felt.

  I gave a chuckle, and resigned myself. Lord Pecus laughed too, but his eyes held a warmness that told me he had noticed the coming and going of the anger, and that he approved of my response.

  I was ridiculously pleased at his approval, and so I said pertly: “Very well, but be it upon your own head, Alexander. I shall pick daisies and wildflowers and thread them into positive ropes- ropes which you will be forced to hold, mind.”

  “I will do my humble best,” Lord Pecus promised solemnly, and offered his arm.

  Much to my surprise, the afternoon was a pleasant one. Susan slumbered peacefully under a conveniently shady tree with her disreputable hat over her face, showing no sign that she had expected quite a different addition to the picnic party, while Vadim and Keenan romped through the daisies, beheading them with joyful kicks and hopping energetically with the cheerful corpses between their toes. I flirted enjoyably with Lord Pecus and let him thread wildflowers through my loose hair. I kept a sharp eye out for the earl, of course, but was not at all surprised when he didn’t make an appearan
ce. I let my eyes slit to filter out the triad’s rays, leaning on my elbows while Lord Pecus plaited blue and yellow buds into my hair, and thoughtfully considered just how he had come by his knowledge. Had one of the servants overheard Susan and I talking? Worse still, had Vadim, like Marissa, been reporting to a higher power? I didn’t like to think so, but since the idea of Lord Pecus listening in on a private commlink was not only laughable but impossible, it must be either one of the two. I made a note to mention the leak to Susan, hoping that the lapse was from her side and not mine, and that the meeting was able to be reset. No doubt the afternoon would afford an opportunity to speak with her, though Lord Pecus watch us never so closely. Meanwhile, there was no reason that I shouldn’t enjoy myself.

  Susan woke a little after I had sneakily finished the last of the chocolates, and discovering herself bereft, began flicking flower-heads at me. I laughed and fended them off, realising in some amusement as I did so, that the flowers came in volleys of three, then two, then three again. Susan was using an old code of ours to tell me that she needed to speak to me. I rolled my eyes at her as if to say Of course you do, ninny! glad that Lord Pecus was behind me where he was unable to see my face.

  I flicked four flower heads back at her, then scattered the entire contents of my lap in her general direction. It meant: Pay attention. Final instructions to follow. If I recalled the code aright, and Susan recalled it as correctly, my next remark should consist of a new meeting place and time.

  “This reminds me of the time we sneaked out of the house to attend the third annual village fair,” I said lazily, and not entirely mendaciously. There had certainly been a lot of flowers thrown, but it had been dark, and there had been lights threaded through the lanes of the fair.

  “It wasn’t so hard once we got past the two ticket-collectors, was it?”

  Susan laughed, and I knew she had understood. Day and time were established.

  “We were beastly little kids, weren’t we? Where did Papa catch up with us?”

  I shrugged carelessly. “Oh, somewhere near that fountain in the square. Don’t you remember? I pushed you in.”

  There was the rumble of Lord Pecus’ laughter behind me. “You have my sympathies,” he said to Susan. “Your sister constantly does the same thing to me.”

  “I’ve yet to push you into a fountain,” I reminded him mildly, tilting my head back to smile at him.

  “No,” he agreed; “But the general sensation is much the same. Cold shock, followed by a moment of wild splashing before I find my feet.”

  I gave him another companionable smile, presenting as innocuous an appearance as I could, and turned my head to wink naughtily at Susan. Three days away, two o’clock in the morning, at the fountain in the city square. The meeting was set. Now I had only to discover exactly how Lord Pecus had gained his intelligence, and prevent such a thing from happening again.

  Chapter Six

  Susan left us not long after the chocolates ran out. When I berated her upon the fair weather nature of her companionship, she admitted it cheerfully and refused to be contrite as she untied her horse. She had obtained a tiny, broad-backed little pony from heaven only knows where, since Glausian horses tend more to the large and grand. It had a hard, speculative gleam to its black eyes that suggested that it didn’t like you, and that you’d better watch out if you knew what was good for you. Much to my own surprise, I found that I quite liked the beast, and though it bared its teeth and shook its head when Lord Pecus approached too near, I held this to be indicative of an intelligent nature rather than a defect.

  Lord Pecus, of course, did not move out of earshot from us: I had expected nothing less. I made it easier for him by tucking my hand through the crook of his arm and including him amiably in the conversation, which made Lord Pecus grin a porcelain grin, and Susan smirk.

  We walked her as far as the front gate, where Emmett had come to meet her, his figure and his horse both dwarfing hers; but Susan’s pony was a quick, determined trotter, and before they had shrunk from view the pony was jogging in the lead. Emmett, evidently resigned to the indignity, did not attempt to push his horse.

  “It must run in the family,” said Lord Pecus, as we turned to stroll back to the house.

  I gave him a sparkling look. “What is that?”

  “The desire to nose-lead the rest of the world,” he explained, removing his mask. “It’s your most similar feature.”

  I chose to leave this sally unmolested, and merely grinned up at him. I was not sure quite how it had happened, but somehow my hand had become clasped in his instead of tucked in the crook of his arm, and the absentminded stroke of his thumb against mine tickled.

  “Just think how bored you’d be without me,” I said instead, swinging his hand gently. “Well, what shall we do with the rest of the afternoon?”

  Lord Pecus looked rueful. “I have reports to read,” he said.

  “Oh, and I thought you were so lacking for something to do this afternoon! What a shame we wasted so many hours picnicking!”

  He gave me a startlingly roguish grin. “I can’t say that I’ve ever considered time in your company to be wasted, Isabella. Added to the benefit of learning something new every time I speak with you is the thought that while my eyes are on you, you can’t be getting up to mischief.”

  I could have begged to differ, but since the act of doing so would have left myself open to some rather difficult questions, I forbore to remark that I had managed my mischief under his eyes quite well, and instead offered sweetly to read the reports with him.

  “Just think how quickly we’d get through them with two sets of eyes!” I told him. I didn’t expect him to agree, of course, nor was I really averse to being left alone: there were affairs that needed to be attended to and snares that needed to be laid.

  “While I have no doubt I would enjoy that more than poring over the reports myself-”

  “You must decline my assistance,” I finished for him, nodding. “Very right and proper of you. The Watch must be delighted to have such an unerring and upright Commander.”

  I could see his face suddenly very clearly: the brows had pinched together momentarily in a stricken look, prompting me to add severely: “I am hoaxing you, Alexander, not being snide. If you’re going to be serious and boring, I shall have to treat you like a dignitary, and that would be a pity.”

  “I’m not so delicate,” he said calmly, as if he had not just gone perfectly white. The line between his brows vanished, and it occurred to me with some amusement that he didn’t know I could see his real face. Well now, there was an advantage.

  “I can’t say that I’ve noticed a great deal of difference in how you treat dignitaries, however. Melchior seems to agree.”

  “Melchior exaggerates: I am perfectly diplomatic when it comes to dignitaries. I’m also usually quite bored, and I can’t say that I’ve ever been bored in your company, Alexander. You make me work far too hard to be bored.”

  “I’m glad to know that you have to strive for the level of importunity you’ve achieved,” remarked Lord Pecus. “If you were only amusing yourself, I would hate to think what you would achieve when you really set your mind to it.”

  “Chaos!” I said simply, gazing at him with limpid eyes.

  I took the first step toward my suite, but couldn’t climb any higher than this because Lord Pecus seemed still to be holding my hand. He chuckled and kissed the hand that was still clasped in his, holding it against very human lips a little longer than was strictly necessary.

  It was with a slight flush, therefore, that I skipped away up the stairs, waving carelessly and trying to suppress the tingling his kiss had elicited. I arrived at my suite without having done so with any success, but fortunately I was given no further chance to meditate on the matter. When I entered my suite, Keenan was sprawled on my bed, leaving dirty smudges on my sheets and levitating a suspiciously familiar rock above his head while Vadim watched with narrow-eyed interest. Good heavens! They had
been exploring Lord Pecus’ private chambers!

  I opened my mouth to tell them in no uncertain terms that they were a pair of desperate characters who would no doubt end up in the Watch House, but before I could do so, Keenan saw me, and with bright eyes declared: “Look, lady! No hands!”

  “Very clever of you,” I said, suddenly thankful that Lord Pecus had not chosen to walk me up the stairs. “What are you doing with the Earl of Horn’s dynamo?”

  “S’not me, see?” grinned Keenan. He pawed with both hands at the space between himself and the dynamo. It revolved, slowly at first, and then more swiftly. “It’s sort of pushin’ against me magic.”

  “As interesting as I find your discovery, I must ask again: what are you doing with the Earl of Horn’s dynamo? Where did you get it?”

  Keenan gulped, but to do him justice, did not attempt to prevaricate. “Got it from the Beast Lord’s rooms.”

  “Do you know, I’m almost certain I warned against entering any of Lord Pecus’s private rooms.”

  Vadim by this time was pink and ashamed, but Keenan said with the air of one making a discovery: “I fort you just meant not to get caught.”

  “Did you so? Then let me undeceive you at once! Lord Pecus’ rooms and any subsidiary thereof, are strictly out of bounds. Is that clear enough for you?”

  The little imp actually thought about it for a moment. Then he said with judicious slowness: “Yeah, I reckon. Want me to put it back?”

  I strove momentarily and successfully for a straight face. “Certainly I do.”

  “Only I don’t think I can,” Keenan confided, with the air of one about to relate an anecdote that should be of interest to his hearers. “’E’s there.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “’E’s there, whenever I go back. Just sittin’ and readin’. I think ’e knows.”

  “I’ve no doubt that he knows,” I said crisply, repressing the desire to pull Keenan upright by his ears. “No doubt he knew as soon as he entered the room. Which of Lord Pecus’ rooms did you remove the dynamo from?”