The Troupe

by Robert Jackson Bennett

  “Pardon my rudeness, my lord,” said Silenus suddenly, his words brimming with courtliness. “Thank you so much for hearing and answering our summons.” He swept off his hat and bowed low, and kicked George’s ankle, indicating for him and the others to do likewise. The men all bowed, and the women curtsied. “You are looking splendid, as always. Am I correct in thinking that you have kept up with the current fashions, my lord?”

  The man in black looked at him blankly for a long time. Then he said in the same soft voice, “It is expected of the court of Heartache’s Founding to always keep pace with the absolute newest trends.”

  “Of course it is,” said Silenus. He nonchalantly spat out the crow bone and stood back up. “It was stupid of me to even ask. You do these new tastes a far better service than any other gentleman I have ever seen, however.”

  “I, personally, find these latest fashions utterly vulgar and despicable,” said the man in black.

  “Yes, yes,” said Silenus. “You are absolutely right in this assessment, my lord. It’s so regrettable.”

  “I love them,” said the man in black, “because they are so vulgar and despicable.”

  “Well, of course you would,” said Silenus. “Any gentleman of your excessively good breeding would.”

  The man in black stared at Silenus for a long while again. Then he looked around at the troupe. He did not seem impressed.

  “Ah, yes,” said Silenus. “Allow me to introduce my traveling companions.” He then did so, going from member to member and describing their talents and roles.

  “Am I correct in thinking that you and your companions wish to gain entry to the court?” asked the man in black.

  “That is indeed our wish, my lord,” said Silenus. “If it would please you and the court, that is.”

  “How unusual. As a herald, it is given to me to refuse or admit any guests,” said the man in black. “Most are refused. But the lady has told me that you should be admitted at any time and under any circumstances, Silenus. She dearly wishes to see you again. In fact, it is rumored that you have been avoiding her.”

  Silenus gave him a placid grin. “Surely that is an issue for the lady herself, and no other?”

  The herald stiffened. “If you wish. Follow me, and I will accompany you to the house.” He beckoned, and the troupe began to follow him across the field. Except now they found that things had changed: it was night, not morning, and they no longer stood on an intersection but on a single paved road that led from the depths of one dark wood and wound across the frigid meadows to another. Huge, unearthly black stones now dotted the fields around them, some so tall as to cast shadows across the starlit road. Silenus hardly noticed, but George and the others stared around themselves as they walked.

  “I don’t recall coming out of those woods,” said Colette, looking behind. “Wasn’t there a few houses back there a while ago?”

  Stanley took out his board, and wrote: THESE ARE THEIR LANDS. FICKLE AS THEIR INHABITANTS.

  “Have you been here before?” asked Colette.

  Stanley shook his head, wrote: FIRST TIME.

  “Well, either way it’s very disorienting,” she said. “And it’s so cold here. I’ve never been colder …”

  George agreed. Where were they? Something the herald had said bothered him a little. Then he remembered the name of the court: Heartache’s Founding. Wasn’t that the name he’d glimpsed on Silenus’s strange map? Yet hadn’t that been in Kentucky? George had never been to Kentucky, but he decided he did not want to go if it was anything like this.

  They entered the dark wood. At the mouth of the road the herald reached into a ditch on the side and produced a small bronze lantern. He ran one long finger along the glass and the candle within instantly became lit. He gestured with the same finger and they followed.

  The candle flame made strange patterns on the dark tree trunks. At times the tangle of branches seemed to catch the light and form intricate hieroglyphs.

  “I take it, then,” said Silenus, “that her ladyship still has no fondness for day?”

  “Night is the best time for parties,” said the herald. “And what purpose would the court and the house hold, if not for parties?”

  The road began to climb a tall hill, and as they emerged from beneath the trees the troupe gasped. An enormous house sat on the top of the hill, but it was not like any house they’d ever seen before. It was certainly not at all what George had been expecting. He thought fairies should live in castles, or in glens in the forest, but at the top of the hill was an enormous Queen Anne mansion, with many gables, turrets, ornate spandrels and spindles, countless fluted columns, and a long front porch with gingerbread trim. It looked much like a highsociety home in twilight, with all the windows glowing warmly in the dark. The only thing that was odd was the large bonfires arranged on the hillside around it, which sometimes gave it a medieval, savage look.

  “This is new,” muttered Silenus as they began to trudge up the hill.

  The herald led them into an enormous foyer with a vaulted ceiling, smooth columns, and two tall arched doors with heavy bronze handles. Upon their entering, George’s keen senses went wild: the air was curiously, almost unbearably still, and even though his ears told him all was silent some part of him thought he was constantly hearing whispers and a fluttering of feathered wings from somewhere nearby.

  The herald pushed the doors open and they followed him down a long carpeted hallway. There were no other doors save at the end. There were many paintings hung on the walls of the hallway, but the first few made no sense to George: in most of the unsettling scenes depicted, the painter had evidently used a dimension or color that his eyes could not easily translate, and they gave him a headache. After them came a series of paintings that were simply black, curiously enough. But toward the end of the hall the paintings began to make sense: they showed landscapes and cityscapes of stunning, beautiful imagery, some so awe-inspiring that they evoked sighs from the troupe.

  “This is her ladyship’s private collection,” said the herald. “They are painted once every thousand years by one of the court artists. You can see the varying styles and subjects in them, and their progression.”

  George looked back. There had to be at least several hundred paintings. “So, the oldest are at the end of the hall here, and they get younger toward the entrance?”

  The herald surveyed him for a moment, as if he did not care for George’s impertinent tone. “Yes.”

  The oldest paintings were so affecting George could hardly believe such beauty had ever existed in the world. But he remembered that it had not lasted long. He looked at the period of paintings that were utterly black. Had that been when the wolves first appeared? And after that, the paintings became so disturbing and twisted, as if the painters were horribly traumatized, or perhaps there had been nothing beautiful left to paint …

  The herald opened the end set of doors and led them into an enormous, high-ceilinged parlor. Though one whole wall was a series of bay windows, the room was very dark, and they could just make out rings and rings of overstuffed chairs, a lowered wooden dance floor, and many tables at the back. Somewhere someone was playing a haunting melody on a very out-of-tune piano. At first the room seemed to be empty, yet as their eyes adjusted they saw it was not: tall, thin figures stood in groups or sat in the lounge chairs or at the tables, languidly drinking or eating. They somehow managed to elude the eye, as if they were made of smoke, unless you looked right at them. Each person wore a porcelain-white mask, many of which had an adapted mouth that allowed for a cigarette or a drink. The masked people stared at them as they moved by.

  “I think I know this place,” said Franny softly. “It’s changed, but … but I almost feel I’ve been here before.”

  The herald led them straight to the back of the parlor, which ended in an elevated dais, and seated upon the dais steps were many tall, thin women in elegant dresses. George knew little of women’s fashion, but he knew enough to recognize
the slender, sculpted hats, silhouette dresses, and pouter-pigeon cuts and know he was seeing the very element of haute couture. And yet these elegant ladies sat sprawled on the floor as if they were bored children.

  As the herald led them past, the ladies turned their masked faces to Silenus.

  “He’s here,” whispered a voice.

  “Is that … no. No, it couldn’t …”

  “How could he come here? Doesn’t he know …”

  “… Mistake? Maybe imagining it …”

  “… Foolish thing to do, either way …”

  But Silenus ignored them, his nose high in the air.

  At the top of the dais was yet another ring of overstuffed lounge chairs, each occupied by a lethargic-looking woman in a stunning dress. Yet one chair, the chair at the very end, was much larger than the others, and seated there was the tallest woman yet, dressed in resplendent white. Her mask was far more beautiful than all the others, and yet its maker had painted tears flowing from the corners of the eyes. George wondered if this was disingenuous: the way the lady sat did not seem sad at all, but terribly proud.

  The herald bowed low before the circle of chairs. “My lady,” he said, “I bring you Heironomo Silenus, who has requested entry into this court for a moment of your time.”

  The tall woman’s masked face stayed riveted on his father. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft and muffled like all the others. “I can see that.”

  There was the sound of much shuffling around them. George looked back and saw the dais was now surrounded by hundreds of men and women in elegant suits and dresses, all of whom watched them with vacant, masked eyes.

  “I almost fear to ask,” said the lady, “why on Earth you should ever desire to enter my house again, Silenus.”

  “And I almost fear to answer, my lady,” said Silenus. He bowed as well.

  “I would think that one visit from you would be enough,” she said. “Twice is bordering on rudeness. But three times? This is wholly unprecedented.”

  At that Stanley looked at Silenus, surprised, and George could tell he had not known this was Silenus’s third visit.

  Silenus stood back up. “Yet how could I keep myself away? Once you have known the joys and beauties of the Founding, one can only—”

  “Oh, please,” said the lady. Though her mask muffled her words, it did nothing to diminish the contempt behind them. “Spare me your flatteries. I have been their recipient far too often. I can only imagine three reasons behind your return. One, you finally feel some hint of regret for your atrocities, and have returned here for atonement. Or two, you are suicidal, and wish to expire in the most public and festive way possible. That would amuse me. Or three,” she said, now audibly gritting her teeth, “you want something of me. I would think you a fool if the third was indeed your motivation, were I not so familiar with your skulduggery.”

  Silenus was quiet. “You do me wrong, my lady.”

  She sat forward. “Do I?”

  “In the first, you assume I have no regret for what happened,” he said. “That is unjust. I feel regret. Regrets make up the whole of my heart. Regrets for many things, for many peoples. And one of the sharpest, most painful regrets I carry is for the loss of your mother.”

  The lady slowly cocked her head. Her long neck and blank face made it a queerly inhuman gesture. “I have heard so very many of your words, player. They have such a curious ability to bend and twist around the anvil of your tongue, and take on many new meanings. I do not think regret means the same to you as it does to me.”

  “Ofelia,” said Silenus. “Please, do not be so bitter.”

  The lady trembled a little. “I could flay you alive,” she said. “Or feed you your own innards while you still lived. Or pluck the bones from your body and make your skin dance for my amusement. I could strike the ears and hands and feet and organs of generation from your body, and pluck out your tongue, and send you back out into the world without anything but one eye, one single eye, so you could see the horror you, this ruined wreck of a person, would then inspire in others. I could do all of these things, and each would be justified in the face of what you have done.”

  “No,” said Silenus calmly. “They would not.”

  She cocked her head further. “No?”

  “What your mother did, she did of her own accord,” said Silenus. “I made a proposition, and she agreed to it. What happened when we attempted to complete it was tragic, but it was not the intent of our agreement. She was well aware of the risks. And when she was gone, my bargain still needed to be fulfilled. I have done nothing wrong. Indeed, to harm me would be the unjustified act.”

  “She agreed to your bargain, because … because …” But whatever the cause, the lady could not bring herself to speak of it. “Why are you here?” she demanded. “What is it you want?”

  “Merely to present a gift,” said Silenus, and he reached into his satchel and produced the whisky they’d gotten from Finn MacCog’s grave.

  The liquor still retained its glow. It was easily the most beautiful thing in this dark, cavernous room. All of the ladies nearby sat up, and a gasp ran through the crowd at the base of the dais.

  “Is that …” said one of the ladies-in-waiting.

  “It is the water of life,” said Silenus. “I have violated many sanctities to procure this for you, my lady. I wish it to be a gift of my goodwill, and inspire the same in you.”

  Every porcelain face was fixed on the bottle. The troupe glanced around uncomfortably, except for Silenus, who looked only at the lady.

  Then he dropped the bottle back into his satchel, concealing its glow. The host all sighed in dismay. “But, if you hold no goodwill for me, then I can see that such a gesture would be futile,” he said. “In which case my companions and I will leave, and give you peace.” He bowed again, and turned to depart.

  “Wait,” said the lady.

  He stopped, and slowly turned back.

  “There are only three known bottles of uisce beatha left in the world,” said the lady quietly. “How did you … Where did you …”

  George noted this was not the same total his father had quoted earlier. He could tell this surprised and irked Silenus, but regardless Silenus said, “It doesn’t matter where I got it. The only thing that matters is how distressing it is to hear my gift could be turned down in such a fashion.”

  “I … would not refuse such a gift. It would be … rude.” George could tell she was thinking very quickly. “What would you wish in exchange?”

  “What would I wish for?” Silenus asked. He appeared offended by the question. “For your free friendship. But, if you are unwilling to give that, I would accept a promise.”

  “A promise?”

  “Yes. If, say, you promised that you would never wish me harm as a reprisal for what happened to your mother, that would please me very much.”

  All the fairies in the court turned their gaze from Silenus’s satchel to the lady. She thought for several minutes longer, but her eventual answer did not surprise George: “Fine,” she said.

  “Of course, I do also need your aid in one further issue,” said Silenus. “It is very small, a triviality, I promise you. I would be much more willing to part with this worthy gift if I could depend on your help in that matter.”

  “Damn you,” said the lady. “If you didn’t have that bottle …”

  “If I didn’t,” said Silenus. “But I do. It is a very slight task, nothing of importance. Would you willingly help me?”

  She sighed. “All right. I can see that you have bested me. I would, willingly.”

  “Excellent,” said Silenus. He approached, knelt before her, and held the bottle out, head bowed. The lady took it, the glow rendering her white figure positively radiant, and she gazed at it lovingly. She held the bottle close and smelled its cork and shivered.

  “It’s not been tasted in revelry since the first days,” she said softly. “When my mother’s court was strong and all the world was young and
beautiful, we drank this once a year on the solstice, and watched the setting sun. She held my hand, as if I were a little girl.” She stowed the bottle away within the folds of her white dress. “But those are gone days, now.” She turned back to Silenus. “Would you be so crude as to jump into planning for your little task now?”

  “Well … I suppose I don’t have to,” he said. “It was my intention for my performers and me to now give you the one other truly valuable gift we possess—”

  “Entertainment,” said the lady flatly. “Yes, I’ve heard it all before. Please skip the theatrics. You practically breathe them out with every word.” She stood up. She was a marvelously tall creature, and as she moved over to them George was reminded of a tall pine, decked with snow. She looked down on George and Colette. “But who are these two darling angels you have at your side? I’ve not seen them before.”

  “Them?” said Silenus. “They are assistants, performers. No one of note.”

  “No one of note?” said the lady. “They seem so young, so fresh. The years lie so lightly upon the both of them. I can smell it. How did an old fiend like you get your hands on them?”

  “They came freely,” Silenus said.

  “Or they think they did,” she said. She knelt down before them and laid a hand on either shoulder. She was heavily perfumed, but no scent could mask the smell of decay that billowed up from her dress. This close George could see hints of skin behind the mask, and they were gray and scarred and in some places a vivid, glistening red. “Here, my darlings. Would you like to see my house with me? I think it should hold many wonders to creatures as young as you. It would be a kindness to me if you came.”

  George and Colette glanced at one another and looked to Silenus. George could tell that to refuse such an offer would be rude by the standards of the court, and his father was trying to figure a way out of it. But he gave up, and nodded slightly.

  “Sure,” said George. Then he quickly added, “My lady.”

  “Excellent,” she said. She stood up and extended a hand to each of them. With another nervous glance, they each took one. Through her gloves her fingers felt very thin and very, very hard, as if they were made of stone. “You may speak to my seneschal concerning our agreement,” she said to his father. A smaller fairy dressed in a gray sack coat and checked trousers stepped forward. “He will figure out how it should be best fulfilled. Then you may prepare for your performance, if you wish.”