The Glass Magician

by Caroline Stevermer

  “Probably.” Nutall handed her the scabbard.

  Thalia heard the doubt implicit in Nutall’s dry tone. “No, it would. I can defend myself.”

  “Without a doubt.” This time Nutall’s voice held only honest encouragement. “Thank you for your willingness to defend me too.”

  Thalia frowned at Nutall. “You’re really just going to do what they want?”

  “I ran away from them for years.” Nutall, still warily scanning everyone left in the theater, somehow managed to ignore Mrs. Viridian and her husband completely. “I’ve had a good innings, but now it is time to make my peace with them.”

  “All right.” Thalia couldn’t look at Nutall calmly for a moment longer, so she pretended that it took her entire attention to fit her sword back in its scabbard. She had risked a great deal to set Nutall free in the world. That he did not wish to be free had never crossed her mind. She had given him an expensive gift only to discover that he didn’t want it.

  “Are you? For someone who has just been attacked by a manticore, you’re distressingly quiet,” Nutall said. “This is a reversal of policy. I expected you to shout at me a bit.”

  Thalia regarded him in silence. Nutall knew Thalia better than anyone living. But Thalia had never really known Nutall at all, had she?

  “You’ll do very well as a solo act,” Nutall assured her. “I was holding you back, really.”

  Thalia knew teasing when she heard it, but she was in no mood to tease back. “You weren’t. Who will introduce my act while you’re with your charming family?”

  Mrs. Viridian approached, frowning. Nutall waved her away, but she ignored him.

  “You will speak for yourself,” Nutall told Thalia, “just as you did today.”

  “Enough talking.” Mrs. Viridian put her hand on Nutall’s shoulder and pulled him away. Together they left the theater, with His Excellency Mr. Viridian trailing behind.

  Thalia didn’t protest. She watched them go.

  At her elbow, Nell spoke softly. “Your friend didn’t look at all happy, did he?”

  Thalia startled slightly. “No.”

  “Nor do you,” said Nell. “But I have good news for us both. The patrons of the Board of Trade have come. They must have made up their minds about our ordeals at last. Come. Meet them.”

  To Thalia’s surprise, there were now three women in the theater who had not attended her performance. They stood just inside the Palace of Mystery’s main door, surveying the scene before them with eyebrows raised. The remaining members of the audience kept a respectful distance from them.

  All three women were elegantly dressed. All three were in late middle age, rather old for Traders. None of them seemed impressed by Thalia or the little theater. The tallest of the three looked as if she smelled something bad. The other two were perfectly impassive.

  Since a dead manticore was sprawled across the stage, the theater actually did smell terrible, but Thalia suspected that had nothing to do with the tall woman’s expression.

  “I’ll introduce you, shall I?” Nell was ablaze with excitement.

  “Right. Good. Perfect,” lied Thalia. She put down her sword and followed her friend.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nell curtsied as she greeted the newcomers. “Allow me to present Miss Thalia Cutler, stage magician. Miss Cutler, please make the acquaintance of the current patrons of the Board of Trade.”

  Thalia kept her curtsy as close to Nell’s plain style as she could. She had a distinct sense that it was no time for the Lady of the Lake’s elaborate version. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Somehow her voice came out slightly askew, higher than usual, like a frightened little girl’s. Thalia winced.

  “This is Mrs. Isabella Kipling,” Nell murmured respectfully.

  Mrs. Kipling was a black woman with piercing eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth bracketed by lines that hinted at frequent sarcasm. She wore flowing black and carried a walking stick. Beneath her Parisian hat, her cloud of graying hair was confined in a beaded snood. “Miss Cutler.”

  Thalia stood straight. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  “This is Miss Emma Carey-Thomas.” Nell sounded reverent as she added, “And this is Madame Speranza Gillyflower.”

  Miss Carey-Thomas, a white woman somewhere in her sixties, had close-set eyes, a narrow mouth, and a long, pointed nose. Her silhouette was fifteen years out of fashion, a pinch-waisted corset and a voluminous bustle beneath layers of dark serge ornamented with black braid. Her straight hair was iron gray, parted in the center, coiled in a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and topped off with a cap of filmy gray tulle suitable for a woman half her age.

  Madame Gillyflower, the oldest of the three, was also the broadest and the tallest. She was black and wore her hair in braids. She had a round face and a mole—or a beauty mark—on her cheekbone. Unlike her drab companions, she wore bright colors, a bottle-green velvet bodice over a white shift and full skirts of brown and orange. Her hat was a twist of the same green velvet piped with gold braid. Unlike Miss Carey-Thomas’s unfortunate cap, Madame Gillyflower’s hat suited her so well it made her seem younger than her advanced years.

  Thalia had to clear her throat twice before she could trust herself to get out even a few polite words to greet Miss Carey-Thomas and Madame Gillyflower in their turn.

  Mrs. Kipling and Miss Carey-Thomas were unimpressed but courteous. Madame Gillyflower regarded Thalia with disfavor. “Miss Cutler. You are theatrical, I see.”

  Beside her, Nell bristled, but Thalia felt calmness descend. How many times in her life had she been snubbed for being in show business? She’d lost count long ago. “I am, Madame Gillyflower. I have taken over the family business.”

  “No shame in that.” Mrs. Kipling spoke up. “The point is, neither of them Traded.”

  “With a manticore so close at hand,” added Miss Carey-Thomas. “Commendable.”

  “They aren’t green girls,” said Madame Gillyflower. “Restraint is to be expected at this age.”

  Nell drew herself up, possibly to dispute this point, possibly to explain Thalia’s curious circumstances, but when Thalia nudged her, Nell subsided.

  Miss Carey-Thomas said, “The presence of one dead manticore doesn’t preclude another live one. For the sake of other young Traders, Miss Cutler needs to be assigned her ordeal. If she succeeds, she won’t attract manticores any longer.”

  “If she fails, she won’t attract manticores either,” Mrs. Kipling pointed out. “Problem solved.”

  “Then we are unanimous.” Madame Gillyflower turned her full attention to Thalia and Nell. “Are you prepared for your ordeal?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Nell.

  “I am,” said Thalia.

  Madame Gillyflower gazed at Nell for a long moment, then at Thalia. Whatever softness had been in her expression when she looked at Nell, Madame Gillyflower lost as she regarded Thalia. “Very well. Here is your ordeal. From this spot, find your way home.”

  “Whose home?” Nell asked. “I am lucky enough to have one. Not everyone has.”

  Thalia was grateful to Nell for pointing this out. If Thalia had to choose her true home, where would it be? Onstage, she supposed, working. If the Palace of Mystery counted as onstage, that would be a brief journey indeed.

  The three older women exchanged a long wordless look. Then Madame Gillyflower stated, “Your home, Miss Ryker, will be the finish line for both of you. Once you are safely inside, we will ask you to Trade back to the form you now display.” She put extra emphasis on the words “Trade back” and gave Thalia a searching look. “Only do that, when we ask, and you will have succeeded.”

  Miss Carey-Thomas added, “You will be adult Traders, one or both of you, and as such, accepted in Trader society.”

  “Or you won’t have to worry about Trading anymore,” said Mrs. Kipling dryly.

  “Go forth,” said Madame Gillyflower, “and Trade.”

  Thalia scanned the space around her. The Sylvestri
had gone. The police had taken Nora Uberti away, and the journalists had followed them. There were only five other people left in the little theater. Ryker stood closest. Tycho Aristides was still dealing with the manticore he’d killed. Madame Ostrova, Anton, and Freddie were watching from the door. “Right now? Right here?”

  “Come on, it will be fun.” Nell added, “I’ll race you.” She Traded to her otter self and streaked for the door. Her brother walked briskly after her and opened the door to let her through.

  Thalia watched them go, overwhelmingly aware of her own bulk, her intractable human shape.

  “Go on,” said Madame Gillyflower kindly. “You can do it.” How many timid young Traders had she urged on with those very words?

  I can’t. Thalia refused to say the words aloud, but the truth of it held her motionless.

  Each manticore had called to her and brought forth that powerful urge to Trade. Thalia had told that swan voice within to shut up. She had banished it. Now Thalia searched herself for her swan, but could detect no trace.

  For the moment, there were no overt threats to Thalia’s life. Tycho Aristides was cleaning up after dealing with the most recent manticore. The Ostrova Magic Company and its Palace of Mystery were her sanctuary. Here, she was completely safe.

  Thalia knew herself. So far her only Trades had come when she had been convinced she was in grave danger. How galling, to be in a situation where none of her difficulties were dangerous, when only imminent danger was any use to her.

  Madame Gillyflower and her companions were still watching Thalia with interest. Thalia kept attempting to Trade, but her concentration was flawed. Only her disadvantages came to mind.

  With Nutall gone, Thalia’s stage career was on hiatus until she could invent a solo act. This bad luck had been balanced by good luck. The Rykers had given her hospitality in full measure, even lent her their home as she had none of her own. All she had to do was Trade and return to their mansion on Riverside Drive.

  Thalia failed to Trade. The Board of Trade remained, but she could no longer meet Madame Gillyflower’s eyes.

  What was Thalia, if not a permanent houseguest of the Rykers? She had accepted favors, many more than she felt comfortable with. She had promised herself that one day, when she was rich and famous, she would repay those favors and redeem her pride. But how could she become rich and famous under what amounted to house arrest? She was a guest of the Rykers the way Nutall was a guest of his Sylvestri family. Was she going to do what he had done? Was she going to find a corner and hide there?

  Thalia failed to Trade. Miss Carey-Thomas withdrew discreetly. Mrs. Kipling and Madame Gillyflower remained, but by now, Thalia was so close to frustrated tears, she didn’t dare to look at them.

  Even Nutall’s unsatisfactory solution was beyond Thalia. How could she be a Trader without the ability to Trade? How could she live on charity? How could she continue as a figure of fun, a sport of nature, a danger to others as a Trader stuck in her first shape?

  Thalia became aware at last that these hard hot thoughts had a voice of their own, a thread of anger wrapped in disgust. What kind of life is that?

  Thalia felt her face burning. Shame and guilt and anger built within her. How far away was fear?

  The thread of anger and disgust asked, What do you care? It answered, You’re worthless.

  Thalia’s inmost voice countered, Shut up, you. To her surprise, it was the voice she’d thought of as the swan within. Now it had gained such strength it was like another person inside her. It said, I am here. It said, You know who I am.

  Finally fear rose up in Thalia. She did know. This voice within was as strong as she was, stronger than her sense of herself as human.

  Human? No. I’m no Solitaire. No simple swan. I am a Trader. I am you. The voice fell silent, yet Thalia could feel it ringing within her still. She was angry, so angry, but now fear locked her every muscle. Her hands and feet were pins and needles. Her whole body had gone cold.

  “High time,” said Mrs. Kipling.

  Thalia turned on her, head down, hissing. Thalia had to raise her arms to keep her balance and only then saw she was spreading her wings. She had Traded.

  Mrs. Kipling took a hasty step back, well out of range. From the doorway, a safe distance away, Miss Carey-Thomas said, “Passable.”

  Thalia paused, poised to strike. She guessed that her exact state of mind was evident in every line of her swan body.

  Madame Gillyflower only smiled. “Talking to yourself, are you?”

  If Thalia had possessed the power of speech, she would have said, “How did you know?” But even as the words sank in, she knew the answer. How many times had Madame Gillyflower witnessed the moment when both sides of a Trader’s nature worked in unison?

  That voice hadn’t been some unreliable figment of her imagination. That voice had been herself. Madame Gillyflower might have been joking, but her words were true.

  Thalia spread her wings and hissed. Madame Gillyflower wasn’t afraid of her, but Mrs. Kipling and Miss Carey-Thomas were. At least for a moment, Thalia could intimidate the Board of Trade. Well, two-thirds of the Board of Trade. She suspected there was very little on earth that could intimidate Madame Gillyflower.

  Miss Carey-Thomas held open the door to the Palace of Mystery. “Stand clear. Hold that outside door open. Miss Cutler needs to leave.”

  It was a muddle, getting out of the room, out of the building, and leaving the Ostrova Magic Company behind. Hissing and waddling had almost lost their charm by the time Thalia made it to the pavement outside. There, she had better ways to move. She sprang up and did not come down.

  The world was intoxicating. Thalia’s wings were strong. Her vision was even better than her human sight. Her swan self had skills she put to work while her human self simply marveled.

  Thalia cleared the rooftops of Sixth Avenue and kept rising, moving westward until she found the river waiting for her, the dear Hudson River, half salt at the top of the tide.

  The wind told Thalia things she’d never known before. She could see it moving as it rippled the surface of the water and smoothed it again. Beneath the brown and green gloss of the water’s surface, she could see the currents twisting by the way the air met the water. She could read the water as easily as she rode the eddying currents of the air.

  As Thalia flew north, following the Hudson upstream, she watched the sky. It was going to rain. She could feel it in the wind. The bluffs across the Hudson on the New Jersey side were already blurred slightly by the moisture in the air. The sense of the sky above her, the sense of the river beneath her, the ocean so near, the sense of the rain to come, all deepened as Thalia explored what it meant to be free in the swan half of her nature.

  Thalia flew without a thought. Moving up or down, right or left, all was effortless as she climbed and dove and angled her way upriver. If she failed her ordeal, if she were to remain in this form for the rest of her life, what hardship would that be? Thalia reveled in her new nature.

  Pigeons and sparrows were plentiful in the city, but on the water, seabirds were most dominant. Thalia saw how silly the ducks looked feeding, heads down and tails tipped up as they dabbled. Her human vanity warned her she would look exactly that silly when she fed as a swan. The swan side of her nature shrugged this off without concern. She didn’t care if she looked silly feeding. She was elegance itself the rest of the time. Sometimes inelegance was necessary.

  Thalia flew steadily on, as gulls wheeled and turned around her. Any one of them could be Madame Gillyflower or one of the other ladies of the Board of Trade. The last corner of Thalia’s mind still fixed on words wondered if they ever kept a young Trader under observation by Trading themselves. It could certainly happen, Thalia decided, but not to her, not today. If they monitored any young Trader’s ordeal today, it would be Nell’s, not hers. They had as much as said that if Thalia attracted yet another manticore, she was on her own.

  By the time Thalia had left the railway lines and t
he West Shore ferry station behind and below, her human side had gone silent. She’d given up trying to put her observations into words. Words were no use in midair.

  All the other birds she encountered gave Thalia a wide berth, as if they sensed she was nothing like them. Any time she thought she saw a bird that could be a Trader, Thalia steered clear. Even in her angriest mood, she wasn’t eager to encounter a Canada goose, whether fellow Trader or true bird.

  Thalia’s next clear thought was sharp awareness of how hungry she was. It had been a long time since her last meal. Every remotely edible morsel drew her attention: water weeds in the shallows at the river’s edge, tender roots among the grass, and even the grass itself.

  Was there a downward limit to Trader size? If Thalia accidentally ate a bug, was there a chance it might be another Trader? As Thalia flew resolutely along, hunger edged her every thought, but she resisted the impulse to indulge it. She had put miles behind her before she recalled what she was supposed to be doing and where she was supposed to go. This was her ordeal. For once, she had Traded on cue. Now she would need to Trade back. But the cue would be given by the Board of Trade, and first she had to satisfy their requirement: go to the Ryker mansion.

  Thalia reminded herself she only had to get there and Trade back. It had been Nell’s idea to have a race. The stakes were high enough, completing the most important Trade of her life. Thalia decided she really had no need of any additional excitement.

  What were the odds an otter could swim upstream faster than Thalia could fly? She liked her chances. But as the rocks at the edge of the river gave way to the gentle slopes of Riverside Park, Thalia remembered she would still need to find her way inside the house. Nell might win her race yet.

  Even with the human side of her nature taking back Thalia’s focus of attention, it was hard for her to turn away from the river and back to the city roofs and treetops. It was hard to fly low while the sky was still beckoning her to ride the wind. Thalia promised herself she would come back soon, whether she passed her ordeal or failed it. The prospect of failure held no terror for her now. There were good things about being a swan.