Beneath a Bethel

by April-Jane Rowan

  I rushed through my ablutions, combing my thick hair and mane, washing my face and underarms, gargling with herbal water to rid my mouth of its smell and trying to avoid the sight of my gums in the mirror. My new clothes were a perfect fit, snug but giving, and I couldn't resist a quick strut round the room, taking in my reflection in the long mirror on the wall. I loved the boots most of all, their deep colour reminding me of days spent by the river and gutting fish with my father, their spilled innards staining the fresh snow red.

  Once I was satisfied my appearance wouldn’t displease any clients, I trotted downstairs, my keen ears alert to the sound of voices and the quiet hum of Barnaby as he worked. I slowed my pace when I reached the bottom of the stairs, forcing back the trepidation I felt and gazing at the flocked, floral wallpaper and silver mirrors. The floor was solid wood, varnished with a gold tint so that it caught the light from the candles on the walls. Small chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each crystal the colour of one of the flowers on the wallpaper.

  My boots made a hollow sound on the wood as I approached the withdrawing room door, knocking gently and waiting to be admitted.

  “Enter,” Barnaby's voice answered after a time, despite the hush of voices having fallen silent the minute I knocked. Feeling rather nervous and shy, I pushed it ajar before slipping inside, only to find all eyes were on me.

  “Why Master, when did you employ an assistant?” an older woman crooned, smiling at me, each of her bright pink teeth carved like budding roses. She was dressed in a high-necked, green gown, her sleeves puffy and voluminous. Pink feathers bobbed atop her head and what little of her furred, black skin I could see was glossy with oil.

  Beside her sat a younger woman, perhaps my own age. She, too, wore a high-necked dress, her sleeves tight and trimmed with lace, the collar of her dress matching. Compared to her companion, she was far more understated, her dress a deep purple and her black hair pulled up in a simple, elegant bun. Even her boots were plain, a pair of shiny black heels poking out from under her skirts.

  “This is my apprentice, Angora. Angora, this is Lady Bethany and her mother, Mrs Lane,” Barnaby replied, flashing me a quick smile while the ladies were distracted with dissecting my appearance. He stood beside one of the counters that displayed many teeth, intricate, beautiful sets grinning from behind the glass. He held one upon the top, painting small details onto it with a minuscule brush held between his clawed fingers.

  “I wanted sea shells,” Lady Bethany sniffed, talking from behind her gloved hand, having seen my slightly confused expression though she owed me no explanation.

  “And sea shells you shall have, my darling. Isn't that right, Master?” Mrs Lane cooed, stroking her daughter’s arm only to have her jerk away from her, a blush colouring her cheeks.

  “Of course. Come, Angora, finish the painting for me. Lady Bethany wishes to commission a whole set for her impending wedding to June Hendrik,” Barnaby spoke, gesturing that I should come to him.

  I was more than pleased for the attention to be diverted somewhere else and hurried to his side. He wordlessly passed me the wet teeth, trusting me to know what to do. He began opening the counters that were dotted against the walls and taking several sets of teeth from each. I watched him present these to Lady Bethany and her mother, his voice soft as he explained the different kinds of teeth she could purchase, the different magic that throbbed within each and what she could achieve with it. As she turned the lower set of a pale blue pair, painted like clouds and raindrops, I took my chance to look about the room properly.

  Barnaby had never refused me entrance to the withdrawing rooms, but I had been too shy to ask him to show me, and besides the glimpse when he had first brought me here, this was my first real sight of them. I had expected the wallpaper of the hallway to have been in here too, but it was surprisingly plain, instead cream stripes running vertically from the ceiling to the skirting boards. The counters were all dark, stained wood, black etchings burned into designs around the hinges and knobs. The chaise matched, curled, wooden legs and plush, cream pillows with dangling tassels. Only the chandelier was colourful, bright shades that twinkled under the light.

  When I thought about it though, the soft tones made sense because what was this room but a display for the teeth? All of them beamed from behind the glass, sitting on cream cushions and tempting the eye. The low counters urged clients to bend, to place their eyes level with them, and the mirrors on the walls tempted them to try them, to grin and gaze at them behind their lips.

  I noticed that along with the teeth, the plain surroundings also made the clients stand out, pops of colour sat drinking tea from the tray that sat on the low table before them, Mrs Lane in particular with her feathers and bark of a laugh.

  While Barnaby held out a set of silver and gold teeth to them both, explaining the luck with wealth that could be garnered from them, I noticed Lady Bethany watching me closely and averted my gaze. The teeth I had been tasked with painting were covered in fish, many of them common types I had gutted myself, but a few rarer species too, ones that would sell for a high price at the fish shops. I had no idea what magic they leant themselves to, but I could feel the pulse of them in my hand, the hum within them. Barnaby had been painting small shells amongst the fish, tiny, pink swirls in pearlescent paint. I began to sink into my task, finishing the shells before beginning to add tiny, silver fish darting between the bodies of their larger neighbours. I had become so absorbed in my work that I no longer heard the chatter of Barnaby and the ladies, nor the sound of the tea pot, nor the sound of the pencil on paper as Barnaby sketched ideas. Neither did I feel the doom I had sensed upon first coming downstairs, my fear of spectres abating.

  “Angora.”

  I was pulled from my concentration by the sound of my name, looking up to see all three of them watching me. I had long since finished the ocean teeth and had begun to paint fresh designs upon a sketchpad.

  “Oh—I've finished,” I mumbled, feeling shy under their gaze.

  I made sure to hide my mouth behind my hand as Lady Bethany did, unwilling to show my gums either. Barnaby gestured for me to bring them to the table, so I discarded my sketchpad and went to stand at his shoulder, tentatively holding out the dry pair of teeth. They leaned forward as one, Mrs Lane’s eyebrows rising into her hair line, and Lady Bethany's frown disappearing as wonder lit up her eyes.

  “Oh,” she breathed, her gloved hand reaching out for them unbidden, but I allowed her to take them in her palm. She looked from them to me, a closed smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “I only added a few embellishments; I hope they meet your approval,” I stammered, feeling as if I had overstepped my position. True, I had begun adding to Barnaby’s designs in the workshop, but I always sought his approval first and it had always been before the customer had seen the finished design.

  “Well, I do declare, Mister Angora, you have given them a whole new life, how they sparkle so,” she breathed, that hint of a smile breaking out into a full grin, albeit one without showing her lack of teeth.

  I had not realised until she did so that while her mother had been cheerful and enthusiastic, she had been morose, perhaps unsure in her choice of Master. I glanced at Barnaby, his eyes catching mine as he nodded his approval and agreement, his lap full of sheets of paper.

  “See my dear, didn’t I say you would be pleased?” Mrs Lane beamed, patting her daughter's arm encouragingly. “All your doubts should be put to rest.”

  She turned to Barnaby, rolling her eyes in exasperation before loudly whispering: “She does fret so; it is nothing against you, Master. Give her any topic and she will fret about it.”

  “We will do all we can to put Lady Bethany’s mind at ease and present her with teeth she will adore,” he replied, smiling at them both and bowing forward slightly in his chair.

  Lady Bethany was still gazing at the teeth in her hands and I moved to return to the counter but her head rose, her eyes piercing me with the intens
ity of their gaze.

  “I love the ocean so, and you have captured it perfectly; it is if you know it intimately,” she spoke, tilting her head, her hand once more before her mouth. Barnaby and her mother were looking over the designs he had sketched, and though I knew his attention wasn’t gone from me completely, I couldn't help but answer.

  “I do.”

  My memories of the Eldwen, that frigid water I had spent so many days bobbing upon, my father’s chapped hands and his loud laugh as we hauled fish up from the depths. That same water that would have embraced me at my Floris, that would have washed the blood from my aching gums, had I only let it.

  “Let us fit your new teeth, my dear, come to the mirror,” Barnaby rose suddenly, preventing our conversation from continuing. Lady Bethany stood, and carrying the teeth reverently in her hands, she followed him to one of the mirrors. I had never seen a fitting before and couldn’t help the excitement that overcame me as I moved closer.

  At Barnaby’s instruction, Lady Bethany opened her mouth, revealing the pale pink gums within. A blush spread across her cheeks and she made to shut her mouth again but Barnaby hushed her, whispering of our good intent, his newly gloved hands gently probing her gums to see whether they were fully healed. I had never seen another's gums so, especially not one of the wealthy, and it surprised me that they felt as much shame to be seen in such a way as I did, even knowing that this lady's Floris ceremony would have been a grand and holy affair.

  The upper teeth were placed in first after her gums had been smeared with a sealant, the mould made to the measurements of her jaw. Barnaby had explained that sometimes, especially with new, young clients, the jaw could change shape in the time between measuring and the teeth being completed. Many of the designs that sat in the counters in this room were the result of that, or simply designs that had not been well received by clients. Thankfully, Lady Bethany's seemed to fit perfectly, cleaving neatly to her gums, and gently, Barnaby slipped in the lower set. He then instructed her to open and close her mouth slowly, making sure the fit and sealant had done their task.

  “Can you feel the magic within them, the hum and pulse reaching into your gums, up into your mind?” he asked and she nodded, staring at her reflection so intently that I feared she might begin to cry. “Speak a wish, a small, simple one to start.”

  I breathed deeply, fascinated that I would finally get to see magic up close, forgetting myself completely as I stepped forward, my eyes no doubt as wide as hers were. Barnaby had always kept his wishes to himself, whispering them when I wasn't near, only the hint of smoke catching my attention out of the corner of my eye. It was unseemly to ask another to provide wishes for your viewing so I didn't dare ask that of him. I had not seen magic since my days wandering through the city and my craving, if anything, had only grown for it.

  “I wish to be as fleeting as a minnow,” she breathed, closing her eyes as the words left her mouth, my gaze fixed on her tongue as it rolled with the words, her lips pursed and her teeth sparkling like light beneath the waves.

  Smoke rose from her throat, puffing up in delicate trail before dispersing as if caught on a strong wind, though the door was fixed shut. When she opened her eyes, they were bright and drunken, her pupils dilated with power.

  Barnaby began to speak, checking the teeth once more, discussing the ones she wished to have made for her wedding ceremony and the attributes she wished for them to contain. They were caught in a flurry of activity, moving through the room, speaking loudly, but I found I couldn't move. My gaze was still locked on Lady Bethany's mouth, a mouth that now proudly flashed her teeth when speaking, not hiding her words behind her gloved hand.

  She took her gift for granted, expected it, judged it, demanded it even, but I still, despite working with Barnaby, had no indication if I would ever get to feel the pressure of teeth on my gums, to whisper wishes as fickle as hers.

  After they had made their leave, shown to the door by Barnaby himself, we began to tidy the withdrawing room, preparing it for when it would be needed again. We moved in silence, the tea tray and the newly approved sketches waiting by the door to be taken upstairs.

  “Why are there no portraits on the ground floor?” I asked, helping him return all the teeth to their designated cushions.

  “Because clients wish to feel that they are the centre of my world and having reminders that they are not the first, nor will they be the last, confronts their selfish notions,” he explained softly as he touched my shoulder. “When you are with them, you must do your most to make them believe that, to cater to their needs no matter how frivolous or contradictory.”

  “Do you think I can? In time, do you think I can be—” I paused, not willing to let the word leave my mouth, but it was too late; he already understood.

  “Yes, I do. One day, every apprentice will outstrip their master, becoming a master themselves,” he smiled warmly, his eyes half-closing with pleasure as he gazed at me. “You have many great tasks ahead of you, Angora. It wasn't merely talent that I saw in you, but passion. Come, we have many teeth to begin now, thanks to Lady Bethany and her newly discovered enthusiasm.”

  8

  I had not realised it at the time but meeting clients in the withdrawing room had been a test, my final one, and like all the others in the previous weeks, it had come to me silently, unknown. Thankfully, I seemed to have passed them all, pleasing Barnaby with my creativity and ingenuity. He praised me often but made sure to temper my ego with advice and instruction, only relaxing from his role of tutor in the evenings when we would read to each other whilst sitting before the fire.

  One evening, with our dinner still warming our stomachs and the fire dying down to embers and ash, he made an announcement.

  “I do believe it is time for you to begin making your own teeth, your first set as an apprentice and a young man,” he said, his head tilting to the side, resting on the winged side of the armchair he reclined in. The book he had been moments before reciting lay open in his lap.

  I was stunned, unwilling to let my glee burst from me lest I had misheard him. My own teeth, made by my own hand?

  “Are you sure?” I gasped, sitting upright when before I had been lounging tiredly.

  “Yes, you have shown great aptitude, practically devouring my knowledge over the weeks that have passed, and besides, you cannot keep seeing customers with your gums bare. It is time Angora, you deserve this.” He nodded, smiling happily at me as my face lit up with joy.

  I laughed, caught in the delight of the thought, my mind already racing with the designs I could make, the paints I would use and most of all, the attributes I would choose, for Barnaby had opened my mind to all the options on offer and I was loathe to settle with something my family had chosen for me.

  “Does that mean, that you will…” I paused, unwilling to ask a question that had brought a scowl to his face before, that had made him dismissive. “That you’ll teach me how the magic really works?”

  This time, he didn’t cast my question aside, he didn't become reserved like he had so often when I had dared to ask in the workroom.

  “Yes Angora, your curiosity will finally be sated.” He nodded again, and though his words were soft, I felt as if they had been shouted from the effect they had on me, my glee bubbling over within. He claimed it was curiosity but it was more than simply that; it was a deep need, grown from handling teeth each day, from feeling the magic that coursed through them, the pull of it so strong and demanding. Curiosity can be forgotten, caught by the next excitement or thrill, but I knew this need would never leave me until I knew.

  “First though, we must celebrate!” he cried, jumping to his feet, the book thrown unceremoniously on the chair.

  “Now?” I stuttered, surprised by his sudden energy when moments before we had both been close to falling asleep. It was late, fast approaching midnight, and what little light this house offered through its few windows had gone, darkness creeping in. The thought of pulling my boots over my sore, c
lawed feet and dashing out in the blizzard brought none of the delight to me that it seemed to for him. I couldn’t deny him though, sighing with fatigue as he fetched our fur coats and heavy scarves, trailing them behind him as he went about the business of locking up the house.

  As I pulled on my boots, my questions of where we were going hanging in the air unanswered, I was reminded of the first night I had been brought here, the ride through the streets, the hounds pulling us forth as snow blinded us to all.

  I couldn't help but feel nervous, worried that instead of celebrating, he wished to be rid of me, tossing me out onto the streets where he had found me. That my stay here had come to an end, marked by something I had no knowledge of and it was time for another to take my place, those clothes hanging in the wardrobe meant for someone else now, my smart jacket and red boots joining them.

  I shook my head, chiding myself for having such foolish fancies, for thinking ill of Barnaby after all he had confessed to me, after all his guidance. Dutifully, I followed him downstairs to the room where the hounds rested, their large bodies curled up in a bed of straw and upon the blankets within their pens. At the sight of us, they began to bark and pace, howling to be free.

  Since my arrival, Barnaby had only left the house a few times, letting them exert their energy in play instead of pulling the sleigh. Each morning and evening, he came to tend them, his one-sided conversations floating through the rooms. I had never felt comfortable around hounds, my family or neighbours having no use for them on the river, and the only sight I had of them had been on the main thoroughfare. I hung back while Barnaby strapped them to the sleigh, pulling back the covering and arranging the furs within.