From a High Tower (12 page)

The trickiest thing about shooting backward, using a mirror, was setting the shot up and keeping the rifle steady once you had it sighted. When she had shot for Joachim and Pieter she had been scrupulous about not cheating using the sylphs. Now, however, she had no such compunctions.

With the hand holding the mirror firmly on the butt of the stock, and the other on top of the stock with her thumb on the trigger, she set the shot up, and gently squeezed . . .

The butt kicked back into her hand, jarring the mirror and ruining her view of the target. But this time the Captain threw his hat in the air, he was so excited.

I think we made the shot,
she thought wryly. With another bow she handed the mirror back to the Indian, who took it with the faintest of smiles.

The Captain all but snatched the carbine out of her hands, and once again, seized her by the wrist. This time he dragged her back to the big tent, intercepting a man who was clearly on his way somewhere else just before they reached it.

The Captain dropped her hand, and went into a rapid-fire speech, gesticulating wildly. The other man listened closely, his brows creased with concentration. Finally he made a placating gesture with his hands and got the Captain to calm down and stop talking. He turned to Giselle and, to her relief, he spoke in perfectly understandable tones, even if his accent was not one she was used to.

“If I understand my good compatriot, the Captain, you,
fraulein
, are something of an extraordinary shot with a rifle?” he asked. That was when she recognized his voice; this was the man who had provided all the announcements during the show.

She sensed that this was no time to be modest. “Yes,” she said, drawing herself up as tall as she could, and setting her chin. “I am.”

“Forgive me for asking this, because it is, after all, a rather personal question, but—do you live in this town? Is your family here?” He looked extremely uncomfortable at this point, and indeed, this was
not
something that a stranger should be asking a young woman whose name he didn't even know.

“Tell him everything! Tell him!”
The sylphs had followed along, and now they were fluttering overhead, dancing in midair with excitement. Giselle didn't look up at them, of course, but it was clear that this was something other than idle interest.

“I come from a small village quite some distance away,” she said, ignoring the complete impropriety, and with growing excitement. Could it possibly be—no, she wouldn't dare hope.
But . . . I'm a girl. What if they want me to disguise myself as a young man?
Would those who were looking for Gunther possibly seek him in the middle of a Wild West Show? No, she would not dare hope. Maybe they wanted her to teach one of the others. “My only relative was my Mother, who died a year ago. I was going to seek employment with some family friends when I came upon your show—” she shrugged a little “—I am a great admirer of Karl May's books, you see—and I could not resist.”

“Ah! Karl May! Of course!” He nodded wisely. “I haven't read any myself, but I am not much of a reader of fiction. Well! In that case . . . I shall come straight to the point. Captain Cody wishes to offer you employment here, with our show. Provided, of course, you have no objection to taking on the guise of a frontierswoman.”

“As a—” She felt stunned, and couldn't finish the sentence.

“A young lady trick-shooter is considered to be a necessity to a Wild West Show,” the announcer hurried on, perhaps fearing she would object. “Buffalo Bill has Fraulein Annie Oakley. Pawnee Bill has Fraulein May Lillie. The 101 Ranch Show has Princess Winona. But Captain Cody—well, you saw.” He made a helpless little gesture. “Some audience members in our previous two towns have expressed disappointment that we do not have such a star attraction. We can offer you a wagon of your own for traveling and living, already furnished, or a tent, if you prefer. We can supply the wardrobe and the arms. You will have all meals that you care to take with the Company. And we can offer you a salary.” And when he named the price it was all she could do not to show her shock and delight and jump up and accept right there. Because it was fully as much as she had expected, in her wildest and most optimistic estimates, to make from every shooting contest she entered put together. And that was just for a single month! This would be a similar income,
every month!

“How long do you expect to tour?” she asked, pretending only mild interest.

“At least until November, and the rest is a long and complicated story, that I must, in all honesty, tell you before you accept.” Captain Cody interrupted the man then, and they exchanged some words—a bit of worry on both their parts, although the Indian nodded confidently at her, as if he fully expected what her answer was going to be. “Would you come sit down with us, so we can give you a fuller explanation?”

“My horse is in your stabling tent. Would you have her and my belongings taken somewhere less public?” she asked. For answer, the man signaled a passing cowboy with a sharp whistle, she handed over the tag representing Lebkuchen, and the cowboy trotted off. She had the opportunity to look him over carefully while this exchange was taking place, and . . . well, aside from his fancy scarlet uniform, he looked quite ordinary. He had a very square face, short, pale hair, and nice, mild blue eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. Truth be told, he looked like a clerk or a merchant.

With Lebkuchen taken care of, the trio conducted her to a spacious tent in what appeared to be the Army Camp. This, evidently, belonged to Captain Cody, and looked as if it consisted of two canvas-walled rooms. Access to the back one was closed off, but the front was equipped with a table and comfortable chairs, lanterns, a small desk, chests, some comforts such as a rug on the canvas floor and a pile of cushions in a corner, and a barrel of beer. The Captain made himself the host and pulled glasses for all of them.

Meanwhile, the sylphs were flying mad aerobatics above her head, urging her to take the offer. She
wanted
to, naturally, and fully intended to—but it seemed to her she should not be too eager.
Best I find out everything I can before I agree.

She accepted the metal stein of beer with a nod of thanks—beer was food of a sort, after all—and waited for them to explain just what had led to this extraordinary offer.

“So, let me first introduce myself,” said the announcer. “I am Heinrich Kellermann.”

She smiled. He was so formal! And she remembered then that they did not know who
she
was. “Greetings, Herr Kellermann, Herr Cody.” She made a little bow. “My name is Giselle Schnittel.”

Kellermann gave her a little bow from the waist. But Cody flamboyantly captured her hand, and with a roguish look, kissed it. She snatched it back, but couldn't help but smile at him. He winked.

Kellermann cleared his throat, and she politely turned her attention back to him. “I was working as the assistant manager and under-concierge of the Hotel Splendido, in Bagni di Rabbi, a spa town in Italy near the Austrian border, when this show came into our town. As it happened, the show was managed by a complete scoundrel, who, the day before the show was to leave and cross the border into Austria, ran off with every bit of money he could get his hands on. Cody and some of the other stars of the show were staying at my hotel, and since I speak English and Italian as well as our native tongue, and because I had come, in that brief time of acquaintance, to consider him a friend, I took on the task of explaining the situation to the authorities and everyone else.”

Cody said something at length to Heinrich, once again gesturing broadly. Heinrich nodded, then turned back to her when Cody paused for a pull at his beer.

“I have to say that my confidence in my American friends was not misplaced. The show remained to pay their debts. Despite sometimes lackluster ticket sales, the Captain and his company did not leave until all debts were paid.” He seemed as proud of that as if he himself had accomplished it.

“That's more than honorable!” she exclaimed, as the sylphs continued to dance about over her head. The owl on the Indian's shoulder watched them with bemusement, but of course, no one else could see them.

“Indeed. But once that happened, the company split up, to an extent. Word of their misfortune had spread, and several recruiters arrived with offers. About half the troupe left for other shows or smaller exhibitions, taking only their personal baggage. This left the rest with no money to return home and no good prospects except to somehow continue on. And with that, the Captain offered me the opportunity to manage what was left of the show.” He shrugged. “Foolish of me, perhaps, to give up my position, which was secure.”

“If your position was secure—” she raised an eyebrow.

“It was a boring little Alpine hotel,” he replied. “And it was unlikely I would succeed to the position of manager or concierge until I was sprouting gray hairs. I had always wanted to be in the theater, and here was my chance! I knew that my own countrymen were keen on the American frontier, so I made certain of the original bookings, then made some more arrangements through the trade papers and friends, and here we are.”

“Do you really think you can make enough money for all of these people to return home?” she asked, concerned. It was one thing for the sylphs to be agitating for her to join this show . . . but they had offered her what seemed to be a ridiculously huge sum of money, when they had only just extricated themselves from large debts.

“Absolutely,” he replied with confidence. “It will take time, but we will. You understand, it is not enough merely to earn the money to return home for these good people. That would be a failure. They must return home with something substantial to show as well. If not a fortune, certainly enough to live on comfortably for some time, perhaps to purchase ranches or businesses of their own.”

The Captain got them all another beer, and Kellermann paused to speak to him in English for some time. Cody's brows creased and he said something anxiously, then turned to her and repeated it, even though he surely knew she didn't understand a word he was saying.

“The Captain is most anxious to learn whether or not you will join us,
fraulein
—” Kellermann began—when he was interrupted by the Indian. That worthy gentleman spoke only a few words, in comparison with the Captain, but Kellermann's eyes widened and he glanced from one side to the other before leaning over the table toward her.

“Chief Leading Fox says you are not just a sure-shot, you are a magician . . .” he whispered. “Like him.”

She sat up as straight as if an electric current from a nearby thunderbolt had passed through her. In fact, it felt rather as if one
had.
“He said—” She glanced up at her sylphs. They were all nodding, eagerly. She looked back down. “You know about magicians?” she demanded.

Slowly, Kellermann nodded. “I was not blessed—or cursed—with that myself. But I have relatives among the
Bruderschaft der Förster.”

And it was Cody who now leaned over the table, and added, in a confidential tone, something she (of course) could not understand.

“The Captain says to tell you that although he is not a great magician like Chief Leading Fox, he has some small abilities with fire himself.” Kellermann's face showed no sign that he was trying to fool her—but still—this seemed altogether too convenient.

Could they all be trying to trick her, just to get her to join the show? Did they need her that badly?

Then she went cold all over, as she remembered another man who had seemed kind and amusing, and had only wanted to trick her into giving him access to her tower—and her—

But before she could move or speak or—well, anything, really—the Captain was peeling off his long, fawn-colored, fringed leather gauntlet from his right hand. He closed it into a fist, briefly, then opened it.

In the center of his palm, a little flame danced.

The Indian made a little sound of approval as she stared, mesmerized, at the flame. Which was not just a “flame” at all, really, for it was easy for her to see that in the heart of it, there was a little fairy-like creature, nude but for her long hair, performing a little dance of her own.

The Captain closed his hand, gently, and when he opened it, the Fire Elemental was gone. He put his glove back on, and gave her a long and solemn wink.

“So,” said Kellermann, after a very, very long pause. He regarded her, as she tried to get her head around the fact that not just the Indian but apparently
several
of these people knew about magic. “Now will you join us?”

She licked lips gone dry, but from excitement now, not fear. “I would be very glad to do so. It seems I have stumbled on a place where I am a perfect match in all things.”

It seemed the Captain did not need Kellermann's translation. As soon as she finished, he whooped, pulled off his hat, and slapped his leg with it in glee.

C
APTAIN
Cody was, as they said in the Karl May books, a “man of action.” As soon as he had her agreement, he jumped up and opened the front of the tent, barking orders to someone outside. A moment later, two sturdy, dark-complexioned men appeared. One was still in his fringed leather from the show, the other in dark, worn trousers and a faded plaid shirt.

“Would you prefer a tent, or a wagon?” Kellermann asked her. “The wagon will be better in bad weather and afford more privacy, the tent will be more spacious.”

“Wagon, please,” she said, and Cody issued unintelligible orders to the men, who nodded and ambled off. “Well, now we must get your signature on a contract, and then go to our surplus wardrobe and get you outfitted.” He stood up, and so did she. “Then we will go to the
mess tent
and introduce you to the company and get you fed, and by then your wagon will be ready and you can settle into it.” He rubbed his hands together with immense satisfaction.

“But—I don't understand English—” she protested, the main problem facing her suddenly occurring to her. “How am I to feign being a frontierswoman when I cannot understand English?”

Never mind all the problems of trying to join an ongoing production!

Kellermann smacked himself in the middle of his forehead, and turned to Cody. But he had not gotten more than a few words out when Cody and the Indian both broke up with laughter.

Kellermann looked baffled. He looked even more baffled when Cody gave him
some
sort of explanation. “He says—and
fraulein,
I have no idea how this is to be done, but I have seen amazing things and I have no reason to doubt—that Chief Leading Fox will teach you English and Pawnee tonight.”

English?
And
Pawnee? She turned to look at the Indian, who chuckled slightly, and nodded, then said a few words himself.

Kellermann just shook his head. “And he says that somehow,
you
will be teaching him and the Captain German. I look forward to seeing the results of this miracle.”

And so am I. . . .

But she was given no time to think. Kellermann, trailed by the Captain and the Chief, took her to the wagon that served as his office and translated the simple little contract for her before she signed it. Then they all made their way to a spot in the Army Camp where a wagon and another, larger tent were presided over by a trio of black-haired women, who listened to Cody, then took charge of her. They took her into the tent and pantomimed that she was to undress. She stripped to her underthings, which seemed to satisfy them. They measured her all over by means of strings, then two of them disappeared and reappeared with armloads of costumes.

She had thought that Tante Gretchen's hunting suit was practical, but now she saw garments that were, if possible, even
more
comfortable and practical. Well, that did make sense. Women could not do all the things they had to do on the frontier if they were burdened with corsets and lace and ribbons and bustles and overskirts and . . . well,
things.
She quickly realized, as she was fitted not only with fringed skirts that only came to her knee, leggings, and fringed and embroidered shirtwaists, but with what looked like the same sort of costume that the Indian women had been wearing in the parade, and one of the voluminous satin skirts and blouses of the Quadrille, that she must be doing double and triple roles.
Well, I'd rather be doing something than sitting about,
she decided.

Once the costumes were fitted to the three ladies' satisfaction, they more or less helped her dress and shoved her out the tent flap into the hands of the three men who were waiting patiently for her.

By now, she was ravenous. It had been a very long time since the bit of bread and cheese that had served as her luncheon.

As if he could read her mind (or, perhaps, hear her growling stomach), Cody checked his pocket watch and gabbled something. Kellerman translated that simply enough. “We're going to eat now, and we must eat quickly to be ready in time for the evening performance.”

They led her to a big tent full of benches and trestle tables, not unlike a
Festzelt,
or beer tent at a big Oktoberfest celebration. The venues for eating and drinking at a Maifest tended to be smaller than the big beer tents at Oktoberfest, so this was the first time she had ever seen a place where people ate that was so very large. At least sixty people could be seated here at once! This was where the aroma of stew had been coming from.

At one end of the tent were men in aprons ladling tin bowls full of stew and handing them over to the performers and workers. Cody led her to the queue, and she got a bowl full of stew that smelled so rich and good her stomach began complaining that she wasn't eating it
right then,
plus a huge chunk of bread and butter and a wedge of pie on a second tin plate and an empty tin mug. She got settled at a table, her tin cup poured full of coffee, and then Cody stood up and whistled shrilly, bringing all conversation to a halt.

He gestured grandly at her and launched into a speech. She recognized her name in it and that was about all. Then there was a pause, and Cody made a little beckoning motion with his hand, so she stood up and gave a little bow, feeling suddenly very shy.
I had better get over that, and quickly!
she told herself.
I am going to be a performer, I cannot be shy!

That elicited a round of enthusiastic, but brief, applause. It looked to her as if many people were glad to hear what Cody had to say, but also were in a hurry to get their suppers. She was glad the applause was brief; she wanted to
eat.

The stew was delicious, just as good as anything Mother had made, and that was high praise indeed. The bread, she thought, was probably local, since it would be difficult to transport bread ovens. The coffee was very strong and bitter, but after her first taste—and wry face—Kellerman went over to the end of the table and brought back a tin full of sugar lumps, which made it quite good. Mother had never made coffee, but she decided that she quite liked it. The pie was nothing like anything Mother made, but it was excellent, nevertheless. On the whole, when she finished her meal and brought the dishes to the front to go in a dry washing tub with the rest, she was more than content.

But her day was not yet complete, it seemed. Cody said something and bowed a little, and then left, taking Leading Fox with him. Kellerman took her elbow and she allowed him to guide her out of the mess tent. As she paused, confronted by the mass of tents of differing kinds, their sides moving slightly in the evening breeze, he let go of her and gestured toward a sort of path between the tents.

“As you heard, we have an evening performance that I must get to, but first I will show you to your new wagon,” he told her. “We've had all your personal belongings brought there, and by now I am sure at least some, if not all, of your costumes are there as well. Cody also left orders that some spare American garb be altered and given to you. Some of us—Leading Fox at least, and I—will be back after the show.”

“This is more than kind,” she said, and would have added more, but he would hear none of it.

“You are one of us, now,
fraulein
,” he said, with one of his courteous little bows. “We are a family, now more than ever, and you are doing us a great favor by joining us.”

They threaded their way across the camp to an area set aside for wagons. It appeared that the members of the show, on the whole, preferred a tent to a wagon, for there were only half a dozen living wagons lined up in a neat row. Kellerman took her to a small bow-topped wagon of a uniform brown color, quite plain, unlike the beautifully painted and carved Romany
vardos
that had camped beside the abbey several times (with Mother's blessing). It was also a bit smaller than the
vardos,
which were, after all, intended to serve an entire family
.
There was a green door with a glass window in it at the front, and a glass bow window at the rear. It, like the others, had been parked so that the evening light fell upon the blank side, and not through either window. Kellerman opened the door for her with a flourish, and she went up the steps to survey her new home.

Well, it was small. But although clearly second- or thirdhand, it was stoutly built; the roof seemed to be tin over a wooden frame, and the rest was made of golden-brown wood the same color as the crust of a loaf of bread. There was a curtained platform bed under the window, with a storage cupboard underneath. Just inside the door was a tiny cast-iron stove—she wouldn't be using that much in the summer, but if the show was, indeed, planning on continuing to perform into November, she certainly would need it then. On the right wall was a chest of drawers, and a little bit of a bench seat with a cushion on it and more storage beneath. On the left wall was a bit of fold-down table with shelves above, and a stool, and a bit of storage beneath. And that was fundamentally all there was room for.

But really, what more did she need?

“I believe your belongings are on the bed,” said Kellerman from the door. “There should be linens, a washbasin and pitcher, and assorted bits and pieces from the last person who had it in the cupboard under the bed. That would have been Fraulein Ado Ellie, who was our former lady trick-shooter. A most amiable lady, but nothing near as good a shot as you.” She turned to see him smiling in the doorway. “However, she was, if I may say so, both stunningly beautiful and sweet-natured, so much was forgiven of her.”

“She seems to have been a good housekeeper,” Giselle replied, opening the cupboard beneath the bed and surveying with relief the neatly folded linens and a number of things that would make life very comfortable in this wagon.

“She was, and I hope this pleases you.” Kellerman looked a little anxious at that. “We had been using it for costume storage, and occasionally as a place for some of the troupe to sleep in extremely bad weather.”

“This will be most satisfactory, thank you,” she replied.

He beamed as if it had been his hands that had constructed the wagon. “In that case I shall leave you to settle in and await Fox, and possibly the Captain.”

He left the door open, and she climbed over the mattress to open the window over the bed to allow air through. With the curtains pulled, and the door open, and a little teasing of the air, there was soon a gentle breeze wafting through, smelling of hay, trampled grass, and faintly of food. The mattress was satisfactory; the linens she got out to make it up were, like the wagon, old but very clean, and there were some sturdy woolen blankets in there that were a welcome sight, and a great many cushions and pillows. There was even a fine spirit lamp that she could heat water over, and a kettle for making tea. Turning to her own belongings, she discovered that the previous owner had had proper gun racks installed above the bench seat, so her old rifle went up there, although she was hoping she would be given that sweet carbine to use. The music from the show rang out over the encampment, and though the wagon section of the campground was empty except for her, it didn't feel lonely.

Darkness fell and she lit the lamp she had found in the cupboard, giving a cheerful glow to her new home. Bit by bit she settled her possessions and her new costumes into places that suited her, taking care and thought about it. When the show was on the move, anything that might fall would have to be stowed carefully, so she needed to leave places for those things to go.

When at last she had everything put away, she checked around the outside of the wagon. There wasn't much there, but
someone
had left a small water barrel up by the front axle.
Good, that means I won't have to go hunting for water,
she thought with relief. She fetched and filled a pitcher and a small covered bucket, and brought both back into the wagon. Someone was going around the camp, lighting lanterns and torches; when he—for it was a
he,
a weathered, bow-legged fellow in canvas trousers and a checkered shirt—came by and lit a lantern at the front of her wagon, they nodded agreeably to each other. Then he touched two fingers to the brim of his battered bowler hat and moved on.

And then, having nothing else to do, she went back inside, pulled off her boots, moved the lantern to a hook just over the bed, and took out one of her two precious books. A Karl May Winnetou book, of course. Within moments she was lost in its pages, coming out only now and again to marvel that here she was, in the midst of the very people she was reading about.

She was in the middle of a descriptive passage of a herd of buffalo when a tap on the frame of the open door made her look up, as she realized that the music from the show was no longer sounding from the big tent. Kellerman and Leading Fox stood at the doorway, waiting politely for an invitation to come in.

“Please,” she said, swinging her feet and legs over the side of the bed. “Come in!” Although technically she was “entertaining” in her “bedroom,” somehow she did not feel shy or self-conscious about the situation. Perhaps that was due to the demeanor of Leading Fox, who was so solemn and dignified she could not imagine him even
thinking
anything improper.