Shadowplay (11 page)

“The next day, it was my name in the papers, and he was relegated to the “escapologist”. He left, demanding his share in the company and loading as many of his props and devices into a cart as he could and driving it away. He said I was poison. I was dismayed, but thought the split was the end of it.

“It was far from the end.

“With his share of Specter and Maske, he purchased a crumbling mansion in the Gilt Quarter and transformed it into a theatre to rival my own. Soon, his name was as infamous as mine. At first, I wished him every success. Our acts were different enough that neither of us suffered, though we were not as profitable as when we worked together.”

The words tumbled from him, as if he could not stop the tale. “Taliesin still loathed me, and he was determined to bring me down. Small things, at first. He’d schedule his shows to coincide with mine, with cheaper prices to drag away my customers. He’d take a trick he knew I was fond of, and find a way to make it more exciting.

“A newspaper article would appear the night after a performance revealing how I did my illusion, meaning I could not do it again. During my show, an apparatus would not work properly, meaning he had bribed a stagehand. Once it resulted in an injured volunteer who nearly sued me.

“I fed the flames in turn, finding my own ways to foil his shows and poison his reviews. And so we went, back and forth, each trying to outdo the other. I stayed up long into the night in my workshop, inventing and dreaming up new illusions.

“I did not even notice when my wife began to grow ill. My sons were about your age then. Old enough to hate me.”

He bowed his head. There was the smallest bald spot at the crown. “She died. I went to the funeral in a daze, and each time someone comforted me over the pain of my loss, I looked at them as though they were only phantasms of the living.

“My sons left for the former colonies. I think they’re in Kymri, now. They only wrote when they needed more funds, and several years ago, I could no longer accommodate their requests, and so I have not heard from them since then.

“I lost everything to Taliesin. Everything. So I challenged him to a proper duel. I called upon the Collective of Magic and they witnessed our terms of agreement. One performance, with each of us showcasing the best of our acts. The audience and the Collective judged the winner.

“I thought for sure I would win. I barely ate. I barely slept. My whole life was magic.”

He looked up from the table, to the ceiling. He looked old. His magician’s façade had cracked.

“But I lost.”

I wanted to know about Taliesin’s great illusion at the Crescent Hippodrome. I wanted to know the tricks he and Taliesin performed, and what trick had beaten him, but I knew now was not the time to ask.

“He cheated – sabotaged a bit of my equipment – and I lost. I shut down the Kymri Theatre. I foreswore grand illusion. And here I have remained for the past fifteen years, surrounded by the memories of who and what I used to be.”

We sat in silence.

“Taliesin has fallen on hard times,” Maske said, a shadow of pleasure and satisfaction coloring his voice. “He was caught possessing a large amount of Lerium and has been fined so much the Specter Shows are barely keeping him afloat. Then the two magicians who worked for him, Mandrake and Crowley, quit due to the shame. The Collective of Magic was all set to ban him from continuing to perform. Ever.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said.

Maske nodded, but I sensed that even this satisfaction came nowhere near to making up for the fifteen years of success and comfort his rival had experienced. “But he talked them out of it. He’s good at that. He’s training his twin grandsons, who are about your age, and has started the shows with them again.”

He half smiled. “And that, Micah, is the tale of the once-great Maske of Magic. I trust that satisfies your curiosity enough to leave my workshop alone.” He left. In the kitchen, I heard him pour liquid into a glass. I guessed it was whisky.

The thing was, it did satisfy my curiosity. I had seen behind the mask of Maske, to the sad man within. He was in good company with me and Drystan.

 

The next morning, I woke far too early to the sound of another of Drystan’s nightmares.

I crept from my bed, shivering in the early-morning chill. Drystan’s entire body tensed, his brow furrowed as he tossed his head from side to side. His breath rasped in and out, ragged with fear.

Mindful of startling him from sleep, I sat next to him. When his questing hands brushed against my arm, he stiffened. I held my breath, hoping he would not hit me again.

Drystan’s hand rested on mine. I lay down carefully on the bed, half propped-up against the headboard. His hand squeezed mine, and then relaxed. He turned toward me with a sigh, settling into a deeper sleep. I held my breath. When awake, Drystan kept his distance. Now, his face was vulnerable and open as he breathed – the deep, dreamless sleep of the exhausted.

Fighting the urge to stroke his hair, I sat there until I could just make out the design of the dragonfly of the stained glass window.

Time for the sunrise. And the magician’s assistant.

 

 

10

THE TRUE TEMNIAN

 

“If the Kymri are more predisposed to worship the sun, then the Temnians have more respect for the lunar cycle. During the full moon, or the night the Penglass glows under the stars, there is a huge celebration and feast. Elders dress as the moon and stars and bestow blessings upon those who need them. Special food is created that may only be eaten that night
–
sweet mooncakes and small sips of a drink called Dancing Water made from almonds, fermented honey, and small gold flakes, which is meant to be an elixir for long life. Small amounts of the drug Lerium are also sampled. On this night, men and women are meant to become closer to the Lord and Lady and their prayers will more likely be heard and wishes granted.”

The Former Elladan Colonies, Professor Caed Cedar, Royal Snakewood University

 

The girl Maske wanted for the role of the magician’s assistant arrived the next morning. She walked onto the stage as if it were an audition.

My skin prickled into goosebumps at the sight of her. I knew her face. She was the girl on stage with Drystan in my vision at Twisting the Aces.

She was Temnian, with dark eyes, golden skin, and hair that fell in a dark river to her waist, small sections braided with ceramic beads. She wore a simple dress of Temnian linen, secured about the waist with a silken scarf.

She gave us the Temnian bow, her hand across her face.

“Good afternoon, Cyan,” Maske greeted her. “Thank you for considering my proposal.”

She smiled. “Pleased to help you, Mister Maske, after all you’ve done for our family.” She spoke with an Elladan accent. Her eyes darted to the side, a shadow crossing her face. I leaned forward, sensing a secret just out of reach.

“Well, my dear, let’s see what you can do.” Maske gave her some simple instructions: could she touch her toes? Fit into the cabinet? Had she learned any magic tricks? She performed them all gracefully. She drew the eye, but did not command it to the exclusion of all else. She would be perfect and help with misdirection without stealing the show.

For our benefit, she told us she had been raised among sideshows and circuses where she’d picked up various skills, from fortunetelling to contortionism. Her parents currently performed in Bil’s old rival circus, Riley & Batheo’s Circus of Curiosities. This put me on edge – we’d almost certainly have acquaintances in common.

We thanked her for her time and asked her to return the next day, but I could tell Maske’s mind was made up. He wanted her to be the new assistant.

I was still worried. “She could be a spy,” I said to Maske and Drystan over lunch.

Maske speared a potato. “I’ve known her since she was six.”

I’d known my parents my whole life, and they still turned out to be duplicitous when it came to a surgeon’s knife.

“She worked in a circus,” I said.

“Yes. We’ll be mindful of what we say around her, naturally, but we need an assistant. I will vouch for her. She also needs our help.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“She’s run away from the circus and her parents. She came to me after leaving but wouldn’t take me up on my offer to stay. She’s been staying with someone, but he’ll be leaving soon. I don’t want her on the streets, so I approached her again. She agreed when I told her she could work for her board.”

“She seemed truthful to me, for what that’s worth,” Drystan said, mouth full. I think he delighted in having rough table manners, after the rigorous etiquette training he must have had as a youth. I, however, could not shake my upbringing, holding the cutlery just so.

“She could be a very good liar,” I grumbled under my breath.

“She’s a truthful girl,” Maske said, the edge of his voice sharpening. “I used the Augur and she didn’t lie. Now, please leave it.”

I stabbed a piece of overcooked beef.

There would be so many opportunities where we might make mistakes. Even three months later, newspaper articles about us still appeared, reminding citizens of the potential reward. There was no longer anything about Lady Iphigenia Laurus, but I knew people were still searching for her, too.

Drystan and I had gone to watch the apartment tenement where we had last seen the Shadow, but saw no sign of him. We began to doubt he even lived there.

We had to find him to find a way to be rid of him.

I tossed and turned that night, jumbled dreams jolting me awake more than once. Drystan was restless, but not crying out in his sleep. I sighed, giving up on rest long before the sun rose, hoping that we were not making a terrible mistake by hiring this girl named Cyan.

 

She arrived at noon. Yesterday she had been cool, calm, and collected as she performed. Now, she looked nervous, younger, standing on the threshold of the theatre with a large carpetbag, the hood of her coat up against the cold.

We invited her in and introduced ourselves.

“I’m Sam,” I said, holding out my hand to hers.

“Amon,” Drystan said, nodding.

“Well met.” She inclined her head.

She was perhaps around my age or a little older. We had hidden all personal possessions and we wore Glamours beneath our Temnian silks. Of course, she knew full well that we were not Temnian.

“Are you going to turn off your Glamour?” she asked. “You’re not Temnian.”

“No, they’re not. Don’t rush them, Cyan. You’ll see them when they wish to show you their true faces. Though I hope, for the Glamours’ sake, that it’s sooner rather than later.” Maske gave us a pointed look as he passed her a mug of coffee.

She gave him a smile, her nose crinkling. “Thank you,” she said as we clustered about the kitchen table. She held the cup in both hands, warming her fingers. Her hair lay in a shining plait over her shoulder.

“I’ve made up your room,” Maske said. “May I take your things?”

“If it is not too much trouble, yes.”

Maske took her bag. “I’ll bring this up and let you three become acquainted.”

“My thanks,” she said.

Maske left us. The lull in the conversation stretched to an awkward silence.

Her expression was polite and impassive, but even beneath the nerves her eyes were lively, as if laughter could erupt at any moment. Through my suspicion, I found myself growing curious about her.

“Have you been in Ellada long?” I asked. Yesterday we’d kept up the Temri accents, but that day, we left them behind.

She broke into a smile, and it was so open, I found myself warming to her, despite myself. “I was born here,” she said. “My family is from Southern Temne, near Muyin and Chinsh.”

 “Do you ever go back to visit?”

She nodded. “Every few years or so. My mother is very close to her side of the family.” Her smile faltered. Something had happened with her parents, especially the mother. She fingered a ceramic bead at the end of her plait.

I knew with certainty that she was running away from something. She looked at me sharply, as if she guessed my thoughts.

“How long have you known Maske?” Drystan asked.

“Since I was a child. He knows my parents. My mother was a great admirer of his when he was a magician.” A twist of the mouth, tinged with bitterness. I kept the frown from my face.

“You must find it a little silly, that we pretend to be Temnian,” I said. I felt protected by the illusion cast by the Glamour. She saw a stranger.

She smiled, holding a hand in front of her mouth. “It is, a bit. So many Elladans dislike us, yet find us fascinating. It grows tiring. The fact that you’d court that is… odd, but I know others who did that, even in my circus. And your accent is terrible. Though I can at least teach you the curse words.”

We smiled weakly.

There was an indignant meow. Ricket, the little calico, investigated Cyan’s skirts. “Hello, small cat,” she said, holding down her fingers for him to investigate. He sniffed her suspiciously. She passed the inspection, and he rubbed his face against her hand before pouncing into her lap. She stroked his back. His purr rattled into the silence as he kneaded her legs.

Determined not to let the small silence relapse into awkwardness, I spoke.

“We’re both new to Imachara. I’m from Sicion,” I said. “But Amon here is from a town so small you’d never have heard of it.”

We planned our whole make-believe lives to the smallest detail – what our parents did, our fictitious siblings, old addresses, friends, and the like. My fictional father was a luminary, selling Vestige glass globes and gas lamps, and my mother was a seamstress. Drystan, as Amon, was an orphan whose parents had drowned on a fishing boat, and had been raised in the tiny fishing village of Neite by his aunt. Drystan softened his accent to sound as though he were from there.