Shadowplay (27 page)

“Why?” I asked.

“As slaves.”

My breath hitched in my throat.

“But humans were weak. They lived a few scant years, succumbed to illness. Some Alder decided to make beings that were more like themselves. And so they created Chimaera. But what has been lost to history is that there were two strains of Chimaera.” She balled her hands into fists and the little Alder and human disappeared. She held open her palms again. A creature who looked not quite human and not quite Alder appeared on one hand. The proportions were almost human, but the eyes too big, the cheekbones too high, the lips too small. On the other hand was a damselfly, a self-portrait in miniature.

“They made Chimaera who looked human, the Anthi, and who looked hybrid, the Theri. The Anthi came first, and in them the Alder instilled abilities like they had. Now, when your historians study ancient statues and see one with no scales, no wings, no horns, they think, ‘they must be human, and not Chimaera,’ but there were Anthi with abilities and power, and the odd Theri with none.”

“So I’m not human?” Cyan gasped.

“I do not know,” she said gently. “You two are different. The Anthi looked similar to me.” She gestured to the little illusion hovering over her palm and then at her longer neck, her high cheekbones. “But I was not privy to the Alder’s secrets. None of the Chimaera or humans were.

“And so you will help me stop him, for there is not much I can do.” She indicated at her insubstantial body.

“And why should we?” I asked.

“Why, I should think that would be obvious. For he will come for you, too.”

I swallowed. Cyan turned gray.

“So what should we do?”

“For now, nothing. He has not started yet. But when the time is right, you will know. And I can only hope you fare better than Matla and I, all those years ago. I am glad I called to you.” She nodded. “You will help me. And all will be well.”

“Called to us?” I asked, dread like a stone in my stomach.

“Surely you guessed, little Kedi?”

The air left my lungs. “Guessed?”

“Do you know why you went down to the beach that night, the night you found the circus?”

“Because… I love the ocean,” I said, faltering.

“I called to you and you heard me. It was soft as a whisper, but you felt it. I thought you would come to me, that first night in the circus, but you came to me the next night. You were so frightened.”

I was sure I was more frightened now. I backed away from her, my breath gasping in and out.

“And me?” Cyan asked, faint.

“Oh, one who was Matla, I sensed you from afar as your powers grew. Who do you think sent you the dream of the lion tamer?”

She clapped her hands over her ears. “No! I don’t want to hear you anymore. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what is real. Go away!”

I darted forward, clutching the disc in shaking hands. “Stop sending us dreams and visions without warning. Stop speaking in riddles. Or I won’t call you out, and I won’t help you.”

“Oh, but you will, little Kedi.” She smiled beatifically. “You will.”

I pressed the button savagely. She disappeared, and I went to Cyan. She folded into my arms, and I held her as she cried. “I’m sorry,” I said, over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

 

22

THE NIGHT OF THE DEAD

 

Elladan children’s rhyme about the Night of the Dead.

 

Blissful routine followed over the next few weeks, and I sank into it gratefully.

Mornings were for magic lessons, early afternoons for constructing the apparatuses and costumes, and late afternoons were for séance work. I cemented my role as a stagehand. If both Cyan and I were at the same table during a séance, visions plagued us, though we broke physical contact before they could take hold. Anisa kept her visions away, or so we thought, but all Vestige seemed to contain echoes of their past. Whenever we went to Twisting the Aces, I avoided the whispers just out of earshot that came from the display cabinet. We returned the Augur to its rightful place as I began to feel uneasy around it. As far as we knew, Maske never knew we had temporarily borrowed it. Even the Glamour felt uncomfortable next to my skin, and I was glad I didn’t have to wear it as often anymore.

Cyan and I agreed not to talk about what happened between us in her room. It reminded us too painfully of our differences, and the fact that we had no idea what Anisa planned. We focused on the stage magic to distract ourselves from the real kind.

But that did not mean that thoughts did not plague me. Scattered among the many magic books in Maske’s study were a fair few about ancient magic and antiquities. I had never looked at them – too afraid of what I might discover, perhaps. But I couldn’t keep running away. I took down a book by an author I recognized: Professor Mikael Primrose, the husband of the famous Lady Primrose, on etiquette.

After the long days of study and work, I studied more, pouring over the dense text. We knew so little. Already from Anisa’s visions I had a clearer context of the relationships between the Alder and the Chimaera and what life for them was like. Already I knew that Vestige was far more powerful than we had ever dreamed.

Professor Primrose still taught me a thing or two. He held many postulations on Penglass – that it was created from the same substance as their ships, which I could confirm from my vision of Anisa in the garden. He thought that the Alder had left and taken the Chimaera with them, and that humans chose to stay. But soon after they left, a tragedy had struck the earth. Smoke scorched the sky and most of the world drowned beneath the waves. I had the feeling that the Alder had still been involved in that in some way.

For though I knew more than most about Chimaera, the Alder were still an enigma. Many times, I considered asking Anisa, but I still feared her and feared what she would ask of me in return for her answers. Everything seemed to have a price.

I dreamed of that ancient Lindean forest many nights, but I did not think Anisa sent the dreams to me. In them, I loved the forest, with its primordial feeling of age and power and life. I prowled through the jungle on all fours, content that I was the king of my domain. Nothing could hunt me.

 

Maske came in late one afternoon after going to the auctioneers to sell another of his precious Vestige automata. He showed it to us before he left – a mermaid, her skin a luminous brown, her hair cropped close to her skull, and eyes dark as coal. Her neck had little gills, and small fins sprouted on the backs of her forearms and along her spine. The mermaid’s tail was an emerald green, and she wore a heavy necklace of shells and stone that did not quite cover her breasts. Maske said that if he switched the lever on her back she could swim underwater, but Maske did not wish to use any more power before selling her, not even to see her swim one last time.

“She’s lovely,” I said.

“So she is,” Maske said, stroking her face with the back of a fingernail before wrapping her in cloth and sliding her into the case. “Another woman I’ve abandoned, eh?” He said it with a smile cracked with sadness.

“What do Taliesin’s automata look like?” I asked, remembering him mentioning that he’d never sold those. Maske hesitated, but in the end he came down with a little tortoise. I could tell it was not Vestige – the limbs were articulated, and I could see the seams between the painted tin of the shell. When he switched it on, it moved well enough, though jerkily, and I could hear the mechanisms within. It was still a clever bit of machinery. With a sigh, Maske tucked Taliesin’s tortoise away and left for the pawnshop.

When he returned, no sadness remained. He held a letter aloft as he entered the library where Cyan, Drystan and I were having biscuits and tea as we studied.

He placed the creamy sheet of paper on the table between us. His face was flushed, flakes of snow on his coat and hat.

“We have an invitation to our first séance and private magic show of note,” he said, nearly bouncing on his heels like an excited child.

We had performed a few séances, small ones for Maske’s more regular clients. Cyan had proved a great success. Evidently word travelled fast, or perhaps the Collective of Magic had a hand in it. They were doing everything they could to push publicity for our duel – printing lithographic posters and taking out ads in the newspapers for an event that was still two months away.

“Of note?” Cyan echoed.

“Look.”

I read the invitation:

 

 

“Wow,” I breathed. “The Elmbarks are a prestigious family.” Cyan looked at me blankly, but Drystan’s jaw muscles tightened. I felt similar to Drystan. I had once dined at the Elmbark residence with my parents and Cyril after going to the opera in Imachara.

But I remembered the Hornbeams were much friendlier with the Elmbarks. Drystan had probably been to their estate in the Emerald Bowl. He would have played with their son, Harry, who was about the same age. Harry’s younger brother, Tomas, was Cyril’s age.

“Who else will be there?” Drystan asked, his voice terse.

“I asked the messenger about the guest list and, with but a small parting of coin, he was happy to gossip.” A small smile of triumph curled on Maske’s lips.

“Oh, was he now?” Cyan asked, delighted. Drystan and I, by contrast, clutched the edges of the table in dread.

“The Lord and Lady Elmbark will be inviting some very important guests: Lady Rowan, Lord Cinnabari, Lady Laurus, and the Royal Physician himself, who has just returned from abroad. A few others as well, but the man did not remember the names.”

My eyes burned – I was so surprised I had not blinked.

“I can’t go,” I said.

Drystan stared at me in mutual horror.

“But you have to go!” Maske said. “The séance we have works only with all three of you. And this is essential for us – Taliesin has never performed for them as far as I am aware.”

“There’s a slight issue with the fact that one of the attending members of the séance is my mother,” I said, teeth gritted.

Maske jerked his head back in surprise. “Oh.”

Cyan sent me a wordless wave of concern and comfort, tinged with her own surprise.

Maske’s shoulders slumped. “They’re offering us two hundred gold marks. That’s enough to last us months, plus buy the materials we need for the finale. We can’t turn this down.”

“Two
hundred
gold marks?” Cyan echoed. I felt the same. Our cut would be almost enough to buy false papers, though Drystan and I had not mentioned leaving Ellada for months, now. I think we both still hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

Maske sat up straighter. “Micah, you will be behind the scenes. Behind the walls.”

“Behind the walls?” I asked.

“Lots of older houses have space behind the walls for servants to get around the rooms. Or for people who shouldn’t be there to make a… discreet escape.”

Cyan laughed. “Shocking.”

“Not particularly. Nobles are as twisted and devious as you’d expect.” Drystan drawled.

“Well, I’ve only you two to judge on, so obviously that’s true.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Who, little old me? Noble? How amusing,” he said. Cyan goaded him to try and learn more about him, but he never cracked, though he let the fake small town accent fade gradually. In turn, she stayed well out of his mind as far as I could tell.

I did not join in their levity. Panic fluttered in my stomach. “It’s still very risky, for me to go. If Drystan or I are recognized, that’s the end of your duel, Maske.”

Maske rubbed his chin. “That is a point. Damnation. But think of it this way. The nobility are our prime clientele. I can charge a noble family ten times what I charge a working class family for the same séance. If you’re to stay a magician you’ll always be rubbing shoulders with the nobility. Who better to test your disguises with than those who have the most chance to recognize you? They asked us. Not Taliesin.” He grinned, his teeth white and sharp. I knew it was the thrill of the gamble that excited him. The threat of discovery made the prospect all the sweeter.

“That they didn’t,” I said.

We asked for an advance on our wages, which Maske reluctantly gave us, and we bought false identity papers, hiding them in the loft. If we were discovered, we’d make a run for it. Maske was the one who put us in contact with the man for the papers. I know he hoped we’d never have to use them. So did I.

In the end, Maske won the gamble, or at least partly. Drystan and Cyan would wear their disguises and stay in the limelight. And in the séance, as with the magic duel, I would stay out of sight in the shadows.

Come what may.

 

It was the night before Lady’s Long Night. The Night of the Dead.

We rode in the carriage, the curtains drawn tight against the cold. We huddled beneath the blankets, but our breath still misted in the air as the driver took us through the winding cobbled streets of Imachara.

Cyan wore her black Elladan dress with a Temnian silk sash. In her bag was the dark veil for the séance and silver paint for her face. In addition to the Glamour, Drystan’s eyes were darkened with kohl and he wore a suit with a Temnian silk cravat.