So Silver Bright (27 page)

By the time Bertie
arrived onstage carrying the burden of both dress and flowers, the river scene was not only in place but properly obscured by the spectral wafting that was the scrim. Although never before part of this scene, the ancient trees wove seamlessly into the landscape, supporting the floor and ceiling after the tunnel’s collapse.

“Th’ headset works,” Nate noted in passing.

“The lights are all rigged!” Mustardseed said, clapping his hands.

“And gelled Lagoon Green,” Moth said.

Bertie peered past them, suspicions pricked by the air of productivity and goodwill. “Where’s Varvara?”

“Hiding in the back of the auditorium.” Cobweb jerked his thumb at the farthest row of seating where the fire-dancer was indeed huddled in a chair, looking simultaneously terrified and miserable. “The moment she caught sight of the wooden waves, she fled.”

Bertie frowned. “Someone needs to mind that she doesn’t set the seats on fire.”

“Th’ sneak-thief is back there,” Nate noted, wiping a trickle of sweat out of his eyes. “Keepin’ a wary eye on things.”

“That will have to suffice, I guess.” Bertie crossed to the quick-change corner. When she snapped on the lantern, bluish light poured over her as though from a fairy-tale moon. She drew up short, realizing this was the place where Ophelia caught the silver fish of clarity. “Pink carnations are for mothers.”

“What?” Mustardseed arrived on the scene only to prove he’d never been schooled in the more polite alternative of “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s nothing.” A little nothing. A revelation so small it would have made no difference to almost anyone but a seventeen-year-old girl. It had not been the sort of discovery that would launch a thousand ships, shake the foundation of an empire, alter the future for all of humanity. No, it had simply changed one life, Bertie’s own, forever. “Get out of here while I change.”

Peaseblossom herded the boys away with admonishments of “Go on, shoo!” and flapping of her skirts. The fairy returned seconds later to serve as a tiny handmaiden, presiding over the many tiers of silk organza, the laces that ran down Bertie’s spine, the minute ruffles reminiscent of ocean ripples.

“It’s eerie,” Peaseblossom said, “seeing you in Ophelia’s costume.”

“Trust me, it’s twice as discomfiting to be wearing Ophelia’s costume.”

Again.

Bertie twitched her shoulder blades, startled that the dress fit her own body as well as it did. Her mother was a full three inches shorter, so the gown ended above Bertie’s ankles instead of the floor, but they appeared to be built similarly through the waist and bust. “At least I’m not falling out the top.”

“Indeed, that’s not the sort of show I had in mind!” Peaseblossom stopped fiddling with the dress long enough to add a small wreath of flowers to Bertie’s hair. “There you are. Not a carbon copy but certainly an adequate understudy.”

“I don’t want her part, I only want the performance to pull her through.” Gathering the rest of the flowers in her hands, Bertie stepped behind the scrim and took a deep breath. “I’ll need you to perform Gertrude’s speech, Pease.”

“I could totally do it,” Moth said, arriving with a sulk already in place. “That’s discrimination, casting her just because she’s a girl.”

“If you want the part, by all means, it’s yours!” Peaseblossom put her hands on her hips. “Though I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about. You don’t even like
Hamlet.
”

“Humph,” Moth said, because it was true. “Fine, you take it. You look better in long skirts anyway.” He flitted away to join Mustardseed and Cobweb, who were loudly partaking of a snack in Bertie’s usual seat, Fifth Row, Center. “Hey, save some for me!”

“They’re vinegar and salt!” was Cobweb’s faint greeting, indicating Ariel had retrieved them a packet of crisps from the Green Room.

Though she didn’t think she could stomach food, Bertie’s midsection rumbled a bit, matching the last groaning creak of scenery as Nate and Ariel approached. Both sets of footfalls fell suddenly silent when the boys caught sight of her.

“Will I do?” Bertie smoothed a nervous hand over her skirts.

“Ye’ll do just fine,” Nate said, voice hoarse.

“You would think so,” Ariel murmured, “given that it’s the garment of a fellow water creature.”

The pirate slanted a dark look at the air elemental and added, “Though I wouldn’t ha’e ye do this at all, given my preference.”

“It’s not your decision to make.” Bertie carefully leaned against the nearest flat, not quite trusting it with her weight, but suddenly dizzy from lack of food and sleep.

“There was a time when I’d ha’e carried ye off over my shoulder t’ keep ye safe, but that was th’ child. Ye’ve grown int’ a woman that’s mine neither t’ command nor t’ claim—”

Interrupting, wooden waves slid into the area upstage of the scrim. Bertie had to set all thoughts of commanding or claiming aside.

“You need to take your places in the audience,” she whispered. “The show’s about to begin.”

The men obeyed with visible reluctance; before they’d quite departed, the sound of the water, both mechanical and ethereal, washed over Bertie. A misty spray spangled her face as the wooden river currents twisted about the center axles spanning the width of the stage. Glued along the edges of the waves, tiny mirrors caught the light and cast it back like so much glitter. Bertie could only hope nothing would grasp her, chew up her flesh, grind her bones to dust.

Banish these maudlin thoughts … I have a specter to summon and memories to pluck from this place like the flowers I’ve gathered.

When Bertie concentrated, she could almost imagine Ophelia’s soft voice saying, “I heard the water running.” But water and wishing were not enough to conjure her.

“Go ahead and start the speech, Pease.”

The fairy took her place Downstage, having changed into a regal frock that appeared to have been, once upon a time, an embroidered pocket square. Her whisper pierced the sudden darkness that fell when the stage lights dimmed. “Are you certain you’re ready?”

“’Tis time I was ready.”

Peaseblossom nodded and began with “‘There is a willow grows aslant a brook, that shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.’”

Gertrude’s next line was Bertie’s cue to make flower garlands, fantastic concoctions of crow flowers and nettles, daisies and long purples. Sitting under the largest of the trees that lined the riverbank and leaning against the paint-rough bark, Bertie hummed while she worked. The wordless song vibrated in the back of her throat, as strong as a colony of bees ensconced in a golden hive. It surrounded her, louder than the workings of the water, echoed by every bough and twig upon the stage.

There was magic afoot, and Bertie twisted her hands in her skirts, willing Ophelia to appear, willing the memories to waltz out of the waves. The air beyond the river shimmered faintly, the mirrors catching light that was gold and silver and pure diamond white.

She’s on the other side.

Rising, Bertie nearly stumbled over a tree root. Filtered by the scrim, the fairies’ collective gasp was barely audible, but Nate’s curse would have carried to a distant ship. She held up her hand, not wishing them to break whatever magic surrounded her, fearing she’d never reach Ophelia if they interrupted now. She followed that with a finger jab at Peaseblossom, who skipped to the important bit.

“‘There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke…’”

Reaching out her arm to place the flower garland upon the nearest branch, Bertie tried not to look down into the gnashing teeth of the hungry river. As required, there was just enough room to land between the “waves” and disappear from the audience’s view.

If she didn’t accidentally fall upon one of the rolling columns of wood.

If her skirts didn’t catch on a splintered end and drag her into the machinery.

At the far back of the stage, all that was silver, gold, and white wave-reflected light coalesced into the faintest feminine shape.

“Go on, Pease,” Bertie hissed at her, “you have to hurry and finish it!”

The fairy obliged. “‘When down her weedy trophies and herself fell in the weeping brook.’”

Bertie took a deep breath and let go, prepared to fall, prepared for the possibility of pain if it meant reaching Ophelia. Except the moment she released the branch, the tree that had been her support quivered. Bits of jigsawed and painted wood suddenly sprouted a dozen green tendrils that wrapped about her wrist. The garland she’d hung upon its branches like a funereal wreath trembled as Bertie dangled over the river. Peaseblossom tried to adhere to the adage “The show must go on!”

“‘Her clothes spread wide,’” she squeaked, “‘and, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up.’”

Bertie very much doubted she looked like a mermaid, and she could see past the glare of the footlights that Nate and Ariel had abandoned their seats. She had only seconds to free herself and fall, to reach the ghost figure that now held out importuning hands.

“Child of mine,” came a fading voice over the rush of the water, and with a surge of adrenaline, Bertie tried to jerk herself free from her leaf-bedecked bonds. Shouting curses instead of the script-required “old lauds,” she willed the tree to let her go. A creaking protest emanated from the wood holding her; it seemed the very timbers of the theater itself shuddered until she whispered, “The water is wooden. I’ll be safe.”

The tree took her at her word, its tendrils giving way, loosing her from its grip as it would a leaf in autumn.

It would have been nice, Bertie reflected, to similarly drift down, swirling in the winds that surrounded her as Ariel tried to rush the stage; instead, she landed hard between two of the mechanical waves. The one behind her immediately caught hold of her dress’s long train, chewing through the fabric and dragging Bertie back. Freeing herself with a desperate twist and a rip, she popped up like a demented jack-in-the-box. Ophelia’s wraith had solidified, the rear wall no longer visible through her body.

“It’s working!” Bertie’s bellow was nearly lost, ripped from her mouth and flung at Peaseblossom. “Finish the damn speech!”

“‘… but long it could not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay…’” Here the fairy gulped and shook her head.

Bertie clambered over the next wave and the next, flinching when they smashed into her shins, tripping over the unexpected chains that traversed the stage. “Finish it!”

“‘To muddy death,’” Peaseblossom finished, eyes round and lips trembling.

Bertie reached for the water-maiden, clamping down upon Ophelia’s wrist as she gasped, “Mom! Stay with—”

The last word was lost when Bertie went down, caught by a piece of unseen machinery and towed under the rotating set pieces. A dozen rusty nails, jagged screws, and tiny mirrors dragged claws across her flesh, their sharp edges recalling the rocks that had pressed down upon her back in the Sea Goddess’s cavern. Memory and panic opened a doorway in Bertie’s mind, and through it, Sedna finally found a way inside the theater. The world shifted. Everything that had been wood and paint was now moss and slime and sluggish water. All that had been Ophelia evaporated like dew on rose petals in July, leaving the green glimmer-glass reflection of the Sea Goddess free to speak in an eel’s hiss, her words the slap of kelp against the skin.

“I told you this place would suffer for your insolence.”

The Sea Goddess’s minions clambered onto the stage through unseen pipes. Tiny crabs pulled out strands of Bertie’s hair, and sea horses nipped at her ankles. A massive saltwater wave picked her up, slammed her into the stage, caught her in a riptide, and dragged her back.

“You will let her go.” The command seemed to come from a great distance, but was not issued by either Nate or Ariel. Strong hands clamped down upon Bertie, pulling her free from the water, both wooden and wet, and she was blinking up into the furious face of the Scrimshander.

“How did you get in here?” Bertie sputtered through the mud lingering in her mouth.

“You had as much to do with it as I did,” he said. “I gave chase when Sedna entered through your very thoughts.”

Fresh disappointment coated Bertie’s tongue. “You were following her?”

“I had a message most important to deliver.” The feathers fell again as he finished transforming into a human father trying to protect his young. Indeed, he placed himself between Bertie and her foe. “Time has changed us both,” he said to Sedna. “For the sake of the people we once were, you must stop playing this deadly game with me and mine.”

“You betrayed the woman I once was.” The Sea Goddess swelled with malevolence, exuding rage though every pore.

Beyond her, Nate and Waschbär approached at a run while Ariel alighted upon the stage and raised the Stage Manager’s headset to his lips. Though he banished the river set, Sedna could not be made to similarly disappear.

Ignoring the others, she cast word-nets at the Scrimshander. “I see heredity at work in your daughter, for she is just as obstinate and treacherous as you ever were. I should have used a swordfish to slit her throat! I ought to have boiled her bones clean and fed her guts to the urchins!”

“Enough!” The Scrimshander’s roar filled the auditorium, sending the fairies tumbling back through the air and startling Bertie nearly out of her skin. “Make no mistake, I know my contributions to your cruelty, but my daughter will not suffer again for what passed between us.”

“Don’t think of it as suffering, think of it as balancing the scales.” Hair caught in unseen currents, the Sea Witch jetted forward. The Scrimshander lunged for her, his protest a wordless bird screech, but Sedna had already enveloped Bertie in a dark bubble of squid ink, already wrapped one starfish hand about her neck. “I will have payment for all that was taken from me.”

Beyond the swirling black that surrounded her, Bertie could just make out her father, Nate, Ariel, Waschbär, the fairies. Though they tried to broach the bubble’s membrane with shouts and fists and swords, the delicate thing was somehow stronger and thicker than even the Queen’s glass gates. Bertie held out her hands, tried to manipulate it from within, but there was nothing of earth about it, nothing that could be coaxed or coerced.