Winterlong (28 page)

“Why not? I won’t hurt her: just a moment, just long enough to learn more about him—”

“You already heard what Miramar said. There was a girl, they sold her to the Ascendants—”

“
I
was that girl!” Suddenly I felt more frightened than I had since I first saw the Boy; but also enraged, as though everything since that moment had been a betrayal. I grabbed him in a fury. “Sold like a fucking animal
by a whore!
Sold to the Ascendants so that I could be patterned with some monster, so that I could be melted down for
this!”

I pointed at my head, screaming as my entire body shook. I was on the verge of a seizure. When Justice tried to restrain me I struck him, sending him reeling.

“Where is that boy?”
I shouted. “Raphael Miramar—what kind of a brain does
he
have, the suzein’s favorite,
why wasn’t he sold?”

Justice stared, terrified. I fell to my knees, my voice strangling as I brought my head back and then smashed it against the floor.

“No, Wendy!”

I heard him cry out, but only dimly. Already it calmed me, that warm wave of enkephalins rushing through my mind in response to the pain I could not feel. I struck my head again, and again, until finally I lay exhausted, my cheek resting against the floor as I breathed heavily. From the other side of the room I heard Justice weeping.

Minutes passed. I heard another, softer sound. I glanced up to see Justice standing by the open door, turning to look from me back to a small figure silhouetted against the hall’s dusky glow.

“Fancy,” I said thickly. I thought she might be frightened, to see me crouched upon the floor like this; but it was obvious she had seen many stranger things in her few, years. Still blinking with sleep, she smiled up at Justice, then peered into our chamber. She had yet to recognize me.

“Thank you,” Justice called after some figure retreating down the hall. He was careful to shield the doorway so that no one might see inside.

“Miramar said I have been engaged by a gentleman. You are he?” The girl stood on tiptoe, arms outstretched so that he might lift her. Justice stared down awkwardly, then with a sigh closed the door and shook his head.

“No. This—you have been engaged by another gentleman. Aidan Arent, a Player. There.” He gestured to where I lay upon the floor.

Still smiling, Fancy turned, taking a few steps to follow the shadow of his arm upon the carpet. When she saw me she stopped.

“Raphael!”

I braced myself, holding one hand out to keep her from me.

“No, Fancy,” I said, struggling to my feet. But already she hugged my legs. I could feel her entire small body vibrating with excitement. “Aidan, my name is Aidan. You saw me earlier this evening—”

“Raphael,” she repeated. Her face pressed against my thigh. Her eyes were shut tight against my denial. “I miss you.”

“No, Fancy,” I began, then sighed. I felt calmer now. “Come sit here,” I said more gently. I settled back upon the floor. Fancy clambered into my lap, still not meeting my eyes. From across the room Justice watched us impassively.

“I am not Raphael Miramar,” I began again. I took her chin in my hand and forced her to look at me. “See? I’m
not.”

“You look just like him.” She reached to touch my hair. His would have been long, braided in a heavy russet chain. I nodded as she stroked the small raised node upon my temple.

“But I’m not him.”

“You’re not him.” Her voice no longer held much doubt. She squirmed in my lap, her little hands stroking my thigh. I thought suddenly that she might discern my disguise—she was, after all, a prostitute—and shifted until I had her perched upon my knees. She raised her hand to trace the line of my chin. “Are you his twin?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” A child; what matter what she knew or thought of me, really? “I’m a Player, I travel through the City with Toby Rhymer’s troupe. You saw us tonight.”

“You were that lady—” She frowned, stuck a finger in her mouth.

“That’s right: Viola. I was in disguise. I pretended to be a lady in the play. Do you pretend things, Fancy?”

She nodded solemnly. “All the time. Miramar teaches us to pretend lots of things.” She tilted her head and smiled across the room at Justice, then lifted her face to mine as for a kiss. I turned away, then looked down at her hand upon my knee. A small scab on her wrist, like a star.

“Did you cut yourself?” I asked.

She nodded. “With Constance. She set the pinion too tight.”

I raised her hand to my lips so that I could kiss the broken skin. “Fancy, I want you to pretend something for me, something about your friend Raphael. Can you think of him, remember doing something with him?”

“Pretend for you? Like a game?” Her eyes widened. “I will do whatever you wish, sieur.”

I looked at Justice. He was pale, squatting by the door on a large pillow, but he returned my gaze unblinkingly. I turned back to Fancy.

“I want you to think of Raphael.” I bowed my head and whispered the words, lifting a coil of her golden hair to display one tiny ear. “Don’t pretend I’m him, just
think
of him. Of something that really happened.”

“Like when he was cacique at Winterlong last year? That really happened. I should think of that?”

Against my cheek her warm breath. Her long hair sweet with some floral soap, that sweet warm childhood smell still perfuming her skin. It made me dizzy, to imagine that
he
had sat with her like this, the small trembly weight against his thighs, her hands caressing his cheeks … .

“Yes.” I grabbed one of her hands and held it tightly, squeezing my eyes shut as I emptied my mind to tap her. Perhaps Justice was right; perhaps it was too dangerous, not for this child (I cared little for her, a mere courtesan), but for myself.

But I would know, I had to know something of him—

Because since I had heard Miramar’s tale earlier it was as though I had discovered myself to be a changeling, the goblin barter of some malevolent agent. And in learning this I suddenly felt I had lost everything I knew of Wendy Wanders; and only
he
might somehow make me whole again, Raphael Miramar, my beautiful brother—

“Does he look like me?” I asked in a low voice.

“We-ell.” She closed one eye to scrutinize my face. “His hair is longer, and he has a strawberry mark,
there.
And Raphael smiles more. His eyes don’t cross like yours.” She grazed my forehead with a finger. “It’s not all bruised there, either.”

“Show me,” I whispered, drawing her face to mine. “Think of him, don’t think of anything else. Kiss me.”

Her mouth was so tiny that I had to hold her chin steady so that I could find it, probe gently with my tongue; and how clumsy I felt before her quiet obedient response. I recalled Miramar’s cutting aside to Justice:

“He kisses like a Curator … he is not Raphael Miramar.
…”

Think of Melisande,
I told myself to keep from trembling.
A girl, she’s just another little girl, a whore besides
…

Sleep a soft fur upon her tongue. Her milk teeth small and sharp as a kitten’s. I shivered as she bit my lower lip, drew back murmuring
No
so that she would not break the skin.

“I’m thinking of Raphael,” she said.

“Good girl. Now shhh …”

I covered her mouth with one hand. With the other I took her wrist, brought it to my mouth. She giggled as I licked the rough skin, then frowned when I bit very gently where Constance’s pinion had left its own cold kiss.

“Ow.”

I moved my hand to cover her eyes. I didn’t want to alarm her, didn’t want panic to overwhelm the subtler impressions I sought. From the star upon her wrist blood welled.

“Raphael, remember Raphael,” I said. I bowed to lick the blood from her hand, rubbing her arm so that it would come faster. “Raphael.”

There was barely enough for me to taste, but it was sweet, nothing of salt or sweat or tears in her smooth skin. I moaned and squeezed harder on her wrist, until she cried out, arms flailing.

It is enough.

Winterlong …

There are the candles, twelve of them shimmering upon a high stone shelf, high high above me. Jada passes me the silver tray blued with negus flame and I try to snatch a snapdragon, wrens’ hearts burning crisp and red on their bed of green holly. Blue flame licks my fingers, I cry out and lick them and Jada makes a mean face, I hate her. Miramar is watching me from his big chair, he laughs so hard his gums show and he looks ugly.

—Here, Fancy, don’t cry!

He grabs Jada’s wrist, plucks a snapdragon from the tray, and tosses it in his palm ‘til it cools and then he pops it in my mouth. I like the burnt ones best. Where is Raphael? My dress itches, it scratches my stomach. Quistana Illyria picked it out. I hate her. Constance gave her an electrified eel lamp and seventeen grams of tristain for Winterlong but she kissed me when Miramar wasn’t there and I told Raphael before he left. Constance keeps smiling at me and now Quistana is mad and Jada and her are both sitting on Constance’s lap but she keeps smiling at me. Where is he?

Knock knock knock. Benedick and Small Thomas yell.

—Here is the Mayor!

They run to the door. Benedick knocks over the big thing with all the presents on it and Ketura picks them up, she looks so sad since she got back. The one wrapped in blue silver with the featherbells is mine from Raphael. It’s a mirror made of faĕ’ro eggs. I peeked.

—The Mayor, the Old Gray Mayor! yells Benedick. He goes to pull the door open but Neville Warnick grabs him.

—Ho ho ho little boy, I wouldn’t do that!

Benedick starts to cry because Neville is taking him to the Lustrous Chamber and he’ll miss the guise. I want to cry too because Raphael isn’t here yet. Small Thomas opens the door instead.

They are all there, the mummers in disguise for the Winterlong masque. Doctor Foster has on a big hat but I know it’s him. One of the Curators pretends to be afraid of him but Miramar tells him Shush, Listen.

—Who in this House will let the Winter in?

That is Galatea Saint-Alaban dressed as the Old Gray Mayor. She wears a black tuxedo and a horse’s head from the Zoologists. Mandala Persia showed me once where they keep the bones.

—Who will let me in?

—Not I, Miramar says very loud.

—Who will let the Winter in? That is Doctor Foster, he makes the Dead Boy in the masque better after he dies.

—Not me! Not me!

I yell too, I am laughing too even with Jada and Quistana, it is not such a bad dress. Malva Persia is dressed just like Aspasia Persia, when he walks in everybody laughs. He looks so funny! He lifts his dress and he has bells on, the Mayor pretends to bite him and he screams just like her.

—Who will let the Winter in, who will let the Winter in?

But nobody does. Old Nick comes, he was behind Malva. He kisses Ketura and gives her a golden hat but he gives me a peacock mask and throws comfits in the air.

—Send her on, send her on, we won’t keep the Winter here! everyone yells to Winter the Old Gray Mayor.

—Take her to Persia, take her to Illyria, take her to Saint-Alaban!

—Take her to the lazars! says Small Thomas, Take her to the la
—

Constance Beech kisses him so he will shut up.

—
I will be back! screams the Mayor. The bones clack and she takes off her top hat and paper snow comes out and her teeth snap clack-clack-clack. I know she is Galatea Saint-Alaban but it is scary anyway. I wish Raphael was here, I wish so hard I close my eyes. I open them, here he is.

—Fancy!

He smells so good, like opium and silver powder.

—They made me cacique! I can’t stay, Whitlock is paired with me, Miramar is late too and why are the masquers still here?

He grabs me and throws me in the air, I sit on his shoulders and pull his hair and everyone is looking at me because I am his favorite and he is everyone’s favorite, Raphael, they say Raphael! The Mayor goes snap and bites at his hair, he yells because his costume is getting messed.

—They’re waiting for you for Winterlong! he says. Hurry up! I have to go back
—

No one hears him, they are singing now. Doctor Foster takes the Mayor by a white rope and hits her, not hard. They hurry because they have to go to Illyria and Persia and Saint-Alaban last of all for the Masque of Winterlong. Everyone starts singing.

We will walk, we will wander

Farther on and over yonder

Not a song not a word nothing more is spoken

Hang the boy and raise the girl ‘til Winterlong is broken.

—Don’t go, Raphael.

—
I can’t stay, Whitlock is waiting! Hurry, Miramar!

—
I want to come!

—You’re too little.

Constance Beech frowns at me.

—
I want to come, I want to come!

—Let her! Raphael smiles, he takes me in his arms and swings me around and kisses me, his hair falls in my face and I see his eyes looking at me, gray eyes shading to green and he shakes his flaming hair and it falls in my face and it is him, Raphael Miramar, I can see him now and it is me, I am seeing my brother
—

I scream, thrash, and tear at wires that are not there.

“Go!” Justice is shouting. Something falls from my hands, another voice cries out, but it is too late, he is gone—

A door slams. Later it slammed again.

“She’s gone. I had their Doctor give her something. Maybe she won’t remember.” Justice’s face was dark with anger. “How could you be so careless? Didn’t you hear Miramar? The Ascendants are looking for someone, they may still be searching for you. If they hear of this—”

“You told me they think I’m dead. Leave me alone.” I stumbled toward the bed. Before I reached it he was there behind me, pulling me to him as I tried to push him away.

“Then
why not me,
Wendy? Why her and not me?” His voice cracked as he sought to caress me.