Shadow Magic (2009) Page 25

  Lord Temur regarded us for a long moment. At length, he replied, “Completely.”

  Alcibiades favored Josette with a look that suggested he thought her the worst of traitors, and gazed sadly at what wine was left in his cup.

  I patted his hand, and used that extremely opportune moment to turn our conversation around.

  “Speaking of characters, my dears, can anyone give me any more detail on this play that’s slated for our entertainment tonight?”

  Josette shook her head, and Lord Temur leaned forward, his voice pitched low and careful, though whether this was because it was taboo to speak about plays before they occurred, or whether he merely did not wish to spoil the surprise for the other men and women around us, I couldn’t guess.

  “It is one of the old classics,” he said, “about the princess who lives in the moon.”

  “She must get very lonely,” Alcibiades whispered loudly. His eyes were wide with inebriated sincerity.

  Josette clucked her tongue in disapproval. “It’s only a story, Alcibiades.”

  “No, in this case the general is correct,” Lord Temur said, correcting her gently. “It is rather a sad tale, about one who has a home but can never return to it without feeling a great loss for the man she has fallen in love with.”

  “Ah,” said Josette, sobering up considerably, despite her foray into the bottle of wine she’d appropriated from Alcibiades.

  Lord Temur nodded. “In some sense, it is a story about homes and the loss of them. I do wonder at the choice of program; would not a comedy have been best? But likely it has no real meaning behind it. The play is one of our most popular. If at any time you are interested in learning more of our history, you will find it mentioned in all the classics.”

  There was a faint shadow of an expression on Lord Temur’s face—one that I was beginning to associate with something very close to anxiety. I wondered if it were the poor second prince he was thinking of, who had certainly lost his home, though not for any love. If that was what the Emperor meant by showing us the play, then it was deviously cruel of him.

  Somehow, this did not surprise me. Perhaps it was because I’d seen him fight that I felt with such certainty all the things I’d only been able to speculate upon before. I had no understanding of the way a prince of the Ke-Han was raised, of course, but when I thought of how that sweet little creature had smiled at Josette’s joke without understanding the half of it, and the careful way he’d shaped his words to sound like ours, I thought perhaps that it wasn’t the way they’d been raised at all. Some things were simply born in the blood.

  “So wait,” Alcibiades said, with more interest than I’d heard him exhibit all night. “This princess. She lives on the moon?”

  “That sounds lovely,” I said hurriedly. “We’ve been so looking forward to seeing a theatre performance. Why, we were nearly to the point of hiring out a carriage and going back to the theatre ourselves, weren’t we, my dear?”

  “Yeah,” Alcibiades said, rather startling me with his agreement. If that was the effect clear wine was going to have on him, I would have to have a bottle sent to his room every evening; then we could take evening constitutionals, or gossip about the day’s events together. It would do wonders for our friendship. “Well, it’ll be a nice change from all the singing, no mistake about that. Caius, what in bastion’s name are you kicking me for?”

  I smiled, hastily and winningly. “It was an accident, my dear.”

  “The food’s coming out,” Josette said, sounding as grateful as I felt. We couldn’t have planned its timing to be more felicitous.

  While I was rather enjoying this new side of Alcibiades, it was probably for the best that he find something to occupy his mouth with rather than talking. It was one thing to create a sensation just by the clothes one was wearing and quite another to be impolitic. I wasn’t entirely certain that Alcibiades was on his guard enough at the moment to catch his little slips.

  I would have to catch them for him, I resolved. Even if it did mean resigning myself to kicking him under the table all night long. That was what friends were for.

  Alcibiades looked up hopefully at the twin rows of servants bearing food. Each was carrying our starters, which of late had been clear soups, or small bowls of white rice. His favorite, to date, had been a broth poured over hot, flat noodles that we’d not seen replicated, but hope sprang eternal in his simple heart.

  It was rather sweet, really. He was so earnest.

  That night, it seemed, we were all in for rather a lovely surprise, as what the servants put down in front of each of us was a round dish with three cooked dumplings in the center. They were floating in an inch of delicious-smelling broth, and looked plump, as if they’d burst as soon as you attempted to pick one up. They weren’t fried, like the kind we’d enjoyed in the capital, but they looked just as mouthwatering. I sincerely hoped that Alcibiades would find three an ample number.

  “You must be very careful with these,” Lord Temur counseled us. He had a rather pleased look about his eyes and mouth, which I supposed passed for a large and winning smile among Ke-Han warlords. He knew as well as I did that dumplings were Alcibiades’ preferred fare, at least when it came to Ke-Han delicacies. “The soup that they are filled with is quite hot, and you will burn your tongue while eating them, unless you take the proper care.”

  “Armphg,” said Alcibiades, waving a hand in front of his mouth and reaching for the water pitcher like a man possessed. His cheeks were nearly so red as to match his coat.

  Josette hid a laugh behind her hand and eyed her own dumplings with considerably more circumspection.

  “That is most prudent advice,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “You must eat them like this,” Lord Temur said, once Alcibiades had emptied two glasses of water, and his eyes were less bright, his cheeks less crimson. “If you place it on your spoon, and pierce the wrapper like so with the end of your stick, the broth inside will fill your spoon like soup, making it far easier to cool with your breath.”

  There was a moment’s silence after that as Josette, Alcibiades, and I all endeavored to follow Lord Temur’s sage advice. After some demure—and not so demure, in Alcibiades’ case—slurping, we’d managed the dumplings well enough; the broth inside was nearly sweet for a tantalizing moment, before it turned spicy, and we were all pleasantly surprised.

  “I have endeavored to counsel the cooks in their choices for each evening’s repast,” Lord Temur said, before he set to work on his own dumplings. “I would not want our esteemed guests to go hungry.”

  “More dumplings,” Alcibiades said, with a winning smile.

  Lord Temur inclined his head in recognition of the request. “I shall take it under advisement.”

  “Seems odd, though,” Alcibiades went on, not entirely tactlessly; he simply sounded curious, “that a man like you would be in the position of telling cooks what to do. Isn’t that a little below your station?”

  I saw Josette’s fingers twitch in her lap, but Lord Temur merely smiled his diplomat’s smile—the one that revealed nothing and which even I failed in attempting to parse. The Ke-Han warlords were impossible to read, rolled up tight as forbidden scrolls, and even more tormenting because of it.

  “Since it seemed that you were having such trouble with our earlier meals, General Alcibiades, I only wished to make things easier on your stomach,” Lord Temur declared. If I hadn’t known better, I might have said he was enjoying our conversation—not because of the topic, mind, but rather because of its blunt honesty. Perhaps he needed a little more of that in his life. Perhaps we all did. “Noodles and broth and dumplings seem better suited to your tastes than some of the other, less familiar delicacies our chefs have to offer.”

  “I’ve eaten some pretty awful things in my time,” Alcibiades said, “but at least it was Volstovic and awful, if you take my meaning.”

  “Somehow I think I do,” Lord Temur replied dryly.

  Our conversation was sadly cu
t short as the second course arrived, and then the third—rice and rice noodles and more fish, which Alcibiades was leery of until hunger got the better of him. Thankfully, the business of eating kept him momentarily quiet, although he did lean over and intimate to me, in the midst of a particularly tricky portion of catfish lined with countless little bones, that he missed a good tea-cake more than anything, and didn’t these Ke-Han have proper sweets?

  “I don’t think you need any more sweets,” I replied, delighted to be able to tease him properly.

  “I’m not that out of shape,” he grumbled, albeit good-naturedly. “Getting back into it, anyway. Any more of this Ke-Han diet and I’ll be skinnier than you are.”

  “Who knows,” I said. “It might allow you to be quicker on your feet.”

  “Like an emperor,” he muttered, and we both glanced toward the dais, where Emperor Iseul was eating as though neither gods nor royalty ever deigned to get hungry. Alcibiades skewered some of the fish on his plate with hands too large for his sticks and the delicate fillet was flaked to pieces by his attempts. “Do you suppose he’s ever cracked a smile?”

  “I’m sure he has, my dear,” I said, though it was a flippant response, and without real thought or honesty behind it. When we were in a group like this, then we were of necessity still diplomats. I was quite skilled when it came to lying, and by my understanding, a diplomat’s sole duty was to lie through his teeth no matter what obstacles lay in his path. However, I would have preferred not to lie to Alcibiades, and so resolved to answer his question more seriously later in the evening, when we were alone and I could do so freely. I did so wish to speak of the Emperor—I did so wish to learn what Alcibiades had learned directly from the source, by fighting with him. Soldiers and warriors had instincts I barely understood.

  Depending on whether or not Alcibiades succeeded in procuring more of that refreshing water or not, of course. It had worked so far very much in my favor; with its aid, I might even convince him to spend some time before bed discussing the day’s events without him calling it gossipmongering. It wasn’t gossipmongering simply to confer on occurrences of some interest to us both. But the wine was bound to make him somewhat more amenable.

  After dinner there were no teacakes, but a pale, flavored gelatin that even Josette had trouble eating with her sticks. The problem was that it went all to pieces the moment you exerted any pressure on it, so that the safest way was to maneuver a soft hold. It required a control that I endeavored to mimic from Lord Temur’s example. I’d never seen the like of such desserts in Volstov, of course, and after having eaten some here, I wouldn’t precisely have called it my favorite of desserts, but it was delightfully mild and light, a palate cleanser as an end to the meal.

  Dessert aside, there may have been some truth in Alcibiades’ words about losing weight on a diet of strictly Ke-Han foods. Perhaps once we got back, I would recommend it to one or two of my friends, who had little success with heavier Volstovic fare.

  No one stood after our sumptuous meal was through. It was customary to wait for the Emperor to make his move first, of course, but after dessert there was to be the theatre company’s production, and though I’d imagined we might at least rearrange the chairs and clear the tables out of the way to make an empty space for the troupe to perform, no one moved.

  Alcibiades stroked his stomach, his fingers feeling their way around the new buttons of his coat in a way that brought satisfaction to his face, I hoped; it was always possible his satisfaction was inspired simply by the fullness of his stomach.

  “Let’s have the play, then,” he said, as if he’d taken leave of his senses completely and thought he was the Emperor. Then again, after their little encounter, I didn’t think that the Emperor was the sort of man Alcibiades would be comparing himself to anytime soon.

  “I’m certain that it will be starting at any moment,” Lord Temur said, aligning his sticks neatly at the front of his bowl.

  Then, as if summoned by some external force, a pair of servants went scurrying toward the front entrance to the dining hall, the way we’d all come in.

  All at once the actors appeared in the doorway, and they were a curious-looking group by all accounts. The men wore their hair pushed back off their faces, and some of them kept it pinned back under skullcaps. The women wore their hair looped back in elaborate curling styles that were more fascinating than even the Ke-Han warrior braids. All had eyes lined in dark pencil, and the imperfections in their faces smoothed over with a fine patina of white stage makeup, so that each glistened more like a mask. Their clothing was dark and clung to their bodies in the style I’d seen in town—short robes and leggings. I could only assume that these were the finest actors in the capital. One couldn’t mistake their graceful posture, or the way some of the older or more muscled members swaggered down the center aisle, as though not even performing for the Emperor himself could faze them.

  “They are all men,” Lord Temur narrated, in a low whisper. “Many years ago and well before my time, local authorities had… a great deal of trouble with members of the audience who grew overly excited while gazing upon such beauties.”

  “Oh, how wonderful,” I said.

  “Just like the prince, huh?” Alcibiades said, thankfully in a voice low enough that only I could hear it. “Maybe it’s a Ke-Han preoccupation.”

  Behind the actors came their stagehands and costumers—men and women carrying cloth bundles on their backs, and large paper screens upon which were painted country landscapes at night. Their faces were entirely unremarkable to look at, and I wondered if any of them had signed on with the troupe in the hopes of being actors, only to have their poor little hopes and dreams dashed to pieces. There was all sort of hardship in the world waiting for those who were mediocre.

  One or two men in our party craned their necks around with interest, as though they’d never seen so much as a common mummer’s production. Others began whispering excitedly at the utter foreignness of the group parading before us. Whatever else I could say about the Emperor, he was at least a man who knew how to entertain his guests.

  The costumers opened their bags behind the night-screens, so that all we could see were the shadowy outlines of clothing being removed—what I imagined to be the finest of robes kept hidden from the audience until the performers made their appearance swathed in them. As the actors prepared, the lights were dimmed, the lantern-bearing servants rearranging themselves and spreading out to the farthest edges of the chamber.

  “I do say,” I whispered, laying a hand on Alcibiades’ arm. “This is the most delightfully eerie atmosphere for a play. I thought that it was meant to be a love story!”

  “Nah.” Alcibiades shook his head, but refrained from trying to shake me off as usual. “It’s a play about ghosts, isn’t it? I don’t know of any real people who could’ve lived on the moon, anyway.”

  Lord Temur seemed to have overheard our conversation, as he leaned forward on his elbows, dropping his voice to a murmur. “In fact, our most traditional plays are meant to convey times past, so that in many ways they are all—just as you stated, General—about ghosts. They are simply the ghosts from and of our past, instead of those more supernatural creatures you might first imagine when you hear the word. In that sense, you are both correct. It is a love story and a ghost story both.”

  Josette shivered as though she’d felt a turn in the air. “Some of them looked like supernatural creatures. The actors, I mean. If you don’t mind my saying so, Lord Temur.”

  He shook his head, smiling a diplomat’s smile. I thought that if Lord Temur weren’t careful, we’d convince him to start making expressions all the time, and he’d be lost for certain among his peers. Or, at least, he would begin to make a very poor diplomat. “They are not meant to look natural. If that is what you meant, then you are paying them a compliment.”

  “Oh.” Josette nodded, not looking entirely sure that she’d meant it to be one. “Right, then.”

  “I wonder whic
h one was the princess in the moon,” Alcibiades said, toying idly with one of his sticks. As seemed par for the night, he was speaking far too loudly. “I hope it was the one with his hair all dolled up in curls.” And then, as though it were the most scandalous piece of news he could have shared with us: “He winked at me, you know.”

  Across the table, Josette stiffened, and I had to hide my laughter behind my sleeve once again.

  “I fear the language barrier would prove too much for you, my dear,” I said, doing my best to console him. “Not to mention the difference in nationality. He is from the moon, and all.”

  Alcibiades snorted. “You don’t need language for everything. Let alone worrying about a barrier. If he was a woman, I mean.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said, just as Josette clucked her tongue angrily once again.

  “The play’s starting,” she said.

  I turned around immediately, glad for some excuse that would silence Alcibiades’ tongue, at least until I could spirit him back to his room. I was interested in this new development, but it was decidedly unhealthy as far as diplomatic relations went. At the same time, I was rather amused. One would think a stubborn old soldier like Alcibiades would hold his liquor better; it all seemed to have gone to his head in a matter of moments.

  In the absence of so many lantern-bearers, the light in the dining hall was diffuse and dim. It complemented the setting before us, of a pale noblewoman clad in robes patterned with red and gold chrysanthemums. Her lips were painted a bright crimson, her hair swept up and pinned back with delicate gold ornaments that tinkled as she moved. She—he—was very beautiful. I didn’t know if the actor was the one that Alcibiades had taken an inadvertent fancy to, though.

  A woman in plain dress sat at the front corner of the stage they’d set up, kneeling on a large, squat cushion. She held what I’d come to recognize as one of the traditional Ke-Han stringed instruments—with a long, slender neck, curved just at the top, and a stout, round body—and before I could think to warn Alcibiades, she’d swept the strings with her long fingernails and begun to sing.