The Motion of Puppets(14)
“They were in some farce together, ages ago, and I am not sure if either knows his proper title. What does it matter? They are made for disputations.” Catching her fingers in her strand of pearls, she pointed at another pair. On the bottom shelf, an elaborately decorated rod puppet with ram’s horns and a horrid black goatee, his crimson body filigreed with swirls of gold leaf inlaid in the finest teak, played at hide-and-seek with what looked like a bunch of sticks in a gossamer shirt to which had been affixed a pair of wire and lace wings. “The Devil seeks his due,” she said. “He is a foreigner, an Indonesian wayang, a minor deity of some lascivious intent, but we just call him the Devil.”
Masha called out to the girl hiding behind a spool of twine. “Hey, girl, what do we call you these days? Is it Peaseblossom? Or Cobweb? Asphodel? Or perhaps we should just call you Twiggy.”
“Get on out of that,” the girl said, angry that they had given her away. Her voice emerged from a bundle of sticks woven together in the shape of a face, and her eyes flashed like lit embers. “I am the Good Fairy, as you well know.” The Devil laughed and sprang to her at once, and she giggled in mock terror, sticks scraping on the wooden floor.
When the Devil passed by, the Dog barked, the sudden motion startling an old woman rocking on the edge of the counter, her short legs dangling in the air. At her side was the girl who had been so curious about Kay’s hair, a mere waif in a rag dress, a thatch of brittle yellow straw standing up on her head, staring back at them. “The gramma is the Old Hag,” said Olya. “Don’t worry about hurting her feelings by calling her so. Deaf as a block of wood.” She dropped her voice to a whisper and hunkered in close to Kay. “And the little one is No?. Be careful, dahlink, for she is med as a hetter. I will tell you a secret. No? has tried to make her escape many, many times, and that is why old Firkin posts himself at the door. We cannot have such madness let loose into the world.”
“And why does she want to leave?” Kay asked.
The Sisters tensed and lifted themselves from their recumbent positions, sitting up like respectable ladies. Each gave the others a knowing look, signaling a tacit agreement to let the truth alone. Masha spoke: “Who knows why anyone goes crazy? The mind invents its own miseries. I myself prefer to be the very model of happiness. And I advise you to do the same.”
Kay could not stop watching the straw-haired girl. At first she seemed merely still and self-possessed, but in time her inner enchantments began to leak out. No? twisted her fingers together and pulled them apart. Through her thin shirt her clockwork heart beat like a dove’s. In a lull in the symphony of conversation in the room, she could be heard humming to herself, not unlike the mockingbird singing in the predawn world outside.
“Come, zaichik,” Olya said. “And meet the Queen before the night is through.”
Taking her hand, she stepped off the edge, floating to a soft landing. Still unused to walking after such a long spell, Kay had to lean on the Russian woman’s arm. Seated by the curtains dividing the Back Room from the toy store, on a throne made out of oatmeal boxes, the Queen was the most lifelike, the most beautiful of them all. Carved from tiger maple, the grain running lengthwise from brow to chin, her face and classical features were set off elegantly by a corona of jet-black hair cascading to her shoulders. Her robes were dyed pomegranate, and in one hand she held a scepter cunningly painted in shades of gold. At her feet sat a horrid creature, a green foam puppet, his misshapen head dominated by a large pair of plastic googly eyes, a primitive mishmash inspired by Picasso, the saddest face Kay had ever seen. He mewled like a kitten as she approached, covering himself under his mistress’s hems.
“Pay no attention to that Worm,” Olya said. “His name is simply that, and he is more to be pitied than feared.” Five paces away, she kicked out her foot and the puppet slid farther beneath the Queen’s skirts, quivering and muttering complaints. They stopped in front of her and curtsied.
“Majesty, may I present … ah, my little angel, I have forgotten your name, if I ever learned it.”
“Kay,” she said and rose to face her. “Kay Harper.”
The Queen tipped her chin in greeting.
Olya bowed as well before continuing her tale. “She is the latest sent over to us by the Original in the Front Room. Stitched and sewn by the Quatre Mains and the Deux Mains themselves in the last moon. Kay Harper comes from beyond. She is an acrobat, Majesty. A tumbler.”
“You have been on the stage?”
“I have,” she said. “Just recently in the cirque, but for some years before in both competitions and performance.”
“That will serve you well, when the time comes.”
“So I have been told.”
“If you are chosen.” The Queen corrected herself with a beatific smile. “Remember your training, and you will have many a happy time with the puppeteers. I am afraid that some of us forget how to behave.” With her toe, she nudged the squirming Worm below the throne. “You will want some opportunity now and then to play a new part. Change is everything in this place.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Queen bent closer, looking Kay in the eyes. “If you follow a few simple rules, all will be as it should. We are free to move about after midnight and before the first light of day, as long as we are ourselves alone. And we do not leave the Back Room and certainly never venture into the Front Room. You must not bother the toys on the other side. Live simply and know your place.”