A Tale of Two Castles(13)

I was sure IT would tell me.

“You are a sensible girl, aside from desiring to be a mansioner. You would not have let a human thief near you.”

“Thank you.” I wished Mother could hear someone call me sensible—without knowing the someone was a dragon.

The road ended in mud and patches of grass. We approached the mansions from the rear. Each one was a huge rectangular box on wheels, though the wheels had been stopped with chunks of wood. During performances and rehearsals, the front long side of the mansion would be taken away, revealing the mansioners and the scenery. I heard no voices and guessed that the boxes had been shut against the weather.

Cats huddled under every mansion, waiting for fairer weather or for a hapless field mouse.

“If he is here, Sulow will be in the yellow mansion.”

Yellow for comedy. I wondered what that might signify.

We circled the mansion. A procession of jesters had been painted on the outside: juggling, beating drums, playing flutes, turning somersaults. Rounding the corner to the front, we found the door open just a crack.

Masteress Meenore folded ITs wing. I was soaked instantly.

The drenching gave me inspiration. Every year I had seen the mansioners of Lahnt perform The Princess and the Pea. I had tried the princess role at home, and Albin said it was my best. Now here I was, sufficiently bedraggled for a dozen true princesses.

I spoke the princess’s first line soundlessly because my voice had fled. My knock on the door was a whisper tap.

But after a moment the door creaked, and I heard, “Meenore?” in the round, sonorous tones of a mansioner.

I didn’t trust IT enough to attempt an accent. “Throw wide the castle doors”—by lucky accident, I sneezed three times as the door finished opening—“to admit a young princess of exalted lineage.”

A man of middling height stood in the doorway. He was thin, but with a moon face, flat nose, tight mouth, and shrewd, heavily lidded eyes that slid past me. “Go away, Meenore. I haven’t reconsidered.”

“Wait!” I cried.

“Sulow,” IT said, catching the door with a claw, “have I asked you to reconsider?” Raindrops sparkled in the red glow of ITs nostrils. “Here is an aspiring mansioner.”

Master Sulow’s eyes took me in at last. Puzzlement or annoyance creased his brow. “Yes?”

I spoke in a rush. “I seek an apprenticeship, a fifteen-year, free apprenticeship. I will labor harder and longer than—”

“There are no free apprenticeships. How old are you?”

Be truthful, Mother said. “Fourteen.”

Enh enh enh.

How I hated IT!

“Your name?”

“Lodie. I mean, Elodie, Master Sulow.”

“Can you wield a paintbrush?”

Be truthful. “Certainly.”

“A needle?”

That I could. “Yes.”

“You would toil without a tin for fifteen years, until you are twenty-seven?” His lips twitched. “Unpaid, unheralded for such a span of time?”

“If I will be a mansioner at the end of it, gladly.”

“Then you may audition for me.”

Perhaps the kitten had been lucky after all. Apprentice mansioners didn’t usually audition, since they wouldn’t be acting for years. I reasoned that Master Sulow must have a particular role in mind.

“Come in.” He backed away to let me in. “I have another guest, Young Elodie. Master Thiel here wants to be a mansioner as well, along with his cat.”

Did Master Thiel love mansioning, too? Were we kindred souls? I mounted the two steps and stood just inside the door.

Master Sulow sounded exasperated. “His cat! Without apprenticing, either one of them. And Meenore wants to sell ITs skewers at my entertainments.”

Two tallow candles cast a dim and smoky light. Master Thiel sat on a bench, his long legs extended, his features vivid in the candlelight and shadows. What a mansioner hero he would make! He rose and bowed when I entered, spilling Pardine from his lap.

I curtsied—not a quick bob down and up, as Mother had taught me, but the elaborate reverence I’d learned from Albin.

“We meet again,” Master Thiel said.

“Indeed,” I said with all the stateliness I could muster.

A bowl full of apples rested on a low table. I forgot Master Thiel and mansioning. In my state I might have traded my future for those apples.

Behind me, Masteress Meenore said, “Sulow, have you been engaged to mansion at the count’s feast?”

He answered, “I have, though I’d be happier if His Lordship watched in the form of a pig. A pig doesn’t pretend to be more than a beast.”

“I know a few humans,” IT said, “who combine pig, snake, and vulture without the excuse of shape-shifting.”

Master Thiel said, “Bring a cat for safety, Sulow.”

“I will. And a mansioner learns to protect himself in a thousand battle scenes, isn’t that so, young mistress?”

I started out of my apple reverie. “Yes, master.” Surely he would offer us apples. Hospitality demanded that he must.

IT said, “Give her an apple, Sulow. I doubt she’s eaten all day.” IT hadn’t given me a skewer, but IT had been selling them, so hospitality didn’t apply.