She cupped his cheek, then picked out the shawm and placed it in his lap. “Here, I think you should use this.”
“No, I . . .” He shook his head again. “I can’t anymore. She tore it out of me, wanted my song.”
“Who did?”
“The wraith. Water-wraith.”
“What water-wraith?”
He tried to answer. She watched his mouth working to shape words. Finally he lowered his head in defeat. Only a few hours ago he’d been teasing her, asserting his newfound independence. Now he couldn’t even explain what had happened to him.
From outside came Soter’s call to order: “Hear-ye all! Welcome to the Terrestre, returned like your span itself from the ash pit of the gods!” The crowd cheered.
Leodora left Diverus and returned to her seat before the screen. The puppets for the first tale were laid out there—the thief, the vizier, the princess, the emperor, and the dragons.
Overhead, dusk was coloring, darkening the sky. She lifted the flap on the screen, to which she’d already pinned the frame of a palace; she reached up with her other hand to turn the lantern on her cue. Peripherally she looked at Diverus, hunched over, motionless.
Soter finished his introduction, asking them to enjoy to the fullest the artfulness of Jax. Applause and whistling followed, the crowd rowdy and eager. She turned the lantern slowly to light the screen in the blue of evening.
From behind her, the eerie tenor of the shawm rose, tremulous, out of the booth, snaking up and around the theater like a lasso looped about them, drawing them tightly into its spell. As the last note of the introduction faded away, there wasn’t a sound from the audience.
Leodora relaxed, let go of the lantern, and began the tale of the Druid’s Egg.
TWO
The Druid’s Egg was followed by the tale of “How Chilingana Brought Death into the World,” although here in Colemaigne his name was Sparrowgrass and he shared certain ignoble traits with Meersh, and sometimes even replaced Meersh in stories. All of this Leodora had learned from Orinda.
At the end of the performance she stepped past Diverus and went out to take her bows. He, still in his trance, set down the wooden fish drum he’d played at the end in imitation of the rattling of Death’s bones, and then lay upon his side between the santur and the drums. When she returned, she found him softly snoring, which struck her both as amusing and oddly endearing, reminding her of the gulf of unvoiced emotion between them. She didn’t disturb him. The puppets lay strewn about, but there would be a second performance tonight and she would put things in order later. She had a few hours now, and at the moment what she wanted most was to speak to the one entity that must tell her what she wished to know. She left Diverus asleep on the floor.
She went to her tiny room and scooped up the Brazen Head.
Before she could ask it anything, Bois was at her door and gesturing furiously. Someone, it seemed, had come calling for her specifically. When she asked who, he made as if to stroke a huge plume coming off the top of his head, which she finally translated as someone of importance, at least in their own opinion, and from that arrived at the identity of the visitor: the governor of Colemaigne. She was wanted downstairs.
“All right,” she said, “but in a minute.”
Bois nodded and went off, his task complete.
When he’d gone, she dashed up the hall and through one of the balcony doorways, making sure no one saw her.
At the bottom of the ramp, before parting the curtains, she crouched low and waddled onto the balcony. It lay in shadow, the only light coming from the sconces around the theater below.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she held the pendant up by its chain. Its eyes were already open, staring back at her.
“You heard my question already, did you?”
“A shout can wake even the dead,” the lion replied.
“Don’t misdirect me with one of your riddles. Tell me true. How do I find Pons Asinorum?”
“Symmetry is the answer,” it replied as though that explained everything.
“How so?”
“Looks to and fro, inside and outside, true and false. At once forward, at once backward.”
“What looks to and fro?”
“Why, what you seek. That was your request.”
“Why is it you can never just say Go see Vorparal the Vintner and he’ll have your answer? Why is every answer a challenge?”