Orinda met them on the stage. “You did it perfectly—both of you.”
“I’m sure we were adequate at best,” Soter remarked.
“Far better than adequate, you foolish old man. She learned everything from you, which means you’ve as much skill as she.”
He snorted, but Orinda would not let him refuse the compliment.
“She’s more talented than any of us,” she said, “probably all of us put together, but her skill comes from a man who spends half his time arguing with her over what he thinks is best and the other half pretending he has nothing to do with who she is at all. You’d do well, Soter, to inhabit one of those roles and dispense with the other.”
He wrapped one hand about his lower face and gave a small grunt that was part scoff and part chortle. Then he remarked, “All the same, what are we to do?”
She placed a hand on his arm. “We are going to hope they return shortly. If not, we’re going to put on the show tomorrow as we did this one. In the meantime, we cast our nets farther. Bois and Glaise will cover the whole of the span and go on to the next if need be.” The woodmen nodded their enthusiasm and made to set off.
Soter said, “You’ll want to contact Hamen and those underspan dwellers. They seem to hear of everything.”
“That’s a very good idea.”
“Well . . . he seemed a decent enough fellow.” He clasped his head in his hands. “I don’t understand, Orinda. She’s much too careful, too clever. If she went off to gather stories, she wouldn’t forget the evening performance.”
“Of course you’re right. So we have to assume something important or terrible has kept them away, and probably against their will.”
“Tophet’s Agents . . .,” he muttered.
“Oh, surely not. Bardsham is long dead. What could Tophet want with her? Or with you?”
“She’s his daughter. And no one knows for certain that Bardsham died. No one witnessed his death, no one hereabouts. What if Tophet doesn’t know any more than we do as to the fate of Bardsham? Then he might think—”
“If that were true, Colemaigne would right now lie in ruin. We’d be dead and stone, every one of us, exactly as the governor described. That monster doesn’t spirit people away. He punishes them without mercy and sups on their marrow.” Her gaze slid side-to-side watching him, as if she looked for some sign of concurrence in his eyes. “Furthermore, outside of here, how could he recognize them? If he believed Bardsham were on the loose, he would be looking for a man he knows, not a young woman and her beau.”
“Her beau?”
“Oh, dear, do you think I’m blind to love that runs as deep as that?”
“Nonsense.”
She laughed gently, but with a teasing edge. “You know it as well as I. It’s why you object to him so. You think to guard her even from her own feelings. It’s time to stop doing that and let her feel. If you want to keep her affections, Soter, you have to let her take wing.”
He stared into her eyes and his own grew hot. Orinda knew too much of him, nearly the truth of him; but he knew the rest and could never admit it to her. He nodded heavily and swallowed the anguish of tenderness. “I’m sure you’re right about Tophet. But then there is no explanation, is there?”
“None as yet, my dear. None as yet.” She linked her arm in his. “Come with me now. We should eat something before you exhaust yourself.”
He let her lead him through the wings and the hallways. He felt quite suddenly a thousand years old and as helpless as a newborn. Where in all the world had his Leodora gone?
“I believe a story is in order,” said the king.
Leodora, feeling warm and sleepy from the food and drink she had shared with them, drew her legs beneath her and smoothed the dark purple robe she wore. She asked, “And who’s to tell it, sir?” then waved her hands about. “I have no puppets here.”
A few of the dozen feasters smiled. They were all clustered close around the fire.
The king tugged on the sharp tip of his nose and became for the moment contemplative. Then his eyes brightened and he told her, “Hold your hands out thus.” He spread his hands before him with the palms up.
Leodora imitated him. He arose and stepped to the fire pit, where