Shadowbridge - By Gregory Frost Page 0,8

to perform. She took a deep, calming breath, stood for a moment longer, then undid the ribbons on the booth flap.

From a punt she lit the lantern, rotating it so that the blue-glass side faced front. Then she knelt on the padded stool beside her box of puppets and lifted the inner curtain covering the screen. As the curtain came away, the stretched silk glowed a deep, submarine blue. Outside, the musician’s flute sounded and the crowd cheered. There were cries of “Shut up!” and “Sit down!” and “Quick, bring me another nabidh!”

From the box she took the first piece: the image of a single stick-legged house. She deftly hooked it upon the silk. Then she lifted by its rods the first puppet, a magnificent construction. She waited.

The audience muttered, settling in. The flute played an introductory trill, slipped a note, but finished, held fairly steady, then faded.

The room fell silent.

Soter’s voice filled the quiet. “We bid you welcome all. Tonight, if you’ve never witnessed it, you will see a rare thing. If you’ve been here before, then you’ve come back because you now know that I did not lie when I promised you this the first time.

“Many years ago I traveled these spans. There was a master puppeteer in those days, to whom people flocked from sometimes two cityspans distant.”

She heard the name of Bardsham carried on murmurs as upon waves. “Bastard,” she whispered. He’d never done this to her before: However sober he sounded, he was indeed drunk, and she was helpless to shut him up if he went too far. She held the rod puppet at the ready, beneath the screen where the light couldn’t throw its shadow onto anything.

“Yes, that’s right—Bardsham, a magical name. The greatest of all entertainers, so great that, although he’s been gone for near twenty years, we still speak of him in whispers, in awe. Well, I make you a promise that anyone who can recall his skill as I do will be bedazzled by what they see here tonight, for this is as near as…no, no, I won’t say that. Rather, judge for yourselves. Ladies, gentlemen, princes and paupers, foolish virgins and wicked libertines, lovers of story one and all, please dedicate your attention to the entertainments…of Jax!”

Applause followed, some cheering, a few whistles that might have been in mockery of the old man. She heard him walk past her on the far side of the drapes, sensed his entry behind her. He stumbled in the constricted darkness, chuckled to himself, then found his seat. By then the crowd had fallen silent and the light filtering in over the top of the booth dimmed—Nuberne had doused the central chandelier.

Leodora went to work.

THE TALE OF CREATION

There is a story that explains Shadowbridge to itself.

At the beginning of the world the first fisherman, Chilingana, caught the first storyfish. No bridges existed then. Even the first dragon beam had yet to appear. Chilingana lived in a stilt house built on rough pillars that climbed straight out of the sea. From Phylos Bar, looking south, you can see the ruin of them still. Chilingana was down among the pilings around one of these pillars when he caught the storyfish. He had never seen one before, because they swim so deep, and Chilingana did as he would with any fish on his line—he dropped it into his creel along with the others he’d caught already and went on fishing.

At the end of the day he hooked a line to the creel, then climbed home on the steps that curled up around one of the pillars. When he reached the top and had gathered his breath, he drew up the line to raise his catch. He could smell the fire his wife was preparing.

Behind his house Chilingana had a huge stone on which to clean the fish. From there he could throw their entrails back into the sea, a ritual to feed the kraken that dwelled below the pillars, in this way keeping it appeased as they still do off Phylos Bar, lest it surface and pull down the pylons of their span.

Chilingana reached down into the creel. Its weave was so tight that water would remain in it for a day and a half. His fingers clutched one of the fish. Holding it by its tail, he slapped its head against the stone to stun it.

He split the fish down the middle.

He cleaned it and threw the guts into the sea.

He made ready the first fillets.

He

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