«So were going to find a ravine to take the head of your former sweetheart to,» she asked in the tone of a spoiled child.
«Rose, Ive only talked to that woman two or three times in my life, and believe me, those conversations have left a very unpleasant impression on me. How could you possibly know anything about my plans?»
«And this woman, or rather this fairy, she went mad after you drove her away. Didnt she?»
«I think she was insane before she met me, saying something about some secret, about a crown left in a deserted city. Now that crown is mine, but happiness is not in the crown.»
«Pray that your tutor understands that,» Rose joked.
«Do you think he would be happy to have my crown?»
«He wants something more from you, doesnt he?» Rose frowned, as if she didnt like the idea of making such a terrible guess out loud. «He wouldnt follow you around like a lover if all he wanted was to take the throne from you. Then it would be war, not a game, not a talk dragged on all night like serenades, not trickery, but an open combat. He does not seek to fight you, and that can only mean one thing. He doesnt want to damage something during the battle that hed like to appropriate intact.»
Rose reached out and touched my cheek.
«He wants your angelic appearance. Thats why hes afraid to go into battle. Hes afraid of hurting you or disfiguring you. Take advantage of that. Lets attack first. You wouldnt spare such a scoundrel just because you got used to his company during your imprisonment.»
«Honestly, its you who should feel sorry for him. After all, hes your distant relative.
«From what youve told me, hes changed like a chameleon in his life. If he had any close relatives left, I dont think even they would recognize him as a kinsman. He had changed so much that they would take him for an outsider.»
«Rose,» I wanted to explain to her what I couldnt understand. «I was never afraid of him. I was never afraid of anyone. Rather, I hated him, but in the beginning I respected the majestic stranger in him. As soon as he ceased to be a stranger, all the aura of grandeur immediately fell away, on close examination I revealed all his pettiness, malice, greed, and instead of respect I began to treat him with mockery. Thats what happens when you look at actors. From the distance of the orchestra pit they may still seem attractive, but up close you see only a layer of makeup. I dont mean you, of course; on the «Marionettes» stage that night you were the one and only occasional exception.
«So, youre only being nice to him because hes a part of a time that has now faded into oblivion?» Rose went to her apartment. I, like a shadow, followed her silently and steadily through the chambers of the castle. I didnt want to be without company; Id rather watch as she hid her jewels in the chest of drawers and sat down gracefully in the carved rocking chair in front of the fireplace. I liked silently watching her movements, which became as light and weightless as mine. I liked to be near her, watching her to write some spells or poems in her notebook, but to remain silent and not interfere with her in any way, except to help pick up pens or papers if they fell off the table. In this way, perhaps, only a guardian angel can watch over his ward, always be near her, but remain silent, love her, but not count on reciprocal feelings. It has been that way from the moment I saw her for the first time. Rose herself knew that a certain winged spirit guarded and loved her, but no one close to her guessed about this love.
Now all of a sudden, she wanted to protect me from danger. She was crumpling in her hands the very paper with the witchcraft formula that she had tried to give me before. The chair swayed on its own, and Rose sat motionless in it, as light as a feather and as mysterious as a ghost.
«Read your spells, and they will lead us to the temple, which you called the hall beneath the dome,» Rose was the first to break the silence.
«Do you really want to go there with me?»
«I want to see the place,» Rose stood up from her chair, easily and silently. It continued to sway for a long time, as if her shadow remained seated in it. The princess herself walked around the room, stroked the gremlin that slept on her muff, looked into the wardrobe, where were her gowns. I knew she was looking for her camisole and sword, but could not remember in which closet she had left them.
«We could meet Rothbart there and see how he learned to prolong his youth,» I said without thinking, as if someone had whispered a clue in my ear.
«Could he do you any harm?» Rose wondered. «Could he think of any way to end the life of an immortal creature? Is there any way to end your life at all?»
I looked at her carefully and said what I thought:
«If you leave me, I wont survive it.»
«Oh, what would you do?» She laughed. «How will you kill yourself?»
The question struck a bell in my mind. Indeed, how? Jump from a height and crash? It is in vain. Even if I did not open my wings at the last moment, but crashed, every cell of my body would still recover. Stab myself with a knife? It is pointless. Drink poison? It is useless. Cut my veins? The wound would heal instantly.»
«The only thing to do is to decapitate me,» I suggested.
«As long as you are a human no one would dare that sacrilege,» she protested.
«He is not a human,» I corrected.
«The Prince appreciates your flawless features too much. So we have nothing to fear,» Rose found in the bottom drawer of the closet what she was looking for: a camisole, velvet pantaloons, vest, boots, and, of course, a sword in sheath.
«Get ready,» I nodded, glad to have a living and beautiful creature by my side at all times. Alone, the journey into the ravine might have seemed endless. «I must tell the king that even if I were to disappear, he must not surrender power to Henri if he should show up. Everything must be foreseen.»
I was already standing by the open window, behind which the snowflakes were swirling, and I was about to fly away, but I stopped, remembering that I should praise Rose for the way she had impressed Camille.
«You know, the author of the play is dreaming of your return to the stage.»
«I know you think The Shadow and the Marquise is a libel, but, come to think of it, the author not only besmirched your honest name, but he made you, the dragon, a famous hero, at least on the stage.»
«It is comforting,» I muttered, smiling at the corners of my lips. Rose said something else, but her words were directed only toward the swirl of snow outside the open window. She seemed to be saying that she suspected some fantasy in the play, but thought it was different in life. I couldnt hear her because I was in a hurry. Already pacing the streets of Viniena, I was thinking of the words I should have spoken instead of the actor. Of course, Camille had made it up; no conversation had ever taken place between me and Sabrina. I simply did not have enough time to have a conversation with her at the time, but the authors rich imagination put into my mouth the lines that I could have said only to Rose, not to the victim. I tried to repeat a verse to myself and see if there was anything in the verse that offended me, or if Camille was just taking advantage of what we had talked about in the dungeon. It is too bad that you cant memorize the whole play with the first time.
I paused, glanced at the disk of the moon high above the rooftops, and remembered Rose standing on the stage. How beautifully and well she had delivered her speech. Camille had written my speech in a way that would have suited him, as well as any of the magical creatures. There was no one in the streets; no one would have heard me, except some fairy wishing to oblige, but hiding in an alleyway for now. In a whisper, I repeated Camilles poem, the strangers answer to the Marquises question, «Who are you?
And someone in the dark alleyway responded to my whisper with a muffled, understanding laugh. Only one bandit could greet another with such a meaningful laugh. I looked around, but saw no one.
I did not bother anyone in the palace. Why wake the king? He would be sure to talk me out of my dangerous undertakings, or offer his help. I ignored the door, used the second-floor window, sat down at the table in the kings study, wrote a short letter to the king, and sealed it with the kings seal. At least, that way it would be clear to everyone that only the heir could leave such a seal, but to make sure His Majesty did not confuse anything, I stuck a tiny imprint of my seal-ring, which the king had probably already noticed on my hand a long time ago. At any rate, it was better than the dragons claw print on the envelope.
I had to stop by the tailors shop, which was late special for the kings successor. I ordered dresses for Rose there, and promised that Id come pick them up some night. It was a strange order for a prince who was considered unmarried. The proprietor understood me in his own way and, just in case, introduced me to some pretty girls who were seamstresses. Who wouldnt want their daughter or niece to be a minion? The dragon inside me laughed angrily, but I myself felt only embarrassed, and now I did not come for my things until nightfall, when the whole staff of workers was already asleep. The lamp in the window behind the curtains let me know that the owner himself was still awake.
I took the parcel and the motley hatbox, explained that I was in a hurry to see the lady, and was glad when the door closed behind me. At least the only person in all Viniena could confirm that I had a mistress waiting for me at night, and not a demon to whom I had sold my soul.
I should have hurried back to Rose, but I glanced at the moon, which had already moved in the sky to the left over the spires of the city, and remembered another scene from the play, the Marquise asking something about birth, youth, dawn, and the dragon in the form of a cavalier mysteriously answering and revealing my past in the words:
In Camilles opinion, Sabrina could not believe such a frank confession. What could she think of an attractive young man but a pretender who had decided to play the demon for some reason? I could still hear her answer from Roses lips:
I shook my head, as if I were trying to clear my mind. I should hurry home, not read someone elses poetry. Before Rose had opened my eyes to the fact that the author was talented I had found the play to be a very offensive piece of writing.
Feeling someones light breath on the back of my neck, I turned around. The figure leaning against the wall of the tailors shop seemed so familiar that I didnt even wonder who it was.
«Since when do you dress up in dresses?» someone asked me with a sneer, though no ones lips moved, and the words sounded as if only I could hear them. Even if a passerby had been around right now, he wouldnt have heard anything.
«Theyre for a girl,» I answered aloud, not thinking that if the observer hadnt really asked me anything, he might find my words strange.
«Are they for a girl?» It was either an echo or a chuckle. «Do you mean to tell me that some girl who lives with you can live long enough to try it all on?»
The words came out, and again it was unclear whether they were spoken aloud or only intruded into my consciousness.
«Come!» I commanded, not out loud, but mentally, so that no living creature could resist the order, but the figure did not emerge from the darkness, but instead dove deeper into it and disappeared around the corner of the house.
I could see no one in the murky alley, but I was somehow certain that someone was beckoning me to follow. It was awkward to run after someone with the boxes in my hands, so I put them by the base of some building, figuring Id come back for them later. Even if someone were to pass by, they would not notice the rolls of dresses or the motley hat-cards. Outsiders could not see what no longer belonged to their world, but to me, just as passersby could not see the house I had bought in Lara, though they knew it was not torn down, but stood somewhere nearby in tantalizing proximity to them.
Who to follow if I could hear no footsteps or anyones panting breaths and exhalations nearby, and they must have been, considering that someone was running away from me with the speed of an arrow fired. No ones footprints could have been left on the uneven paving stones, but I was walking like a treaded path. If I had called someone after me, even my soles would have left a deep trail of fire on the cobblestones. No one might have called me this time. Maybe it was just a faint premonition of danger, the kind that sometimes arises only in clairvoyants, somewhere in the strong, wired net of various dragon instincts.
I didnt have to choose my direction; my feet led me to the square, to the very spot where Id picked up Sylvias dead head. Was it dead? The clear and obvious question in my brain would have alarmed anyone. What if, even severed from her body, it was still alive, and when I took it out of the cambric wrap that replaced the shroud, her dead lips would move slightly to warn me of something.
There was only one tarred torch burning in the square, a tiny orange with a red core, visible from afar. There was a foul, stinking smoke from the flame, but it was beyond anyones sense of smell, for there was nothing around, and the torch itself seemed to be hanging in the air above the scaffold, without a stand or holder. Was the square empty? No, it only seemed so. The human eye could not distinguish what I saw, a mass of dark, graceful silhouettes exquisitely draped in black velvet and moiré. There were only shadows, indistinguishable in the darkness. Only the light at the center of the pandemonium of shadows was discernible, and the blessed night sheltered everyone else, even the torch-bearer who had brazenly climbed onto the platform. Night was their favorite time.
At first I watched them, leaning against the facade of the palace, with its dark windows overlooking the square. In contrast to them the dapper green tones of my clothes and the bright emerald folds of my cloak in pleasant contrast to the gold of my hair immediately attracted attention even at a distance, but I remained long unnoticed by any of the society of shadows. They were too engrossed in what the torch-bearer, Charlo, was saying to them. Or rather, he wasnt speaking at full voice, but addressing the crowd in a hissing, almost inaudible to the human ear, but I could hear him and his companions all right.
«Why are we slow?» Charlo gestured for the crowds attention to his greasy, gypsy-black hair, and its curly tips parted against the stand-up collar, framing his narrow face in some unearthly black flame. The abyss in his deep-set eyes was even blacker than the night. «What should we wait for? Why hide from every retired soldier who passes by, why sit in back alleys, waiting for the smallest guard to march past. Why should we fear the Kings Guards or the cantoned cavalry, their guns, their swords, his majestys signed arrest warrants? We are an army ourselves. Why should we hide? We could have ruled this city long ago. Our lord says his teachings are the only right ones, he has revealed his secrets to us and we are now his favorites because we believed him and followed him, and he puts all dissenters at our disposal.»
Charlo tried to flaunt his education and eloquence and wanted to look like an orator, but instead he resembled a hissing viper who had grown bold enough to try to climb up the hill instead of crawling over rocks and sand.