I take? If Mr. Parry came in, I’d have a hard time explaining myself. Before I could decide what to ask next, the hands began to move again. I quickly searched the chart of letters.
FREE ME.
I don’t know why I felt like someone had grabbed my heart and shook it. I looked at him, into the glass eyes framed with dainty false lashes. The eyes looked back. The trapped thing inside them pleaded. I could almost read his thoughts. You’re the only chance I have. “What can I do?” I asked.
FIND KARSTOR, he spelled.
“Karstor? Who . . . what . . . is that?”
SORCER—
I heard the wood floor groan in the hall and stopped writing. I shoved the paper under the stack of song sheets until the footsteps passed.
“Sorcerer?” I whispered.
“Mmm.”
“I can’t talk to you much longer. One more question for today, and then we must sing and play before anyone grows suspicious at how quiet we are. What are you? A man? A ghost?”
Here came the longest response yet. A MAN, FAIR LADY. A MAN.
7
A man, fair lady. A man.
In my mind, the words had a voice.
He was a man. Not a ghost—at least, not as I imagined ghosts to be. He didn’t want to scare me. He wanted my help.
How frustrated he must have been, trying to communicate with all those other ladies, only to see them scream and tear from the room, as I had nearly done. But I hadn’t, and now I must be the one to learn his story.
I sang the frivolous tunes of Lorinar. He plucked out his haunting notes with the strange timing of an automaton, as if he really were only a machine. Before I left him, he touched the keys again to say GOOD-BYE. Then his chest moved back, his hands stilled, the eyes dulled. He slept.
I turned to the door. I didn’t want to look upon him anymore, with the life gone from him.
Linza brought lunch to my room, offering her small smile and a plate of cold roast and potatoes. Her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows, wiry arms ending in chapped hands. I imagined her scrubbing the dainty breakfast plates and great pots.
“Would you like something for your hands?” I said. “I have a little cream left from last winter. My hands dry out in the cold.” I wished I could tell her about the automaton, but I didn’t dare tell a soul.
“Oh, you’re too good to me, miss!” she said, but with such eagerness that I knew she’d accept. I opened the valise with my scant possessions from the troupe. I had not touched it since I’d arrived. My mother’s sky blue bird costume lay across the top, and Linza gasped at the sight of it.
“Did you dance in that?” she asked, peering over my shoulder at the deep blue sash.
“Oh, no. These clothes belonged to my mother. In the troupe, we wore a modified costume—not quite like what we’d wear at home.”
“It’s lovely,” Linza breathed.
I was about to close the lid when I noticed the eagerness in Linza’s eyes.
Many girls would have only scorned the tunic and trousers, but I held them up for Linza’s inspection. She ran her rough fingers over the embroidery.
“Lovely needlework,” she said.
I smiled. “Some other women in court were much better still. My mother was impatient with the needle.”
“No, I adore it. May I spread this out on the bed?”
At my nod, Linza unfurled the sash across my quilt. She studied the curling designs, her lips just parted.
I always kept Mother’s slippers in their dyed leather shoe bag, but now I drew them out and placed them in Linza’s hands. “She did her best work here,” I said. “Wedding shoes. She wore them only once.”
“Oh, miss, was your mother a princess ?” She turned the slippers over, admiring every embroidered inch from vamp to soles. Jeweltoned trees and birds, hills and waves danced across them, including a deer with a missing leg. It was customary to include one purposeful mistake in every design, and as a child, the mistakes had delighted me most.
“No princess,” I said. “A dancer in the royal troupe. We had
FREE ME.
I don’t know why I felt like someone had grabbed my heart and shook it. I looked at him, into the glass eyes framed with dainty false lashes. The eyes looked back. The trapped thing inside them pleaded. I could almost read his thoughts. You’re the only chance I have. “What can I do?” I asked.
FIND KARSTOR, he spelled.
“Karstor? Who . . . what . . . is that?”
SORCER—
I heard the wood floor groan in the hall and stopped writing. I shoved the paper under the stack of song sheets until the footsteps passed.
“Sorcerer?” I whispered.
“Mmm.”
“I can’t talk to you much longer. One more question for today, and then we must sing and play before anyone grows suspicious at how quiet we are. What are you? A man? A ghost?”
Here came the longest response yet. A MAN, FAIR LADY. A MAN.
7
A man, fair lady. A man.
In my mind, the words had a voice.
He was a man. Not a ghost—at least, not as I imagined ghosts to be. He didn’t want to scare me. He wanted my help.
How frustrated he must have been, trying to communicate with all those other ladies, only to see them scream and tear from the room, as I had nearly done. But I hadn’t, and now I must be the one to learn his story.
I sang the frivolous tunes of Lorinar. He plucked out his haunting notes with the strange timing of an automaton, as if he really were only a machine. Before I left him, he touched the keys again to say GOOD-BYE. Then his chest moved back, his hands stilled, the eyes dulled. He slept.
I turned to the door. I didn’t want to look upon him anymore, with the life gone from him.
Linza brought lunch to my room, offering her small smile and a plate of cold roast and potatoes. Her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows, wiry arms ending in chapped hands. I imagined her scrubbing the dainty breakfast plates and great pots.
“Would you like something for your hands?” I said. “I have a little cream left from last winter. My hands dry out in the cold.” I wished I could tell her about the automaton, but I didn’t dare tell a soul.
“Oh, you’re too good to me, miss!” she said, but with such eagerness that I knew she’d accept. I opened the valise with my scant possessions from the troupe. I had not touched it since I’d arrived. My mother’s sky blue bird costume lay across the top, and Linza gasped at the sight of it.
“Did you dance in that?” she asked, peering over my shoulder at the deep blue sash.
“Oh, no. These clothes belonged to my mother. In the troupe, we wore a modified costume—not quite like what we’d wear at home.”
“It’s lovely,” Linza breathed.
I was about to close the lid when I noticed the eagerness in Linza’s eyes.
Many girls would have only scorned the tunic and trousers, but I held them up for Linza’s inspection. She ran her rough fingers over the embroidery.
“Lovely needlework,” she said.
I smiled. “Some other women in court were much better still. My mother was impatient with the needle.”
“No, I adore it. May I spread this out on the bed?”
At my nod, Linza unfurled the sash across my quilt. She studied the curling designs, her lips just parted.
I always kept Mother’s slippers in their dyed leather shoe bag, but now I drew them out and placed them in Linza’s hands. “She did her best work here,” I said. “Wedding shoes. She wore them only once.”
“Oh, miss, was your mother a princess ?” She turned the slippers over, admiring every embroidered inch from vamp to soles. Jeweltoned trees and birds, hills and waves danced across them, including a deer with a missing leg. It was customary to include one purposeful mistake in every design, and as a child, the mistakes had delighted me most.
“No princess,” I said. “A dancer in the royal troupe. We had
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