Карин Тидбек - The Memory Theater

Dora nodded, and Journeyman filled her bowl again. The others returned to the map, but Nestor kept his frown.

Dora finished the stew. When next she looked up, the doors were pushed aside and light streamed in. The troupe was gathered in a little clearing: Apprentice lay on the ground with her legs in the air, Journeyman resting on the soles of Apprentice’s feet, their hands linked to keep balance. Director and Nestor juggled little balls back and forth, calling out words Dora didn’t understand. Thistle sat with his back against a tree next to the carriage. He was dressed in a pair of the company’s coveralls; they were a little too big for him. He looked relaxed, but his sleeves were rolled down and fastened tightly around his wrists. His face was all stubbly now, and his russet hair curled in a halo around his head. He smiled at Dora as she sat down next to him, and brushed at her skirts with his hand.

“You could use some clean clothes, Dora,” he said. “And a bath.”

Dora considered this for a moment. “Yes.”

There was a little pond among the trees, its water coppery but clear. Dora dived in and swam along the bottom, where crayfish crawled in under rocks and perch darted away from her. Something bigger lurked in the forest of water lily stalks but retreated as she came closer. The sun shot rays of liquid light through the water. Down here there was only the sound of the pulse in her ears and the small noises of water life. Dora only came up because her lungs were burning. Thistle was standing on the shore, a towel in his hand.

“I’m not done,” Dora told him.

Thistle smiled and put the towel down on a rock.

Dora dived back down under the surface. She counted crayfish and stalked the huge thing among the water lilies, caught a little perch and petted it, chased water striders, and tasted the sedge that grew on the shore. She got out of the water only when the sun sank so low it was difficult to see.

She came back to the camp dressed in a pair of coveralls that someone had left at the water’s edge. The legs and sleeves were too short. There had been a pair of boots, too, and she carried them under her arm. The others had made a fire in front of the carriage and moved the armchairs and sofa onto the grass. A big trumpet flower made of metal was playing tinny-sounding music. The smell of baking bread and some other food hung in the air. Thistle sat in one of the armchairs, leaning back, arms and legs relaxed. When he saw Dora, he smiled. The circle of people opened and let her in.

“Excellent,” Director said as Dora sat down on the grass next to Thistle. “Sorry about the sizing. They were the biggest coveralls we could find.” She pointed at Dora’s feet. “What about the boots?”

Dora shook her head. “I don’t like shoes.”

“Fair enough.” Director held out a bowl. “Soup?”

They ate and talked and the music played. It was easier to be in the crowd after playing in the quiet water. The troupe told stories about worlds they had visited, plays they had staged. Thistle spoke quietly about things in the Gardens. The last light in the sky died, and Journeyman and Apprentice cleared the dishes away.

Nestor stood and stretched. “I believe it’s time.”

“Time for what?” Dora said.

Director grinned and held up the red playbook. “Your play appeared!”

Instead of ringing the bell by Pinax’s door, Augusta fed roses into the mailbox, one by one. They crunched and tore as she pushed them in, releasing the heavy scent of late summer. The door abruptly opened.

“You can stop doing that.”

Pinax stood over her. Their eyebrows were knotted. They looked decidedly unhappy.

“It is a gift,” Augusta said. “I thought you might like roses.”

“You had best come in,” Pinax said.

Someone else was already sitting in one of the armchairs in the library: a very tall woman in dark robes, a scarf like shadow draped over her hair. Her long features were familiar, her yellow eyes. As Augusta entered the room, the woman rose from her chair, and it seemed she almost touched the ceiling.

“Augusta,” she said, and her voice was low and sweet. “Fancy that.”

“I believe you and Ghorbi have met,” Pinax said behind her.

“You,” Augusta blurted. “You!”

Ghorbi smiled. Her teeth looked uncomfortably sharp. Augusta’s face felt numb and cold, then suddenly became hot as rage overtook her.

“You had me cast out!” she screamed. “It’s all your fault! Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”

“You asked me a question,” Ghorbi said. “I gave you the knowledge for free.

“I was just about to leave,” she continued, and turned to Pinax. “I hope you’re happy with the package, librarian.”

“Extremely,” Pinax replied. “Thank you, my friend.”

“You can’t go,” Augusta said. “I won’t let you. You’re going to get me back in. You owe me.”

Ghorbi took a step toward Augusta and stared down at her. “Owe you?” she said, in that same soft voice. “I did you a favor. You will pay it back, in time. Although perhaps not to me.”

Augusta took a step backward and collided with a bookshelf.

Ghorbi straightened. “Goodbye, Augusta Prima. Goodbye, my dear Pinax.”

She swept out of the room. A moment later, the front door closed with a click.

“Don’t go!” Augusta shouted, and rushed down the hallway. The door had locked itself. When she managed to get it open, the street was empty.

“Come back!” she yelled, and the echo of her voice bounced against the buildings.

“Ghorbi is an old friend.” Pinax stood behind her in the hallway with that same expression they had worn when they first let her in.

“She told me all of it,” they continued. “It’s worse than I could ever have imagined. I don’t know how you could do those things.”

“Things?” Augusta repeated.

“You never told me there were children. Phantasos never told me.” Pinax’s voice trembled. “The things you did to them. You lured them into your world, abused them, stole their whole lives. As if they weren’t people.”

“They aren’t people,” Augusta retorted. When she saw Pinax’s face, she realized that this was entirely the wrong thing to say.

“I let you into my house,” Pinax said. “I thought, Here is a lost soul I might save. I thought I could rehabilitate you. But I see now that you are a lost cause. You are a monster.”

“I am not! I can be good.”

“When?” Pinax asked. “When were you good? When were you kind?”

Their expression was unreadable. Augusta felt a pit open in her stomach. “You hate me,” she said.

Pinax pointed at the door. “Leave. You are not welcome in my house anymore.”

When she got home, Augusta’s current servant was huddled next to the stove. Augusta strangled him. She didn’t bother to drag him into the chamber; it was full. The house had begun to smell. Standing over the boy’s corpse, Augusta considered what to do. There was nothing for her here except the information Pinax guarded.

Pinax would not welcome her. They had called her a monster. It was nonsense. She only did what was necessary. And now she would have to do it again. Pinax had rejected her—rejected her!—but she could take the information she wanted. It was only a matter of waiting until nightfall.

Augusta walked through the streets one last time. The night was absolute; everyone had covered their windows, waiting for the enemy to rain fire on the city.

The stone house was a hard shape against the streak of stars. Nothing moved in the street. Augusta stood back and considered the windows on the bottom floor. There, to the far right, should be the room where she and Pinax had taken their tea. Next to it, the kitchen. The mullioned window sat just about low enough that she could climb inside. Augusta picked up one of the rocks that edged the flower bed in front of the house. The bottom right pane shattered with a brittle noise, and Augusta paused. The street was still quiet. No sound came from inside the house. Augusta carefully reached in and undid the latch on the inside. She scratched her hand on the shards that remained in the frame, but not too badly. The window swung outward, and Augusta lifted the blackout curtain to crawl inside.