Laura Schlitz - Splendors and Glooms

“Those are our footprints,” said Lizzie Rose. “We’ve been going in circles.”

Parsefall stared at the pattern in the snow. It was extraordinarily regular, and with a jolt he recognized it. “It’s the maze. On the Tower Room floor — the red lines that woz painted there! We been making the lines wiv our tracks — over and over —”

“It’s a spell,” Lizzie Rose said despairingly. “We can’t leave. She cast a spell on us so we can’t leave.”

Parsefall did not ask who she was. He looked sideways at Lizzie Rose. If Lizzie Rose didn’t give up, he wouldn’t.

“We’ll have to turn back,” Lizzie Rose said wretchedly. “We can’t go on like this. We won’t get anywhere — and we’ll freeze to death.”

“We ’ave to go back,” agreed Parsefall, and with dull fear in their hearts, they broke the pattern of the maze and started back to the house.

Inside Parsefall’s jacket, Clara was uncomfortably warm. She was imprisoned in a puppet bag, flattened between two layers of clothing. She listened to Parsefall’s heartbeat as he entered the house. It quickened as he mounted the grand staircase. Turn back, she wanted to cry, but her jaws were fused together, and if Parsefall sensed her warning, he paid no heed.

Cassandra said, “Come in.” Her usual waspish tones had softened to a mellow contralto. “Come to the fire, and warm yourselves! You must be dreadfully cold!”

Clara doubted it. Even through the layers of clothing, she felt the hellish heat of the room. She thought that Parsefall must feel it, too; he was fumbling with the buttons on his jacket. He stuffed Clara under his arm and let his jacket drop to the floor. She felt his muscles tense: he was nerving himself to accuse the witch. “You cast a spell on us!”

“I did,” admitted Cassandra. “I didn’t want you to go away.”

Lizzie Rose took up the battle. “I don’t see what right you have to keep us here. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to leave if we want to?”

“Because I didn’t wish it. And because it’s not what’s best for you.” Clara heard the rustle of silken skirts: Cassandra was approaching. “You may dislike me, my child, but you’re safer with me than you would be alone, out in the wicked world. Haven’t you been comfortable here, safe and warm and well fed? I wish only to look after you, and, in a very short time, you will inherit everything I have.” Another rustle and her voice sharpened. “That bag you’re holding, boy! Is that Clara?”

Parsefall snarled, “Leave ’er alone!”

Lizzie Rose asked, “How do you know about Clara?”

Cassandra sighed. “I’ve known about Clara ever since she was kidnapped by that human plague, Gaspare Grisini. I know, too, that you were trying to escape from him tonight. What I don’t know is why. Tell me why you fear him, and I will protect you.”

There was a brief silence. Don’t tell her anything, thought Clara, but Lizzie Rose answered. “Grisini wants Parsefall to be a thief. He came into Parsefall’s room in the middle of the night and threatened to hurt him if he didn’t steal from you.”

“Ah,” said Cassandra. “Of course. I ought to have known —” She stopped. “Never mind. Grisini is in my power, and I shall see to it that he never hurts you again. I will punish him before your very eyes, and you will see that I am your friend.”

She sounded close at hand. Parsefall took a sudden step back, but not quickly enough: Clara felt the witch seize the puppet bag. Cassandra tore the limp muslin, releasing Clara from her cocoon. The glare stung Clara’s eyes: the witch’s room was hung with scarlet and gold, ablaze with firelight and candlelight.

“There!” Cassandra said briskly. “Don’t worry — I shan’t hurt her. I only want her to be able to see.” She glided to the window and hooked Clara’s crutch over the curtain rod.

It was an excellent vantage point; Clara could see the whole room. There was the tumbled bed, with Ruby lying sphinx-like upon it; there were the other two children, with their clothes all lumpy and disheveled. By contrast, Cassandra was resplendent; she had swept her hair up on top of her head and secured it with a jeweled pin. With her swollen body and billowing yellow gown, she appeared inhuman: a pyramid of fire with the head of an ogress.

The doors swung open, and Grisini came in.

He wore a queer assortment of clothes: his tatty frock coat, a pair of satin knee breeches, and his nightshirt, which was tucked into the breeches in front but not in back. At the sight of him, Lizzie Rose stiffened. Parsefall’s face went blank, and he jammed his hands in his pockets.

Cassandra stretched out her hand and pointed to the floor. Grisini bowed, but not low enough; Cassandra glowered until he went down on one knee. He covered his heart with his hand and spoke deferentially. “Madama.” His face was ashen, the half-healed scratches on his cheeks emphasizing his pallor.

He’s afraid of her, thought Clara.

Cassandra circled him, her train hissing. “Don’t speak as if you wish to flatter me! I am disgusted with you, Gaspare! These children are under my protection; how dare you seek to frighten them?”

Grisini shifted. The kneeling position was evidently painful. He spread his hands in a dumb show of innocence. “Madama, lo prometto —”

“Speak English, if you please. The children are here to witness your humiliation. I would not have them miss a word. And don’t waste my time with lies. I caught them trying to escape — not from me but from you. What have you done to them?”

Grisini started to rise, but the witch glared at him, forcing him back to his knees. He flourished one hand in the direction of Lizzie Rose. The gesture was elegant, almost balletic: the palm up, the outer fingers curled, the smallest finger pointing to the ceiling. “ Nulla. I have not touched her —”

“Is that true?” Cassandra twisted around to face Lizzie Rose. “If it isn’t, tell me. Whatever injury he has done you, I will avenge.”

“It isn’t me,” said Lizzie Rose. “He struck me once, but it isn’t me. He’s cruel to Parsefall.”

Cassandra pivoted, facing Grisini. Her lip curled. “So. You ill-use the boy. I’m not surprised. His hand — is that your work?”

There was a sudden appalled silence. Clara felt as if she might cry out. But Parsefall did not make a sound. He didn’t seem to be following the conversation.

“That was — discipline,” Grisini answered at last, pronouncing the last word with the utmost delicacy. “It was necessary that the boy should obey me. Have I not been a second father to him? Did I not feed him and teach him my art? Should he not obey me?”

Lizzie Rose stared at him in horror. Then she began to cry. Ruby emitted a yap of alarm, leaped off the bed, and ran to her mistress. Only Parsefall showed no emotion. He fixed his eyes on the carpet. He’s trying not to hear, thought Clara. He doesn’t want to know.

“You are a monster, Gaspare.” Cassandra’s face was twisted with loathing. “You are both more wicked and more trivial than I ever dreamed of being.” She stalked to the window, raising one hand to point out Clara. “The Wintermute child — I suppose she was another of your experiments?”

Stiffly Grisini got to his feet. “ Ah, Madama, forgive me. I can no longer kneel. I am an old man, a poor man. Let us come to an agreement.” His voice wavered as if he were on the point of tears, but his eyes were dry. “If you want these”— he flung out one hand, casting an invisible net over Parsefall and Lizzie Rose —“you must have them, of course. How should I deny you? But the little girl, I beg you, leave her to me. Her father is willing to pay and I give you my word of honor that I will send her home again once the money is mine. Give me the girl, so that I may not starve, and I will trouble you no more.” He reached upward. The tips of his fingers brushed the hem of Clara’s skirt.