CHAPTER XVI

Work isn’t bad. It’s just work, you know. I work, and I make money, and then I go home.

You said that you meditated while you worked. I do. I reach for the Unity while I work.

What is that? What’s it like?

Well… Let me think of how to explain it. Hm.

It isn’t really important. I’m trying to talk about something, is all.

I hate sitting around in silence.

I understand. I think I can explain the Unity. Last night, I looked down at these wet little wads of ratty hair on my mop. These frayed bits did not see their path across the floor. I couldn’t see their true destination until after I swung the mop. And the Unity was the handle. The Unity was my hands pushing the mop. The Unity was the destination. The place that was out of my hands was the thing I controlled. The room was, regardless of me. The floor was, regardless of me. The little white-grey mop-threads splayed everywhere with each flick of my wrist, pre-ordained but also not pre-ordained. And then, I wondered if I had everything backwards, and each one of my fingers was the true population of the metaphor. I couldn’t see where my fingers shoved the mop. And that started to make sense. And I thought about other kinds of fingers shoving other kinds of mops. And then, there’s this woman—we’ll call her Jess, because they all pretend their name is something cute like “Jess”—and she clomps up and down the stairs ready to roll a fellow with her bat. The bat crosses the same air, and the same heads got smashed—because all heads looked the same to Jess, who was not cute like her name. And I knew her life. The Unity unfolded like a flower. Jess hadn’t touched a drop of liquor since her daughter died. Jess’ daughter, like a smaller, prettier Jess (but she wasn’t really that pretty), took up with a mean fellow for a while. Jess was too drunk to notice what was happening. The fellow beat the girl up so bad she could barely walk home to Jess. Jess broke off the leg of her kitchen table and carried it to the man. Jess came down on him. She took his own knife and claimed both of his ears, his nose, and his tongue. She threw the man out the back window from three stories, and figured he’d bleed to death before anybody helped him. She was right. When Jess got back, her daughter was dead. Jess put the pieces of the dead man in a pickle jar in her cupboard, and she buried her daughter. Now Jess kept the girls safe. And that’s Jess. And the Unity brings the threads of her life into focus.

That’s a horrible story, Rachel.

Well, it’s a horrible place. I work, and I go home, and I don’t think about anything when I’m there but my faith.

I want to take you somewhere beautiful, Rachel. Please, let me take you somewhere beautiful.

* * *

Jona rummaged through his mother’s closet for her old dresses. He needed something long-sleeved, with a high collar, and gloves. He wanted something green to match Rachel’s eyes. He wanted something simple that would be easy to sew into the right size.

He found something jet black, long and elegant and fringed with white silk ribbons. He pulled it out from the closet and carried it downstairs. He held it out to Rachel. “Put this on,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s my mother’s dress.”

“I’m not getting in that thing.”

“You are, and then you’re going to help me fix it to fit you

where it’s too big on you.”

“Why?”

“Because every beautiful lady needs a beautiful dress.”

“I don’t need anything like that.”

“Come on, it’ll be nice, and then tomorrow I’ll take you somewhere you can wear the dress.”

“I’m not going anywhere in that thing.”

“It won’t be dangerous, I swear. People’d notice a Senta, but they wouldn’t notice you in this.”

“I don’t like to go places Senta aren’t welcome.”

“It’s not that, it’s just that you’d be the only one in the place, and everyone would notice you.”

“Where?”

“Just this party, and you’ll love it. We won’t stay long. Then we’ll go about town pretending like we’re both rich nobles, and everyone will believe us because they’ll see you in your dress, and me in my dress uniform.”

“The dress is beautiful.”

“Do you want to try it on?”

She frowned. “I do,” she said, “I really, really do.” She pulled off her Senta leathers, with a frown like she hated what she was doing. She wasn’t going to stop.

* * *

Rachel walked like a peasant in a dress. Jona pressed a hand on her hip.

“Like this,” he said.

His hands moved her hips under the fine black satin. He put his feet behind hers. “Lift up from your body.”

She put her hands on top of his. She looked over her shoulder at him. He pressed his lips into her ear. “Like this,” he said.

His thighs pressed into hers. He pushed her with his own body. He held her hips in place.

“Like this?” she said.

She stepped away from him. She took two steps, before her boots clipped each other. She stumbled, laughing.

“No,” he said, “just try your best. You’re beautiful enough, and you’re with me, and no one will really notice.”

She couldn’t take off her boots. Underneath the hem of the dress, her muddy, dank boots clomped inelegantly. None of the nice shoes fit her demon feet. Even if they did, they would only make her step worse because Rachel’d only ever worn these strange kind of boots that hid her deformed, bestial feet.

Jona asked her where she got the boots, and she said that her brother made them for her from other boots. If they ever tore, Djoss took care of it.

Then she changed the subject in the same breath.

“This is a terrible idea,” she said, “Please don’t make me do this.” She pressed her face into his shoulder. “I’ve dreamed of this as long as I knew what people with money did, and I can’t wait to go, but it’s a terrible idea. We’re going to get caught.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, “Rich people will never admit that two of-demons—and poor of-demons at that—crashed their ball. Anyway, the true measure of a grand ball is how many illicit guests sneak through the gates. We won’t be surrounded by the rich. We’ll be surrounded by people just like us. Merchants, maids, guardsmen, nobles, and anyone else with the juice to wear nice clothes and hop through a window. Free food, and fine dancing, and everyone is lying about who they are except for the people that don’t need to introduce themselves. Even they’re mostly faking.”

“Faking being rich and powerful?”

“When a rich and powerful person lies, you can’t just call them a liar, right?”

“You can’t?”

‘No. Look, just pretend as much as you can, and try to follow my lead, and do what the other ladies do. If they catch us, they kick us out the back door. I do this all the time, you know.”

“Do you?”

“My mother did, too, when she met my father. Remember who I am. I am Lord Joni. I may be poor, but I am still a nobleman. I must jump these things and wow some ugly horse of a girl who can buy herself pretty to take me to her bedroom and call me her husband.”

Rachel coughed. “Charming.”

“I’m never actually going to do it,” said Jona, “If I wanted to do it, I’d have done it long ago. Rich is nothing. Money buys ugly girls pretty, and stupid men smart. Rich ruins a good fellow.”

“I’d love to get myself ruined like that.”

“Rich people get complacent, and they don’t see the problems hanging all around them. Happened in Galvez across the sea, and a bunch of them rich folk died and didn’t see it coming. We poor saw it coming from here.”

“Djoss and I don’t stick around to let things happen to us. Usually fellows can see it coming, whether they dreamcast or not.”

“Rich people don’t see it. They smile and dance until the rope bites their neck and rolls ’em. Happens everyday.”

A long pause.

Her hands brushed along the dress. His fumbled in his pockets like a fool. Her eyes looked down at herself. His looked at her face.

He realized that he had stood her in front of a mirror, but the only thing in the reflection was her clothes, and some malformed shadows instead of a face.

I suspect Rachel was thinking about Jona’s father, and that’s why she didn’t say anything after his speech.

* * *

Jona rubbed Rachel’s shoulders, above the skirt of scales hidden in the folds of her dress. He kissed her neck. She stared out the window of the carriage, to the street, and all the people walking and walking and walking. “When we get there,” said Jona, “you’re a vacationing Duchess from the Brendt Islands, near Galvez. Your family resides in…”

“I’m a dispossessed duchess, with no holdings at all, and I came here on your arm because I’m trying to find a rich husband to rebuild my family name. My parents are dead. When they were alive, we were from Batriva, in the north where it snows all seasons.”

“Have you ever been to Batriva?”

“I lived there for almost a year.”

“Perfect. If anyone asks can you talk about it?”

“Me and Djoss had to jump out a second story window to escape with our lives. Mud and a mattress saved our lives.”

 “Don’t talk about that. This is going to be lovely, I promise. No mud, no mattress, no second story window.”

“I’m terrified. I can’t wait. Please, let’s not stay long. I just want to see it, dance once, and then make our grand escape. Do you think they’ll send hounds after us?”

“I can ask them, if you want, if we get bounced.” 

“I hope they don’t send hounds after us.”

* * *

The carriage stopped at the rear gate of the compound. Jona and Rachel were nowhere near the grand entrance where line after line of carriage waited for a grand introduction through the main hall.

Jona shook hands with a man in a smoot-covered apron smoking a pipe at the gate. Money passed between their friendly palms. The man held the back gate open for Jona.

Jona turned back to the carriage. He held up a hand for Rachel. She emerged from the carriage into the night like a raven bursting from a treehollow, long hair like a ruffled train of feathers and flowing trails of white ribbon and black satin. She stepped down carefully, pretending like she wasn’t wearing thick boots inside the hoops of the dress.

The man with black apron and pipe held his breath when he saw her.

Jona nodded at him. Rachel’s skin was a smooth, nocturnal alabaster. Her imperfect face made her like a monument, where time’s fingers had carved new, soft nuances into the stone. She was as gorgeous as anyone could hope to be.

Jona took her arm. He led her through the gate. Jona knew the way. They strolled under a small stone arch, into a maze of low flowers. They walked around a pond covered in paper lamps like burning lilies, and into a large hedge maze. Jona stopped her once to kiss her. She leaned back into the branches, and then she shoved him back. She smacked him because he was messing up her hair.

Jona helped her prod her hair back down. He led her through the maze to the main lawn. Paper lanterns hung from trees like giant fireflies, flickering. Already, people milled about—so many people, and all so beautiful. The men wore black and dark purple and uniforms with ribbons and medals. The women wore everything else, and black and dark purple. Every face was pure. Every smile was truthful.

Servants in white moved through the crowd, with liquors on trays. Guests reached up and selected from the different colors of liquid. The sips were small like their small laughter, all delicate like crystal.

Rachel clutched Jona’s arm. He led her towards the raised dais where a group of musicians tuned.

Jona leaned into her ear, and cupped his hand over his mouth to hide his lips. “In another hour or so, this whole place will be stuffed with dancers. Everyone will be spinning around the dance floor like it’s nothing, but nobody dances with the fellow they came with,” he whispered, “Let’s go meet someone. I’m looking for this fellow I know.”

Rachel leaned up to his ear like she was going to kiss his neck. Instead, she cupped her hand over her own mouth and whispered back to him. “Are they all crashers, or is there someone you see that actually belongs here?”

“This rabble?” Jona gestured to the people all around. He didn’t bother to whisper. “Mostly crashers,” he said, “Mostly. Come on. Let’s meet some people. Duchess Rachel Batrilander, I presume?” he offered his hand.

“Oh, goodness! You must be Lord Joni,” she said. Rachel raised an arm at a passing waiter for a glass of liquor and quickly selected something in a bright shade of blue. She swallowed it fast and looked around at all the beautiful people walking through the lawn from the house. She put the empty glass on another passing tray.

Jona looked at her wide eyes, her smile. He introduced her to the first man he saw. He kissed Rachel’s naked wrist above her glove. She laughed. The man’s beard tickled.

Jona walked Rachel around the room, introducing her. The names, like a foreign vocabulary rolled over Rachel’s ears. She let the men kiss her wrist, right next to her pulse. After a few men had kissed her, a spike of fear entered her. She might smell like bleach. Her hands must be too rough, after all that cleaning.

She wrapped her arms around Jona, and refused to let anyone else touch her.

Women curtsied, and she copied them as best she could in her heavy boots. The bottom of the dress, where the hoops brushed the grass, was already damp with dew. Jona had lowered the hem all the way down to hide her boots. The hem dragged over the grass, picking up every tiny drop of dew.

Another man kissed her wrist before Rachel could stop him. He said his name. Rachel stuttered her own invented title. Jona asked her if she wanted something else to drink. She nodded her head. He pulled her back to the edge of the crowd.

Before they could return to the edge of the garden, gorgeous people poured out from the sprawling main house, and Jona looked up at the crowd. He pulled Rachel’s arms off of his body. He looked up over the crowd strolling down from the main house. He muttered something to Rachel, but she didn’t hear it. She fell back from him, and tried not to look too conspicuous.

Rachel followed Jona with her eyes. She saw him stop a thin, pale man in a purple topcoat with black, silk pantaloons. The man smiled at Jona, but Rachel couldn’t see Jona’s face. She saw Jona’s head leaning in close and firm, like he was saying something important. She walked as gracefully as she could across the crowded yard. She had to dodge circles of old friends clumping together as the two crowds from the house and the garden merged.

She took Jona’s shoulder. He turned with an angry face at her. He took a deep breath.

A red-haired woman touched the shoulder of the pale man with whom Jona had been speaking. The pale man snatched the woman’s arm from the air, but let the woman walk away from him. They both held their hands up, reaching after each other in the crowd.

Jona shoved the man’s hand down. “Hey, have you met the Duchess from Batriva?”

The man cocked his head. “No,” he said, “I can’t remember meeting her at all.” He squinted. “You look familiar,” he said.

“I’m sure we’ve met at some lovely party in Batriva, where I am from originally,” said Rachel. She recognized the man, too. He could’ve been a patron at her brothel, or a man about the streets in her neighborhood.

He had a familiar face.

“I’m sure we might if I had ever been to Batriva.”

In the distance, a band began to play a slow, majestic march. Ruffled dresses and shining pantaloons meandered out to the center of the lawn and bowed gracefully at each other. The people danced with their hands quite nearly touching, spinning stately circles.

“My name is Sir Salvatore Fidelio,” said the pale man. He reached for her wrist. She let him take it. She looked back from the dancers. He kissed her, and he did not let her go. He stayed there, with his face against her glove.

“I am the Duchess Rachel Batrilander of Batriva,” she said.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I wish to dance with you,” he said, “if you wouldn’t mind…”

He looked at Jona. Jona nodded, and bowed to the man. Rachel clutched at her own dress.

She had never thought so much about her boots before, like heavy chunks of lead beneath her dress.

Salvatore took her out among the spinning circles, and found a place for them in the swirling lines. During the marches, men took the outer circle and women took the middle. They took simple, slow steps spinning in time with the music with their palms out, nearly touching. Then the men stepped backwards at a turning of the melody, and the women swelled forward following a reed flute’s mournful wail. The men gracefully spun together to the outside of the circle of women. Now the women were on the inside, and the men pulled the women back from the center to where they were before. The steps repeated with a new partner. Though it was mostly movement, women put themselves into the motions, swaying their hips or twirling their fingers like snakes.

Rachel danced stiffly. The men looked her in the eyes, and sometimes one slipped his hand too close to hers and brushed at her skin in a lithe stroke. Rachel knew what they wanted to tell

her. Put your body into it, darling. It’s simple, but so is true grace. Rachel smiled and looked away. Her stomach danced more than she did.

When the song ended she was with Sir Salvatore. He bowed to her. She curtsied.

“Milord,” said Rachel, “This dancing has parched my throat. Please, take me to find a drink.”

“Of course, milady.”

She took his arm and let him lead her past the crowd.

“I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Sir Salvatore Fidelio,” he said, “and you are still the Duchess from Batriva?”

“I am still. Ask me later, I might be someone different. What do you know of Lord Joni?”

“Him? I know he wasn’t invited.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite. That’s alright, it doesn’t reflect poorly on a man to seek to improve his station.”

Sir Salvatore gestured over his shoulder. Rachel turned, and she saw Lord Joni dancing a graceful waltz with an older woman, as graceless as Rachel, but with wider hips.

Salvatore snorted at Jona. “He seems to be doing quite well for himself.”

“Oh…” said Rachel, “Who is that woman?”

“That is the daughter of Lord Sabachthani. Not even the king is richer than her, I hear. Certainly, no one is as beautiful.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s just being polite,” said Rachel. She turned back to her companion on whose arm she was.

“Frankly, I don’t think he stands a chance.”

“She’s a bit old to be dancing vigorously, isn’t she?”

“I would be careful before I discuss the hostess at her own party, Duchess. Have you been here long?”

“Here? I came with Lord Joni.”

“No, no, girl. How long have you been in Dogsland? Has it been for the whole season, or did you sneak in to catch the final hours before the rains?”

“Oh, I just came in from Batriva three days ago. Where are you from, Sir… I forgot your name again.”

“Salvatore. I have been here all the days of my life. My father was a soldier who earned our minor nobility during the war, but he died rather quickly afterwards. Fortunately, the title is hereditary. I have been seeking my fortune until recently, and therefore have not been attending many of these lovely affairs.”

“Oh, and how is your fortune… Where do you…”

“I am a speculator in the wool market.”

“Are you rich?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, would I?”

“Of course not. Where’s my drink?”

“Excuse me?”

“I really am thirsty. Find me a drink. Something tight. Last thing Jona brought me wasn’t tight enough. It didn’t even buzz me.”

“I’m sure one of the servants will get around,” he said, “They seem determined to ignore us. Perhaps they suspect us of being crashers. I hate to break it to you, but everyone knows Jona is a crasher, so we all suspect you are a crasher, too. They won’t kick you out if you behave yourself, but they certainly won’t pay any consideration to you when you show up on his arm.”

“My name’s Rachel Nolander. That’s my real name. Send the hounds after me if you want. What’s your real name?”

He smirked. “I’m Salvatore Fidelio, no ‘Sir’.”

“Nothing wrong with a fellow trying to improve his station. Tell me, Salvatore Fidelio, have I seen you before tonight?”

“I can never remember anyone. I have a terrible memory unless I really know someone.”

“Well, Jona’s left me for the hostess, so I guess it’s only you.” Rachel looked over Salvatore’s shoulder, “So dance with me on the other side of the lake. I can’t handle the crowd. I’m scared to Elishta about all of this. This was all Jona’s idea.”

Salvatore bowed. He took her hand. He walked her around the lake. When they reached the edge of the light, Salvatore bowed, again. He held out his hand to her.

Instead of delicately touching her for a decadent waltz, he pulled her close to him like a peasant girl. She rested her head on his shoulder. He spun her in his arms around the edge of the lake, far from the crowd.

* * *

And Jona saw the two dancing. He bowed to Lady Sabachthani, and begged her forgiveness. She rolled her eyes, and looked across the lake. “We’ll talk more later,” she said, “Don’t kill any of my guests over some peasant girl, Lord Joni.”

Jona ground his teeth. “I’ll do what I like,” he said, “If we’re being honest about it.” He pushed through the dancers like he was a king’s man closing in on a street tough in the Pens. People cursed him for his rudeness and he didn’t hear them.

He walked quickly around the little lake to Salvatore Fidelio spinning Rachel.

Jona clenched his fist. Rachel laughed at something Salvatore said. Jona hopped a little, almost running now.

Jona grabbed Salvatore by his ear. Rachel scowled at him. Jona tossed Salvatore into the shallows of the lake.

Jona pointed down at Salvatore like Imam’s own Inquisitor. “You’re coming for Aggie, or else you best learn how to swim.”

Salvatore looked up at Jona. He sat in the lake, and splashed his hands among the shallows like it was a joke. “If you wanted to cut in, you should have asked, Lord Joni.” Salvatore stood up. He walked back to the shore.

Jona lifted a boot to kick at Salvatore’s face.

Rachel grabbed him. “Jona!”

Jona pointed his thumb at Salvatore. His face twisted. “If you knew that fellow like I know that fellow, you’d do the same thing. Maybe worse.” Jona spit on Salvatore’s shirt. “Aggie’s counting on you. All you have to do is show up on time, and take her. After that, you can dump her anywhere and walk away. But you have to show up first. Here you are, like nothing happened. Have you gone to see her? She won’t even talk to me, anymore. She won’t do anything but ask for you.”

Salvatore stood up from the shallows as gracefully as he could. “You’re the one who told me to do that to her.”

Jona walked out to him. Jona jammed his finger onto Salvatore’s chest. “I told you I’d do my best to save her, too,” shouted Jona, “I told you I would. And I did. And now you have to do your part.”

Salvatore brushed water from his hair. He looked at the green algae on his palms from the bottom of the pond. He rubbed it off on Jona’s lapel. “I can’t even remember her face,” said Salvatore, “Did I love her? I don’t know. A woman I loved would never have done what she did. I don’t know her. I don’t know anything about her.”

“She’s going to die!” shouted Jona.

Servants walked around the lake casually, ready to intervene and throw both men from the ball. Lady Sabachthani stood at the edge of the party, watching this scene with her arms folded.

“People die,” said Salvatore, softly, “but I don’t unless the king wills it.”

Jona grabbed Salvatore by the lapel of his fancy coat and threw him into the lake, again. He took Rachel’s hand and pulled her into the hedge maze.

Rachel touched her cheek where the lake water had splashed her, but it wasn’t lake water. It was tears. She was crying. Her sleeves melted in the acid, like smoldering paper. Her eyes widened. “Wait!” she said, “Wait!”

Jona turned.

She bent over. Her tears fell straight down into the grass. A small stench of burning grass and death followed her tears.

“What is it?” said Jona. He noticed her clothes were melting here and there.

Rachel breathed hard. She tried to clamp down on the lump inside of her. She tried to close her eyes so tight that no tears could slip out.

Jona didn’t say anything. He rubbed her back. He looked at her, mystified by what was happening. She choked hard on her own sobs. She clamped her eyes shut, and tried to hold all of her tears inside. She held her breath.

Where tears fell, a section of hedge browned at the edges, and grass melted at her feet.

They walked back through the maze. Her clothes continued to burn off from acid. She spit on her hands and patted at the edge of her new holes. “It’s my tears,” she said.

Jona took off his jacket, and put it over her shoulders. He didn’t care if his dress uniform burned. He never wanted to wear it again. He had made her cry while wearing that jacket.

In the carriage, Jona held her hand. “I’m…”

Rachel put a finger on his mouth. “Hush,” she said.

She leaned into his shoulder. She ran her hand up and down the side of his face with this burning smell between them—the brimstone, acrid smell of acid-burned clothes.

* * *

Rachel got back to the apartment in her own familiar Senta clothes alone. Djoss sat on a chair, nursing a bottle of piss brandy. He looked up at her. “Hey,” he said, “Where’d you go?”

“Oh, I was just out a bit.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went out.”

“Okay, and when you do that, where do you go?” “I go out. That’s all. Look, Djoss, I don’t ask about your women. Don’t ask me where I go. I won’t be found out. I’m careful.”

“Rachel… I just want to know where you go. I get worried sick when I don’t know where you are.”

“You think I don’t worry when you’re gone?”

“It’s different for me.”

“Why? Because you’re human?”

He looked up at her like she was a child. He spoke softly. “Because I’m a man,” he said, “Because I can always walk away with nothing inside of my belly.”

She snapped her fingers. A spark of flame jumped into the air. “Elishta on you and your belly.”

Rachel snapped her fingers again, and the brandy burst into flames. Djoss cursed. The bottle fell to the floor. It shattered. He jumped up from it. He stomped on it with his boot before the fire spread.

Rachel grimaced. “Why do you have to worry about where I’m going all the time?” she said, “Can’t I have my own life, like you do?”

Djoss spit on the spot of singed floor. “What if we have to break for it?” he said, “I need to know where you are in case we have to break for it. You tell me the same thing.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m going out. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Rachel stomped out the door. She slammed the door behind her hard. She fumed all the way past all those noisy rooms.

Djoss was behind her. He called out to her.

She ignored him. She turned two corners, walked past the large slaughterhouse, and through the human bottleneck from the workmen building the new canal. She turned a corner, and then another corner, and then another. She didn’t know where she was, anymore, and she had never been there before.