A sheet of water that seemed to come from the wings had pooled on the stage, filling it to the brim and dripping, now, over the apron. It plinked gently, incongruously against the wooden floor. Then a metallic rattling sound came from behind the velvet curtains stage left. A heavy clatter, as of chains being dragged.
The creature emerged from between the curtains, three times as large as an ordinary wolf, the horns long and spiked as a bull’s, the chains wrapped so tightly that they had cut into the fur, the skin open and raw where the links had worn it away. I glanced to the side and realized that the spirit thews were gone from the stage. Clementine watched the creature intently. The Urco. The horned wolf from the sea. Then, a single scream from the balcony cut through the air, and the hall descended into chaos.
Sam: Murcia’s Five
Animar: A simple casting that will animate inanimate objects. Dead worth must be estimated carefully to ensure that the projected actions are fully accounted for.
—Euphemia Parra,Encantos de palabra(translation mine)
Saturday, September 29, 1888
The mad scramble for the exits had begun, but the narrow doorways would allow only so many people at once, and the Lyceum was still mostly full as the wolf took a step forward, its teeth bared, spittle dripping from its chin. If the creature hadn’t been summoned for the purpose of sabotaging our performance, I would have enjoyed the sight of the region’s wealthiest and most respected citizens shrieking indecorously, pushing one another viciously, and scuffling toward the exits with abandon.
I’d already placed myself between Clementine and the wolf—it would have to contend with me first—but the creature ignored us. It took several steps toward the apron of the stage and gazed out at the scrambling audience. Though part of me was relieved, I realized how it would look: we stood there, safe, while the wolf prepared to maul the audience. It only served to confirm the spirit thews’ accusation thatwehad provoked its appearance.
The wolf paused, as if deciding which morsel to enjoy first. A small coterie of enchanters stood before the velvet seats, their spirit thews hovering behind them. One of them, a younger man I didn’t recognize, stepped forward and pointed at the wolf. His spirit thew, beside him, raised her arms as if to pull back an arrow on an invisible bow. As her fingers released, a silver arrow cameinto being, sparkling in its swift arc toward the wolf before burying itself in the creature’s chest. The wolf lurched and howled, an excruciating sound that tore through the hall.
This, of course, was the performance the enchanterswantedthe audience to see: a play in two acts, in which the commonwealth’s finest enchanters defeated the monster created by the malicious enchantress. Obligingly, some of the attendees paused in the task of clobbering their way to the exit and gave shouts of approval. The spirit thew loosed another silver arrow, which flew swift and straight and plunged into the wolf’s neck. This was a wolf without any sense of self-preservation, I thought wryly. The creature staggered, its chains rattling alarmingly as it dropped to the stage and struggled again to rise.
Where was Roy? He and a dozen other officers had been in the audience, prepared to arrest the enchanters in attendance when their crimes were made known by Corbin and the other spirits. I couldn’t see them now, and I could only assume that they’d either been caught in the crush of bodies or they had, more likely, taken on the task of ushering the public to safety. Reaching outward, I tried to sense his thoughts, but the agitation of so many hundreds of people was like a swarm of hornets, and I could detect nothing beyond it.
I searched again. I reached for his distinctive sense of calm, his pragmatism. There—there he was. He was there in the crowd, and his thoughts were intended for me. They conveyed a message, urgent and clear. I turned and took Clem’s arm. That disturbing lethargy had settled upon her once again. She was staring at the Urco with mild curiosity. “Clem, we must go.”
She turned to me, not at all moved by my urgency. “Where?”
“To the Manse. Where we agreed to meet Roy.” I grabbed her tokens from the table.
“Without him?”
I pulled her through the pooled water toward the wings. “Yes. He’ll be delayed here. He said to hurry.”
“SO!” a piercing voice cried. We paused and looked out toward the audience. “The malefactorsfleefrom the destruction they have wrought!” It was Principa, who floated some distance above the swarming crowd and pointed at us gleefully. “Look at them, running to save themselves from the consequences of their actions.”
“The consequences ofyouractions,” I said, but my words carried no farther than the stage. The wolf lay prone, its limbs kicking uselessly in ungainly death throes. Some people in the crowd were looking past the wolf at us, and their expressions were not sympathetic.
“They’re turning the crowd against us,” Clem observed.
I continued to pull her away, though it was galling to leave the lie unchallenged. We ducked into the wings through the velvet curtains, following the path we had taken backstage only an hour earlier. A man coming the other way gave us a decidedly unfriendly look, but he didn’t pause.
“Perhaps we should alter our appearances,” Clem said, as if suggesting we carry umbrellas in case of rain.
Silently, I handed her the lacquer comb that was in my pocket. The moment her fingers closed around it, her appearance was altered; her hair was lighter and longer, her face and body became rounder. Swiftly, she pulled her hair back into a loop and tucked the comb into it. For my part, I concealed all evidence of my thew body and gave my face bland, forgettable features different from the ones I’d previously adopted. No one, we expected, would trouble two middle-aged women of unremarkable appearance.
We were right. As we hurried through the corridors, we passedemployees of the Lyceum who didn’t even spare a glance for us, intent as they were on escaping the havoc taking place inside the hall. Only when we reached the door that led to Flint Street did a man bar our way—a tall man, with a bald head and burly, tattooed arms. “The other way,” he shouted as we approached him. “Other way, other way. To the rear. Back and then right to the Green Street exit, and quick. There’s another fiend beyond this door.”
Another fiend?
Clementine’s brief frown suggested a similar doubt, but she swiveled back obligingly the way we’d come. We scurried along the narrow corridor at the rear of the Lyceum, and we could hear now in the relative silence the distant cries that might have issued either from the great hall or from the streets beyond. At the Green Street door, there was no one blocking our way. Indeed, the door had been propped open by a broom, and we burst out of the darkness into the sunny afternoon.
For the span of a few seconds, everything seemed normal. The street was quiet. The sun poured down from overhead, glinting off the mullioned windows. I heard the innocuous clatter of carriage wheels. Then, in rapid succession, a scream pierced the air from a window across the street, a shirtless man ran past carrying an infant, and a deafening boom sounded from somewhere nearby. It had to be the cannons on the square. I’d never heard them fired. Clementine and I turned as one toward Flint Street, where people could be seen dashing past.
A shadow fell upon the cobblestone. It moved slowly, awkwardly, with a lumbering gait. Then all at once it appeared, fully as tall as the Lyceum that had until then obstructed it from view: a pale, hairless, naked giant, its skin cadaverously white, showing the branching of blue veins below the surface. The Rabeno. Its long arms dangled, ending in bony fingers each a yard long. Itdidn’t look our way. With a vacant expression, it swatted absently at a coach that stood on the corner and continued on its ramble down Flint Street.
“This way,” Clem said, tugging me toward the corner where the giant had just disappeared. I had no wish to pursue the pale giant. “The coach,” she explained, tugging me harder.
I followed rapidly, still not comprehending; Clem was already running toward the corner. When I reached it, she’d succeeded in righting the coach. Now, muttering“Remendar,”she mended the wheel. I took a step past the coach to see the Rabeno stalking away down Flint Street, bent on some destination known only to its resolute mind. The street around it was empty.
I turned my attention back to Clementine. “There’s no horse,” I said.
