Disclaimer: A Tale of Two Castles is the property of Gail Carson Levine. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Scheherazade refers to the narrator of Arabian Nights, who told her husband stories each night to keep him from killing her. By extension, her name has come to mean a female storyteller.
Scheherazade
"If he is here, Sulow will be in the yellow mansion."
That had been four years ago. I had wondered then what his being in the yellow mansion (yellow for comedy) might signify. It had been applicable, I suppose, though the head of the actors' guild had turned out to have a rather cruel sense of humor. Now, as I approached the mansions from the rear once again, I wondered if Master Sulow would still be in the yellow mansion, or if the years would have changed him as they had so many others.
The mansions, huge rectangular wooden boxes set on wheels, were in far worse shape than they had been last time I'd been here. The purple mansion (purple for ceremonial scenes), from which hung the troupe's pennant, had a broken wheel and lurched crazily to one side. Paint was peeling from the sides of all of the boxes, and the red mansion, where battle scenes were played, had weathered to a dull brown—from a bloody wound, to a rusty sword. I had heard in town that Sulow's troupe had declined severely over the last months. I hadn't realized it was this bad.
I circled to the front and knocked firmly on the door of the yellow mansion. It struck me how different this occasion was from the first time I had come. In the morning sunshine rather than an evening's pouring rain, there was no reason to play the role of the princess in The Princess and the Pea. I was no longer the drenched and starving supplicant pleading for an extra-long free apprenticeship, my voice having fled and my knock on the door a whisper tap. I was grown up, competent, confident. I knew what I wanted, and I knew I could get Sulow to give it to me. Not like last time.
The door opened, and I found myself facing a girl about my own age, though stockier, with strong arms and rough, sinewy hands. The carpenter, I realized. The girl Master Sulow had taken on just the day before he had refused me. If it hadn't been clear before that she didn't have a mansioning bone in her body, it certainly was now. I wondered what had happened to the boys. The same, probably, if they weren't already gone.
"Hm?" the girl grunted at me, folding her arms.
"Is Master Sulow here?" I asked.
She frowned and pointed wordlessly toward the black mansion. Black for tragedy. The years had changed Master Sulow.
I crossed to the black mansion and knocked again. There was no answer. I waited a moment, then knocked harder. After a pause, a voice from within growled, "Go away." The voice was rough and the words slurred, but it wasn't enough to disguise Master Sulow's voice from me. I drew myself up, turned the knob sharply, and flung the door open.
I sailed in. At least, I think I did. I've never quite understood what that phrase means, but it seems like something a mansioner ought to know how to do. I've always tended to associate it with confidence and long skirts, both of which I possessed. In any case, it seemed to catch Sulow off guard. He stared up at me from the seat of an old, worn sofa, his eyes glaring red. A brown glass bottle slid out of his hand and tipped over. I could guess pretty well what it was from the color of the liquid spreading out onto the floor.
"Who're you?" Sulow demanded, his words sliding into one another so I had to strain to catch them.
An angry retort died on my lips. If Master Sulow didn't recognize me, so much the better. Here was an opportunity to mansion.
"Many years ago," I proclaimed, "a young maiden came to your door, cold, wet, and starving. You refused her what she asked of you, a decision which in the end, only you would come to regret—"
"Oh, you're the girl who wanted a free apprenticeship," Master Sulow grumbled. "The one who wound up becoming the dragon's assistant; they told me you and Meenore were back in town."
I tried not to look crestfallen. "Indeed. Elodie is my name." I swept a curtsy.
"Yeah, yeah. What do you want, girl?"
I lifted my skirts and sidestepped to avoid the rivulet of liquor just as it reached me. "I have a proposal to make."
"Then say it already, girl!" he snapped. "Do you think I have time for your theatricals?"
You are a mansioning master, I thought. What do you have time for if not theatricals?
"I wish to propose a performance," I continued, "here in Two Castles in a month's time. You will allow me to choose the pieces to be performed and to play the primary female roles, as well as giving me full directing authority, to be used at my discretion."
Sulow's mouth had fallen so widely open you could have placed a large apple squarely inside it. "And I will allow you to do all this—why?"
This was the part of the interview I had prepared for most carefully. I drew myself up to my full height, which had, over the past four years, become quite satisfactory. (No audience wants a short heroine, after all.)
"You will allow it," I said, "because your business is suffering, and it will take something big to save it. When I auditioned for you four years ago, I was already a better mansioner than any member of your troupe except yourself. I am now four years more experienced, and my skill is acknowledged among the royalty of Kyrria, Tair, and Ayortha. My name in your advertisements and my later performance may yet be enough to save you."
I was proud of myself; my voice had neither trembled nor hesitated. It felt odd to brag like that, to lord over him my superior fame and skill. It felt good, in a small way, when I thought of how he'd slighted me years ago. But I mostly found I didn't like it. It didn't seem fair—him sitting there, a drunken failure, when he had devoted most of his life to mansioning, while I stood over him, never even having apprenticed, and told him of success greater than he'd ever achieved in his glory days. He looked pitiful as his inebriated brain tried to work through what I'd said.
"Fine," he said at last. "And what's the occasion of this grand performance?"
"That is to be kept between you and me alone," I said. "The occasion is His Lordship's birthday."
"What will you be performing?" Masteress Meenore asked as I entered the lair.
"I haven't planned it out entirely," I answered. "I was thinking of doing my own adaptation of—Wait." I stopped short and stared at IT. "How did you—Haven't you skipped several questions?"
My masteress sighed. The smoke rising from ITs nostrils tinged a faint pink. "You ought to know better than this by now, Lodie. The reason I did not ask them is that I already knew the answers. Tell me how I arrived at them."
I went to the table where IT was cubing bread and cheese for the skewers IT sold at the marketplace. ITs face grew disapproving, and I held up my hands. "Clean. I washed in the rain barrel before I came in." IT nodded, and I took a knife and a loaf.
"Let's see," I said slowly. "The question before 'What will you be performing?' would be 'Did he agree?' That wasn't deducing or inducing; it was just common sense. I knew that, too. Master Sulow can't afford to miss an opportunity like this; he's desperate. The question before that is 'What did you ask?' That… In a way, that's common sense, too. Why else would I go to Master Sulow than to ask about a performance? I'm too old to apprentice, and I don't need to anyway. It certainly wouldn't have been a friendly visit. Not with Master Sulow."
Enh enh enh, came ITs nasal laugh.
"As for where did I go, I assume you deduced it from how I dressed this morning?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?" IT said.
"Asking you," I admitted. "I'm really not sure about that one."
Enh enh enh. "In part. You think you look very grown up in that particular attire." Enh enh enh.
I do, I thought irritably. "In part?" I prompted.
ITs white smoke began going up in spirals, which for IT indicated pleasure. What for, I couldn't guess.
"That and the… nature of the request I induced from various observations I have made since we returned to Two Castles," IT said silkily.
"Like?"
"Mmm," IT replied. That meant the subject was closed.
I shot a glare at my masteress and continued to cube the bread. I hated when IT acted superior.
The outdoor theater hummed with hundreds of voices. I had been right: my name had drawn crowds.
Whatever remorse I might have felt over thinking about that had swiftly vanished in the past month. At first, Sulow had given me full directing authority, as I'd asked—that is to say, he had retreated into his black mansion and refused to have anything to do with the performance. Particularly if I needed anything. Then word of the city's anticipation of the event had somehow slunk into his hidey hole and penetrated his drunken brain, and he had come out. From that point on I'd had to fight for my vision of the performance every step of the way. But in the end, I had won.
His Lordship Count Jonty Um was scheduled to arrive after the guests were all seated. Keeping the purpose of the event a secret was the one promise Sulow had kept; he knew better than to give out that the event on which his career was riding was being held in honor of an ogre. Not even my name might have been enough to draw them, then. It was that attitude I was hoping to change tonight.
I caught a glimpse of Masteress Meenore's iridescent wings overhead, the signal that Count Jonty Um was on his way. I waved to let IT know I had seen. My masteress had been uncharacteristically helpful in the time leading up to the performance, taking it upon ITself to ensure that His Lordship discovered no more about the event than everyone else and arranging to bring him just in time for the start of the performance so that no one would be deterred from coming. I still hadn't figured out what IT hoped to get out of all this; IT never did anything from which IT could gain nothing. I hoped IT realized that all the proceeds were going to Master Sulow, since Sulow was doing this for the money and I hoped to get a far better reward out of tonight.
I heard His Lordship's thundering footsteps just before he rounded the bend. Of course, everyone else heard him, too, and the hum of conversation changed quickly to grumbling. As I had predicted, though, no one left. They had already paid out their money now.
Four mansioners brought out the large table that would serve Count Jonty Um for a bench and set it at the back. His Lordship was smiling as he sat down, and I noticed with somewhat unreasonable relief that Nesspa was with him. The great dog always was, of course, except for that one crucial time long ago, but there were enough cats prowling around to make me nervous. Nesspa would protect His Lordship from them.
The grumbling died down as Master Sulow stood up to address the audience. This was the part I didn't like, because I had to trust him to say what he was supposed to say and no more. I had no control, since I was already inside the black mansion at the front of the theater. A wooden panel would separate me from Sulow until his comments were finished and the performance began.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Two Castles," Master Sulow boomed. There was no sound of drink in his voice tonight. "Esteemed guests from beyond our fair city. Lords and ladies of the nobility. Your gracious majesties King Thiel and Queen Renn. It is my honor and privilege to welcome you tonight to a performance of favorite tales in unique adaptations, written and performed by the beautiful Mistress Elodie of Lahnt—"
The crowd clapped and cheered, but I frowned. Sulow wasn't supposed to say that; I still wasn't beautiful. I could appear beautiful from the distant perspective of an audience, though, so perhaps it didn't matter.
"—and directed by myself, your own Two Castles mansioning master, the great Sulow!"
That I had agreed to allow him to say, though reluctantly. The deal had been to help him save his business, and he could hardly do that by letting me take credit for everything.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce to you your leading lady for this evening, the young woman famed throughout four kingdoms, a rising star in the mansioner's trade, Mistress Elodie of Lahnt!"
The front panel slid away. It was time. I stepped forward and began to sing.
Lords and ladies of the city—
Lords and ladies, look up high.
Look with fear or look with pity:
There are giants in the sky.
I had to wait for the applause to die down before going on to the next verse. They had recognized the story as Jack and the Beanstalk, but I knew they had never heard a musical rendition before. I had learned to use music in my mansioning this way in Ayortha. I hoped that by adding music to the retelling, I would prepare them for some of the other changes I had worked in.
Lords and ladies of the city,
Oft I watch you down below
Live your tiny lives so busy,
Never ask and never know.
I picked up a broom and began to sweep the floor of the stage.
Ladies, goodwives, in your houses,
Working hard from sun to sun—
As your broom more dust arouses,
My work, too, is never done.
Men and goodwives, fathers, mothers
Have you ever had a child?
Little daughters and their brothers,
Small and sweet, and rough and wild?
Know I, too, have borne a son,
Rocked him gently in my arms.
Now to manhood he has won,
Tall and strong with manly charms.
A young man, one of the male leads of Sulow's troupe, crossed the stage behind me. I had chosen him for the role of the giantess's son because of his height and fair complexion, and especially his freckles. I had no idea if anyone but I would notice his visual similarity to Count Jonty Um, but I thought it couldn't hurt.
Ladies, goodwives, are you married?
Know I have a husband, too.
Day by day I'm frightened, harried.
He is great and he is cruel.
Master Sulow's giant came onto the stage. Any mansioner's troupe of any size has one—sometimes just an unnaturally tall man, sometimes a real half giant from Menigo. I've never heard of anyone using a real giant, probably because one wouldn't fit on the stage of a mansion, besides their being almost impossible to feed and bed. But half giants do happen sometimes, and every leader of a mansioning troupe aspires to get one. Naturally, Sulow had one, though how long he would have stayed if Sulow's fortunes had continued to decline, I can't guess. Half giants don't tend to be very smart, but they know when the food is running out.
The half giant pretended to beat me, tunelessly singing endless Fi-Fi-Fo-Fums. I ducked and ran in feigned fear, and he chased me off the stage.
We basically followed the plot of Jack and the Beanstalk for a while after that. The cheesy songs continued, and there were a couple of added scenes where the giantess and the son, Joss, argued with the giant and asked him to leave poor Jack alone. But nothing that changed the plot. A little boy was playing Jack in the scenes with the giant, of course, and when he stood near Sulow's giant, the effect was quite convincing. It was less convincing when the boy was with me, but that didn't matter much.
Things got interesting when we got to the last theft, though. The original ending, where Jack gets away with the harp and then chops down the beanstalk and kills the giant, didn't fit at all with the story I was trying to tell. As from off screen I watched the giant chase Jack to the beanstalk, I took a deep breath and held it. This was the moment. If the audience trusted me enough to go on to the second act, they would hopefully learn a lesson they'd needed to learn a long time ago. If they didn't trust me—well, I wasn't going to entirely rule out the possibility that I'd be lynched then and there.
The little boy playing Jack climbed several rungs down the hinged ladder covered in vines that served as the beanstalk. Sulow's giant put his huge foot on the first rung, and immediately backstage workers began swaying the ladder back and forth and bending it at the hinge, as though the giant's weight was too much for the beanstalk. No one could have told little Jack's cries from real screams of fear. The ladder collapsed at the hinge and lowered slowly, and the boy let go and allowed himself to drop the short distance to the ground. The audience gasped as he landed on his back, unmoving. A moment later the giant fell, too, landing so that he appeared to fall on top of Jack and crush him. There was a moment of stillness in which the audience sat, stunned, staring at their hero buried beneath the giant's corpse.
The panel slid across the front of the black mansion. It was the end of Act One.
I had opted for a ten-minute intermission, only half the traditional length. I had told Sulow it was for the audience's sake, that with such an ending to the first act, a twenty-minute wait would be unbearable. In truth, I think the short intermission was really for me. I was afraid I would lose my nerve.
About four minutes in, I was standing to the side, watching the black mansion be pulled away by two horses so the green mansion (green for romance) could be put into its place, when I heard footsteps. Big footsteps, accompanied by the swift padding of a dog. My heart leapt into my throat; I hadn't wanted to see His Lordship until the performance was over and the whole story was told. I feared that at this point what I was trying to say might be misunderstood, that he might think I was doing this against him instead of for him. If that was what he thought, I didn't want to know. Later, he would see.
"Elodie?"
I spun around. "Your Lordship!" He was smiling at me; that was good. Maybe—
"I recognize the story," he said softly.
I frowned, confused. "Well, yes, it's Jack and the Beanstalk, but in the next act you'll see—"
He shook his head. "No, I mean the story I told you, a long time ago. It didn't happen like that, but I recognize it."
I nodded slowly. The story about his father. I'd asked him why the people of Two Castles hated him, and he'd told me his father had been a cruel ogre—he didn't eat people, but he terrorized them with his shapeshifting. At some point a child had died, and while His Lordship's father hadn't intended it to happen, it was still his fault. Just like the giant hadn't meant to kill Jack by making him fall from the beanstalk, but he was still the one to blame.
"It wasn't your fault," I said, more fiercely than I meant to. "They shouldn't make you suffer for it."
Count Jonty Um nodded. "And you're trying to tell them that. Thank you."
I smiled. "I just hope they listen."
"Me, too."
A bell started ringing, signaling the audience to go back to their seats. "You'd better go," I said.
He agreed. He turned, and I watched him go back to his seat, Nesspa trotting patiently beside him. I grinned. There was no chance of losing my nerve now. Now, I could do anything.
Act Two started with Jack's funeral. I was no longer the giantess; I had slipped into a short skirt and a red hood and cape, and my hair was in braids. A young girl—Little Red Riding Hood. Jack's mother was there too, and some extras, and, most importantly, the giant's son Joss. It was a gesture, a hint. I didn't know if Count Jonty Um had been at the funeral of the child his father had killed, but I could imagine it.
As the funeral official droned on in a tone that was deliberately unintelligible, I took center stage.
Mother said if I was naughty,
If I strayed off from the path,
Scary giants would come get me,
Wicked wolves tear me in half.
Jack and I were always careless,
Laughed the stories all away,
Wandered everywhere beware-less,
Till my friend died yesterday.
I burst into tears, and the woman playing my mother led me off from the rest of the group, who slowly moved offstage. She placed a basket of bread in my hand, and off I went down the path looking warily side to side for giants.
Of course, it wasn't a giant but a wolf that came to get Little Red Riding Hood, a wolf played by Master Sulow in a wonderful mask with a creepy, sinister voice. I had never seen the wolf played so terrifyingly. I heard women and children shriek when he came onstage for the first time, and could scarcely hide my smile of pleasure. Now if only the ending would be enough...
Why, Granny, are your eyes so big?
Why, Granny are your ears so large?
Why, Granny, is your mouth so wide?
Why, Granny, are your teeth so sharp?
Sulow snarled.
My eyes are big so I can see you;
My ears are large so I can hear.
My mouth so wide and teeth so sharp
Are so that I can eat you, dear!
My scream as Sulow leapt up in his frightful wolf mask was almost real, and much of the audience joined me. I stumbled back and fell to the floor behind the bed, joining the old woman playing Granny so that the task of "being eaten" could take place hidden from the audience. Sulow rose a few seconds later, his stomach swollen with several pillows that had shared our hiding place, and collapsed onto the bed. A hush fell over the crowd.
Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound of heavy footsteps. Then the "cottage door" was flung open and Joss, the giant's son, stormed in.
The audience gasped.
The giant's son stamped to the bed and caught up the wolf by its throat.
Listen here, you vile monster!
Where's the woman who lives here?
Have you harmed the sweet old granny
And the girl she holds so dear?
Sulow stammered in response, his eyes rolling wildly. The giant's son let him fall back on the bed and with his bare hands tore open the nightshirt and (it was implied) the wolf's belly, to the accompaniment of much horrid shrieking. He reached down past Sulow to me and the old woman crouched behind the bed and lifted us up, one at a time, as though out of the wolf's open stomach. Sulow lay motionless; the wolf was dead.
My voice trembled as I sang, looking fearfully up at the giant's son,
It's my fault, there's no denying;
Mother told me not to stray.
Though by wolves I won't be dying,
Now I'll be a giant's prey.
The old woman and I huddled together, Granny and Red Riding Hood waiting for the giant's son to turn his rage on them. Instead, he knelt beside us and laid a gentle hand on each of our shoulders.
Granny, child, don't be frightened;
There's no reason for alarm.
You are safe now from the wolf,
And I would never do you harm.
Yes, I understand you fear me.
Father did much wrong to you.
For Jack's death I'm truly sorry.
There was nothing I could do.
Mother pleaded, and I begged him
Just to let poor Jack alone.
In the end he wouldn't listen;
Now he's reaped what he has sown.
Please don't judge me by my father.
I'm nothing like him in the end.
He was cruel and harsh and wicked.
I just want to be your friend.
He had helped us up as he sang, and by the last verse we three stood on the stage holding hands. That last verse was sung facing directly toward the audience.
I was shamelessly moralizing at this point. Those words were straight from Count Jonty Um, or rather, from one who loved him, to the people of Two Castles, and I was hoping beyond all hope that they would not only get the message but accept it. Singing to the audience had been only part of the reason I wanted to face outward; I had also wanted to see their faces.
Not everyone was buying it. I saw some frowns, some glares. A few people stroking their cats. But there were also smiles. Some of them—some of them were looking at His Lordship, and they did not seem angry but… was it sympathy? Could it be?
The last note died, and there was silence in the theater. Then a clap. And another. And then people were on their feet, lots of people—half—more than half. More than I had ever dared to expect. Clapping. Smiling. Accepting the message I had tried to send.
And the loudest clap and the biggest smile of all was His Lordship's.