33rd of Autumn 514AV
At times, Tim liked to sneak out. He had figured a way to tell if he could or couldn't. When Jed was grumbling again, he couldn't, when Jed was away to the Radacke mansion or snoring somewhere in the workshop, he could. Matilla would roll her eyes at him, Sander would shake his head a bit, but other than that, they let him be. So far, he hadn't been caught and if he would be, he could rattle off plenty excuses. Besides, Matilla's memory want what it used to be and already once he'd told her he had to run some errands thus permitting himself a half bell or so of strolling through town.
Squinting his eyes as he sauntered outside, not minding Matilla's prying orbs scorching his back, he cursed the sun and longed back to the seasonal changes that Sunberth had so plenty of. A dimple showed on his cheek. He'd never thought he would miss the bitter cold. Some rain would be nice though. Or snow. Heh, the posh buggers probably wouldn't last a week.
At least the place had nice gentle breezes, only he couldn't stop to enjoy them all too often. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was the wristband, dangling from his left wrist. It was sort of nice-looking, he supposed, but nothing too special. Not to anyone else.
He glanced over his shoulder, making doubly sure that Jed wasn't following him, or that Matilla wasn't urging him back inside.
Nothing. The street was as empty as Ms. Sitai's soul, yet he had to ask her a favor.He wished he could ask someone else, he wished he could push the burning curiosity out of his mind, but to no avail. No matter how wicked she was, Jed's shovel-sized hands hurt a lot more than her sneers. His tongue tasted the bittersweet irony; she would love this, she would enjoy having him at her mercy, and he would let her celebrate her victory if it gave him what he desired most:
Answers.
But he wouldn't find them in the small shop next to Jed's, that much he knew. The still empty windows were like hollow, preying eyes, trying to lure him in. One of the advantages Tim had learned about early was that the slick-hairs were devoted to gossip. Some Dynasts that visited Jed's Bed and Boxes had enough wits about them to notice that Tim had two small, round ears attached to his skull and kept their jibs wisely shut. Others either thought the mousy boy too doltish or too innocent looking to suspect he would be even remotely interested in their petty secrets. In a sense they were right, he couldn't care less about who married whom or how horribly out of fashion their furniture was. Still, he always listened in, absently searching for opportunities to presrnt themselves.
Few Dynasts actually visited the shop these days, it was mostly slaves that came picking up orders. Some came and left like a whisper, others were less tightly lipped. It was through this mechanism that he'd heard that Adelaide had taken up acting. She was quite good at pretending so he thought it likely to be true.
He counted the ticks it took him to reach the playhouse for he needed at least that many to return in time. Through faith or fortune he had already passed the playhouse twice before and had no trouble finding it, as if some invisible force had guided him there. A small thank you, little more than a mutter, left his lips and would hopefully find Yahal in the realms above.
He stopped across the street. Down those stairs on the other end the moral carcass called Miss Sitai awaited.
He was just about to cross the street when a startling thought froze his frame. Perhaps she would turn him in to Jed and things would turn sour again. No matter how kindly many spoke of her, he wouldn't be fooled. She couldn't turn him in to Jed, not now that he had worked so hard to earn Jed's trust and respect. The Radacke had little patience, so Tim had quickly learnt.
He bit his lips. What good was it to wait? As if his chances would be any better later...No, he might as well man up, hold his own, stand his ground, and confront Adelaide with steely determination.
Swallowing down a gulp he flattened his clothes and combed his hair down with his hands. It had grown long enough to hide his mark if he wanted it to and he made good use of that now, no matter the risks. After all, he could hardly be blamed that Jed hadn't bidden Matilla to cut the dark blonde strands away let alone that Jed had been foolish enough to place the Radacke insignia there in the first place. He passed the street and went up to the booth. Some idiot had built it too tall and he had to stand on his toes to adress the servant therein. "I've come to do an audition," he said. Much to his relief the middle aged man in the booth had seen far too many hopeless cases to be remotely interested by Tim's feeble announcement. "What discipline?" the man yawned, his eye never leaving the paperwork in front of him.
"Uh...singing."
"Down the stairs and to the left."
"Thanks." Tim was about to skid off when the man looked up and arched an eyebrow at him.
"Did Adelaide send for you?"
Tim stopped in his tracks, his cheeks were beginning to flush and his eyes met the ground. "Well...no, not really," he shrugged. The man shifted in his chair and cocked his head at Tim.
"So you just came here by yourself?" The man's black, oiled hair smelled of mint and though his slave mark was distinct he had the same nosy air about him that all Dynasts had.
Tim shrugged again. "I like to sing," he added carefully.
"Hmm, Adelaide should be around. Let me guide you down."
"Oh, it's no bother," Tim interjected, but it was too late.
"I insist," the man smiled. "Young talent must be nurtured. That is, if you have any talent to speak of. The arts aren't easy to master boy, they are timeless but you are not," he chuckled as he stepped towards Tim and motioned for the young entrepeneur to follow. "I am Vincent by the way, what's your name?"
Perhaps he hesitated a little too long but he knew the best lies were half-truths. "Mered," he said.
"Queer name." Much to Tim's relief, Vincent didn't press the matter further.
The area below was completely open, the full weight of the elements allowed to beat down on the stands arranged in a half-circle. There would be no hiding and, by some cruel twist of fate, the stairs were the only way out again. Mouth agape Tim let his eyes slide over an imaginary crowd, his heart skipped a beat as he imagined the thrill of being cheered at, not sneered.
"Well," Vincent crossed his arms, "let's take a listen."
Tim tore his gaze from the stands. "Now?" his eyes widened.
"Yes, now. What's the matter boy, lost your nerve? Come on, speak up."
"...no...no it's not that, it's just..." He sighed, folded his hands behind his back and tried to douse the fire on his cheeks, urging him to stop this mad idea while he could still get away and save the shame. But his muscles ran ahead of his brain and before he knew it the first notes rolled of his tongue. His voice was soft and wavered on the first few notes but grew more steadily on the ones thereafter. For once he was thankful that the sailors on the slaveship had sang so many shanties. It was impossible to remember them all but he had learned a great deal of them over the months of travel that had carried him here.
See! The sea itself!
On its heaving breast, the ships.
White sails bellying in the wind;
The sun dancing dusk till dawn.
Sea, mighty sea, bring me to shore
Sea, mighty sea, bring me home
Keep us brave sailors afloat
Please blue mother, bring me back home.
