“You are not missing anything; I haven’t. I am not sure that I want to.” Nigel tapped the side of his glass thoughtfully. “There is the inevitable problem of finding a dancing partner for her if we do. How many male dancers do you know that are in variety that were trained in ballet?”
Jonathon shook his head.
“Whereas if she doesn’t have a male romantic lead as such, we can just have some of the fellows do the lifts, and maybe assist in her turns. Lads trained in the usual sort of stage dance can do that,” Nigel pointed out.
Jonathon laughed. “I can do that,” he replied.
“Well, then, I’m not at all sure we need a romantic lead for her. Might be more interesting if your magician character starts out being a villain, and then gets won over and sacrifices himself so she can get away.” He pondered. “Or at least it looks that way. You’ve always wanted to do a spectacular escape trick; how about if the Sultan takes the magician prisoner and he makes a showy escape?”
Jonathon got a wicked gleam in his eye. “Can I make the palace collapse on the Sultan and all his evil minions? Or set it on fire?”
“If you can do it under budget.” That was Arthur, being shown in by the manservant, a whiskey already in his hand.
“I’ll set it on fire. That will sell a lot of tickets,” Jonathon decided. “Besides leaving the ambiguity that maybe the magician was secretly something like Mephistopheles all along, and sent to bring his master the soul of the Sultan.”
“Good idea!” Wolf exclaimed from Arthur’s shoulder. “Makes the whole thing less sticky-sweet. I could even write music for that—”
“No arias!” All three of the humans exclaimed at once. Wolf fluffed his feathers in indignation.
“All right, that takes care of that. I think we have a pretty strong book for this, and once we know what acts we’ll be putting into it, and how often our star can perform over the course of it, we’ll know exactly what music we need.” Nigel tossed back the last of his drink and refilled it from the decanter himself. “Now, as for the other reason why you in particular are here, Jonathon, let me tell you what we know about the young lady.”
“And her cat,” Wolf added sourly. “Let’s not forget the cat. He certainly won’t let you.”
“Cat?” Jonathon looked at them all quizzically.
“Let me start at the beginning,” Nigel replied with a laugh, and did so.
When he was done, Jonathon was unexpectedly silent. After waiting for some sort of reaction, and getting nothing, Nigel finally asked, “What are you thinking?”
“That it is certainly interesting. I’m not at all familiar with the Russian Masters. Actually, I don’t think much of anyone is; we have a lot of contact with the French and Italian ones, a little less with the Spanish, but . . .” He shrugged. “It does sound as if her father must have come to an untimely end, probably at the hands of another Master. And if he left such a guardian for his daughter, that suggests he expected whoever his enemy was would come after her as well.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Arthur said quietly. Both Nigel and Jonathon grimaced a little. Arthur’s grandfather had run afoul of a bad-tempered Scottish Master, who had pursued not only the old man, but the man’s son and grandson. It was only at the death of the Scottish magician that the persecution had ceased.
“Russians are notorious for temper.” Jonathon tossed back his own drink. “On the other hand, I am not exactly weak. And Fire magic is rather well suited to combat. Unlike Air, and no slur intended, Nigel.”
“No offense taken. Air is the weakest, offensively and defensively. But when it comes to gaining information—” He shrugged. “Short of finding a way to live without breathing, you can’t shut Air Elementals out.”
“Well, don’t underestimate your ability to add to my power. Air feeds Fire and never forget it.” Jonathon set his glass down and steepled his fingers together. “Whatever might come after this young woman, I think we will be prepared for it.”
“And that is exactly why I wanted you here,” Nigel said with satisfaction. Well, there it was. The tacit agreement to make all of this a reality, and to protect Nina from whatever it was that threatened her. If Jonathon had not actually come out and said he was going to help out with this enterprise, it was certainly written between the lines. And he would not say, not yet, for a magician’s words were binding. He wanted to be sure, and Nigel could hardly blame him.
“But I want to meet her before I make any decisions,” Jonathon continued, and measured Nigel with a stern look. “No offense, Nigel, but your weakness has always been a damsel in distress. I’m not so easily gulled, and my stock-in-trade is illusion. I want to see her and this cat of hers. I want your promise that you will hold by my decision as well. Do I have it?”
Nigel shrugged. He knew Jonathon was right, and although he liked Nina Tchereslavsky quite a bit, well . . . he had to face the fact that if she was pulling some sort of deception, there were other singers and dancers he could base his endeavor around. And he had to keep reminding himself of that. She might appear to need rescue, he might want to rescue her, but there was always the possibility that it was all part of some grand confidence game. Not everyone was worth rescuing.
They are talking about you, said the cat. He sat near the door of Ninette’s room, with his head cocked to one side. She put her book down in her lap and regarded him thoughtfully.
“They? Nigel and Arthur and Wolf?” She had heard them come in, but had thought it better not to intrude, since it sounded as if they were having a discussion of business.
And someone new. Another Elemental Master. The cat was very still, staring at the door with his tail curled around his feet. A Fire Master. I think I know him, or at least, his reputation.
Another magician? “Why is he here?” she asked.
I gather Nigel asked him to come. Hmm. Well, it seems he is not only a Magician, he is an illusionist as well. Nigel wishes him for this theatrical production. He is suspicious of you. I suspect he is a very sharp gentleman.
She bit her lip. That was the last thing she needed. “What if he finds out—”
The cat shook his head. He won’t. Or at least, he will not until it no longer matters. What he expects is that you have some purpose other than dancing, perhaps that you intend to get Nigel to marry you.
She giggled. Nigel was not the sort of “rich” she expected for a protector. He was very careful with his money, and when she found someone to keep her, she wanted it to be a gentleman who liked to show his appreciation lavishly. “But could he find out I am not who I say I am?”
He is hardly an expert on either ballet or Russians. He admitted the latter, and as for the former, he seemed to be under the impression that just any ballroom dancer could partner with you for lifts and turns.
She snorted. If that was what he thought . . .
“Should I go out?” she wondered. “Face them now?”
It would be a good idea. They are not expecting you. They think you are asleep.
She got up from the chair in which she had been sitting, reading . . . she did not read easily—it was not deemed necessary for the little ballerinas to be very proficient in ordinary school lessons—but she enjoyed it, even if it was very hard work. For some reason, Nigel had a large collection of French novels, and she was making her slow way through them when she was not practicing.