“Hundreds of years ago!” exploded Jane. “They don’t know what they’re doing anymore, it’s—”
“Then teach them!” cried Miss Scarlet. The monkeys exploded into screams and hoots of fright. Miss Scarlet crouched, rose up on her hind legs as though she were going to spring at Jane. Jane moved closer to me, her hand fumbling at her waist for her pistol. Then Miss Scarlet whirled and ran across the room to the cage nearest the outer door. In front of it she stopped, stock still, shoulders drooping and long arms dragging so that her knuckles grazed the floor. Jane turned to me, her eyes filled with tears.
“She gets like this every time she visits them,” she said, her fingers dropping from the pistol. She motioned me to follow her to where Miss Scarlet stood in front of the last cage.
Two pathetic figures squatted inside it. They stared dully at a stream of urine threading to a rusted grate in the concrete floor. Grizzle-headed, naked, with red and listless eyes, they were still indisputably of Miss Scarlet’s blood and kind. She hunched before them, her arms enfolded over her head, eyes shut, making a soft hoo-hoo sound as she swayed back and forth. Jane and I stopped behind her. I drew my hands to my throat—hairless, no scars there—and my eyes burned. But I could not cry: not when tears were denied my dear guide, who squatted before a cage and moaned with an animal’s mute and ageless grief. I stood beside Jane Alopex, the girl staring at her feet with her hands clenched at her sides. In the cage sat the two chimpanzees, one of them scratching at the dirty floor, the other raising its head to regard Miss Scarlet. Dirt caked the lines about its eyes, and a fly lit upon its cheek before it dipped its head again to gaze at the concrete. Miss Scarlet buried her face in her paws.
“Come, Scarlet,” Jane said after a few more minutes. “Your friends will be here soon.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Miss Scarlet said in a low voice. She stood, turning from the cage to take my hand. “Forgive me, Jane. Wendy.”
The monkeys hooted as we crossed the courtyard, and one of the great apes bared its teeth at us. At the door of the Primate House the Keeper informed us that Toby and the other Players had arrived by pantechnicon and were already setting up in the amphitheater.
“Best hurry,” he said, patting Miss Scarlet’s head as she passed. “Come again, Scarlet. We miss you around here.”
Miss Scarlet composed herself, smiling wanly. By the time we reached the path to the amphitheater she was calmly discussing the evening’s performance; but she avoided looking into any of the cages.
Afternoon had faded into a clouded but promising evening. I felt that the day’s heightened strangeness, its revelations and fears, all seemed to be leading up to this performance and this place: an ancient amphitheater dug into the earth, where already the first palanquins of costumed revelers gathered in small groups, and where I could spy Toby and the rest of the troupe struggling to unload a striped pantechnicon.
The amphitheater had been built into the hillside facing the Engulfed Cathedral, that sinister finger pointed accusingly at the sunset. Torchieres burned between rows of stone benches set into the damp grass, and a few children ran shrieking between their pockets of yellow light. A crowd of Zoologists had gathered to watch Toby and Justice and Fabian contend with the sets for The Tempest. A pair of striped horses were hitched to the gaily painted pantechnicon, the wagon piled with baskets of costumes and props. The horses whickered and kicked viciously at Fabian as he swung a papier-măché column from the wagon onto the hillside.
“How thoughtful of you to drop by,” he called as we slipped through the crowd. He tossed me a hamper, then turned to where Justice panted up the hillside.
“Perfect timing, Aidan. All the hard work’s done,” said Justice, wiping his brow as he climbed the last few steps to join us. “Toby was looking for you.”
His hair had fallen from its thick braid, and he wore the heavy dark-blue smock we donned when building or striking sets, worn and stained: very much a Player and not a Child of the Magdalene. But I grinned to see him anyway. Glancing around for Gitana or Mehitabel, I spotted them with Toby at the bottom of the slope, stringing lantern globes across the grassy sward that would be our stage. I hefted the basket Fabian had thrown to me and started down the hillside with it. Justice grabbed another hamper and hurried after me, sliding on the slick grass.
“I wish Toby had let you come with us,” I said. Behind us I heard Jane’s hoarse laughter and the excited voices of other Zoologists greeting Miss Scarlet. “Miss Scarlet showed me a cinematograph—”
Justice shrugged. “There was work to be done. And I had to go over my lines—”
“With Mehitabel?” I sniffed. Justice looked back at me, grinning.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. She’s really quite talented.”
I set the hamper on the ground, pretending to tighten its fastenings. “I would have helped you, if you wanted.”
From the stage area echoed giggles and Toby’s booming voice lamenting, “Not that one! Sweet Mother, the girl has no sense at all!”
Toby raised his head and waved at me impatiently. “It’s about damn time, Aidan! The stupid girl’s brought the wrong costume for Caliban.”
Justice laughed, steadying me as I swung the hamper back onto my shoulder. “Maybe one of Rufus Lynx’s people can help us find something,” he said as Toby stormed after the giggling Mehitabel. We ran the last few steps down the hillside and dropped the hampers onto the grass. “There’s still a little time.”
Gitana adjusted her spectacles and glared at him. “You distracted her, Justice. Toby is very upset.”
From behind a papier-măchè column came a shriek, followed by the soft report of a slap. The column toppled to reveal Toby and Mehitabel, the girl’s face streaked with tears, Toby rubbing his cheek ruefully.
“I suppose Aidan can improvise a costume,” said Toby, striding over to join Justice and me. Gitana glared at him, then stalked off to take Mehitabel by the hand and lead her up the hill. Toby watched them go, relieved.
The girls sauntered out of sight. On the hilltop Miss Scarlet and Jane perched on the edge of the pantechnicon, talking animatedly with a half-dozen Zoologists. Most of the Curators had wandered into the twilight, flanked by Paphians in feathered masks and beaks of gilt paper in honor of the evening’s theme, A Masque of Owls. Stars pricked through the deepening sky. In the distance I could hear faint music.
“There’s a dinner first,” said Toby. “Let it be noted that as usual we have been asked to sup with our hosts after the play.” He stooped to retrieve a scarf blown from its hamper. “These damn Curators must think we perform better on an empty stomach. Ah, well. Come on, Caliban, let’s figure out how you’ll be dressed tonight. Did Miss Scarlet get her nap?”
To the strains of music piping down from the masque we readied the little stage. I stayed close to Justice, offering to help him with his lines. He refused, but seemed glad enough of my company. When the attention of the others had turned to preparing a smokepot for one of my entrances he drew me behind a tree.
“Did you mean what you said before, Wendy?” he asked. “When you said you wished I’d come with you?”
“Yes.” I took his face in my hands and tilted it to the glowing torchlight. I stared at him a moment and then kissed him without biting (though I wanted to) and without trying to read his desires. They were apparent enough.
“None of that,” Fabian snapped as he crossed upstage with an armful of props.’ “Haven’t you got your costume yet, Caliban?” He prodded me with the blunted edge of a sword. I pushed Justice away and stumbled behind the gingko as though searching for something; but not before I saw Fabian wink at Justice, and Justice himself turn to stare after me in delight.