The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 3 - Columbina-2

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Mina said, and pulled it out of his reach. For a moment he danced around her, trying again and again to grab the pouch. Mina turned and ducked, clutching the beaded fabric. ‘You’re not having it.’

Everything was spinning from the crazy dance he had just drawn her into, so when he pushed his head close to hers and a mad grin split his face, she lost her balance and fell to the ground. The children howled with enjoyment. A hand reached down and helped her up—when she stood she saw it was Sofia. The man with the ribboned hair was gone, leading the children on and away.

There was a loud bang, and all sound faded from the air, leaving only music. Someone played a wooden flute, a lilting melody enchanting the air. Mina was facing down the mountain, so when a person spoke she had to turn to look up at the second terrace.

‘Good people of Pedon,’ a voice rang out, strong and dynamic, as silence claimed the last few giggles. ‘I shall tell you a tale. But first, let me introduce myself. I am Harlequin, though who is Harlequin? Who is to say? Listen well and you may learn. Or you may learn only who I was, or who I am yet to be. But let me not confuse you with my mystery. Shall I begin a tale?’

The excitement of the crowd bubbled up again. Mina tried to stand on her toes to see over the shoulder of a tall bald man who blocked her view. This was no festival. This was a performance. She wondered what troupe would be here, and not in Aurea so soon after the festival. Obviously it must be a smaller group of players, one that had not been invited to compete and had therefore not interrupted their touring schedule.

The young dancing man with the beribboned hair must be part of the troupe, she mused, though in Mina’s experience she had not met anyone with a persona like that. He had looked more like the cirquers, jugglers and tumblers, always slightly wild, even when they were not in costume. Ahead, the crowd shifted and the bald man took a step forward, a little to the left. And just like that Mina could see through the crowd with ease.

On the second terrace a player wagon was opened out to form its stage, though the emerald green curtains were closed. Standing in front of the curtains was Harlequin. Every troupe had a Harlequin, and most wore costumes similar enough to be virtually identical, though they might vary in quality. And every Harlequin was much the same, with stock movements and speeches. That this Harlequin was familiar meant little on its own.

But Mina’s heart stood still. It was not just Harlequin who was familiar. This was no small troupe. The wagon perched on the terrace was infinitely familiar to her. She had travelled with it the length of Andon, and performed many times in front of that particular faded curtain. From here she could not see the pale blue steps with their drifting clouds, but she knew enough of Dario’s artwork to recognise the paintings on the open doors at either side of the stage.

There were too many people around for her to move. She tried to catch Sofia’s attention, but the story teller was too far away, and Mina gave up after several people hissed at her. There was nothing for it but to stay where she was and watch the performance, though her mind began racing as she tried to think of a way to hide from the troupe. They must have come to Pedon to find her. Yet if Uberto had followed her thread, how on earth had he reached the town before her? With a sinking feeling she realised Dario had betrayed her yet again, revealing her destination.

When the curtains opened after Harlequin’s speech, Mina noticed with surprise that the Inamorata was played by Miranda, not Isabella. She was so busy musing over what might have happened to her friend that she missed the first part of the story.

‘Ricolea,’ Miranda called out in a false high voice.

Mina stared, her heart racing as Lisette came onstage as her servant and the plot began in earnest. Seeing Lisette, something nudged at her memory. When Roberto appeared, as the wily servant Scapino, and tried to seduce Ricolea for his own ends, her thoughts dropped into an ordered pattern.

‘Ah, my Ricolea, my love,’ he cooed at Lisette. Mina felt the blood drain from her face.

‘Oh Great Creator,’ she whispered to herself. She heard again the tune the beribboned Colum had been whistling. Humming it to herself, she slowed the melody down. Realisation came at once.

‘The Cruel Parting’. He was singing ‘The Cruel Parting’. Lisette wrote that song, but she used an old player melody. Paolo would have heard it when he was with the troupe. And he recognised the pouch. That’s why he kept trying to grab it. He was telling me who he was … and I didn’t realise.

Ignoring the angry, muttered protests of those around her, Mina pushed her way through the mass of bodies, reaching out to grab an arm she hoped belonged to Sofia.

She had guessed right. Holding tight, she navigated the immobile crowd, pushing through gaps until they reached the edge of the terrace.

‘It’s Uberto, isn’t it?’ Sofia asked before Mina could speak. Her heart pounding, she could only nod in response. Sofia looked stricken. Mina had finally decided to trust her this morning, and had told her everything that happened in Aurea.

‘How did they find you? How did they know we would come here?’

‘Uberto’s daughter recognised me, when we were performing during the Festival of Lights. She came backstage to see her family and she recognised me. Dario must have told them I was looking for my brother. And they knew where Paolo was.’

‘You can’t be sure it was Dario. They might have worked it out anyway. Once they knew you were Paolo’s sister it would have been a logical conclusion.’

‘Paolo!’ Mina interrupted. ‘I know where he is. Or at least,’ she corrected herself, ‘I know where he was. The man who danced with me …’

‘The one with the knotted hair?’

Mina nodded. ‘He’s older, and he kept moving so I didn’t get a good look and …’

She suddenly felt she was making useless excuses for not recognising him, and stopped.

‘He was telling me who he was. He called me Columbina. It means ‘little dove’ in Rennish, Lisette told me. It was Paolo’s name for me, when I was a child—his dove. And he was singing a player song.’

Mina looked down, her eyes squeezed tightly shut for a moment. She remembered a tall, handsome, confident young man, eager to take on the world. What was he doing here, lost in a back corner of the land, dressed like a cirquer, entertaining children?

‘Well … I’ve found him.’

Sofia grimaced. ‘The only trouble is, you’ve lost him. You’ll never find him in this crowd. The only ones who can see everyone are the players. You’ll have to wait until …’

Her voice trailed off as Mina looked at the stage, then back at Sofia.

‘No. Mina, you can’t … we’ve just spent days running away from the troupe. One of them tried to kill you. You can’t be serious.’

But Mina was already gone, leaving Sofia standing alone amidst glares and hissed ‘shushes’. Mina’s progress through the crowd was slow. People pushed back when she tried to forge a path through the transfixed bodies, but she was determined to reach her goal. And why hide, she suddenly realised. They knew she was here. She had the advantage. They could do nothing in front of a crowd. She no longer wanted to wait. To be so close to Paolo, to know he was in this crowd somewhere, made her impatient.

The final bank of people were more resistant to her efforts to push through than anyone else. They had prime viewing places near the stage, and were not about to make room for a usurper. Mina gritted her teeth, turned sideways and pushed with her shoulder. Someone turned and gave her an angry glare, pushing back with more force than necessary. She would have fallen but the crush of bodies kept her upright.

‘Right,’ she said softly to herself, and waited. She noticed Harlequin standing in the wings, observing the crowd hungrily. She watched as Lisette’s Ricolea cleverly avoided the lecherous attentions of Pantalone—Ciro—in prime sleazy form, as he also tried to convince her to introduce him to her mistress, the Inamorata. Both had transformed, so Lisette’s mask was the face of a pert young serving girl with smiling eyes and luscious lips, while Ciro’s reminded Mina of nothing so much as the hungry, hawk-like man he had been when she first met him. The transformation was seamless, the leather of the masks disappearing into the perfect illusion of the faces of their characters.

Ciro was persistent, saying line after line and stepping in to grope the serving girl, but each time she returned a quick retort and evaded, leaving him in an incriminating pose he had to cover with inane movements. Mina read the beats of the comedy, saw the scene had gone nearly as far as it could, and dropped her plain black cloak from her shoulders. She was grateful Sofia had suggested this morning she might try telling a tale in Pedon, for she was dressed in the costume she had taken when she left the troupe, a dress sewn from diamond patches of fabric, like a story teller’s cloak.

‘Now …’ she said in a bold, loud voice. After a quick glance backward, those blocking her way parted to let her through, their dismissive anger gone. She was a player now, and they waited hungrily for her contribution to the playing. With three quick steps she stood on the stage wagon, facing the crowd.

‘Pantalone was not easily turned aside,’ Mina continued, ‘being eager to have his … needs, shall we say, met sooner rather than later. He decided if persuasion was unsuccessful, perhaps his wealth would be more convincing. He went next to the girl’s father …’

Behind her Vincenzo stepped onto the stage from one side, and Ciro from the other, in their dark leather masks and rich costumes, both eminently wealthy, powerful men. The next scene commenced as they plotted the fate of the young maidens. Mina stepped to the side of the stage, keeping her expression serene despite the startled whispers from the wings behind her. She knew a stab of longing, knowing she must be standing close to Dario, but pushed the feeling down and focused on scanning the audience for a glimpse of the man with the beribboned hair. Everyone was dressed in such bright festival clothes it was not as easy as she had hoped.

A movement on the other side of the stage caught her attention and she glanced over. Harlequin stood in the wings, his long fingers grasping the stage arch tightly, knuckles white. He lifted his mask and was simply Uberto, his eyes sad. He slipped his mask over his face again with a shake of his head. He bent forward a little, as though in pain.

Mina was about to return to the task of searching for Paolo when she felt a tug in her own stomach. Her heart churned, until she realised no one was touching her. She was just far enough from the wings that no one could reach her and pull her offstage. What she felt was not physical anyway. Tarya called to her, and she slipped easily into its familiar realm.

Now everything was overlaid by light. But in the shadows of the stage the air around her seemed to shimmer. Instinctively she lowered her eyelids a little. Through her long lashes the light changed and she realised she could see a kind of current in the air, like a swirl of smoke, visible because the sunlight bounced off it. This flowed toward the stage, moving rapidly, made up of bands that curled and entwined with each other while tiny sparks appeared and disappeared; flashes of gold like elongated stars.