The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making - Catherynne M. Valente [34]
“The Changeling Recital at Dandydown Hall went off splendidly last week, featuring an orchestra of violins, oboes, one piano, a nickelstave, two tubas, a lorelei, and a full grumellphone section. The children played Agnes Buttercream’s famous Elegy for Reindeer and Roc’s Egg, in D Minor. The conductor unwisely chose a rousing encore of Ode to Queen Mallow’s Third Fingernail, however, and riot police were called to the scene.”
A host of children in prim black clothing played their instruments furiously on a stage shaped like a huge oak leaf. They all wore identical shoes, which seemed painfully small and tight on their little feet: mary janes very much like hers. A little piece of sad, gentle music played, sashaying into something brighter and livelier, before two unhappy-looking kobolds lifted the conductor unceremoniously off of the. The goblins seemed far too strong for their sleight height.
“The performance culminated in the righteous punishment of several Greenlisted musicians, who certainly deserved whatever they got.”
The same kobolds--or near cousins--hauled several terrified-looking Satyrs onto the flickering silver stage and made them stomp their pan-pipes underfoot. A man in a top hat and mustache brandished a whip menacingly before the scene went dark.
“And finally, our beloved Marquess has concluded a treaty with the Island-Country of Buyan, bringing prosperity and order to both. We here at the AP extend our praise and adulation to the Lovely Monarch.”
Onscreen, a young girl vigorously shook hands with a large bear. She was tall--but she could not have been a day older than September herself. She wore an ornate suit made for her small frame, an embroidered jacket over a fringed bustle. At her neck was a thin dark tie, like September’s father once wore. The girl’s hair was thick and silver in the flickering film, falling to her shoulders in great sausage curls. Most of all, however, September noticed her hat. It was black--or some color which seemed black on the old-fashioned film. It looked a bit like a cake that had fallen over to one side under the weight of peacock and pheasant feathers and chains of jewels that cascaded down from a silk rosette on its flat top. Ribbons, bows, and satin ropes made delicate tiers like icing on the body, and the brim was so crisp and perfect it seemed deathly sharp.
The bear wrinkled his muzzle. He did not look pleased.
September trembled a little. The Marquess seemed so awfully real. She smiled broadly at the bear and laughed silently as the announcer nattered on about the treaty.
And suddenly, without warning, the Marquess onscreen turned toward the camera, her hand still clutched in the bear’s paw. She cocked her head to one side like a curious bird. She blinked and leaned forward, looking directly out into the theatre--at September.
“You,” said the Marquess in the announcer’s voice. The other patrons twisted to look at September, who froze in terror. “It’s you.”
Ell moved his claw around September’s seat protectively.
“September,” said the movie-Marquess slowly, as if pulling each letter from a stubborn cabinet. “You shouldn’t be sitting in a theatre on such a lovely day. Why don’t you go out and play?”
“I…”
“Hush. Listening is tiresome for me. September, if you do not come to the Briary right this very instant I shall become cross with you. I am a very pleasant Marquess, if you are tractable and sweet.”
September could not move. Her hand clutched the bag of pomegranate seeds so tightly they began to spill out of the top. She felt as though she had been caught out doing something awful and black. But she hadn’t done anything! Not yet! How could the Marquess know her? Where could she hide?
“Right now,” hissed the Marquess, “you wicked little thief.” She beckoned horribly with her ringed finger. The screen crackled and flickered. Silver sparks flew for a moment, and then the Marquess’s face disappeared in a little burnt ring and the theatre went suddenly dark.
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Chapter