The Innocence of Teacups

What a day, having to listen to Freyr taunting and sneering at talented performers. He however was overly impressed which made the night appear more magical than usual as he stared out the window shutters of his inn room. They were setting off for Violet Town in the morning. How could he go back to Kazara when there was so much art here and so little there? Magic too. Freyr would be freer to wield magic as all magic save for dark magic was deemed legal in Zoticas. None was permitted in Kazara. Scrap that idea then; Freyr only seemed interested in dark magic.

His room looked over a wide back street and right that moment a group of chattering people walked by. He leant further out his window to try see down into the street and was able to see them vaguely for a couple of them were carrying large lanterns. What was the purpose of those lanterns? Probably something fun round here, seen as there were all sorts of competitions taking place in the Entertainment District, on a regular basis. In fact he was sure this part of the city never slept. He stuck a leg out of the window then the other so he was sat on the wrong side of the windowsill. There was quite a drop down to the ground. He stood on the windowsill and swung himself onto the roof. Several tiles went slipping to the ground as he scaled the roof then jumped to the ground himself when the roof slanted. A young man with silver eyes grinned at his landing. Silver eyes? Now Kalama’s vibrant red hair seemed naturally normal.

So many people were holding lanterns of all different varieties. Which way to go? Lantern people flocked down one street. Curious he followed after them which was until a sign lit up with a transparent globe-like glow caught his attention. All the lights were lit up in the evening this one was particularly eye catching because it said Pasha Walk which was the name of the street written down as the address for the acrobat try outs. He lingered on the street corner and dabbed at the bruises all over his body. There was no way he was fit to attempt try outs being too achy to perform at a decent standard. Or was he making excuses so he wouldn’t have to even bother trying to work for his dream? He should bother, really should. Even when they rejected him a try out would be valuable experience. Being afraid was never going to get him anywhere, so he picked up his feet and went down Pasha Walk, keeping a look out for The Blue Moon Theatre.

The Blue Moon Theatre was packed in between a prop shop and a place which sold smoking pipes. From the front the theatre appeared narrow. He gave the door a knock and when no one answered went inside. Maybe he was too early. There was a long passage with paintings hung up all wonky. A musty old smell swept up his nose as he came out into a surprisingly chunky playhouse. A set of people were stood on the stage all doing warm up stretches and jostling into each other every so often with snide remarks. Those people must be prospective acrobats. Most of them were in their teens or early twenties however a couple of older people were there too, ready to impress. This was probably a bad idea. There was way too much competition. Come to think of it all he could really do were a few handstands and cartwheels, and only ever managed to do three back flips.

A woman wearing a long flowing white dress, clapped for silence. He backed into the passage so no one would be able to see him unless they were searching but he had a decent view of them.

“Can we have some quiet please? We would like to see the basic handstand first then a crab, followed by cartwheels, and then surprise us.” The woman went to sit with the rest of her troupe on the bench closest to the stage and everyone started to perform their routines.

A flutter of what felt like wind swept across his cheek, so he took a glance down the passage to see if someone had come through the door. His heart ended up clapping away. A pale face smirked right at him.

“You must be here for auditions. I’m a juggler myself,” Alaric whispered then gave him a hefty shove which sent him falling right over a bench. His fall made noise enough to have everyone stare at him. His cheeks burnt up and he snatched a glance into the passage however there was no longer any sign of Alaric.

“Hurry up if you’re here to audition,” said the woman in the white dress, “although I don’t see how a lad who can fall over a bench on his way to try become an acrobat could be very talented myself.”

Easily when you were unexpectedly pushed. He untangled himself from his satchel and went down the steps, placed his satchel on the floor before jumping up onto the stage with everyone else. Maybe he wouldn’t be spectacular but was better than tripping over a bench and ought to prove that to this bossy woman.

“Start over,” said the woman in the white dress and watched them with unblinking eyes.

A couple of audtitioners toppled over as they attempted to perform handstands. At least they were one up from him for he was stood on the spot doing nothing. How could a wannabe acrobat fail to manage a simple handstand? Only two of the auditionees succeeded with decent handstands. The bossy woman’s eyes reached him and were quick to move onto the two who showed talent. Damn his bruises and achy rib. The achy rib had never mattered when faced with his abductors.

He sprang into a handstand and held the position for ten seconds then fluidly slipped into a crab. From the crab he went into a new handstand which turned into a back flip, two back flips, three, no fourth to be on the safe side, however there was a gasp from one of the troupe members. He’d somehow ended up on the floor rather than the stage. A young lady with black hair streaked with a starlight colour was leaning forwards on the bench and gave him a smile when their eyes met. The bossy woman’s eyes were on him.

“You lean too much to your right with your handstands and need to jump higher when you flip.”

“But he’s good,” said the girl with starlight streaked hair.

“Average.”

“He’s also the right age and height.”

While being analysed, he rubbed at his ribs and collected his satchel.

“And he did all those acrobatics with two knives,” said the young lady.

Oops he’d forgotten to take off his weapons before performing well it looked as though his forgetfulness proved to have swung in his advantage seen as the woman in the white dress got up from the bench and came over to him.

“You are better than the others here. Have you undergone any training?”

He shook his head.

“My word, you are starting to impress me. Maybe with some guidance and strict dedication you might have the makings of a professional acrobat. Sabina seems to have taken a shine to you at any rate. You two would be working together.”

The prospective acrobats on the stage moaned and a trickle of them left. Sabina jumped from the bench then gave him a bow. Bows seemed to take the role of handshakes here, so he bowed back.

“I’m an acrobat too,” said Sabina.

“And I sing,” said the troupe leader. “We have three fire dancers, a drummer, lute player and juggler too. We’re quite a young troupe, only two years old and have only had acrobats for three seasons.”

“The one you’re replacing lost a leg,” said Sabina.

He rubbed at his elbow. A job offer was right here along with training then again they’d probably change their minds once they learnt he was mute. A mute lad in a troupe what kind of entertainers were ever going to take on his sort? None.

“What’s your name then?” asked Sabina.

He went into his satchel and took out the ledger and wrote: My name is Eagle. I cannot talk. On showing his ledger to Sabina she read over what was written then gave him a clap on the shoulder.

“Eagle, that’s the coolest name ever. Mel look he writes beautifully. He could make posters for us.”

“Eagle, yes I’m having a vision. It’s a superb trapeze name. Can you draw too?”

He shook his head.

“No problem there, I’m sure you two could work something out between yourselves. Sabina likes to think she can draw.”

Whoa this was moving too fast. He couldn’t up sticks and leave Freyr but this was his dream job. What a dilemma.

I’m not sure I can take the position. I would love to but there is my current employer. I work as a merchant’s assistant and I need to

Sabina was reading from over his shoulder as he wrote and made an urrgh noise before there was chance to finish. “A merchant’s assistant how boring. Buying and selling yawners. You can’t possibly get an adrenalin rush from selling whatever you sell.”

“True yes however he needs to clear up his old affairs. Upright people don’t run off to the next best thing without bidding farewell to those they have previously worked for. I can keep the position open to you until this time tomorrow night. If you’re not here by then we’ll assume you have declined and auditions shall resume.”

With no obligations to join he tilted his head in thanks then left the theatre. When in the passage there was a swish of air from a bat wing and in the bat’s place walked Alaric.

“You’re thinking of staying with Freyr aren’t you? That would be madness on your part. You do know a parent is supposed to let the child fly solo when he grows up.”

Hiding emotions was rather difficult when bonded to a vampyre. He could feel a burst of enthusiastic energy when around Alaric so Alaric must be feeling a weight or something when around him.

“Maybe you’d be able to challenge him better with your voice.”

He stopped in the passage.

Alaric turned to him with shining eyes and licked at his pallid top lip. “As amazing as your acrobatics are that isn’t my reason for the visit. I always return a favour and went searching round for information and was already armed with a night scare. The tale comes from the source. If I were you I’d search Lanzo’s room for your voice.”

Lanzo’s room. Equipped with this information he went charging down the rest of the passage into the street. Once in the street he’d no idea how to get to barracks however a bat was fluttering a few paces away. He ran over to the bat and followed it through the empty street over to a busy street where music was playing. There were no lanterns in sight anymore. It was difficult to see Alaric in the dark but the vampyre would always come back over when he lost sight of him. He ran until he was at the bottom of a grassy bank faced with barracks. Alaric appeared in front of him, and gripped hold of his wrists, pushing down on his pulse.

“Your blood runs with vigour. Being calm and calculated might work to your advantage.”

Be calm and calculated after having his voice lost for his whole lifetime. There was no way. Alaric let go of his wrists, and he dropped his hands, so they were flexing on his knives. He ran right over to barracks and hammered at the door. Inside this building were answers. Bloody demons what he’d do to have Freyr’s assistance right this moment. Maybe he should have gone and explained about his voice to his master. Too late. The door opened.

“Are spirits in the city or something?” asked a bewildered Sapphire Knight.

No, his voice was. He shouldered through the knight who tried to reach out to stop him and failed. He ran down the corridor and burst through Sasha’s door. Sasha was sprawled on his bed while Kalama was at the table, combing through her hair. The knight who’d answered the door was right behind him but he ignored his presence and whipped out his ledger.

Take me to Lanzo’s room. He was hiding my voice.

“You have an unexpected visitor. He dashed through me before I’d chance to stop him.”

“That’s okay, Pavel,” said Sasha as he raised himself into a sitting position, “he’s a friend.”

As Pavel went away he shoved the ledger into Sasha’s hands then reached towards his knives. Sasha read his words while Kalama stared him out with great indignation.

Bored of staring, up Kalama got to have a nosey at his ledger. “Lanzo’s mother really did take your voice, didn’t she? Like the story goes.”

“You two are baffling me. Eagle has a tongue.”

“But he doesn’t have a voice. The spirit child can’t speak exactly like him.”

“Stop making up scenarios.”

“Then why else is he here in our city?”

“It’s coincidence.”

“And I suppose it’s also coincidence Lanzo ended up dead by his blades now he wants to invade Lanzo’s room.”

He snatched for his ledger and wrote some more. My voice was stolen and I want it back. I’m told it’s in Lanzo’s room. Please please please let me look for my voice. If I find it I’ll explain everything I know.

“Take him to Lev so she can charge him with murdering a knight in cold blood.”

“No, Eagle is a good kid. You’ve gone and filled his head with strange ideas with your terror tales. Come along, I’ll show you to Lanzo’s room.”

“You’re too trusting,” grumbled Kalama as she followed them from the room.

Sasha showed him to a large room with shelves going along the lengths of the walls so no wall was actually in sight. On these shelves were all sorts of arty nic nacs. Where to start looking was a problem. What did a voice even look like? He picked up a small stone statue of a fairy tale dragon with claws wrapped round a crystal ball. Kalama made a huffing noise so he carefully placed the dragon back in its place and scanned the rest of the shelves, finding nothing resembling which looked like it could have anything to do with his voice.

Alaric might have lied to him. It was hard to trust a vampyre he barely knew. He stepped into the middle of the room which was spacious and tidy compared to the cluttered shelves.

Tinkle tinkle tinkle echoed from somewhere. It sounded like a fairy might do if it was trapped inside a glass bottle. The two knights didn’t show any signs of hearing any kind of noises. Tinkle tinkle tinkle. The tinkling sounded as though it was coming from the floor. He walked round in a circle on the spot. When he was in one direction, pointing towards the door, the tinkling was distinctively louder. He took one step, gaining a louder tinkle then went took two more steps. The tinkle faded. One step back and TINKLE. He crouched down and placed the tip of a knife against the floor.

“Sasha what is he doing? Stop him. He’s crazy.”

Sasha took a stride over to him alas too late. His knife stabbed into chestnut wooden floorboards, he hacked away until he had a hole big enough to stick his hand through, which he did and searched round for where the tinkling was coming from. His hands found their way onto something smooth which felt like glass. Vibrating glass. He pulled out a crystal bottle which was certainly vibrating because inside was an ecstatic black light which kept bashing up against the side of the bottle.

“What is that?” Sasha said and came to have a nosey at what was highly likely his voice.

The tinkling hurt his head. Natural instinct had him pull the cork that kept the black light trapped. As soon as air whooshed into the bottle the light erupted out and smacked right into his throat, disappearing into the flesh, through his windpipe. His throat went tight and tickly so much so he took to violently coughing for a long few seconds. When the pain subsided he rubbed his throat not daring to try speaking in case this was some cruel joke played on him by Alaric.

“I’m sure Lanzo was hiding Eagle’s voice for all the right reasons,” Kalama said. Her arms were folded as she came to stand with them.

He knelt on the floor, rolling the empty bottle round in his hands. What did all this mean? Kalama was right about one thing: Lanzo must have been hiding his voice for a reason. A smile spread across his face. Freyr could never have taken his voice which meant he could trust him after all.

“Are you alright, kid?”

Instinct made him nod his reply then he shook his head. He got up and backed towards the door. “Sorry.” The first word he’d ever spoken was sorry yet he was smiling away like a fool. The smile soon vanished as Sasha followed him towards the door with a knowing sad glaze in his eyes. “I didn’t want to kill Lanzo, I’m ever so sorry. But in fairness you were hunting me and my master.”

“You’re the wicked warlock trained by spirits.”

Oh heck. “Not exactly. I don’t really know much just that I work for Freyr and he can use dark magic. You and Lanzo came snooping round our church. I was told to assassinate you. I didn’t like to.” Shit! He smacked a hand against his mouth. Words sure were dangerous; he’d revealed Freyr as the actual sorcerer.

“So Freyr’s the warlock. I thought he looked dodgy,” said Kalama and rubbed Sasha’s shoulder. “I am sorry. I did try to warn you about them.”

“He’s a merchant who happens to know a little magic. What’s wrong in that?” he asked.

“You restrain him, I’ll fetch Lady Lev.” Off Kalama ran to fetch reinforcements.

“You killed my best friend!” shouted Sasha and reached for his sword. “I trusted you, gave you my painting book, even let you travel with me, and all along you’d killed him. How can you live with yourself befriending me when you murdered my best friend?”

He should really make a getaway but found he could not move his feet. “I’m sorry.” There was no more room to stay at a standstill. He fled as Sasha swung his sword. People were so hard to get along with.

Boots wanted to skid on polished floors as knights popped heads round a door or four. Sasha was yelling something about no one touching him because he wanted justice for Lanzo. Not that he heard exact words because he was running too fast wanting to get away rather than stick round to listen. He shot through barracks front entrance and scanned the area for Alaric on running along the grass over to the path. There was no shadowy figure in sight. Some back up would really be useful however Prince Alaric must have more important places to be.

Which way was the inn? He tried memorising the way when he’d walked with Freyr, reckoned he ought to take the next right in the road. Guiding a fuming Sapphire Knight in Freyr’s direction was rather irresponsible. He took a glance behind his shoulder. Oh heck, the guy was charging along like a troll with a hangover, void of self-control. At least he had self-control on his side.

He skidded round a group of young people carrying unlit lanterns. There most definitely must have been some major lantern party or something. They were forced to part to let Sasha through them. Running ought to be all about the breathing. It was rather difficult to tell yourself to take deep breaths in and long breaths out when a swinging knight was stamping behind you. Some buildings were coming up and pants were catching in his throat. Maybe it would be possible to lose Sasha amongst streets surrounded with buildings.

A hand reached out to grab his shoulder as he took himself down a side street, no longer caring for which way The Juggler was. What a close call. Too close. Bloody demons, fingers touched his shoulder. More speed was needed. Shit. Fingers gripped round his shoulder and yanked him backwards even when he tried tugging forwards. Sasha spun him round, right in the street, then pulled back his sword all set to slice his head off.

“I hope your soul is devoured by phantoms.”

“You and Lanzo were my job!” he shouted, grasping at mercy.

“And now you are mine.”

“But I let you go and am not even fighting you now. I was supposed to assassinate you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Sasha didn’t want to stop. He closed his eyes tight. Had finding his voice been worth being killed? Definitely not seen as he’d hardly used it. Would do well to get out as many words as possible before he died. “Before you came along no one else save for Freyr has ever bothered interacting with me as though I’m normal. How could I kill someone who didn’t pity or ridicule me? You’ve made me react to my conscience. I’m not supposed to listen to the sympathetic voice in my head. Assassination is business, a trade, and you treat me like an equal despite my disability, making me question Freyr more than ever even though I know I ought to stay loyal to him. I’m in such a muddle because of you.”

The hand on his shoulder relaxed its grip. He opened one eye then winced as Sasha kicked him in the shin. “I’m sorry about Lanzo. You’ve no idea how guilty I feel.”

Shove his old black knife was thrust into his hand.

“Are you letting me go?” he gasped.

“I can’t kill a messed up kid, not even a lethal one,” mumbled Sasha as he slotted away his sword. “Lady Lev, and the rest of her knights are probably over capable.”

“Being an assassin is not my ideal job but I owe Freyr. He saved me from spirits.”

“I don’t care about your twisted lives. Just stay out of mine from now on.”

He nodded and took off down the street, onto another one, and jogged a way until he was some place completely different where there was little activity. There was still no time to be dawdling; Kalama would be out for his blood unless Lev managed to soothe her fire. Lev might silence her seen as she was scared of what Freyr could do to their city.