The Jester: Revolting Developments (2)
Episode 25: "Seeing Red"
The morning felt crisp with a hint of cold mist, the first tangible sign of autumn in the air after several days of warm, even hot, weather. Covered in a forest-green cloak and hood from her head to the ankles of her knee-high, black-leather boots, Dinae passed through the palace gates onto the sidewalk that ran alongside the length of the city’s Royal Road. It marked the beginning of the Angeva Road, the vital east-west highway connecting the capital cities of Margonne and Angeva, a distance of around three hundred miles. As it began to wind down the hill, it first crossed Wall Street and then Market Street, her morning’s destination.
As she turned onto this street, renowned for its upscale merchandise, Mardans’ earlier words rang in her ears: “If you must go outside the palace for any reason, come get me or send a note to Aran. We’ll go with you.” But I’m just going shopping a few blocks from the palace. I’ll be fine! she thought, shaking her head at the man’s worry-wort nature. She had visited many markets alone in cities across Osegra and had never come to harm. A lot of those places are far more dangerous than Palisade!
It was a Skyday, the day before the week’s end, and the streets were crowded with shoppers even at mid-morning. I’m in more danger from pickpockets than murderers and robbers! she thought, tugging her hood forward as a slight breeze tried to coax it back. Today, she was hunting for a dress shop a minor noblewoman had recommended as a court favorite. The place, she had been told, lay only a few hundred feet from the corner, so Dinae thought of it as just on the edge of what she assumed Mardans would consider the palace district.
Ahead, she caught sight of the dressmaker’s sign, a tasteful, well-maintained shingle swaying slightly in the breeze above a few steps and an awning-covered porch. The proprietress’ name, Delia Flane, flanked a stylized needle and thread, all in white against a chalky blue background. As her noble acquaintance had said, it was hard to miss.
A peek through the window confirmed the shop was open. Letting herself in, she hung her cloak on a hook and stepped into a well-appointed sitting room of fine woods and popular colors and fabric patterns. A faint scent of rosewater hung in the air. On a side table sat a silver tea service with fine porcelain cups arranged in a tasteful arc around it. Dinae wondered if it saw much use or was merely decorative.
Her head came up when a woman’s voice called cheerfully, “I’ll be right with you, madame! I am just finishing with another client.” Dinae took this as a sign to make herself comfortable while she waited. She sat gracefully on a nearby settee and watched hunched passersby hurrying beneath the window.
Only a few minutes passed before three women stepped from a short hallway into the sitting room. Dinae needed no introductions to surmise their stations. The first, a striking rather than pretty brunette wearing a costly red silk dress and high-heeled, red-leather shoes, exuded aristocratic hauteur. Down the middle of her body hung a long, knotted string of pearls, and her ears and fingers flashed with gold and red gems. Her makeup had been expertly but severely applied, enhancing her aura of harsh disapproval. A harried, uniformed lady’s maid hustled to keep up, and the aproned seamstress trailed behind.
Knowing instinctively that failing to do so would incur this forceful woman’s wrath, Dinae rose from the couch and, at the last moment, added a small curtsy. It couldn’t hurt, she thought with an internal shrug.
Stopping, the hazel-eyed lady regarded her slightly disheveled red hair and pedestrian frock with obvious distaste. She sniffed as if she smelled something noxious. “Who are you?” she demanded in a deep voice, glaring as she pointed a black-painted nail at her.
Dinae curtsied again. “I’m Dinae Camara,” she said evenly. “I’m an actress performing at the palace.”
“An actress performing at the palace!” the other woman repeated, sniggering. “My, is your clientèle slipping, Delia! You sew for actresses now? How low!”
The seamstress seemed to take no offense, responding with a smile. “You know the merchant class, Lady Tilanta. We work for whoever has coin to pay for our services. I have never met this woman, but she may be a successful actress.”
Dinae said nothing, biting her tongue, but the lady’s maid bobbed her head and said, “She’s an exceptional actress who works with the new jester, Lady Tilanta. You may remember her from their first show. She sings like an angel.”
As Lady Tilanta swung her disapproving eyes back to Dinae, the actress smiled broadly. “Thank you for saying so. It was a deep honor and pleasure to sing before our king.”
“Oh, yes, the jester and his ‘partner,’” the noblewoman sneered. “I remember now. What a vulgar show! A fat buffoon and his redheaded fairy sidekick! How beneath Alfons! I didn’t bother attending any of the other shows.”
Knowing anything she said would be met with scorn and ridicule, Dinae plastered a vapid smile on her face and said nothing, batting her eyelashes a little out of spite. Mardans would be proud of me for not getting angry.
Casting a final, dismissive look in her direction, Lady Tilanta strode past Dinae, leaving a heavy, spicy scent in her wake, and calling over her shoulder. “Remember, Delia, I will be back for a fitting at this time next week.” And with a flurry of silk, she was through the door and, despite the rain, advancing relentlessly toward a waiting black-lacquer coach. In moments, Dinae and the seamstress could hear the door shut and the horses step away.
Delia Flane breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I’m sorry you had to endure that in my shop, Miss Camara!” She appeared genuinely embarrassed. “I have very few clients like Désira Tilanta, thank the Shepherd. I should not gossip about her—the walls have ears, they say—but everyone says the same things about her. She despises everyone but her brothers. No wonder she isn’t married yet.” She giggled, a girlish reaction from a matron likely a decade or more older than her new client.
Dinae decided immediately that she liked this spunky seamstress. “Think nothing of it, Madame Flane! I am an actress, and we receive abuse like that more than you might imagine. But I am a successful actress, so you need not worry that I cannot pay your fee.”
The other woman laughed sharply. “Call me Delia! Everyone does! Come on back to my showroom, and we can talk dresses!”
Delia, who wore her golden hair in a long braid that swayed as she walked, led her down the short hall to a large room. The first thing Dinae saw were a handful of finished dresses on manikins and racks of samples of expensive fabrics in an array of colors, patterns, and weaves. In the room’s center sat a tufted gray couch with Margonni purple pillows, in front of which stood a small platform facing a trio of mirrors hinged together to form a screen. Because only the dreary day’s dull light seeped through a wall of windows, a half-dozen lamps blazed around the room.
“Ooh!” Dinae cooed, wide-eyed. “Have I gone to paradise? These colors are beautiful! And the fabrics feel so soft! You do exquisite work, Delia!”
“You’re too kind,” Delia said. She gave Dinae a once-over, her arms crossed and one thumb and forefinger pinching her chin. “With your gorgeous hair and fair skin, I think we can quickly narrow your palette to colors that suit you. Then, we’ll talk about the styles you prefer, which will reduce your choice of fabrics.”
“My wardrobe is full of greens, as well as blues and blacks,” Dinae said. The seamstress nodded and began asking questions. She pulled out various color swatches and laid them across Dinae’s shoulder and upper chest before the mirrors to let her see them alongside her skin and hair. They went through a similar process with the fabrics after contemplating both popular and traditional styles. The ladies found they enjoyed each other’s company, and stories and laughter made the visit last considerably longer than Delia’s normal appointment.
After jotting down Dinae’s selections and measurements, Delia sighed. “I’ve so enjoyed your visit, Dinae! The noblewomen who come here pay well, but they tend to be a bit stuffy and demanding. And they all look down on me, of course. I may be the best seamstress in Margonne—I don’t know if that’s true or not—but even so, I’m not much more than a servant to them. But we can interact as equals, and that’s quite refreshing!”
“I’ve enjoyed myself immensely!” Dinae agreed. She inquired about the price. “Is half now, half later all right?”
“Certainly,” Delia said with a grin. “In fact, more than the noble ladies usually give. You might be surprised how tight-fisted some of them are.”
They walked out to the front room, and Dinae grabbed her cloak. She turned back to the seamstress as a sudden thought struck her, asking, “By the way, has Lady Tiena Santinetta used your services?”
“No, but I would be honored if she did. She is so beautiful—and lovely on the inside, too, I hear!”
Dinae beamed. “You are exactly right! I will see her soon—tonight, if all goes to plan. I’ll tell her about you over dinner, and I’m sure she’ll make time to visit.”
“That would be wonderful!” she said, accompanying her to the door. “And if she does, I’ll reduce the price of those dresses you just bought! How’s that sound? Remember, return in two weeks! Just before noon, right? You’ll avoid Désira that way! Bye!”
Saying her goodbyes, Dinae flipped her hood over her head and cautiously descended the slick steps. Slipping into the flow of human traffic, she had nearly reached the Royal Road when she thought she heard her name being called behind her. She stopped abruptly and turned to look. The big man behind her, following closely, knocked her to the ground, causing the ensuing knot of wet and angry pedestrians to struggle to disentangle themselves.
Dinae heard her name shouted again. Whoever called her was closer this time, and his voice held a frantic note. She tried to rise, but the big man still held her down. She could see nothing but shoes and legs churning around her. Turning her head, she saw only the horse, wagon, and carriage traffic on the street beside her, which was promptly blocked by a black coach skidding to a hasty stop. Its door opened, and in that instant, the man half-lying atop her stood, scooped her off the ground, and bundled her into the dark interior of the coach. The door closed, darkness descended, and a hand clamped over her mouth so no one could hear her scream as the coach pulled away.
Aran finally reached the corner and looked around in a panic. He was sure he had seen her. He would know that hair, that form, that walk anywhere! Calling out again, he saw the coach speeding down the Royal Road toward the lower city, and his mind instantly worked out what had happened: Kidnappers had taken Dinae!
He gave chase as long as he could, slipping and falling often on the wet cobblestones, running into surly pedestrians, and avoiding horses and vehicles. But somewhere on the Third Level, at the end of a long, straight stretch, he lost them.
He sank to his knees in a puddle but did not notice. His first thought was, Mardans is gonna kill me! And immediately, a second realization struck him even harder: And when we get her back, she’s gonna kill me!
A note:
It is not good policy to offend actors or actresses like Dinae. Désira was so excessively haughty and rude that Red later created a comic character for the stage that mimicked what she had seen in Delia Flane’s dress shop. Audiences ate it up, laughing at the character’s frequent discomfiture all the way to her dramatically satisfying end in a pig sty. They say revenge is best served cold. Dinae certainly thought so.
Poor Aran! Always chasing after Dinae.