duty
rather than a pleasure. Even their laughter sounded shrill and
hysterical. Sera could not bear to look at them. She wished that
she dared to cover her ears, so she would not have to hear
them.
One of their songs, set to a peculiar jangling tune,
followed her all along the street:
Sally go ‘round the stars, Sally
go ‘round the moon,
Sally go ‘round the chimney pots
. . .
Both the words and the tune had a haunting quality
that disturbed Sera very much.
And as she walked, she grew increasingly aware that
someone followed her, a man, most likely, and almost certainly
drunk, by the sound of his shuffling footsteps and the leering
remarks that greeted his progress all along the dreary lane.
“Here now, missy . . . seems you’ve got yourself a
fine gallant,” someone called out in a rough voice.
“Don’t you take no for an answer, cully. She ain’t so
proud as she looks!”
Yet Sera knew better than to increase her pace.
If I run, they will join in the chase.
“How do you do, Miss Vorder?” Sera was startled to
hear her own name spoken by a voice that was gentle and cultured,
and somehow familiar—and even more surprised to note that the
foot-steps following her suddenly ceased, and everyone on the
street fell just as suddenly silent.
Sera glanced up. A tiny white-haired woman in a long
grey cloak fell into step with her. “Mistress Sancreedi!” said
Sera, recognizing the only one of Elsie’s many doctors who had ever
done her a bit of good.
“My dear Miss Vorder. What on earth has caused you to
stray into this part of the town?” Mistress Sancreedi was not much
taller than a dwarf, and even more daintily built than the little
Duchess of Zar-Wildungen, yet she possessed a natural dignity about
her which commanded instant respect. Though no longer young, she
was still a handsome woman, for old age had treated her kindly,
refining her beauty rather than spoiling it. The one jarring note
in an otherwise lovely face was a pair of yellow eyes, as unusual
in size and expression as they were in color.
“I come here not by inclination,” replied Sera, “but
by . . . by misadventure. I am going to visit my grandfather. And
if it isn’t impertinent for me to ask: what brings you to Capricorn
Street?”
The little apothecary made a dismissive gesture. “In
the course of my professional duties I come here often. Indeed, I
am well known in every part of Thornburg and move about quite
freely. Allow me, Miss Vorder, to extend that ‘safe conduct’
temporarily to you, by escorting you to your grandfather’s.”
Sera was more than happy to oblige. “You are very
kind,” she said.
They walked on in silence for some time. Though Sera
knew it was rude to stare, she could not help stealing a sidelong
glance at her companion, every now and again—for truth to tell
there was something decidedly eccentric about Mistress Sancreedi’s
attire. Over an antique gown of mossy green velvet she had laced a
stiff black bodice, and she wore, besides, a wide ruffled collar of
white lawn edged with point lace. Her big straw hat was embellished
with wax fruit and fresh flowers, but rather more startling were
the two live birds, a robin and a jenny-wren, that perched on the
crown. She carried a covered basket, which (by the sounds issuing
forth, and the occasional emergence of a striped paw or a
white-tipped grey tail) seemed to contain kittens.
She is undoubtedly the oddest
woman that I have ever met,
thought Sera.
But I know her to be a good one.
They passed another group of children, trudging a
dreary circle and singing the same song that had disturbed Sera
before. “Mistress Sancreedi,” she said aloud. “Do you know what
game these children are playing? And the verse that they sing: I
feel I know the words, though the tune is strange to me.”
“But it is not a game they are playing,” the little
woman replied. “Rather, they are weaving a charm against the
terrors of the night. Nor is it surprising that
rather than a pleasure. Even their laughter sounded shrill and
hysterical. Sera could not bear to look at them. She wished that
she dared to cover her ears, so she would not have to hear
them.
One of their songs, set to a peculiar jangling tune,
followed her all along the street:
Sally go ‘round the stars, Sally
go ‘round the moon,
Sally go ‘round the chimney pots
. . .
Both the words and the tune had a haunting quality
that disturbed Sera very much.
And as she walked, she grew increasingly aware that
someone followed her, a man, most likely, and almost certainly
drunk, by the sound of his shuffling footsteps and the leering
remarks that greeted his progress all along the dreary lane.
“Here now, missy . . . seems you’ve got yourself a
fine gallant,” someone called out in a rough voice.
“Don’t you take no for an answer, cully. She ain’t so
proud as she looks!”
Yet Sera knew better than to increase her pace.
If I run, they will join in the chase.
“How do you do, Miss Vorder?” Sera was startled to
hear her own name spoken by a voice that was gentle and cultured,
and somehow familiar—and even more surprised to note that the
foot-steps following her suddenly ceased, and everyone on the
street fell just as suddenly silent.
Sera glanced up. A tiny white-haired woman in a long
grey cloak fell into step with her. “Mistress Sancreedi!” said
Sera, recognizing the only one of Elsie’s many doctors who had ever
done her a bit of good.
“My dear Miss Vorder. What on earth has caused you to
stray into this part of the town?” Mistress Sancreedi was not much
taller than a dwarf, and even more daintily built than the little
Duchess of Zar-Wildungen, yet she possessed a natural dignity about
her which commanded instant respect. Though no longer young, she
was still a handsome woman, for old age had treated her kindly,
refining her beauty rather than spoiling it. The one jarring note
in an otherwise lovely face was a pair of yellow eyes, as unusual
in size and expression as they were in color.
“I come here not by inclination,” replied Sera, “but
by . . . by misadventure. I am going to visit my grandfather. And
if it isn’t impertinent for me to ask: what brings you to Capricorn
Street?”
The little apothecary made a dismissive gesture. “In
the course of my professional duties I come here often. Indeed, I
am well known in every part of Thornburg and move about quite
freely. Allow me, Miss Vorder, to extend that ‘safe conduct’
temporarily to you, by escorting you to your grandfather’s.”
Sera was more than happy to oblige. “You are very
kind,” she said.
They walked on in silence for some time. Though Sera
knew it was rude to stare, she could not help stealing a sidelong
glance at her companion, every now and again—for truth to tell
there was something decidedly eccentric about Mistress Sancreedi’s
attire. Over an antique gown of mossy green velvet she had laced a
stiff black bodice, and she wore, besides, a wide ruffled collar of
white lawn edged with point lace. Her big straw hat was embellished
with wax fruit and fresh flowers, but rather more startling were
the two live birds, a robin and a jenny-wren, that perched on the
crown. She carried a covered basket, which (by the sounds issuing
forth, and the occasional emergence of a striped paw or a
white-tipped grey tail) seemed to contain kittens.
She is undoubtedly the oddest
woman that I have ever met,
thought Sera.
But I know her to be a good one.
They passed another group of children, trudging a
dreary circle and singing the same song that had disturbed Sera
before. “Mistress Sancreedi,” she said aloud. “Do you know what
game these children are playing? And the verse that they sing: I
feel I know the words, though the tune is strange to me.”
“But it is not a game they are playing,” the little
woman replied. “Rather, they are weaving a charm against the
terrors of the night. Nor is it surprising that
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