man?”
“Sharp question,” Melete said. “She's hoping it's you. Better damp that out immediately.”
“He hasn't been selected yet. But he'll be competent, I assure you.”
Crabapple sighed. “But he won't be falling in love with me for real.”
“Not for real,” he agreed, “It will all be an act.”
“I wish it could be real.”
“Actually, you could do worse,” Melete said.
Cyrus shook his head, “Crabapple, I can't promise it won't become real. Your body freaked me out, and I'm fully clothed. So it is possible he will—sometimes actors do fall for each other, and fulfill the roles they play. But—”
“But I have these pincers.”
“That is the case, I need you for the play, and I believe you can do a good job. But whether men will want you for anything more than a passing dalliance, I can't say.”
“But keep her in mind,” Melete said. “You do need a woman.”
Unless you are the second of the “two,” Melete, he thought.
That set her back, for once. “Not a wife, but a muse, I suppose it is possible.”
Meanwhile, Crabapple was nodding, “In short, you are telling me the truth.”
“Well, yes.”
“That's the way I want it. Yes, I will join your troupe. Is it far from here?”
“Not far. But you can ride Don. That's my robot donkey.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“We are on our way,” Melete said.
Chapter 6: Curse
Cyrus was back in his tent, writing madly. He had his lead actress, but as yet lacked the lead actor. He would have to assume that role himself, until he could cast some other man in the role.
“Maybe we should bring in some pages,” Melete said.
“Pages?”
“Folk that find things. White and yellow pages, good at finding things or people. Set them to searching for a good male actor.”
“That would help. But how do we find the pages?”
She laughed. “That's the problem. They aren't always where you need them.”
“You've got a visitor,” Don said. The donkey had become the guardian of his necessary privacy for writing the play. Cyrus trusted the animal's judgment, to an extent. “A girl.”
“Tell her to check in with the Witch.”
“She demands to see you personally.”
Cyrus flung down his quill. It splattered blots of ink on his parchment. “How can I work, when I keep getting interrupted?” He realized that he was displaying Artistic Temperament, but didn't care. He flung open the tent flap.
There was the girl. She wore a red dress, had red hair, and green eyes. She was about twelve years old. She wore a little golden crown. “Hi,” she said, a bit shyly.
“Look, I don't have a part for a child,” he said. “You'll have to do drudge work around the camp. Otherwise go away.”
She entered the tent, brushing rather closely by him, “I know. But I had to talk with you first.”
“Well, I don't have to talk with you! Now stop wasting my time.”
She gazed at him with a cold expression. In fact in this moment her face reminded him of an eye sickle, a plate of ice with eyes. This was not the look of an ordinary child. That should have made him wary, but he was too impatient to be properly cautious.
A small drum appeared in her hands. She produced an oddly shaped little baton and beat gently on it. There was a single small boom.
Cyrus found himself frozen in place, unable to move half a muscle. What was happening?
“That's a Sorceress!” Melete exclaimed from the desk where the block had been parked."
“Right, Muse,” the girl said. “I am Rhythm.”
“The Princess!” Cyrus exclaimed, recovering or released from his stasis, “One of the three who were going to join us.”
“Just one, for now,” Princess Rhythm said, “All three of us together would be a live giveaway. For one thing, we always speak in turns, completing each other's thoughts. So I had to come alone to let you know. In private.”
“You can hear me,” Melete said, taken aback.
“Oh, sure. I'm a Sorceress, remember? But I won't tell. I know
“Sharp question,” Melete said. “She's hoping it's you. Better damp that out immediately.”
“He hasn't been selected yet. But he'll be competent, I assure you.”
Crabapple sighed. “But he won't be falling in love with me for real.”
“Not for real,” he agreed, “It will all be an act.”
“I wish it could be real.”
“Actually, you could do worse,” Melete said.
Cyrus shook his head, “Crabapple, I can't promise it won't become real. Your body freaked me out, and I'm fully clothed. So it is possible he will—sometimes actors do fall for each other, and fulfill the roles they play. But—”
“But I have these pincers.”
“That is the case, I need you for the play, and I believe you can do a good job. But whether men will want you for anything more than a passing dalliance, I can't say.”
“But keep her in mind,” Melete said. “You do need a woman.”
Unless you are the second of the “two,” Melete, he thought.
That set her back, for once. “Not a wife, but a muse, I suppose it is possible.”
Meanwhile, Crabapple was nodding, “In short, you are telling me the truth.”
“Well, yes.”
“That's the way I want it. Yes, I will join your troupe. Is it far from here?”
“Not far. But you can ride Don. That's my robot donkey.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“We are on our way,” Melete said.
Chapter 6: Curse
Cyrus was back in his tent, writing madly. He had his lead actress, but as yet lacked the lead actor. He would have to assume that role himself, until he could cast some other man in the role.
“Maybe we should bring in some pages,” Melete said.
“Pages?”
“Folk that find things. White and yellow pages, good at finding things or people. Set them to searching for a good male actor.”
“That would help. But how do we find the pages?”
She laughed. “That's the problem. They aren't always where you need them.”
“You've got a visitor,” Don said. The donkey had become the guardian of his necessary privacy for writing the play. Cyrus trusted the animal's judgment, to an extent. “A girl.”
“Tell her to check in with the Witch.”
“She demands to see you personally.”
Cyrus flung down his quill. It splattered blots of ink on his parchment. “How can I work, when I keep getting interrupted?” He realized that he was displaying Artistic Temperament, but didn't care. He flung open the tent flap.
There was the girl. She wore a red dress, had red hair, and green eyes. She was about twelve years old. She wore a little golden crown. “Hi,” she said, a bit shyly.
“Look, I don't have a part for a child,” he said. “You'll have to do drudge work around the camp. Otherwise go away.”
She entered the tent, brushing rather closely by him, “I know. But I had to talk with you first.”
“Well, I don't have to talk with you! Now stop wasting my time.”
She gazed at him with a cold expression. In fact in this moment her face reminded him of an eye sickle, a plate of ice with eyes. This was not the look of an ordinary child. That should have made him wary, but he was too impatient to be properly cautious.
A small drum appeared in her hands. She produced an oddly shaped little baton and beat gently on it. There was a single small boom.
Cyrus found himself frozen in place, unable to move half a muscle. What was happening?
“That's a Sorceress!” Melete exclaimed from the desk where the block had been parked."
“Right, Muse,” the girl said. “I am Rhythm.”
“The Princess!” Cyrus exclaimed, recovering or released from his stasis, “One of the three who were going to join us.”
“Just one, for now,” Princess Rhythm said, “All three of us together would be a live giveaway. For one thing, we always speak in turns, completing each other's thoughts. So I had to come alone to let you know. In private.”
“You can hear me,” Melete said, taken aback.
“Oh, sure. I'm a Sorceress, remember? But I won't tell. I know
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