Part 13 (1/2)

. . . trying to draw her over the edge. Either he didn't understand what he asked of her, or he didn't care.

He's air and I'm earth. I could try to fly with him, but I'd only fall.

Far below them both, Nate treaded water. He didn't call to her, didn't even beckon, but she knew without asking that he, too, wanted her to jump.

If I fall, the ocean will catch me.

The unbidden thought struck Bertie between the collarbones. She let go of the medallion and stepped back from both cliffs and sea. The ocean's roar faded, as did the winds, until she found solid footing on the wooden boards of the stage. ”Get to the point, Ariel.”

”I stand before you on my best behavior, Mademoiselle Director,” he said with another one of his courtly bows. ”I present myself for inspection and place my considerable knowledge and ser vices at your disposal.”

”Easier t' slip a dagger between her ribs if yer standin' close, eh?” Nate said.

”Ariel doesn't need anything so common as a dagger,” Bertie said with mock solemnity. ”His weapons are far more subtle.”

”Subterfuge,” said Cobweb.

”Artifice,” said Moth.

”Lies and tricks and sleight of hand,” said Mustardseed.

”Such big words from ones so small.” Ariel shrugged lightly, a slight motion under silk. He wore the same immaculate clothes as always, his features were arranged in the same beautiful mask, but with the medallion still warm against her skin, Bertie could see hairline cracks radiate like spiderwebs across his surface. His winds were yet contained, but something had warmed them with hope, something that carried the promise of spring after a harsh, icy winter.

Suddenly, Bertie knew why he tried to charm her with pretty smiles and words like sugar candy. ”You saw things could be changed.”

The rest of Ariel's mask splintered under the accusation, permitting his winds to escape in triumph. ”Yes. Just as I knew they could be.”

”I had nothing to do with Ophelia's unexpected performance,” Bertie said. ”Take it up with her. Or better yet, try it for yourself. Maybe you can shuffle right off to Buffalo, if you want it badly enough.”

”Only when you order the changes do they happen.” Words conspired with winds to wrap cloud-tendrils about Bertie's wrists and tow her toward him. ”Somehow you're the one that makes it so.”

Nate caught Bertie around the waist in the span of two heartbeats-his and hers-as his cutla.s.s came up again. This time, the tip dug into the white skin of Ariel's throat. ”Let's see if ye bleed like any other man.”

No one moved. Bertie wondered if either Nate or Ariel breathed, so hard were they staring at each other. She put her right hand over Nate's and pushed down until the cutla.s.s swung away. A crimson stain bloomed on Ariel's collar.

Nate smiled. ”So ye can.”

”Stop it, both of you,” Bertie said. ”I've had a difficult enough morning without refereeing another brawl. I need a shower and a decent breakfast. Definitely more coffee. And then maybe-just maybe!-I might have the fort.i.tude to deal with you, Ariel. Until then, stay out of my hair.”

”Yes, I see you have enough going on in that department.” Ariel gave the top of her head a pointed glance. ”Are you going to call in the ocean set again or use an actual bathtub?”

”Wouldn't you like to know?” mocked Cobweb.

”Pervert!” yelled Mustardseed.

”None of your business,” Bertie said. ”Now, I suggest you find something to do with your time that doesn't involve sabotaging my production.”

Ariel managed a wounded look, aided by his bloodied throat and deathly pallor. ”My dear-”

”She's not yer dear,” interrupted Nate. ”Sod off.”

”Yeah! Sod off!” Moth shook his fist for emphasis.

”Very well.” Ariel gathered his winds about him like a cloak and disappeared through a trapdoor.

”He does know how to make a dramatic exit,” Mustardseed said. ”You have to give him that.”

”I don't have t' give him a thing, save a knife through th' ribs.” Nate spat on the stage. ”Th' son o' a parrot eater.”

”Son of a parrot eater,” Moth repeated. ”Is that bad or good?”

”b.u.g.g.e.red if I know!” Cobweb said.

”Oh, no, you don't. We are done being pirates,” said Peaseblossom. ”We're a.s.sistant Directors now, and a.s.sistant Directors do not b.u.g.g.e.r anything.”

”Fat lot you know,” said Mustardseed. ”They b.u.g.g.e.r lots of things! They b.u.g.g.e.r left and right and every which way in between.”

Nate nudged her. ”Ye were gettin' a shower.”

”Are you implying that I stink?” Bertie turned her nose in the direction of her armpit and sniffed gently. ”Phew. Never mind. I do stink.”

”We didn't want to say anything,” said Moth. ”But yes, you're a little ripe.”

”So, do you want a shower in the Ladies' Dressing Room or something that will annoy the Stage Manager?” asked Peaseblossom.

Bertie pretended to contemplate her options. ”Who wants to join me in a Turkish Bath?”

”I'll get the headset!” Peaseblossom hollered.

Nate frowned. ”Won't ye get in trouble fer a scene change?”

”I'm a Director now,” Bertie said with a grin as an enormous dome lowered from the flies. ”I say it's research.”

A large marble pool spiraled up from below-stage. A dozen fountains, each spurting warm water, slid into place along the back wall, which was decorated with an elaborate mosaic.

Nate gazed at the swirling picture rendered in stone, marble, and gla.s.s with something akin to awe. ”That's th' Greek Chorus. What's it doin' in a Turkish Bath?”

Bertie spared it a glance. ”All conquering empires have bath houses.” She kicked off her slippers as the final set decoration, an enormous water clock, landed Downstage Left. ”And before you ask, that's Greek, too. Mr. Hastings told me what it was . . . a long word . . . starts with c . . .” She snapped her fingers and came up with ”Clepsydra.”

”A water thief.” Nate walked around it to better admire the doors and windows, spinning pointers and dials. ”How'd ye remember such a mouthful?”

”I like a big word now and then.” With great affection, Bertie reached out to pat the huge, elaborate thing, which already dripped the ancient precursor to tick-tock.

”Seems like a lot o' work for a bath,” Nate said. ”D'ye do this often?”

”No,” Bertie said. ”The steam is hard on the ceiling murals.” On cue, vapor poured in from both sides of the stage.

”Whoo!” yelled Moth. ”Time to get naked!”

Nate took a step back. ”Er . . . perhaps I ought t' be goin' now.”