the boy’s vanity. “You’ve played the Downstreet before?”
Incautiously, still caught up in his vision of their triumph, the Elf said, “Sat in with Vered and Rauel and Sakary one night, when Chattim took ill.”
“You what ?” Jeska exclaimed.
“Good reason to think well of yourself, then, have you?” Rafe snarled. “Quite a downcoming, playing with quidams like us!”
Stricken, Mieka stammered, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to say that—I mean, I’m not hiding anything, it was just one show and—” He looked an appeal at Cade. “Quill, it’s not like it sounds!”
So that was how he knew the Shadowshapers. Blye had mentioned that he knew them, but it turned out that Vered and Rauel had trusted him with their work. Only because their own glisker had been ill, but—Mieka had actually played a show with the Shadowshapers. Cade was all for interrogating him about what it had been like, and the pieces they’d done, and a hundred other things. But anger touched his tongue first, and he demanded, “Why so bloody eager to join up with us, then?”
“Sakary couldn’t cope with me, all right? I can’t help it when I don’t like the taste of someone’s magic, and he had a stranglehold on me and—and I fought him, I couldn’t help it! We got through the show and he hasn’t spoken to me since! He’s a good fettler, one of the best, but I couldn’t work with him—”
“Because he couldn’t cope with you?”
“Leave him be,” Rafe said suddenly. “You know the trouble they had finding a glisker, before Chattim. Like us. Just like us, Cade. Call it the taste or the feel of the magic, or puzzle pieces locking into place, or instinct, but you and me and Jeska worked strong together from the first. We fit.” Pointing a long finger at Mieka, he finished, “And so does he. With us. Not with them, nor anybody else. Us .”
Mieka cast him a grateful glance, then turned back to Cade with his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he was anticipating a fist to the jaw. “Cade?” he ventured. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. But Rafe’s right, isn’t he?”
They were all looking at him now, waiting for his concurrence. How did he explain to them that knowing Mieka had worked with the absolute best, had done the glisking for two of the most innovative minds in the theater, had shaken his confidence on the very night when a successful booking at the Downstreet could assure their future?
“Please don’t be cross,” Mieka said softly.
“He’s not,” Rafe said with the certainty of long friendship. “He’s comparing himself to Vered and Rauel again, that’s all. He does it all the time. The good thing is that it always makes him work harder.” Eyeing Cade with wry understanding, he added, “If you’re through being overawed by the thought of your glisker working with the illustrious Shadowshapers, can we get down to it now?”
“Mine he is, and mine he’ll stay.” He heard his own voice saying it just last evening. He nodded sharply.
“Right, then,” Rafe said. “What can you tell me about the Downstreet, Mieka? We’ve never played a place that big before.”
With a last wary glance at Cade, Mieka made a grimace that was half relief and half apology. “Nothing to it, really.”
“No, nothing at all,” Cade muttered, but when he caught the nervous flicker of those big eyes—dark now with apprehension, plain brown and murky—he shrugged and gestured for him to start talking.
The Downstreet was, as Mieka had mentioned, a real venue, not just a tavern with a rickety makeshift platform. The stage was actually divided for a performance: a solidly made wooden riser for the glisker, a lectern for the fettler, with the masquer given plenty of room. It was so big, in fact, that a glisker could add more than just the usual impressions of a landscape, buildings, a room’s interior: he could really paint a whole scene for the masquer to act against.
But there was a
Incautiously, still caught up in his vision of their triumph, the Elf said, “Sat in with Vered and Rauel and Sakary one night, when Chattim took ill.”
“You what ?” Jeska exclaimed.
“Good reason to think well of yourself, then, have you?” Rafe snarled. “Quite a downcoming, playing with quidams like us!”
Stricken, Mieka stammered, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to say that—I mean, I’m not hiding anything, it was just one show and—” He looked an appeal at Cade. “Quill, it’s not like it sounds!”
So that was how he knew the Shadowshapers. Blye had mentioned that he knew them, but it turned out that Vered and Rauel had trusted him with their work. Only because their own glisker had been ill, but—Mieka had actually played a show with the Shadowshapers. Cade was all for interrogating him about what it had been like, and the pieces they’d done, and a hundred other things. But anger touched his tongue first, and he demanded, “Why so bloody eager to join up with us, then?”
“Sakary couldn’t cope with me, all right? I can’t help it when I don’t like the taste of someone’s magic, and he had a stranglehold on me and—and I fought him, I couldn’t help it! We got through the show and he hasn’t spoken to me since! He’s a good fettler, one of the best, but I couldn’t work with him—”
“Because he couldn’t cope with you?”
“Leave him be,” Rafe said suddenly. “You know the trouble they had finding a glisker, before Chattim. Like us. Just like us, Cade. Call it the taste or the feel of the magic, or puzzle pieces locking into place, or instinct, but you and me and Jeska worked strong together from the first. We fit.” Pointing a long finger at Mieka, he finished, “And so does he. With us. Not with them, nor anybody else. Us .”
Mieka cast him a grateful glance, then turned back to Cade with his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he was anticipating a fist to the jaw. “Cade?” he ventured. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. But Rafe’s right, isn’t he?”
They were all looking at him now, waiting for his concurrence. How did he explain to them that knowing Mieka had worked with the absolute best, had done the glisking for two of the most innovative minds in the theater, had shaken his confidence on the very night when a successful booking at the Downstreet could assure their future?
“Please don’t be cross,” Mieka said softly.
“He’s not,” Rafe said with the certainty of long friendship. “He’s comparing himself to Vered and Rauel again, that’s all. He does it all the time. The good thing is that it always makes him work harder.” Eyeing Cade with wry understanding, he added, “If you’re through being overawed by the thought of your glisker working with the illustrious Shadowshapers, can we get down to it now?”
“Mine he is, and mine he’ll stay.” He heard his own voice saying it just last evening. He nodded sharply.
“Right, then,” Rafe said. “What can you tell me about the Downstreet, Mieka? We’ve never played a place that big before.”
With a last wary glance at Cade, Mieka made a grimace that was half relief and half apology. “Nothing to it, really.”
“No, nothing at all,” Cade muttered, but when he caught the nervous flicker of those big eyes—dark now with apprehension, plain brown and murky—he shrugged and gestured for him to start talking.
The Downstreet was, as Mieka had mentioned, a real venue, not just a tavern with a rickety makeshift platform. The stage was actually divided for a performance: a solidly made wooden riser for the glisker, a lectern for the fettler, with the masquer given plenty of room. It was so big, in fact, that a glisker could add more than just the usual impressions of a landscape, buildings, a room’s interior: he could really paint a whole scene for the masquer to act against.
But there was a
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