Gadolor

The Hooded Maiden

Dusk was shading the world grey when Entressa went down to the wall, where she somehow knew the juggler would be waiting. This time, climbing the lattice was hard work, so heavy was her heart. She loved their friendship, but she was coming to tell Sebastian it must end.

He was there. She had expected to find him juggling and humming a song, but instead, he stood with a big cloak in his hand and a roguish glint in his eye. Sebastian winked at her when she put her head over the wall. “Good evening, princess.”

“Sebastian,” she sat, her feet hanging down. She looked at her hands, bumped her heels against the stone, working up the courage to begin her little speech.

“Aren’t you going to ask what this is?” he interrupted, showing her the big cloak.

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s your disguise. We don’t want anyone recognizing you outside the palace, do we?” Quickly he slid a crate under her feet, against the wall. He pulled her down, answering a stammered protest with, “It’ll be fun, I promise. I want to show you something.” Swinging the rough cloak about her shoulders, he fastened the wooden clasp and proclaimed her ready. The hood was voluminous, swallowing her head, and it smelled like onions.

What am I doing, Entressa asked herself. She tilted her head up so she could see Sebastian from under the hood. “It’s smelly.”

He flashed a smile and took her hand. “Come,” he said.

Sebastian had her hand and was jogging away, so she followed. He led her through Esthen’s alleyways on a twisting course that took them away from the castle, into a neighborhood of old, wooden houses that leaned over the street. Night soon swallowed the city, and still they hurried through the darkness. Now and then, candlelight from a window lit their path. Evening breezes mixed with the stench of lard and poor sanitation.

She heard the music first—the lively, earthy kind that the lower class played, made chiefly with lyres and tambourines. Clapping and shouts accompanied it. Then, as they turned a final corner, torchlight hit her in the face and she gasped.

A crowd of people was bunched together where two alleys met in a T. Several musicians furiously strummed and clanged their instruments, while a ragged boy danced in a central open space. Just then the boy jumped back, and a girl leaped in, swinging a whistle-rope. The whistle shrieked higher and louder as she whirled it faster, sinuously spinning all the while. At last, she let the string wrap around her arm, pushing the whistle’s pitch beyond hearing, then caught it deftly in her hand. Cheers sounded amidst the song, and someone else jumped in to dance.

Sebastian and Entressa drew up at the edge of the crowd, just as the song ended in a vigorous show of strumming. After a pause, a thin fellow began plucking a tipsy tune on a mandolin, jigging his way into the circle. One or two others picked up the tune, and the crowd resumed clapping in time.

Grinning with wonder, Entressa turned her head this way and that, always with her face pointed upward so she could see out from the hood. The alley was packed with humanity. The ragged boy sat cross-legged on the cobble; many stood close together, while some stood on crates or sat on one another’s shoulders. A few held torches, lighting the scene brightly.

Sebastian stepped into the circle then, his movements smooth as a cat’s, his eyes flashing in the red light. He drew a slim knife and performed a series of tricks with it, spinning, flipping, twirling it through his fingers, and even balancing it point-upward on his nose. Then, smiling mischievously at the sparse applause, he sheathed the knife and took a torch from someone by the circle’s edge. It whooshed against the air and sputtered as he swung it around, up and down. He turned a cartwheel and played a handstand with the torch circling him, swishing so fast, it seemed to draw rings of fire. He called for another torch, which someone tossed him, and he juggled them both, mixing the act with more acrobatics. He tossed them high, tweaked an old man’s beard, winked at the whistle-girl, and caught them without missing a beat. Impressed chuckles now rose above the music, and the crowd held its breath.

At last, spinning on one knee, Sebastian tossed both torches to their owners in a dramatic finale. Someone slapped him on the back, and Entressa heard snatches of “Well done, Sebastian.” She smelled burning pitch and sweat as he returned to her, appearing pleased.

More acts of daring and skill mixed with the music, along with a dramatic story that Entressa doubted had any truth. “It’s wonderful!” she said when he caught her eye, almost shouting above the din.

“Of course,” he laughed. There was a lull in the dancing; no one seemed ready to jump out and join the music. “You should go dance,” he said.

She laughed nervously. “Oh, no. I’m not good at dancing.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you. You’re marvelous.” When she hesitated, “Dance with me, at least.” So they held hands and whirled about for a few measures. Then Sebastian spun her around, and while she was off balance, pushed her into the circle, into the gaze of two dozen people.

There was no going back now; she might as well dance. Despite what she’d said, Entressa did love it. Looking down, she concentrated on her feet and stepped the moves a girl had taught her at the Harvest Feast. The cloak’s deep hood hid the onlooker’s faces from her, and perhaps this made her less nervous. It reached below her knees and swung about her like a second dress, so she took advantage of it and twirled extra hard.

Despite her bashfulness, a warm glow of excitement swelled in her chest. Here she was, dancing like a commoner at night with Sebastian! She knew she ought to be at the castle still. She ought to be telling Sebastian how she couldn’t see him anymore but knew this was the greatest fun she’d had in a long time, perhaps in her whole life. Even as exhaustion tugged at Entressa’s muscles and she wondered how to exit the circle, the song ended and she relaxed into a fit of giggles.

The people clapped enthusiastically, some standing up to cheer. “Fine dancing, stranger,” someone called. She tilted up her face to look at them and spun slowly in circles, taking it all in.

“Who is she?”

“Yes, who is she?” a man asked, stepping forward, extending a hand to throw back her hood.

Sebastian’s hand rested on top of her head, keeping the hood in place. “She’s with me,” he said, “And you mind your business, Seville.”

Seville grinned and cracked his knuckles. “What strange friend have you brought us, Sebastian? Ah, the mystery. Well met and good dancing, dear hooded maiden,” he bowed and kissed Entressa’s hand.

— § —

She could feel the night aging when she and Sebastian stole back to the castle. They walked slower now, still holding hands even though Entressa knew the way. He helped her scramble up the wall, his strong arms pushing her up, and she dropped the cloak down, chuckling. It’s too late. I didn’t tell him. She’d danced with him instead! Entressa berated herself for being foolish.

Instead, she said, “Thank you, Sebastian.” She felt guilty and excited and happy all at once. Behind, the castle garden waited for her quietly.

He bowed. “And thank you, dear hooded beauty. I told you, you’re a good dancer. You were lively.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she scolded, “But it was wonderful.” They laughed. An awfully long moment passed. “Well, good night, Sebastian.”

“Good night.” Taking one last glance at him, she slipped over the wall.