The Price ofAdmission

“Today,” I told Rufus, “we reach the city.”

I said it while packing the tent, with the confidence of a man who had no intention of spending another night listening for footsteps beyond the fire. Rufus sat beside the bedroll and watched me wrestle it into my pack. He seemed satisfied with the arrangement, provided we weren’t leaving breakfast behind.

The road looked harmless in the morning light. I gave the trees a thorough inspection anyway.

“Straight back to the Cock & Swallow.”

My stomach fluttered as I tightened the straps. I could still picture the Thing stepping out onto the trail, and every time I imagined another pair of missionaries, I found myself checking my scarf. Neither thought improved the prospect of walking all day. Rufus was waiting, though, and one of us ought to look as though he knew what he was doing.

I settled the saddle against my pack and gave him an encouraging nod.

“Come on, then.”¹1

Before we got properly underway, I opened the pack to find something to eat. One of the rations had developed a smell that suggested it had been pursuing interests of its own overnight.

I inspected it, hoping the offensive part might be confined to one end. It wasn’t. The whole thing had committed itself.

“For fuck’s sake.”

I put it aside, well out of Rufus’s reach, and found something fit for breakfast. If we didn’t reach the city soon, I would have to hunt. I knew how hunting worked in principle: find something edible, kill it, eat it. Yesterday had provided a useful demonstration of how strongly something edible might object.²2

We set off. I kept Rufus closer than usual, slowing whenever he stopped to investigate the roadside. By midmorning, I’d asked an orc whether we were getting near the Twin Cities. He confirmed that we were, though his manner suggested I should have been able to work that out without involving him.

I thanked him and carried on before he could develop an opinion about the scarf.

As the hours passed, signs of civilization became more frequent. The road was better worn. I began to trust that the next bend might actually bring us closer to a bed, instead of introducing someone with an unhealthy interest in my lower half.

By the time I reached the crest of a long hill, my shoulders ached beneath the pack. I stopped to shift its weight and saw a crowd gathered below around a lavish velvet tent. It stood within a ruined courtyard, where ivy climbed the broken walls and thick greenery crowded the old stones. The velvet looked magnificent against all that decay, as though someone had decided the place needed curtains before it needed a roof.³3⁴4

Drums reached me first, a steady rhythm that made the climb seem briefly worth the effort. A violin darted over them, playful and quick. Then came cheering, laughter, and the unmistakable clatter of drinking horns.

Ale.

I stood a little straighter.

“We should investigate,” I told Rufus.

He looked up at me. I scooped him under one arm and went down toward the tent, composing an excellent justification involving rest, refreshment, and the study of local entertainment.

Inside, I managed several steps before stopping so abruptly that the saddle knocked against my back.

A woman was dancing around an iron spear planted in the stage floor.

She held its shaft with one hand and circled it to the drums, setting each foot down softly while her hips followed the beat. The movement traveled through her waist and shoulders before she let it carry her into a turn. She leaned away from the spear, her back gently arched, and tipped her face toward the light. Her hair fell behind her shoulder. For a moment she held the pose, letting us admire the sweep of it, then came upright with the violin and smiled as though she’d just noticed how pleased everyone was to see her.

I recognized her.

Allura.

I’d heard the stories. The legendary spearwoman who’d created the art of spear dancing. A Relmer, with the ears and grace of an elf and curves that made the human contribution very difficult to overlook. I’d imagined seeing her perform someday, once I was famous enough to go where famous people went.

Apparently, I could also get there by being fucking terrible at finding my way home.

More patrons pressed through the entrance behind me. I glanced back, found the way occupied, and turned toward the stage again. Rufus rested his paws over my arm while I found a gap between two shoulders through which a Dweller could appreciate the arts.

Twist my arm, why don’t you.

Allura slid her hand higher on the spear. Her other hand followed the curve of her waist and came to rest at her hip as she swayed. She let one hip settle, then turned just enough to change the shape of the pose. From where I stood, I could follow the line from her shoulder through the narrowness of her waist to the generous curve below it. She seemed entirely aware of how long we would be willing to look.

Then she hooked a leg around the shaft and swung. The audience roared. She landed lightly, extended one leg into a deep lunge, and held it while the drums rolled. Her fingertips traveled back to the spear. She drew herself upright a little at a time, lifting her chin last, and the cheering quieted while everyone watched. She made returning to a standing position seem like a favor she was doing us.

I had forgotten about the ale.

There was something deeply unfair about how little effort she seemed to need. I’d shouted myself hoarse at the Cock & Swallow, and this woman had an entire tent leaning forward because she had paused with one knee bent.

I began watching more carefully.

For professional reasons, obviously.

She let the music build before turning again, her hips leading and her shoulders following a fraction later. Halfway around, she looked back at us. The smile she offered was small enough to feel private, even with a tentful of people trying to claim it. Drinking horns went up. She held our attention through the pause, then swept around the spear and drew the whole room after her.

I could feel it happening to me. Each slow turn showed me something I wanted another moment to appreciate, and she moved on just before I felt I’d had it. I had arrived wanting a drink and somehow become invested in where she intended to put her hand next.

Then the jade began to fly.

Coins struck the stage. Purses landed beside the spear. Allura stepped between them without breaking the rhythm, and the crowd rewarded that with still more money.

I stared at a purse lying near her foot. It looked substantial. Another landed beside it.

Gods, she was beautiful. But the sight of all that jade made a different part of me sit up and pay attention.

I wanted people to feel that way when I performed. I wanted them waiting for the chorus, watching my hands, going home with a song they couldn’t get out of their heads. I’d managed it for one night at the Cock & Swallow. Allura moved as though she knew exactly how to do it again tomorrow.

I shifted Rufus more securely against me and kept my free hand away from my purse.

Four hundred and eighty jades. I knew the number very well. Remembering where three hundred of them had come from helped me resist the urge to throw any of them onto the stage. I had done quite enough for that money already.

When the performance ended, I applauded awkwardly around my splatcat and let the departing crowd carry us toward the opening. I wanted another look. I also had enough sense left to recognize that another look might become an expensive one.

I slipped outside with my money intact.⁵5

My mouth was so dry that swallowing hurt.

Had it been hanging open throughout the entire fucking show?

I put Rufus down and fished a jug of water from my pack. The first mouthful was wonderful. I drank the rest with considerably less restraint than I’d shown toward my jade, then stood holding the empty jug while the drums sounded behind me.⁶6

The day was getting late. I packed the jug away and adjusted the straps, discovering that the performance had done nothing to improve my shoulders. Rufus started down the road ahead of me, and I followed, hoping there was enough daylight left to reach the city.

For a while, the drumbeat stayed in my head. I tried matching my steps to it, thinking about the way Allura had held a pause until everyone wanted the next movement. There was something I could use in that, if I could learn to leave a silence alone without filling it with a nervous explanation of how well I’d performed last night.

Eventually, the thought gave way to the prospect of a chair.

By the time we reached the Twin Cities, I was considering what I might offer someone to carry Annali’s saddle for the last stretch. Then I remembered the jade raining onto Allura’s stage and decided I could suffer a little longer.

We had made it.⁷7

I headed straight for the Cock & Swallow. Rufus stayed at my heels while I picked my way through the city, too tired to give my usual attention to the people around me. The scarf still held. My belongings were still mine. For the moment, that would do.

The innkeeper had offered me a free night’s stay after my performance. I hoped he remembered it as fondly as I did, and that the invitation had survived my failure to use it at the appropriate time.

When I reached the entrance, I shifted the pack one last time and looked down at Rufus.

“Here we are.”

A bed, if the innkeeper kept his promise. Somewhere to put the saddle down. I had a great deal to think about before my next performance, but I could begin once I was sitting on something that hadn’t grown beside a road.

I took Rufus inside.