‘servitude’ as he liked to call it. Whether or not Astli knew after all these years who Lan really was, she couldn’t be sure — but she was thankful to be able to scrape through without having to debase herself in this way. Everyone suffers. Just deal with it.
Astli incessantly declared that, even in the ice, people would need entertaining, perhaps even more so as it was something to take their minds off the difficult times. Perhaps, Lan thought disgustedly, that was why he brought in dancing girls. ‘Astli’s Aces’ had been present for several weeks now, to provide a fetish-performance to boost crowd numbers and provide some improvement in the accounts. Grubby men slumped in the front rows, drooling at the dancers’ contortions. Was this what women were reducing themselves to? Lan thought. Is this what it’s really like to succeed as a female on Jokull, an enlightened Empire island? At least tribeswomen seem to have respect from their men.
Drums rumbled in the distance, a crash of symbols, a muffled cheer: Astli’s Aces were on stage right now, prancing around in fever-inducing attire. The girls were certainly beautiful, sashaying around the arena with such vigour, and ignoring the whistles and cat-calls. Something primitive inside made Lan almost envious of the appreciative attention, despite knowing what she’d be in for if they discovered her true nature.
An echo of voices preceded a group of visitors who shuffled towards her. There were backstage tours these days, anything for quick coin. Ringleader Astli, with his ridiculous silk cape and a gaping smile, was leading them through.
Families came to ogle at the much talked-about hybrids. Children of all ages pointing and laughing at the exotics: chimera and chronos and the thousand-eyed kujata; there were creatures down here said to have existed only in mythologies. To Astli they were the freak-show, easy money, but Lan, pitying their mutations, felt too much kinship for them.
It wasn’t their fault they were different.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault to be different.
Lan glowered at the tourists as they were awed by the caged hybrids. Astli glared at her with narrowed eyes then shoved her to one side. ‘You sow, you should be preparing for your next act, not dawdling with these freaks.’
Lan sank back and whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t pay you to be sorry,’ the scrawny man hissed. ‘I’ll rent you out as a whore if you don’t listen. Get to your room and get changed.’
Lan said nothing, just tried to avoid his manic gaze, those wild, wide eyes, that long dominating nose, and his age-blighted skin. He could be so cruel to the women — physically and mentally — it was one of the things that constantly surprised her, that women could be so consistently maltreated by some men, that their voices ceased to be heard, and they never fought back.
Astli turned his attention back to the gathered audience. ‘Ladies and gentlemen: regard the Satyr! Note its lower half is that of a goat, its top half that of a human. Look at the horns! It is said to be rather fond of wine…’
Lan strode away, down a set of stone stairs and through the labyrinthine corridors underneath the arena, where the crowd’s calls were muted. Only a few of the other performers were milling about down here. The knife thrower, Jak, slender and aloof, who always had time for her, though unsuccessfully tried to touch up any of the women when he was drunk. Two of the gladiators, Prett and Daloin, were strong-armed, oiled and clutching small swords. These men would mock fight some of the hybrids towards the end of the evening, and they seemed to have worked their way through half of Astli’s Aces in the darker hours, after showtime. It seemed all the entertainers did was drink and fuck, and Lan would only ever commit to one of those acts, fearing for her life should she engage in the other.
Lan marched past them to the dressing room, closed the door and allowed a moment of peace to embrace her. Performing in front of people tired her, as did spending so much time with others. It was only here, in solitude where she could be herself, that she could build up her reserves of mental strength, and regain her composure.
Clothes were strewn about the room. Aged dressers were speckled with crude drawings and trinkets and costume jewellery. Coloured lanterns shimmered in the reflections of several mirrors, making the room seem deep and endless. Snake-like scarves in multiple colours writhed over the top of an opaque dressing screen, alongside discarded lingerie, high-heeled boots and beakers of alcohol. A perfume cloud still lingered.
Lan shared this room with a couple of the stage girls — it wasn’t ideal and there were… difficulties, but while she was still being treated as a female, she considered herself lucky. It wasn’t easy, having to hide herself from the other girls every night, waiting for most of the others to rest or to be outside before she changed into her costumes. How she’d managed to avoid being outed for so long was a mystery to her. Girls stared at her, made a mockery of her height. They even commented whenever it seemed too long since her period, so much so that she had mentally partnered up her cycles with one of the other girls so she didn’t slip. The performers here were always judging each other, often unkindly, which contrasted sharply to the sense of community she had assumed there would be. Maybe it was her paranoia, but she swore they talked about her behind her back.
A thrilling cheer boomed from the arena. It wasn’t long until her act now, maybe thirty minutes at the most. She hurriedly changed into her costume, a simple, full-body, tight-fitting, dark-blue outfit that offered warmth and flexibility. Tonight it was the tightrope first, finished off by a couple of minutes on the trapeze.
Realizing the time, she hurtled out the door, around the corner, taking the stairs two at a time — and suddenly had to stop herself from colliding with a stranger, whose attention was fixed on the caged hybrids.
He wore layers of cream-coloured robes, and his hood was pulled up so she could only see his stubbled face.
‘Are you lost?’ Lan asked.
‘These are, quite simply, shit,’ the stranger announced, gesturing towards the animals with a flick of his hand. ‘They’re genetic freaks, that is all. Mechanisms of the natural world. These are not real hybrids.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Lan asked.
‘I said your fucking freak-show does not impress me much.’ There was something vaguely accented about his voice, despite his angry words, and come to think of it, the way he moved his hands seemed forced and exaggerated.
‘If you need a refund,’ Lan said, ‘I don’t think Astli-’
‘Money means nothing to me,’ he interrupted. ‘I came here only to research hybrids — to see how flesh and bone have been spliced and grafted with skill. Your freak-show is terrible, and I’ve seen better things in the wild. I could make more exotic things with my own hands.’
Lan was curious now. ‘You make them yourself, do you?’
‘My name is Cayce and I’m from the Order of Chirurgiens,’ Cayce declared with some pride, still regarding the animals with disdain.
A cultist, Lan thought. ‘And is your specialization… medical? It sounded like you said surgeon.’
‘Chirurgiens. I alter anatomy. I manufacture transformations. I can change, within theory, almost anything about an animal. Like I say I’ve made better-’
‘Can you change humans?’ she asked cautiously. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t think about it.
Cayce moved away from the cages and faced her clearly. There was something remarkably noble about his long face, an elegance, a healthy, almost false sheen to his skin. He was delicate in his appearance and mannerisms, his full lips, his limpid blue eyes. Beneath his hood she could see his hair was blond and spiked. ‘Ah, you’re one of those people, then,’ he declared dismissively, and turned away.
‘One of what?’ Lan asked. ‘Hey, don’t just say that and look away.’
Cayce didn’t look back, merely shook his head knowingly. ‘You want to be made to look prettier, right? Vanity, just vanity, much like you find all over these islands. I blame your culture entirely. You are, it seems, all the same.’ He seemed to have formed his opinion of her in a heartbeat.
‘No,’ Lan replied desperately, tugging the sleeve of his cloak. His sharp glare forced her to let go. ‘Look, I’m interested in what can be done — I know I’m not the prettiest girl in the world, and I don’t much care about that. You say you can change humans, and I want to know more about that, really.’
‘Externally, why, I can change anything.’ He jabbed a finger against his skull and offered a smile. ‘The insides, though, they are often still a mess.’
