Chapter Text
The snow fell thick across City Hall, settling the crevices of the bricks and frosting the wreaths that dangle between stands. Romeo drained the last of his hot cocoa, scraping his finger along the inside and licking the contents off. He shivered at the sweetness.
The sun was setting and the lamp-lighters made their slow progress through the crowds. A few puppets singing automated carols staggered up and down the streets. Men and women pushed slips of Ergo into their mouths and they would stop where they stood to serenade.
Romeo followed one around with Zach and Eric at first. They split a cone of candy floss and Romeo tried to talk them into spending the last of their Ergo on a carol. But then they had seen the Watchman–Murphy, the other boys called it–crawling with orphans from the Charity House as it tipped its hat at Sophia and offered her a winter rose.
“Toma!” Zach had cried, and in a moment they were both off. Romeo slipped off on his own and got a hot chocolate.
It wasn’t that he disliked the Watchman, or Toma, or being with Zach and Eric. It was only that being with them in this place, already as foreign as a far-off kingdom, made him feel increasingly out of place. He hid it well enough–it was an easy performance–but it wore on him.
Now, as the clocktower above City Hall inched closer to the time they were to meet for the pageant, his hand closed around the bit of Ergo Sophia gave him. He’d forgotten it was there.
He had been content to return to the courtyard early, but…
The Ergo was heavy in his pocket. It seemed a waste of such an opportunity.
Romeo wandered a few moments more through the various games, tossing and catching the Ergo chunk, but nothing caught his eye. Bored, he set off for the stage. The pageant would be setting up now. They let the audience inside in waves: those in the first row came first. They were all the important donors, the rich and loose-pocketed of Krat. Lady Isabella’s warning of best behavior returned to him.
He jogged up the steps to City Hall, passing the Watchman who tipped his hat and vibrated a greeting. He hummed the pageant opener under his breath as a light snowfall resumed, picturing his entrance on stage. He would bow and begin his verse with arms outstretched. Sophia said the past narrators would merely stand in the spotlight and recite their lines. Romeo found the idea ludicrous.
No, he had decided; his moment would not be outshined by the stiff-tongue boy they had cast as the Genius.
He paused at the top of the stairs outside City Hall. They were empty but for the armed puppets posed along the wall. Romeo practiced his introduction: stepping up, the bow, the arms, and then the dance that followed.
Well, he called it a dance. Sophia had described it as “something like a solo waltz” when he had shown her, speaking and blushing as if this would disappoint him. Instead, Romeo was delighted. He had based it off the dancing he had seen in Hotel Krat’s lobby that horrible night so long ago.
He shut his eyes and hummed to the music, turning over the bricks. He could almost feel the heat of the spotlight on his cheeks, almost hear the gasps of the audience–
His foot collided with something. He fell with a grunt face-first into the bricks.
Romeo’s chin smarted. He rolled over, wincing, and found Callum leering down at him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Callum snorted. “I knew you were mad. Your brainpan’s rotted with all that corpse water you musta drank in the Tombs, huh?”
Romeo’s head swam as he sat up. He rubbed at his chin. His fingers came away bloody.
Callum grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his head forward. Romeo’s instincts kicked in. He clawed at Callum’s hands, twisting around to shake the larger boy off. Callum only laughed.
Romeo bit Callum’s finger as hard as he could.
Callum yelped, jumping away as if Romeo were poison. Romeo scrambled away, slushy snow wetting his trousers as he fumbled blindly for where the Ergo might have fallen. He would grab it, and he would run inside all the way to Lady Isabella. She would give Callum a proper beating for this.
There; a faint edge of blue was just visible. Romeo reached for it.
“You bit me! Stupid candlestick!”
Callum’s boot hit Romeo in the throat. He choked. The edge of his vision blacked for a moment.
“This what you’re after?” Callum picked up the Ergo. “I saw you tossing this up. Like it was nothing,” he sneered. “Figured we could share, but nevermind that. You’re mad as a hatter.”
“Sophia… gave that to me,” Romeo managed hoarsely. His fists clenched in the snow as Callum threw and caught the Ergo. His throat burned horribly.
All of a sudden, tears prickled Romeo’s eyes. He couldn’t project like this. His lines would come out all wrong, all wobbly and warbly and awful, just awful. Lady Isabella would pull him off the stage. She’d–
He didn’t know what she’d do. The pageant wasn’t a pageant without the Narrator–without him.
“You dance like a girl.” Callum laughed at his own joke. A sound ripped from Romeo’s throat and he lunged for Callum’s legs. He knocked the boy to the ground and backhanded him. Callum cried out. Romeo’s arms filled with fire.
He hit him, again and again, open slaps and clawing nails. Callum fought back, his fists balled, knuckles dry and cracked from the winter air.
Callum’s fist connected with his eye. Romeo reached to cover it on instinct. Callum shoved him over and away, then landed another punch on his nose. Romeo felt something crack. His face burned.
“You fight like a girl, too,” Callum panted. Romeo felt a stab of satisfaction at the red, bleeding cuts over his face. “You’re…” Callum’s voice was faint. Laughter bubbled up in Romeo’s throat.
His nose throbbed. His eye ached. Slush soaked through his shirt and his hair was a tangle, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Giving… up?” He grinned and tasted blood across his lips and teeth. Romeo stood on shaky legs. “Come on, Callum. Give me your all, won’t you? Should be easy…”
Romeo spat blood. Callum eyed him warily, nose wrinkled in disgust, but he didn’t attack. “What’s it you call me?” gasped Romeo. “Candlestick? Lampwick?” He smiled. “I like that. Don’t think I mind it much at all.”
“Whatever,” said Callum. He held up the Ergo chunk. “Doesn’t matter. I wo–”
Romeo punched him across the face. Callum screamed. He went down hard and heavy. Romeo grabbed his arm and pulled it back, one shoe braced on Callum’s side as he pried the Ergo away. What a coward he is, Romeo thought. A right and thorough coward, picking fights with little boys like Eric and Zach, beating on anyone he thought he could get away with in the Charity House.
If Romeo had his way, boys like Callum would be on the streets, starving away and shivering in the gutters.
“Hey! Young man!”
Romeo froze.
The guests for the first row had begun to arrive. The first three–a mother, father, and son, Romeo assumed– had just crested the stairs. They stared right at him.
“Help! Help me, kind sir!” Callum wailed. Romeo clenched his jaw, but released Callum and stepped away. The woman strode across the bricks, heels clicking, dark blue ruffled skirts swishing. Her hair was jet black and held up with a glittering diamond hairpin. Romeo swallowed.
“Are you animals?” she said to Romeo, then bent down to help Callum up.
“He hit me! He–he’s mad in the brain! He hit me and kept hitting–” Callum babbled. The woman shushed him.
Her husband came to join them, the younger boy trailing a few steps behind. Romeo tensed.
As the haze of battle wore off, the pain began to hit. He blinked away any tears, feeling around the eye Callum had struck and finding the skin hot and already swelling.
“Domenica,” said the man. Much of face was hidden in the shadow of a black felt hat in the style of the businessmen. He wore a monocle over one eye, which swept up and down Romeo. “Are you one of Isabella’s? Tell me the truth.”
Romeo forced down a stream of curses. He stared at the man’s fine leather shoes and mumbled, “yessir.”
The man grunted. “What’s your name, boy?”
Romeo hesitated, searching for a way out. When he found none, he said, “...Romeo.”
The woman–Domenica, let out a sympathetic sound. “Oh, they’re the orphans.”
Romeo nodded. He looked her in the face and let the tears fill his eyes. It burned the scratches Callum had left. “Yessum,” he said. “I’m sorry, milady.” He shuffled his feet. “He… he insulted my mama.”
Callum shook his head.
“I know it’s no excuse,” Romeo added. He quivered his lower lip and slowly raised his gaze to meet Domenica’s. “Please don’t tell Lady Isabella, I swear to God I’ll never fight again. And don’t tell on him, neither; he’s troubled.” Romeo sniffled. He searched for a good lie. “His parents died just two weeks ago… in a, um… carriage accident.”
Domenica looked pleadingly to her husband.
Callum opened his mouth to protest. Romeo fixed him with a glare. Do not ruin this. He thought the words as if he could hurl them from his mind to Callum’s.
Callum pressed his lips together.
Romeo checked fleetingly that Domenica and her husband hadn’t noticed. Instead, he saw their son looking between them with narrowed eyes. He was younger than Romeo had first thought–ten, perhaps? Younger than Romeo, he guessed. He had the soft-cheeked, fine-boned, pouty face of a boy well fed. He had his mother’s hair.
Romeo tapped a finger to his split lips for quiet. The boy’s face was unreadable.
The husband sighed. Romeo resumed his bashful expression. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You are representing the Monad family, understand?”
Callum and Romeo bobbed their heads.
“Can you walk?” Domenica asked, worried.
“I’ll find Lady Isabella, thank you, milady,” Romeo said. Domenica watched anxiously as he and Callum started back for the door to City Hall. Romeo felt eyes burning into his back, but he kept stubbornly forward.
The husband said something chiding to his wife. Her response was hushed. It wasn’t until Romeo was across the threshold when he finally chanced a glance back.
The boy stared at him. For a beat, Romeo could not look away.
“Hurry up,” Callum hissed. Romeo tore himself away.
“You ought to be bowing and thanking me,” said Romeo.
“Shut up, lampwick,” Callum grumbled.
“I told you. That’s not an insult,” Romeo countered. Callum rolled his eyes.
They continued in silence, both ruminating on the punishment Lady Isabella would have waiting for them. Slush tracked and melted in their wake. Romeo was thankful that only the guard-puppets were here to witness his ever-swelling eye.
“Hey,” said Callum as they came to the courtyard. Romeo turned and nearly took an Ergo chunk to the face. He caught it at the last moment.
“Damn.” Callum pushed past him out to the courtyard. “I aimed for your other eye.”
There was an odd feeling in Romeo’s chest. It reminded him of swallowing hot chocolate that burned all the way down, so hot that it burned his tongue til he couldn’t taste sweetness. But then, at the end of it, that chocolate taste lingered in his mouth: a little bitter and a lot warm.
Callum had not apologized, nor did Romeo expect him or intend to himself. But Callum had given him back the Ergo, and slept three beds down from him, and when the lights were out and the winter chill crept in, they both shivered.
He would say nothing, out of respect for such an admission. But he remembered it nonetheless: the scabs on both their knuckles, the other’s blood slipping inside their open cuts.
~
“Go, go!” Sophia’s hushed shout carried him onto the stage, eye still smarting, blood still welling from the cut on his lip. He tipped into a bow and nearly kept going, all the way down and off the edge of the stage.
He stood with a flounce and a shout, then launched into the lines burned into the back of his head. With each lurching step this way and that, he belted them out. If his face was to be ugly, then his voice would need to be thrice as beautiful.
He sees Domenica, her husband, and that boy halfway through the first act. The boy watches him. He is keen, unblinking, and nearly unsettling. He does not blink; Romeo basks in it.
The first round of applause nearly sent him into tears, half from pain, half from the sheer, giddy joy of the spotlight against his skin and the roar of a hundredfold voices. He stumbled off-stage, where Sophia asked him if he was alright and gave him water. He only nodded, drained the cup, and counted down the anxious seconds of darkness until he was to be seen again.
He could live here; he could die here; he will remember this moment until he does.
And as the final round of cheers rings forth among shouts of bravo and encore, the pain is a distant memory. The applause builds, lulls, rises, like waves of an ocean, like tides of whispers in his ears. Romeo closes his eyes.
