"Come see!" Whet spread his hands wide, "Darilava, Symenestra of Kalinor!" His eyes were alarmed, his gestures frantic, and Kit remembered that the Sym were thought more than killers. They were the seducers; the sweet voice that drew girls in even though they knew better. That was what Whet was calling on; their exotic curiousity. "The spider of Kalinor, come to entertain you," Whet said, and Darilava looked at him like he would have growled if he'd cared enough. "Juggling! Knife throwing! More! All we ask is a little tithe, just a little. We wish only to entertain, but we must eat!"
"All you have is words, old man," Kit called back from across the street, and punctuated it with a backwards flip. She landed well, put her hands high in the air and tilted her head at an angle that said so? She said it not just to Whet, but to the whole road, as he had when he advertised. It was not just a taunt; it was a spectacle. They were part of the same show now, and whoever played their part better would get the spoils of it all.
"You wound me Kit!" He used her name, and the stakes rose a little more. "Did we not teach you? Did we not help you when no one would?"
She grinned, long and sharp, and said "a long time ago," Kit said, and she meant it. She fell into a cartwheel, and turned not once or twice but three times, and when she came to a stop she tapped her heel against the ground behind her and smiled wide. "But things are different now!"
They had a crowd, albeit a small one. "Are they?" Whet asked, and pulled an apple from his bag. Darilava caught his balls in the air and repositioned himself. "You have much to learn!" And then one of Darilava's knives cut clean through the apple. Their crowd ooed and aawed.
It was a bit of a strain to keep her smile then. "Really?" She said, and tilted her head to the side, and that tilt turned into another cartwheel, but this time she stopped after the first and, not stopping, bounced backward. She flipped once and hit the pavement gracefully. "I doubt it," she said, and the crowd was still wavering. Who to watch? Who to pay? There were some who had already dropped a few coins into her hat and were watching the show, and some on Whet's side, and a few blessed souls who had paid both. But most were on the fence.
She needed the money. Needed. What she did would not bring in half so much as she wanted, but there was a quota Kit needed to reach. Kit was many things, but she was not rich. One of the pair of them would pull ahead, and take the money with them.
Who? Who? Who?
Me, Kit thought, and desperately hoped that she could prove that she was worth it.
Whet had pulled a volunteer into the circle, and Kit knew she couldn't do the same without the audience thinking that she had taken the idea from him. "Everyone!" He called, and clapped his hands. "Do like me!" And one by one, they picked up the rhythm of the beat, clapped their hands, and outside people turned their eyes toward the noise to see what was going on. He pulled in another, and gave them all apples. "I call it the Eypharian throw!" He announced, proud, and gave them each an apple.
Kit gritted her teeth, put her hands on the ground and pulled herself into handstand. She kept them pointed high, concentrated on her own performance as she heard the clapping. I'll draw them back, she thought. I'll draw them back. She pointed her toes in opposite directions, to her left and right, her front and back. Kit let herself roll back on the ground and sprung up in the same motion, and she intended to do more.
But she had no watchers at all; their eye were all on Whet and Darilava, clapping their hands and hooting. Kit forced herself to smile, raised her hands into the air to get ready to try again, but she knew the cause was lost. They had won the crowd, and she had won nothing.
Kit felt hollow, and though the sun was up and shining bright, she was not spared a chill. |
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by Kit Rowan on May 21st, 2011, 12:55 am 
