A Curious Beginning

“I did not,” I temporized. “Our acquaintance has not been of long duration. I daresay there is rather a lot we have yet to learn about one another.” That much was entirely true, I thought ruefully. I managed a maidenly duck of the head as I imagined a shy new bride might give.

The professor reached out and patted my hand. “Console yourself, my dear. Stoker is one of the finest I have ever seen. He honed his skills in South America—where he added a few new ones to his repertoire,” he said, his smile now decidedly feline. “He is the most dangerous man I have ever known.” His features twisted into an expression of mocking sadness. “At least, he was. This was before his accident, you understand. I do hope the loss of the eye will not affect his marksmanship. His scars were still fresh the last time I saw him. Tell me, is there any sight at all left in his eye, or is it entirely gone?” He leaned forward, as if hungry to hear something to Mr. Stoker’s disadvantage. The entire conversation was strange to me. I had the oddest sensation that we were fencing, but only one of us was armed. His resentment of Mr. Stoker was almost palpable, and I thought again of the brute Colosso and his warning of the evening before.

I chose to reply to the professor’s question with the unvarnished truth. “He can see perfectly, but it sometimes grows fatigued and then his vision is compromised.”

The thin silver brows steepled in a concern I felt certain was feigned. “Ah, well. We must presume the worst and hope for the best, must we not? It is my motto.”

“Quite a sound one too,” I said faintly.

“My dear, you are quite pale. You do not fear acting as your husband’s assistant, do you? Really, I cannot permit him to use any of my other performers in case his aim is less than true,” he told me. “But I have no doubt that love will guide his arm! He would not harm so much as a hair upon the head of his own true love,” he finished with a grand theatrical gesture.

I returned his thin smile. “Love. Of course. I must rely upon his love to protect me.”

The professor nodded. “Ah, my dear. How fortunate you are! Otto and I have never been blessed in that regard.” Otto suddenly roused himself and played a mournful little dirge. “That is enough,” the professor snapped. “I must apologize, my dear. Otto has a peculiar sense of humor.”

“Not at all,” I said.

“But we do enjoy hearing about the love stories of others,” the professor said with studied blandness. “How did you meet our dear Stoker?”

I was not prepared for this, but I had always maintained that if one were to trade in lies, it was best to keep them as simple and near to the truth as possible. “We were introduced by a mutual friend. He thought we would get on because of our shared interest in natural history.”

“Ah! Stoker’s accomplishments in that field are well-known to me,” he said with a twist of the lips.

“Indeed?”

He waved a hand. “He gave us an excellent demonstration of his skills when last he was here.”

I waited for him to continue, but he did not, and Otto’s melody changed to something suitably introspective.

“I quite enjoy your music,” I said truthfully to him. Otto flicked me a glance. His expression did not change, but he began to play the odd little melody with which he had saluted me, this time embroidering the tune with a few Mozartian flourishes.

“How baroque,” the professor commented dryly.

“It is a beautiful melody. I regret I am not musical. What is the piece?”

The professor shrugged. “It is of his own devising, a melody to conjure an image of you.”

“Of me? How extraordinary.”

“Not really. Otto develops such little tunes for everyone who travels with the show. It is his way of forming a connection, as it were.”

“Then I must thank you, Otto,” I said. He did not respond but merely began the tune over again, this time playing with the cadence of a military march.

“That means he wants you to go away. It is nothing personal, oh no!” he hastened to assure me, his watchful smile firmly in place again. “It is merely that he tires easily and does not care for my garrulous ways. If you leave, I will have no one to talk to and he will take a nap. Really, it’s like having a lapdog attached to one at times.”

I rose, but the professor put out a smoothly manicured hand and touched my wrist. “My dear, you must accept my best wishes for a successful debut in our little show. Kindly remind your husband of what I told him last night. If he fails, he will have to leave us. I cannot keep mouths to feed that will not keep themselves.”

In spite of his silken tone, something faintly malicious glimmered in the depths of his eyes.

I lifted my chin. “Then I can promise he will. And I shall do everything in my power to ensure it.”

“Spoken like a devoted wife,” the professor said, releasing my arm.

I took my leave then, the last few notes of Otto’s melody dying away as the tent flap dropped behind me.