 |
Siddie didn't shop in the Undertakers' district frequently. The streets were narrow and steep and winding here, the houses pressing close and oppressive over cobbled, uneven ground and little steep stairways that wound up under arches toward the brushy, black-wooded forest that clung to the mountainside above. Many of the tall, thin houses stood in a state of menacing decay, their plaster facades flaking and their many-paned windows cracked, sticky films of dust making the glass look bleary, like ancient, milky, half-blind eyes. It was a beautiful and atmospheric area, and Siddie only shopped elsewhere most of the time because it was in the far corner of Halloweentown, a long trek from the school, even longer from the hill where her parents' home stood.
Today, though, she was searching for a very particular color and shade of cobweb lace, and after exhausting her other options, she had been told that sometimes the shops in the Undertakers' district had what she was looking for, a subtle and desaturated purple lace of a type not currently in fashion. But the tailors and seamstresses who made the old-fashioned funeral and burial styles had more call for it. Siddie's design for her contest entry called for it, and she might yet have to substitute something else, but she had found that when it came right down to the wire, it was the small details and the care taken with them that would carry the day. On a historically-inspired dress, a proper period trim could make or break the entire design.
Her pointed shoes tapped on the cobbles as she climbed the steep alleyway toward the last shop on her list. She was pleased that she had worn sensible clothing and shoes, only a small heel and a knee-length skirt over striped leggings; she'd been doing a great deal of walking today, and a lot of that walking had been over older, rougher roads. The small shop was in slightly better repair than the buildings around it. While the windows were decoratively smeared, they were intact and larger than than their neighbors', showing displays of artfully draped fabrics and rolls of ribbons, and in the narrow window beside the door stood an elaborately crafted outfit on a dressmaker's form. Siddie paused to admire it, all wine-red velvet and carefully tattered satins and intricate embroidery. Then she lifted the door handle and stepped up into the shop itself.
The space inside was cramped and dim, its racks and shelves crowding together behind the wide counter that ran across the front of the shop. It was an old-style shop, in which one asked about what one wanted, and the proprietor would bring out bolts of fabric or boxes of notions to be examined. Large candelabras stood in front of the counter, casting a flickering light, their flames close to the color of the pumpkin sun. A nekomata in a high-necked dress was spreading out a bolt of dark-figured damask on the counter, chattering in a soft voice about its weave and quality to the elderly sphinx who sat upright on her haunches in front of the counter to examine the fabric.
On a shelf behind the counter, Siddie spotted a stand with several rolls of the lace she wanted, and one in what looked to be the correct color. But the proprietor was helping the customer before her, and it looked like he might be busy for some time. Siddie glanced around and saw that there were chairs placed behind the display window. She sat down, folding her hands demurely in her lap, and waited politely for the sphinx to finish her shopping.
The sphinx indeed took some time about her shopping, and the nekomata bustled back and forth with bolts of fabric and boxes of buttons and spools of thread, cutting lengths of fabric to the sphinx's instructions and making a neat pile of the selection the sphinx made. The air in the shop was warm and slightly stuffy and full of the comforting scents of fabric and dye and the faint tang of metal and a little bit of the damp-watery scent of old dust and rot. By the time the nekomata finished counting out change and folding the sphinx's purchases into a paper-wrapped bundle, Siddie was starting to drowse in the comfortable dimness. She only half-noticed the sphinx turning away from the counter toward the door, but she was startled out of her doze by the feeling of thin, spidery, chilly fingers lifting her chin. "E-excuse me?" she sputtered, startled by the sudden invasion of her personal space.
The sphinx neither let go nor apologized, turning Siddie's face with a grip gentle but implacable and studying the outline of her features with golden eyes that squinted sharply out of the nest of wrinkles on her face. "Good hells," she said finally, and released Siddie. "You are simply the image of your mother, when she was your age."
"W-what?" Siddie's mouth dropped open slightly.
"You've the Shayde nose," the sphinx said, nodding to herself. "My badness, you certainly do look just like her. Perhaps a tad plumper. Oh, spookie, now don't you scowl. I always did think she was too thin."
"I don't -- How do you know my mother? Shayde? Is that -- whose name is that?" Siddie found herself wringing her hands, and forced herself to let go.
"She hasn't ever mentioned me? Why, I taught her etiquette at Spiderwine Academy when she was young." The sphinx's eyes flashed, and her wrinkles deepened in a scowl of resigned anger. "My dear Infinitie, you did wish to forget me entirely, then," she murmured, and sighed deeply. She shook her head a little, making her iron-grey curls sway. "She didn't even send birth announcements back home. We heard of you girls by the grapevine only."
Siddie closed her mouth with a soft click of teeth. "My - my mother's name is Infinitie," she said softly, confused.
"Oh, spookie." The sphinx reached out one knobby finger and touched the tip of Siddie's nose. "That Depths boil and his ideas, I knew they'd ruin my dear Inie. You've a lot more family than you know of, dear. But perhaps you don't wish to know them either."
"I -- " Siddie began. Tears of frustration had begun to well in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily.
"You think on it, dear," the sphinx cut her off. "I take my afternoon tea at the Rabbit's Head each Moonday at two. I shall be there, if you wish to speak to me." She pulled her gloves on as she spoke, tucked her package of fabric into the bag strapped over her shoulder, and dropped to all fours again, padding out with her head high and her wings folded neatly.
Siddie stayed sitting, staring at the door long after it swung shut. Had she -- Surely the sphinx was mistaken? But the sphinx had known her mother's name, and Siddie's mother had never talked about her parents or family, and maybe -- Siddie didn't know what to think, and she rather wanted to cry out of sheer frustration. One thing she did know: she would be at the Rabbit's Head, wherever that was, on Moonday to find out.
The nekomata behind the counter coughed delicately, and Siddie remembered that she had an errand. She rose from the chair, brushing her skirt down and surreptitiously dabbing the moisture out of her eyes. "Yes, excuse me," she said, and was proud to hear that her voice stayed steady. "I was looking for a particular sort of lace ... "
|
 |
Reply
