The Tower of the Forgotten Read Free Page B

foolish gambit I thought would pay off. A ritual, too many years ago,
under a foreign sky. I was young and stupid, with ambition that outweighed my
good sense. Ah, well, but we all make the most of our mistakes, don’t we?"
    "This
wasn’t a mistake," Portia told her,
gravely. "Far from it."
    She clucked her tongue. "Forgive me,
please. I meant no offence. Perhaps…perhaps we all make the most out of our situations ,
then?"
    Portia allowed herself a smile and nodded.
"Indeed we do. So, what do they call you?"
    "Aseneth,
you know, like Cleopatra’s sister?"
    "My
name’s Portia."
    "Not
what I expected."
    "I
wasn’t born this way. I had parents; mundane,
ordinary parents."
    "The
old woman raised a greying eyebrow. "Obviously not that
mundane. But that’s for another time.
Come, I need to ask you about this tower."
    Aseneth
led the slow way into the circus grounds, and Portia looked upon her residence
for the first time. Her tent stood away from the others with a separate ticket
taker’s stand before it. A crude wooden fence had been
put up around the back of it, blocking the view of whatever lay beyond. The
small courtyard they entered was flanked by two large tents, one with a
brightly painted sign indicating elephants and clowns. The other, taller and
slightly narrower, had a trapeze hanging from the doorway like a shop’s shingle. On the far side sat a row of squat tents and
boxcars arranged in a semi-circle with a single barker’s stage and ticket counter blocking the way in. Beside that,
a wide walkway flanked with concessions stands led down the slight slope to the
midway.
    Between
the circle of small tents and the concessions stood a narrow structure that
looked to Portia like a converted outhouse. The roof had been raised into a
faux gable and extended to each side. The side walls were not wood, but heavy
canvas, painted with moons and stars and hung from the overhang of the roof.
The door was what gave it away, oddly-shaped with a telltale crescent moon
carved through it.
    Aseneth
opened the door. "Welcome," she said with gravity. "I am honored to have you
as my guest."
    Inside,
it was quite comfortable, with thick carpets layered over the dirt floor and
strewn with plush pillows. At the center was a round table holding a dusty
crystal ball and an intricately carved wooden box, about a hand’s span in length. A large cabinet dominated one corner and a
curtain the other. Ignoring the table and the rest, Aseneth pushed back the
shot-silk curtain to reveal a cot, a wobbly-looking washstand, a battered
folding table, and two chairs.
    "Please,
sit." She shuffled off to the only other thing in the
room—an enormous steamer chest along the far side of
the bed—and opened it. She brought out a loaf of
bread, some cheese, and a corked bottle.
    "I haven’t been hungry,"
Portia told her.
    "Nonsense, you just didn’t feel like eating.
Although this is meager fare, I know you’ll enjoy it. Sourdough!" She waved the baguette under Portia’s nose. "And a nice merlot from
the vineyards north of Penemue. You must know the ones."
    "I’ve heard of them."
    "It
would taste better out of crystal, but what can you do?" She grabbed two glazed porcelain mugs from the washstand
and dropped them onto the table, then poured for two before Portia could object.
    "To you, my dear, Portia." She held her cup aloft
and drank noisily.
    Portia
sipped at the wine. It was actually quite good, but she put the cup down. "Thank you for your hospitality."
    "I can hear what you want," she sighed. "All right, business then. Do you mind if I eat?"
    "Go right ahead."
    Aseneth
tore off the heel of the bread and pressed a hunk of cheese into the soft
interior with her thumb before biting off a sizable piece and proceeding to
talk with her mouth full.
    "I was here, of course, when the tower appeared,"
she said through a spray of crumbs. "Halford came to me, at once. He isn’t as stupid, or
oblivious, as you might want to think. He knows what I am, and