A Dancer in Darkness Read Online Free Page B

Bosola forced his way to the front of the crowd, folded his arms, squinted in the sun, and watched Ferdinand.
    Ferdinand was either drunk or tipsy with his own importance . He got up from his chair, swept Captain Bombard aside with his arm, and began to prance around Rosina. Rosina looked startled and then gave him a smile reserved for the quality. Ferdinand flung off his hat and stamped up and down, throwing out his arms and shouting. After an instant of hesitation , the other players capered around them both.
    Rosina wanted to stop. She looked worried about her belly. Ferdinand would not let her stop. His face was flushed with that maddened blindness only Spanish dancers seem to feel. Sganarelle was still carrying the two-foot syringe which he used to squirt Bombard’s behind. He aimed it at Ferdinand and rammed down the plunger. The air blew against Ferdinand’s rump. He reached out a leg and kicked Sganarelle in the face.
    The musicians scraped faster and faster. It was a jota. Ferdinand snapped his fingers and reared up on his toes over Rosina. It was clear he was proud of the slim arc of his body.
    At this point in the dance Rosina was supposed to twirl rapidly, banging a tambourine against her folded wrist. Instead she fainted.
    There was a sudden silence. Only the musicians scraped on. Ferdinand stopped, looked down at her, shrugged his shoulders, and threw a handful of coins at the players.
    Among the recent gifts to the court had been a procession of dwarfs. The little men were dressed in saffron, the Sanducci livery. The Spanish, being a people well swathed in their own pride, enjoyed imitations of themselves. The dwarfs, being Spanish, decided to oblige.
    They swept out across the courtyard, imitating the commedia players. Then one who had loitered behind scuttled haughtily forward, his little voice squeaking imperiously, and began to posture in imitation of Ferdinand.
    Bosola had never seen the little men before. He watched avidly. So did Ferdinand. Rosina lay where she was.
    None of the dwarfs was taller than three feet eight. This gave their movements the bound jerkiness of children. The tambourines rattled and shook in the air. There was no other sound. The crowd seemed to be watching the approach of something inevitable. Ferdinand stood and glowered.
    Suddenly the dwarf impersonating Rosina screamed and fell down. Another dwarf rattled a tambourine, as though for attention. The dwarf parodying Ferdinand kicked the fallen one. Another roll on the tambourine. The dwarf mimicking Ferdinand reached into his jacket and gravely threw a handful of straw to the company. Then he took off his cap and bowed, bursting into a peal of silvery giggles. His eyes were scornful and his face old.
    It was more than Ferdinand could stand. He leaped forward, picked up the dwarf, and hurled him against the courtyard wall. Then he fled from the court.
    Involuntarily Bosola looked up and saw lurking behind one of the windows a figure he recognized as the Cardinal. Nothing ever stirred in that watchful face. The Cardinal withdrew.
    The other dwarfs had gathered round their companion, who still lay by the wall. His spine was broken. They picked him up sorrowfully and carried him away.

III
    The Cardinal had not recognized Bosola, but he had recognized something, and he hated anyone he could not instantly place, for he set great store by his memory. It had served him well.
    His Eminence was a bland man, but certain things about him were peculiar. The most noticeable of these was his leg. No matter how he might parade as a Prince of the Church, there always emerged from his heavy scented robes that telltale leg. It was a supple leg; a pleasure-loving leg, a knowledgeable leg, and a leg that carried him lightly over any opposition he wished to crush.
    For woebetide those who get in the way of a man whose ambitions have been thwarted, and the Cardinal had wanted to be a ruling Prince. That being impossible, he had become a Prince of the