Page 31 of Gunslinger Girl

Scylla rolled her eyes.

“No, no, wait,” Halcyon continued. “I would not withhold that satisfying morsel from you—it would be cruel, cruel! Serendipity here is a markswoman, finest ever trained on the CONA communes, now come to us to showcase her talents.”

“A commune?” Scylla snickered. “She gonna shoot jackrabbits for her act?”

The crowd tittered. Blood rushed to Pity’s face.

“Careful, Scylla,” said Eva Zidane. “We don’t have any jackrabbits, but we do have plenty of other creatures on hand.”

The remark earned Eva an acid look, but before Scylla could retort, Halcyon released Pity and clapped his hands together in rapid succession. “Enough, enough! Back to work, my lovelies. Tonight’s show draws ever closer! Go, go!” The crowd dispersed. “You, too, Max. Work to be done!”

“Sure, boss.” Max shot Pity a look of encouragement. “You’ll be okay.”

“Well, of course she will,” balked Halcyon. “We’ll have a little chat, talk about her act, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Go on.” Pity’s voice didn’t quite match the confidence of her words, but she managed a smile. “I’m sure Mr. Singh will take good care of me.”

“Please, my dear, call me Halcyon! Or boss, as some seem to prefer. Yes, either will do. Now come!”

It turned out that Halcyon’s taste in wardrobe extended to his office. The striped walls threatened the tranquility of Pity’s full stomach. Only slightly less unnerving were the orange carpet and the furniture upholstered in eggplant velvet. Halcyon plunked her onto a cushy chair before his desk, piled high with an unstable snarl of papers, ledgers, and toys. As Pity watched, a rubber ball rolled out of the mess and over to a wall plastered with maps. Pins were set in a dozen or more locations, all over the world.

“Plans,” Halcyon explained. “Or hopes, I should say. Why, if I had my way, the Theatre Vespertine would be touring constantly: Columbia, Sangui City, Johannesburg—no habitable corner of the globe would remain unvisited! Sadly, here we remain tethered, a beautiful bird kept caged, unable to even move about the continent because some aspects of my show are not deemed appropriate for the audiences of the east. And Selene’s no help, to boot. She doesn’t want to share her treasure with the world.”

Pity blinked. This is the genius I’m supposed to listen to? “To be honest, I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me, either.”

“What? Whyever would you say that?”

“Because I have no idea what you expect me to do,” she said. “And I’m no performer.”

“What does that matter? Performing is easy. You merely need to remember one thing.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned in, voice dropping low. “Give the crowd something they want to see.”

“Do you…” Pity hesitated. “Do you really think my shooting is something people would want to see?”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “It will be. Ah, you still have reservations. Don’t. When you step out in front of that audience for the first time, if you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will. They’ll smell it, like sharks smell blood.”

And then you’ll be out on your backside. Pity didn’t need him to say it—Cessation didn’t seem like a place that offered second chances. Did she even want the first? But what was the alternative? With a night’s rest and a full stomach, clarity of thought had returned. Certainly she could play along for a few more days, then head east. But the prospect no longer carried the promise it once had. Finn wouldn’t be east, west, or anywhere else she went. And Cessation had served up an opportunity on a silver platter; she couldn’t expect the same good fortune a second time.

And isn’t this what you always wanted—the chance to show what you can do? Maybe the particulars weren’t exactly how she had imagined, but…

Safety. Shelter. Work.

Cessation—Selene—was offering her all of it. The only thing she had to do was be entertaining.

How hard could it be? she thought. It’s just shooting dressed up fancy. Finn would be tickled to see me show off for a thousand strangers.

Finn’s final moments seeped into her thoughts: the resigned, resilient look in her eyes; the nerve that came to Pity when it was already far too late.

Her breakfast curdled in her gut. The only steel in her is in those guns.

Beau’s barb had gotten under her skin, deeper than she wanted to admit. But maybe he had done her a favor by passing her over. Security could be life or death, and not only for her.

The Theatre?

The Theatre was just a show.