Chapter 16 Nevelyn Tin’vori
The seamstress room was exhausting.
It had nothing to do with the actual work. Nevelyn's fingers were quite deft. Her skill perfectly adequate. Years of practice in Ravinia had more than prepared her for the actual alterations they made. She realized on the first day that the advanced patterns she'd been using were too complex here. Their work needed to be fast and brutal and efficient. A pace that matched the frenetic world of an opera house that doubled as a theater. Most of their costuming was not inventive or new. The seamstress team built the wardrobe from what already existed in their closets.
What made it so exhausting was not the work but the continuous chatter. Five of them packed in a cellar room the size of a large closet, bumping elbows, gossiping about absolutely nothing. She'd only been working there for a week and already she'd reached her limit on banality.
"I just don't know what to do," Edna whined. She was the youngest girl in their crew—and the assistant directly ahead of Nevelyn in the pecking order. "If he liked me, why wouldn't he just come out and say that he liked me?"
That received an infamous tongue click from Kersey. Their overseeing seamstress seemed as if she'd been born right there in her corner of the room. The woman looked at Edna over the rim of her spectacles, but her wrinkled hands kept moving, perfectly rethreading a jester's cap.
"Gives you all the power," Kersey said. "Men can't stand the idea of being at someone else's mercy. No offense, John."
Nevelyn's eyes darted that way. She double-checked John's attire to make sure Kersey wasn't being rude. She'd only known them for a week, but they'd alternated their expressed gender several times. She'd seen them in a range of lovely, self-tailored dresses. Today's outfit was a checkered cardigan with cloud-white slacks. Regardless of which gender John presented as each morning, they always arrived immaculately dressed. Nevelyn supposed that was a natural byproduct of being the child of the city's most famous seamstress.
Faith DuNess sat at the corner of the table closest to John, occasionally offering up small squares of completed fabric. The woman lacked Kersey's longevity with the opera house, but she was the unquestioned head of their flock. If the papers ever praised the cast's wardrobe in their reviews, it was always for some clever decision Faith had made. She'd been teaching John the same techniques for nearly a decade now. Nevelyn recognized the pair for what they likely were: her most challenging obstacle.
Faith commented on Edna's debacle without looking up. "I can't imagine what power you think a busboy actually possesses."
"But that only proves my point," Kersey replied. "A man like that has even less control over the rest of his life. Which means he'll cling tighter to what he thinks he's got."
Edna looked quite annoyed by the turn in the conversation.
"It's not like he plans to be a busboy permanently. He's got dreams, you know."
"All men's dreams sound bigger when they whisper them in your ear," Kersey replied tartly. Then, to prove her point, she leaned closer to an unsuspecting Edna and shouted, "Edna! Oh, Edna! If you love me, I'll sail to new lands. I'll invent new magic. I'll lead armies for you, Edna!"
An absolutely violent shade of red colored the young girl's cheeks. Faith and John snickered delightedly, which made Kersey laugh with even more self-satisfaction. Nevelyn watched in silence.
"I'm sorry I brought it up."
The younger girl slammed down her pattern and stormed from the room. Kersey called after her, but only half-heartedly. Nevelyn saw an opening. She'd been doing her best to develop a friendship with Edna ever since arriving. Small bits of conversation. Now she set down her work and glided after the girl.
The costume room was like a small country nestled inside a much larger, much more chaotic continent. It was easily the most boring part of the Nodding Violet Theater. Nevelyn spied Edna disappearing around a distant corner and rushed to catch up with her. She was nearly leveled by one of the stagehands for her effort, who managed to curse her entire family tree by the time they got past one another.
The labyrinth underneath the stage was vast and complicated. Nevelyn had already committed most of it to memory. Edna and John were both fine with needle and thread, but one of their primary functions was running outfits from the costume room to other specified destinations in the theater. If a seam ripped in the middle of a show, they'd be on hand to rush it downstairs for a quick fix. It was a task she needed to be able to do with her eyes closed if she wanted to replace either of them.
A small staircase led out of the darker basement. Here, lights twinkled softly overhead. She heard singers and actors rehearsing in their rooms. The effect was a garbled, fever-dream version of the play they were putting on that night. Her eyes drifted, as always, to the second room in the hallway to her right. The name TESSA brOOD glinted on the wall there in silver letters.
Focus,Nevelyn thought. She's not your quarry today.
She spotted Edna crossing the massive backstage area, past the mail wall with its slotted cabinets, and she doubled her pace to catch up. The girl paused before the playhouse's rickety dumbwaiter. There was a table there with two stacks of costumes set out. Nevelyn heard Edna curse under her breath as she began rifling through them.
"Edna. Are you all right?"
The girl's jaw tightened. She glanced back over one shoulder, eyeing Nevelyn from head to toe. "I'm fine."
"They were out of line," Nevelyn said. "I know what it's like. To not be taken seriously."
"I don't doubt that." Edna gestured to her entirety. "Look at you. You're a slob. The missing button. That small grease stain along your collar. It's a wonder they hired you at all."
Nevelyn was shocked back a step. It was like being plunged into cold water. That tightening in the lungs and chest. Her entire body constricted. Edna's lip curled up even more at that reaction.
"Look at you. Such a mousy thing. We are not alike. I need no sympathy from a useless creature like you. They only hired you on to see us through the production date. And then they'll be rid of you, and I'll be rid of you. So the next time you get it in your head that we are friends, remember that you work beneath me. If I want your thoughts, on any subject, I'll request them. If I don't, feel free to keep your mouth shut on matters that have naught to do with you. Understood?"
A decade of survival and scraping forced Nevelyn to nod. In the back of her mind, she knew that Edna held no true power over her. But anytime someone had taken this tone with them, she'd learned subservience. Resistance caused a scene. Raised voices drew unwanted attention. It had always worked out better to simply nod and avoid eye contact. She did that now.
"Gods," Edna cursed. "You look like you're going to have a cry. Do it somewhere else."
Obediently, Nevelyn turned to leave.
"Wait. I didn't mean you could take a break. I just don't want to be around to hear your sniveling. The crow's nest technicians forgot these outfits." Edna patted one of the stacks of clothing. She carefully lifted the other set of costumes in her arms. "They need to go upstairs for the play tonight. Be sure they get there, and don't let any of the fabric snag on anything."
Nevelyn kept her eyes low as Edna marched past, heels clicking along the hardened wood. She looked at the dumbwaiter mechanism. It had been some time since she'd used one, but she'd need to figure out how to work the levers.…
"Oh!" Edna called back over a shoulder. "The dumbwaiter is broken. You'll have to walk them all up. Thanks for being such a dear about everything."
Nevelyn thought she heard a fading snicker. Her hand drifted silently to the spot on her collar. She'd seen it that morning. A grease stain from weeks ago. The rest of her clothes were drying, though, and she'd already been running late. Her hand fell back to her side.
She'd hoped to win Edna over. Become fast friends. She'd wanted someone trustworthy inside the playhouse. Now, however, she felt no qualms in executing the other version of her plan. She and her siblings had met hundreds of Ednas in their travels. Base creatures who wielded power in their small kingdoms with unfortunate brutality. Experience had taught her exactly how to handle such people.
Nevelyn reached for the stack of clothes. She could only manage to carry half of them, pressing the bulk against her chest and starting up the winding steps. It would have to be two trips. The crow's nest was used in a number of the plays and operas. Gods would descend from the heavens on nearly invisible wires. Crooning lovers would sing to each other—one in the tower above and the other in a garden below. She'd never actually walked all the way to the top.
The steps turned in tight circles that had her feeling claustrophobic, not to mention sweating profusely. She passed several platforms, each with windows that could be opened or closed depending on what the current play demanded. The crow's nest was at the very top of the tower. Nevelyn arrived short of breath. An older man was there, leaning unceremoniously over a set of gears and cranks. He wiped the back of his nose with a sleeve before turning to her.
"Damn. Forgot those, didn't I?" He thumbed behind him. "Leave them with Garth."
Nevelyn frowned. "Garth?"
She followed the old man's gaze to a figure in the most shadowed corner of the room. He was so deeply asleep that she hadn't realized he was there. Nevelyn thought he looked older than her, though it was hard to tell. She'd never seen someone who looked more like a bear. Broad shoulders, thick limbs, a round stomach. A dark beard only added to the effect. Nevelyn set the clothes down in a pile beside him and turned to leave.
The old man clucked his tongue. "That other stack needs to go down. For mending."
He was pointing at the clothes beneath the slumbering man.
Nevelyn frowned. "I have to wake him up?"
"With a kiss, if the plays are to be trusted." The old man offered a wink. "Garth. You sack of shit! Wake up. We've company!"
This shout was paired with the old man tossing a literal metal wrench across the room. Nevelyn gasped, but thankfully the metal struck the wall above Garth and rattled harmlessly to the floor. The noise was enough to bring him back to life.
"Did you just throw a wrench at me?" He blinked, smacking his lips slightly, before spying Nevelyn. His entire face transformed. "Sorry. Gods, I thought you were Edna."
The old man laughed. "Edna would have kicked you in the stones already."
There was an awkward silence while the bearish Garth lumbered back to his feet. Nevelyn wished she was still holding the stack of clothes, as she had nothing to do with her hands, nothing to hide herself behind. She didn't know why she felt so exposed before the two of them. It did not help that Garth now towered over her. Nor did it help that she'd been very wrong about her guess. The beard made him seem older than he was. There was a boyishness beneath that made it clear they were the same age. His eyes were deep and dark. His smile stretched as wide as the rest of him, and she'd never felt so comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
"I'm Garth," he said. "And you're… new?"
Nevelyn imagined he'd been about to say another word. Something else entirely. After a moment, she nodded. "My name is Nan. I work in the seamstress room."
The older gentleman snorted. "Gods. Who stuck you with that name? Even I've never dated a Nan. Thought they all died out last century.…"
"That's rich coming from someone named Daft," Garth cut back. His eyes never left her. "How do you like it… down there?"
She wasn't sure how to answer, or why he cared? None of her plans involved a stagehand up in the crow's nest. But even if it felt like a waste of time, his honest question lured an honest answer from her. "I find the seamstress room to be a little stuffy."
That drew out a laugh from both men. Garth looked especially pleased with her answer.
"They're not the kindest folks. If you ever need a break…" He gestured around the room. "You're welcome to visit the two of us. It might not be much to look at, but hey, at least it smells like sweat and failure up here."
She could feel her lips tugging into a smile, but the moment stretched and began to feel awkward. Nevelyn quickly pointed to the stack behind him.
"The clothes?"
"Clothes?" Garth echoed distractedly. "Right. The clothes. Here."
He bent to scoop them up. It was a surprisingly gentle motion from such a big man. She watched as he carefully folded them over one arm. Nevelyn took a single step forward to accept the offering, and their hands brushed beneath the fabric. A slash of unexpected warmth. Nevelyn tried to tug the clothes away, but he held tight to them.
"Wait. I was heading downstairs. Why don't I just carry them for you?"
Nevelyn couldn't help blushing slightly. She didn't bother to point out that when she'd arrived, he had not been heading anywhere. He'd been fast asleep.
"Well, if you're certain. There are more clothes downstairs that need to be brought up."
"Of course. Sorry for not thinking of it sooner. I'm still half dreaming."
I'm still half dreaming.
Nevelyn was not normally sentimental, but that's what Ava had always called it. That curious existence between waking and sleeping. Whenever her sister made a morning mistake, she'd claim that she was still half dreaming. It was an echo of memory that Nevelyn was not prepared to face this morning. She awkwardly allowed Garth to take the clothes back, ignoring the raised eyebrows the old man was shooting in their direction, and started down the stairs.
"So, Nan, are you… do you live nearby?"
Garth's voice echoed in the narrow stairwell.
"That's a rather personal question."
"Oh. You're right. I just like your accent."
Nevelyn frowned. "Accent?"
"I thought I heard something. You sound like you're from up north."
"I grew up outside of Peska. We lived on one of the farms there."
The fabricated story rolled easily off her tongue. It was built around just enough truth to make it easy to talk about—and just enough falsehood to keep a wiser soul from actually tracing the tale back to her and her siblings. "My uncle was born there. I guess I picked it up from him."
They'd reached the first landing.
"And what brought you to Kathor?"
"Work," she answered. "The pay here is better than up north."
That was true too, even if it was only a fractional improvement.
"That's interesting. You hear about folks leaving Kathor to travel north. Always talking like it's some big opportunity for them. Like they're striking it rich or something. I wondered if it was true. I guess people always think things can be better somewhere else."
Nevelyn made no reply to that. She was not prepared to philosophize with a stranger. They rounded another landing, and another. All in silence. Garth broke it with an echoing laugh.
"Gods, you're the quietest seamstress we've ever had."
She nodded. "I like the quiet."
"Me too."
That surprised her. He'd barely stopped talking since being woken from a dead sleep by a metal projectile. A final turn brought them to the base of the stairs. She was forced to turn and accept the clothes back from him. Garth offered her a smile when their hands brushed again.
"Well, that was a better start to the day than I'd imagined for myself."
Her cheeks flushed. She adjusted the weight of the clothes.
"Have a good morning," she said. "It might help if you fixed the dumbwaiter."
He eyed the contraption. "Right. I will. But I'm glad it was broken. For today."
Nevelyn started moving before he could turn back and study her again. Missing button. A stain on her collar. Poorly matched clothes. She felt if she stood there for too long, Garth might see those things too. Not that it mattered. She didn't care what he thought in the first place. She walked across the dark backstage area. Garth didn't follow, though she could feel him watching her depart.
She risked a quick glance over one shoulder when she reached the distant curtains. Garth had turned away. She smiled, though. He was fussing over the dumbwaiter. Trying to fix it.
Down in the dark beneath the stage, Nevelyn found herself smiling.