Lane circled around the large basket resting on a sturdy table in front of her, and with a flourish, lined the next of the cast iron rods up with the metal ring set into the basket’s lid. It slid in easily; she pretended otherwise, taking her time and making a show of it, but she could feel a hand inside the basket nudging the far end towards the opposite ring. When it got there, Nikki tapped it, and Lane gave it the finishing push so it emerged out the other side.

“You’re okay?” Lane asked. This was a new routine, and it just wasn’t possible to check in too often while working out all the details and while they both got used to the movements involved.

“I’ve gotten too used to tight spaces since I started helping you to care about that,” Nikki said, the sound only slightly muffled by the basket. “I’m fine.”

She picked up the final rod and set the pointed end in the remaining empty ring.

The heavy rods had been the corners of a much flimsier fence surrounding a bed of flowers; they’d been intended for scrap, to be melted down and recycled, but she’d been able to charm the owner into selling them to her, on the spot, for just slightly more than that. A local metalsmith who was used to her hadn’t charged her much to help with smoothing out the rough bits and sanding off the rust, and she’d repainted them basic glossy black, leaving any further decoration until she found a use for them.

An equally fortuitous moment, being at a local grocer’s shop at exactly the right time to see the baskets that some produce arrived in, had finally given her that use. The baskets, she’d learned, were emptied and then sold to someone who took them back to the docks where they could be sold to those shipping appropriate products out of Etria—citrus and similar hot-weather fruits, most often. The grocer had been amenable to selling her one to take away. Fortunately, while awkward, it wasn’t all that heavy.

It didn’t look big enough to comfortably hold a human, even a very flexible dancer who was around average height for a woman and in excellent condition.

The last rod slid neatly into place, with appropriate guidance.

“Still good?”

“Still good. Not a scratch.”

Lane began to pull them out in reverse order, laying them across a pair of chairs for the moment, although to perform this she’d recruit someone to hold them for her. With the last one out, she flipped the top off the basket, left it with the rods, and reached down to offer Nikki a hand.

Inside the rounded square of the basket, Nikki was curled, a tendril of bright blonde hair escaping from the tie at the back of his neck. Considering what they were working on, and the potential complications of loose fabric, he’d stripped down to bare minimums, just a pair of lightweight cotton trousers that had been cropped halfway between hip and knee; given the uneven fading of the original purple-grey dye and the ragged hack job that had shortened them, the rest of the material might have gone to his landlady for cleaning rags. The blue tattoo of a leaping dolphin on the upper left of his chest was clearly visible, but then, that wasn’t unusual; the intricate tattoo on his lower right leg of a woman with great multicoloured feathery wings, usually visible, was hidden by his current position.

Nikki just grinned up at him and uncoiled with the grace of his best friend’s cat, accepting Lane’s hand to step out of the basket and onto the stage. He laced both hands together and arched in a long stretch. Lane saw her brother Viv, doing homework at one of the tables normally used by diners, pause and look up to appreciate the view. It was honestly hard not to, even if you’d seen it before: Nikki was every bit as devoted to dancing as Lane was to stage magic and theatre, and it showed.

Nikki noticed, and winked, but brought his attention back to Lane.

“Nothing to it. I won’t be wearing a corset for this one, that’s for sure, and I definitely need to make sure I stretch thoroughly before it. Depending on how you plan to spin this, my black-and-white with the sequins or the blue leotard with the white-pink-and-blue skirt would be fine. I can tuck the skirt in close between my legs out of the way but it’ll still add to the miracle and the impression that there’s no room for me to move.”

“This may change a bit...”

“That happens with rehearsals.”

“I’m going to call it a test before Kadit-Kadessa.” The mythology and rituals of the twin gods Lane had invented for her “high priestess” persona Ilenaya to serve and the fictitious culture she came from had grown deeper and broader over several years now. This would be internally consistent. “Probably not a virginity test. Whether you’d honestly survive something like that I’m not going to ask but no one would believe it with the way you move when you dance. And I’m not making it a criminal test. Something like a test of courage, maybe.”

“An initiation?” Viv suggested. “Not unreasonable, considering that Nikki helps you with more tricks than anyone else does, and of more kinds. Tessa does most of the mindreading and Corvan and Nikki split the rest, you do tricks with Corvan’s animals but they trust Nikki and either or both might be helping you, Robin does an occasional escape trick but Nikki is usually involved even when she does and Nikki does the rest, only Nikki has the strength and control for levitation even though Fliss helps...”

“So the moral of the story is, without Nikki I have no show?” Lane laughed. Viv was right, though. For the better part of a year, since she’d won the vacant resident opening at the Vixen, and irregularly before that while she’d been taking part in the shows as a casual around a job that demanded more hours and paid less, Nikki had been helping with tricks.

Nikki just echoed the laugh, tucking that stray lock of hair absently behind one ear. “So I’m Ilenaya’s devoted acolyte. Everything works better for all of us if we all back each other up, and different sets of skills interlock in different ways. Once Viv graduates and you get famous on Alabaster Court or something, you can hire me as your full-time assistant. Until then... an initiation sounds like something you could create a lot of drama with and string a few tricks together into a story.”

“Hm...” Lane slid her shiny-steel custom-made Kadit-Kadessa coin out of its hiding place in one apparently-net sleeve, and toyed with it. “There are lots of possibilities, including just table tricks like whether water will turn into wine for you or what animal appears when you reach into the chest or the cylinder or whichever. I’m thinking we talk to Corvan about coaxing Feather into it, a cat seems like a more appropriate animal for you than a dog, rat, or raven. If Feather cooperates, it might be possible to suggest that you’ve been turned into a cat. You go in the empty chest, Feather comes out, then the other way around.”

“Corvan can get her crew to do anything, given a bit of time.”

“More than I’ve ever seen anyone else do, with happier healthier animals. So, I didn’t really decorate the rods because I wasn’t originally sure what to do with them, but I have some of that new coloured metallic paint left from working on the Ark and some glass jewels and things. I’ll make each one represent one of Kadit-Kadessa’s children, whichever four I can do the best job on with what I can get. Leaves and flowers for fertility, feathers for the sky, shells for the water, I have porcelain animal fangs somewhere I can use with fur and bone for wildlife... I’ll play around with it. I’m going to glue those rings into place, too, since we know those angles work, but I don’t think I’m otherwise going to mess with the basket itself. Sometimes simplicity is the best effect.”

Nikki nodded. “It’s a really natural illusion. I honestly wasn’t sure how well I was going to fit. There’s a surprising amount of volume in there. That thing would hold easily twice my weight in oranges, even with a bit of straw to protect them. And I’m heavier than I look. Excellent find.”

“That happens,” Viv said affectionately, “when you look at the entire world and everything in it, always, in a way that first assesses whether there is any potential to adapt it.” He closed his books and stacked them. “I need to go pick Olwen up from school. No more dangerous tricks with your spotter gone, all right? Practice some dance moves or something until you need to get out of here and let the place open for the evening.”

“We’ll be good,” Nikki promised. “Give Olwen a hug for me.”

“I will. She still will not take off that string of beads you gave her. I have to hang it where she can see it overnight or she’d try to sleep with it on.”

Nikki chuckled. “It had a catastrophic failure and it would have been more work than it would be worth to recycle the beads any way I can use. If it makes her that happy, then that is a much better retirement for them.”

Lane didn’t entirely buy it: Nikki could be resourceful and reuse materials more obscure than a couple of dozen thumbnail-sized pastel-coloured glass beads that Lane had restrung onto a newer and sturdier cord. Nikki made no secret, though, of being born in the lowest-income district of Etria, and while all the other performers were fond of Viv’s small daughter, Nikki was the most prone to slipping her little gifts of stage props or costume accessories he said were no longer useful. Last time, it had been a brightly-painted bamboo fan that turned out to be too small for Nikki’s hands. It was hard to argue when, currently, their little household of three tended not to include much liberty for buying Olwen the toys they’d have liked to.

They just had to hold on for a few more months, until Viv finished university. The city badly wanted science teachers for the increasing number of free secondary schools that were meant to help meet the growing demand for employees qualified beyond basic literacy and numeracy. A science teacher who had learned from their parents a passion for the subject, along with ways to make it fun for even the most bored student, would have no trouble getting and holding the job—but even if he had the skills right now to actually do it and then some, that one signed sheet of parchment was essential.

Viv left, via the staff door at the back, with appropriate farewells and his leather satchel of books slung on one shoulder. He knew the way through the labyrinth and the kitchen prep staff who had let them in recognized him as belonging there, so there was no need to go with him.

“Do you want to work on dance moves?” Nikki asked. “You’re definitely better at it. Figuring out moves that look good while you’re playing with fire takes some work but it’s worth it. You’re getting more dance into it every time, not just focusing on the fire aspect.”

Lane shook her head. “I appreciate all the help with that, and I do want to do more, but I’m not going to be able to focus right now. My mind’s too fixed on what to do with the basket trick and I’m not going to be able to swap to working out something else at the same time.”

“Fair enough. Let me go get dressed and I’ll buy us each a lemonade at the stand down the street. I want to ask you something.”

“I’ll clean up. Take your time.” She’d need to be home later, making supper for them, keeping an eye on Olwen while Viv did homework, and working on her own tricks and props, but Viv wouldn’t expect her immediately.

Nikki nodded and vanished backstage.

With that blonde hair brushed out loose, in a calf-length rose-pink dress that bared most of her back and sensibly-brown sandals with pink ribbon laces, dangly earrings and necklace of cherry and indigo glass beads of varied sizes, eyes lined dark and lips tinted pink, Nikki as a girl still attracted attention. She had a shoulder bag of indigo blue striped with a warm yellow slung from one shoulder to the opposite hip, as always. Today was absolutely cloudless, fortunately not common in Etria, and the sun was still high; she’d brought a parasol, an item that most people of any gender considered essential on days like this. Over one arm, ready to put on, she had apale green-tinted blue coat of a kind common in Etria: tightly woven of lightweight cotton, it had winglike sleeves, the upper part moderately fitted but not tight and the lower part full and loose, and fastened only at the waist with a single decorative clasp. Sometimes they had hoods as well, and she knew Nikki’s did. With the amount of skin Nikki frequently showed, tan lines were inconvenient.

Lane actually had more skin covered, although it didn’t look like it: the casual low-heeled grey version of her custom-made boots protected everything up to mid-thigh, and the sleeves along her lower arms were not the transparent mesh they looked like, both offering her hiding places for small items. Her soft-blue dress had loose sleeves down to her elbows and a moderately high neck, and though the skirt was slit up each side to give her access to the tops of her boots, it reached mid-calf otherwise. The skin that did show was less pale than Nikki’s, a more indeterminate soft light brown that tanned easily if she let it, although it tended to freckle annoyingly when she did.

That didn’t mean she was going out on a day like this without the protection of parasol and coat.

Her somewhat smaller bag of tawny-brown leather held the ordinary things like keys and money and identification and anything not so easily cached elsewhere.

She spent so much time these days wearing either Ilenaya’s straight night-black wig or this wavy chestnut one currently in a casual braid, both of them something like elbow length, that it was easy to forget about them entirely.

They checked that everything was cleaned up, although there was no show tonight so nothing would get in anyone’s way, and left, making sure the lock on the door was set to snap into place behind them. The kitchen staff had other things to worry about.

A block or so down, Nikki bought them each a waxed paper cup of cold fresh lemonade with a small slice of lime floating in it, and they sat down on a shaded bench to enjoy it.

“We need to talk about something?” Lane asked.

“We need to enjoy lemonade,” Nikki said. “I want to suggest a way you can make a bit of extra money. I’m not sure if you know, but there are painters and sculptors and photographers who look for models at the Pearl, among other places. Modesty isn’t all that useful for a model, y’know?”

“I can imagine.” Some cultures had such tortuous modesty conventions that all she could do was shake her head and leave them to it. Etria’s laws were founded on keeping the peace between many cultures with sometimes diametrically-opposed value systems. The rule was essentially to do whatever felt right to you that did not violate the secular laws that protected that freedom for everyone else and protected people from each other. If you identified with a culture that shamed bare skin, that was up to you—but she was grateful that she didn’t have to buy into it and that her parents had not. What could an artist do with a model who insisted on following restrictive rules? No one working at the Pearl, from what Lane had heard, would suffer from that.

“I did some while I was working there, and I still get the occasional modelling job from someone I’ve worked for before or someone who heard about me from someone I worked for. One’s a photographer who got in touch a couple of days ago. His work’s erotic but there’s generally clothing or at least furniture and angles involved, and not, you know, anyone in the middle of having sex or anything. At most, cuddling or a kiss or dancing or something. He tries to make them interesting. He does men, women, and epicene.” Lane caught the brief eyeroll at the term, but it was growing in popularity, it was better than a lot of alternatives and it was hard to argue that Etria rather needed a label for those who defied labels. “He’s expecting me Fifthday morning, and I noticed on the schedule that you aren’t working that day either. He’s always looking for new models and telling me to bring performer friends along.”

Lane considered that, sipping the tart lemonade. “Not Ilenaya. I’ve spent too long building up that whole persona and mystique.”

“Of course not. Although it’s unlikely anyone would make the connection. Would you believe the epicene photographs seem to sell really well to people from the cultures who tend to scream the most loudly that we’re all sick and going to some unpleasant afterlife? They’re not likely to show up at the Vixen.”

“Oh, of course they do. Hypocrits.”

It didn’t sound all that onerous. Photography these days only required staying still for a few seconds. The erotic aspect wasn’t particularly troubling; it was highly unlikely Nikki would tolerate or suggest anything extreme enough to be uncomfortable.

“It’s an extra galleon for maybe three hours of changing clothes a lot and following instructions, while Olwen’s at school and Viv’s in class. And he keeps his hands to himself, unlike some. And he has a proper written contract spelling out all the details. Stay away from anyone who doesn’t.”

That was a substantial amount: working at the Vixen paid about five silver galleons a week, maybe six if tips were extremely good.

“Clothes? I doubt I have much that would work. Obviously male clothes wouldn’t work even if I had any that weren’t several years old, since the only clothes I buy these days are for Ilenaya on stage or waiting tables.”

Nikki sighed and rolled her eyes. “I know the feeling. He has some there, he buys them in used-clothing shops and I’m fairly sure that he’s renting some from local shops. And you can look through my dance costumes if you want. We’re reasonably close to the same size and they generally have to be reasonably forgiving or I can’t move freely.”

“I have one other wig at home, I concluded that it felt less like everyday girl-me. It’s a bit shorter, still past my shoulders, and a darker brown. Don’t be surprised if I do different makeup and turn into someone else. I just... do that.” Less so recently. Makeup was expensive, and so were clothes. Wigs were much worse.

Well, eventually. Soon.

Nikki shrugged. “All right. He’ll release them with any stage name you want.”

“Olwen’s going to be seven in less than a month. We’ve been trying to figure out how we could get her a present and something special for supper that night. That would do it, and help with other things besides.”

“She is? Why didn’t you say something? None of us is rich but a little each from her honourary aunts and uncles should add up to enough to buy her something.” Nikki laughed. “Or you could just make her happy by letting her help you with a magic trick again. She couldn’t stop bouncing over the reaction when you made her appear dressed like a rabbit.”

Lane grinned at the memory. “She keeps nagging me to let her do it again. I agree with Viv, we’re not making that a regular thing, but that’s a really good point and Viv might go along with it. Her birthday falls on Firstday but I don’t think doing it the night before would be a problem.”

“And that will have a big payoff without costing you anything. Except updating her bunny costume, because I bet that won’t fit anymore. I can help with shopping. I know all the cheap places to pick up odd bargains that work for accessories and costumes and props. We can find her something fun.”

“I’ve seen what you come up with, and a lot of it I would normally expect to be too expensive, so I’ve been meaning to ask about that. I can do some adjustments, but she’s growing so fast. That’s a good idea. So. Where’s this photographer?”

“His studio’s in Oldmarket on Union, but the door is a bit of a nuisance to find since it’s above a shop. There’s a cheap corner cafe at Stonemill and Union, I can meet you there at nine. You can rummage around in my dressing room tomorrow night at some point, I’ll catch the streetcar before my usual one so I’m a bit early and I’ll just leave my door unlocked. There will probably be something you can borrow to be someone else and make a first impression.”

“Thanks. Your timing is good.”

Nikki just grinned at her. “Sometimes he has neat costumes and ideas and sets and things and you get to play let’s-pretend for a little while. That’s more fun with company. I’ll telephone him from home and tell him so he’s expecting both of us, that’ll change his plans. It’ll be a good morning and we can both use the cash. My white dance shoes are definitely showing signs of wear and I need to replace them before a heel or a strap breaks onstage.”

Life had changed repeatedly in the past few years, and with the exception of Viv’s unexpected pregnancy and the decision to go through with it and keep Olwen, it had mostly been trending downhill—but she definitely had better friends these days. If only there were a little more time and energy to pursue that outside of work. She hoped fervently that Nikki and the others were all still there when Viv graduated and life’s white water calmed down to a less hectic flow.