The Night Court

Chapter Two

He did not know how old Madame Kubas was. If Olaf was to be believed and everyone had an act, being ageless was certainly part of hers.

She waited for him in a large sitting room. Pink, silk curtains floating in the breeze. She laid out on a pink chaise, wearing a pink robe, as servants massaged her feet and moisturized her hands. Powder turned her hair pink, powder concealed any signs of age on her plump face. Her lips were pink, the large feathers she was being fanned with were pink. The assault of pink caused his eyes to burn.

"Madame," Mikolaj said as he bowed. It took her a long time to pick her head up. Her hair looked so heavy, piled in thick curls on top of her head and decorated with countless baubles and trinkets. And even when her neck was straightened she looked past him to Mr. Kolasinski who hovered over his shoulder.

"You're dismissed." She flicked a limp hand in his direction. When she talked, her red tongue slipped out of her mouth. Dyed such a bloody color from all the beet juice she drank. Even her teeth were stained.

Receding footsteps. The sound of the glass doors clicking shut. The servants made themselves invisible, almost wholly concealed by the massive feathers.

Mikolaj inhaled deeply. Madame Kubas turned her eyes on him. She held her hand out and he scurried forward. Plant a kiss on her knuckles. Rest her skinny fingers against his forehead. Back away again. His heart hammered in his chest. Being alone with her, even if she had nothing negative to say, could turn sour quickly.

"Wear green today."

"Madame?"

"For the auction."

He nodded. "Yes, Madame."

"Did you read the monthly pamphlet?" She held out her hand. Wordlessly, a servant dropped another copy onto a palm powdered until it shon unnaturally white. Madame Kubas licked the tips of her fingers before flipping through the pages. She smudged the corners with red. Her stained teeth gleamed at him with every word.

"I did."

"I'm quite proud of our Olaf, aren't you? We should show him off." A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. Mikolaj never knew if she stayed away from showing her emotions because she was really as heartless as rumored or because it would crack the facade of powder and makeup.

He nodded all the same. If Madame Kubas was proud of Olaf, than so was he. And a part of him was. Olaf had been there before any of them. He deserved some recognition.

"Tell him to get dressed as well. Have him come to me so I know he's up to my standards."

"Yes, Madame."

Madame Kubas cocked her head to the side, her hair jingling as she moved. Mikolaj had to hold back a cringe. Surely if she moved too fast she'd end up snapping her neck. Her eyes glazed over him and it felt as if his feet were bolted to the floor. He didn't even breathe.

"You're dismissed."

"Yes, Madame." He spoke too fast, sounded too eager. Madame Kubas rose a pink eyebrow, but for once she said nothing. Instead, her dark tongue flicked out from between her lips as she sucked her teeth.

Mikolaj bowed as he backed out of the room. Once he was out of sight, he spun on his heels and raced down the hall. His robe floated around his legs as he ran. Someone whistled.

Tiny Teresa was still in his room. She'd busied herself with brushing out the fur-trimming on his red kaftan. Red was for summer. They'd believed, or they'd hoped, the Saints would see them in red and grant some warm winds their way. Or let the sun peek out from under the grey clouds. In the first days of the season, everyone would be in red. Madame Kubas wanted him to stand out.