"You are too visible a target. Perhaps we should work on a disguise."
Nayda's words stopped me in surprise. I paused while walking down the hallway, and turned to face her. She never stopped speaking.
"Perhaps we could change your physical appearance. Dye your hair a different color, or cut it short. Dark glasses so that people won't know you are blind." She paused a moment, and I heard her footsteps finally stop. She turned, the sound a slight scuffing of shoes on the stone hall, then walked back the short way to where I stood. She seemed to be staring at me, considering. "We could disguise you as a teenage boy."
I couldn't seem to get my mouth working to protest.
Didn't matter, she didn't give me the chance. "You don't know how important visual cues are, Celia. You look too vulnerable."
"Oh my." I began to walk again, heading automatically for my room. All I had asked was whether we needed any further preparation for our trip. I hadn't expected to suddenly be turned into someone else. But it seemed Nayda was determined to do just that.
She followed me down the hallway, easily keeping pace with me. "Can you disguise your voice? Deeper, perhaps raspier." I felt her hand on my arm, bare beneath the short sleeves of my T-shirt, then fingers picking at the fabric covering my shoulders. "Looser clothing, and maybe a jacket to hide your body shape. Can you act like a man?"
My mind was reeling. I shut the door behind us after we entered my room. She didn't sit down, still moving around me. I felt as if I were being thoroughly examined as she inspected my hair, measured my height, and watched me walk.
"Just walk across the room," she told me. I tried it, tried to move like a man. However, I had no idea what a man walking looked like. I knew what it sounded like, and tried to match my footsteps to a confident, swaggering step. I think I failed. She was silent, and I could hear her at my closet, looking through it.
"Will it work?" I finally had to ask. No answer, just her footsteps moving close to me again.
Her hands tugged at my arms, "Loosen up. Men tend to act more relaxed, less stiff. You're being too proper."
I shook my arms, and willed myself to relax, trying again. "Better?"
"It'll do. You have the advantage of not knowing the difference between a man's walk and a woman's walk." She was suddenly behind me, hands on my waist, holding my hips still as I continued to walk. "Just don't sway your hips as much. You're actions are androgynous, which will help."
I stopped then, and stood, while she inspected me again. I thought of the men I know, Random, Gerard, my father...
She pulled my hands apart. I had held them, fingers laced together, in front of me, and she took my right hand and positioned it on my hip. "There, don't lace your fingers like that. Try to relax again." She stepped back. "Better, better. You'll need more practice. Keep walking while I go get some clothes."
The door slammed shut behind her.
Act like a man.
I started with my father. He was older, but certainly not feeble. Although he did slow down after my mom died. But he never seemed old, not even when right before he died. I thought back to when I was younger, walking with him along the Thames.
He had a long stride, feet planted very strongly with every step. Most men seem to make a difference when they walk, with heavy steps that anyone can hear coming. I tried that, and almost laughed as I stomped around my room. I didn't seem very relaxed anymore, bent on putting as much weight into every step that I could. But I figured it out finally. I normally walk on my toes, light steps that are quiet, and so often barefoot as well. Heavier shoes would make a big difference. But simply by landing heel first, and rocking my weight forward onto the ball of my foot I managed a new gait. It was more free flowing, body moving more easily than my usual way of walking. And I could hear my footsteps, still faint but definitely slightly thudding against the stone instead of the usual faint tap tap.
Next was talking. I felt silly, standing in the middle of my room speaking quietly to myself. I tried to mimic different inflections until I found one of my own that I liked. Random's quick speech pattern, always a bit of humor in his voice. Gerard's slower, deeper rhythmic voice, almost sounding like a bass line accompaniment. I found it easiest to try to imitate my father's husky tones. To my ears I sounded like a boy, maybe in my mid to late teens, voice still raw with youth. Not quite deepened into adulthood.
I ran through different scenes in my mind.
I slouched, hands stuffed into the pockets of my jeans. My hair hung forward into my face, and I didn't bother to brush it back. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say," I muttered to no one. At the sound of my voice, I started to laugh. Catching myself, I quickly turned it into a deep-throated chuckle. I liked the sound of that. Rather like I imagined Gerard might have sounded while still young.
The knock at the door surprised me, and I heard Nayda come in before I had the chance to call out to her.
"I've got bleach," she told me, and I could smell it then as she prepared a basin for my hair, "And Tilda should be here with the clothes soon." There was a gentle splashing. "Blond will be a complete difference for you. Then we can cut it."
"I'd..." I started to interrupt her, then remembered that this was being done for my safety. It would be nearly impossible to act like a man with hair hanging down past my waist. My voice fell low. "I'd rather you didn't cut it," I whispered.
She settled me into a chair, my head tipped back, hair resting in the basin on the table behind me. Her fingers dug into my scalp, easily performing the bleaching for me. "It would be easier to make you look like a boy if we cut it," she said reasonably. "At least to shoulder length. Then we can tie it into a nice ponytail."
I frowned and thought while relaxing as she worked on my hair. I had never really thought about my hair as being important to me before. It was only hair, right? But it had been so long, since I was a child, since I had really cut it. It never really grew anymore once it reached just past my waist, so I kept it trimmed evenly to that length. It had been part of the way I thought of myself for so long. I felt unreasonable objecting to cutting it. She was right, and I knew it. I just had to make myself comfortable with it.
She rinsed my hair, the pungent smell of bleach still in the air. Another couple of minutes and my eyebrows stung with the bleach she applied and just as quickly rinsed away. She left momentarily to have the basin taken away, and fresh water brought. Then she washed it again with a plain smelling soap. When she was done I felt less like I'd had my hair washed in a mop bucket.
She toweled my hair dry and combed it out. I heard the faint metallic click of scissors opening and closing. "Well?"
"Perhaps we could compromise?" I asked hesitantly. "Just cut it to my shoulderblades? I realize it would be slightly long still, but there are many male artists in London who claim to have hair at least that long."
"That should work," she agreed. She moved behind me and I heard the scissors close over the strands of my hair. The faint swish was the last I heard as the ends of my hair fell to the ground. I tried hard not to think about the fact that she was cutting off more than a foot of it. It would grow back. I repeated it to myself silently as she worked.
She tapped me on the shoulder. "Stand up and lets have a look."
I stood and turned slowly, letting her see the dye job from every angle. She didn't say anything, so I assumed she hadn't missed any spots.
"We've still got a ways to go," she told me. This time when the knock came at my door she hurried to answer it. "Thanks, Tilda," she told the young maid. "Just set the clothes over there and then we'll need some help getting Celia changed."
I'm not used to having anyone help me dress. I'm much more used to privacy, but I didn't get the chance.
"Put this corset on. It will flatten your chest." I was stripped down to my underclothes and she quickly fastened the bony item around my chest. Nayda gripped my shoulders from the front and Tilda pulled on the corset strings from the back.
"Deep breath, miss," Tilda said softly. I obliged, sucking in everything. "Now exhale, miss," she added, tugging sharply on the strings again. I had to do what she said, the air whooshing out as my entire chest constricted. I hoped I'd be able to breath once I was dressed.
Nayda stepped back, and I could feel the rustle of satin in her hands. "Did you know I did theatre at Berkeley?" I shook my head, still trying to catch my breath as she continued chattering. "We've raided Caine's old closet, and some of Random's clothes."
"What have we got?" My voice sounded even breathier, my inability to take a deep breath lending an even huskier quality to my voice. I was beginning to drop it deeper instinctively.
"You're getting it," Nayda told me approvingly. "Put these on."
I slipped the pants over my hips, and fastened them with a simple belt. They were a little loose, but not too bad. The satin was the shirt, which I quickly buttoned up high enough to hide the locket hanging at my throat. I tucked it into the pants and it took up some of the slack.
"Green shirt, black pants," Nayda supplied. "Here, put this jacket on." She slipped the leather over my arms, the padded shoulders settling onto my own shoulders. Then she stepped back again. "You still look slender. Maybe some padding underneath." She sounded as if she were frowning. "I know!" She snapped her fingers. "A fencing uniform should bulk you up. Tilda, go get one." The maid quickly left and Nayda turned her attention back to me.
She laid a piece of satin across my hands. "Its a white scarf." Then something landed on my head. "And this hat is wonderful, a wide brimmed Zorro hat! And boots. But wait to put those on until we get the fencing outfit on underneath it all." She walked away, then circled me. "I think sunglasses might be too much with that hat. Maybe a mask, like Zorro or the dread pirate Roberts. Perhaps Christophe can get you some contact lenses to change your eye color."
My head was spinning again, and I struggled to keep from bursting out. I remember, very vividly, when I was only five years old and my mother used to get me ready to go play in the cold. I had to wear my underclothes, then shirt and pants, then a sweater, and then my heavy jacket on top of that. By the time it was done, I felt like I could hardly move. "I'm going to be a snowman," I muttered. All round around the middle and not very mobile at all. I hated the idea.
Mobility is very important to me. I need to touch things to know what they are, and Nayda was already chattering about gloves to hide my hands. She slipped them over my hands to check the fit, then back off again when Tilda arrived with the fencing outfit. Off came the shirt and slacks, and she slipped the fencing uniform up over me. When I put the shirt and slacks back on and buttoned everything up it fit better, my shoulders and hips broader from the padding. And I was right, I couldn't move easily. It made me feel more blind than usual. Its not so bad being sightless. There are so many other senses to depend upon instead. I was quickly losing my sense of touch...
The layers went on more quickly the second time. The jacket over the shirt, bulking my shoulders up to a decent width for a youth. Nayda dropped the scarf around my neck so it hung casually. She stuffed my hands into the gloves before I could protest, and I flexed my hands, wondering how I'd ever feel anything through the leather. The boots were a little large, but thankfully close enough to fitting that I could walk. The hat was the crowning touch.
It seemed wobbly on my head, and it was hard to relax and walk when I kept thinking about it falling off.
"Tilda, we'll need a mask. The sort of thing that covers the top half of the face, black, with holes..."
"Do people normally wear masks?" I interrupted. "Maybe we should go without the hat," I tipped it off my head, and held it loosely in my fingertips, "and get a decent pair of Rayban's instead. Wayfarers. I'm told they're the best shades you can wear. Then I wouldn't need contact lenses, which I'm not even sure how to put in if I can't see."
"Right." Nayda agreed, waving Tilda away. "Please go to Martin's room to see if you can borrow a pair of Raybans from him. Make sure they will fit Celia's face. If not, ask King Random."
To give Tilda credit, she never said a word about our strange activities. I almost wish I could have seen the expression on her face. But she left in silence.
Nayda pushed me towards the chair. "Have a seat. I've got some foundation we can put on your face, neck and hands to make you look less pale." As I slid the gloves off my hands again, enjoying the freedom it gave me back, I felt a cold sponge begin to wipe gently across my face. The makeup had a powdery scent to it, and she took her time to get it perfectly smooth. "Don't rub your face," she cautioned. "It will run and smudge if you play with it. But it brings your skin to a slightly tanned tone. With the blond hair it looks good."
When she was done massaging the covering into my hands and it had dried, I put the gloves back on. Tilda had returned, and I placed the sunglasses on my face.
"Well?" I stood and held my arms out for inspection.
"No fancy jewelry," she told me. "Keep that bracelet hidden. Did you know you fidget with it a lot?"
"I realize that," I said slowly, not allowing my hand to drop to touch the silver charm bracelet that graced my left wrist. "I'll keep it under the gloves. I'd feel naked without it. My locket should be hidden under the shirt. Anything else isn't necessary."
She'd already taken the clip from my hair, and I moved now to place it in my jewelry box, trying to move correctly. It wasn't easy, my body shrouded in so much more clothes than I was used to. The fencing uniform moved under my clothes as I walked, and scraped lightly against my skin. I frowned and reminded myself to ignore it. With any luck, this all would be behind me soon, and I could remove the disguise.
I could feel Nayda's eyes following me as I walked to put away my silver belt next. She handed me a dagger which I clipped to my belt, and then I clipped my small pouch next to it.
"Its a little Earth-biased, but I think it'll work."
I was standing, hand on one hip, thumb hooked through a belt loop with my fingers splayed over the dagger. Nayda repositioned my fingers slightly, and I memorized what the new position felt like. "Do you know how to use this?"
"I don't normally have to worry about things getting violent," I told her. "But if someone gets close, all I have to do is hit them with it, right?"
"Yes, stab or slash with it." She paused a moment, and I heard the tap tap of her feet as she paced around me. "We have the visual effect down. Now for scent. Cologne should do it."
I frowned, stepping back slightly. "Please go lightly on the cologne," I cautioned quickly. "I need to be able to smell something other than myself." I was already blind to sight, and now touch. I needed my sense of smell.
"Right." She dabbed some on, and I could smell the scent faintly. "This was Caine's. I think its called Deceit, and it isn't too strong."
I had to agree with her. It was almost as it wasn't there, after a first brief scent of it. As if it deceived the nose... I liked it. I hoped the name boded well for my own deception.
"Finished!" Nayda sounded proud of the new look. "But you can't answer to Celia for the time being. You know, this reminds me of Twelfth Night, by Shakespeare, when Viola dresses up as a man." She thought a moment. "What name does she go by?" Then she chuckled. "Perhaps we should call you Cello."
"Cello," I repeated, testing the sound of it. It wasn't so different from Celia that I might actually remember to answer to it. This wasn't going to be easy. There were so many things to remember, so many ways it could all go wrong. I wished it weren't necessary. I almost wished I could go back to being in the background. Then I stiffened my resolve, and made my decision. This *was* necessary. I had to go and meet Christophe, and Random, and do what had to be done to try to save a friend. This was part of what had to be done. If it worked, and all turned out well, it would be more than worth it.
"Shall we test the effect on Random, then?" I grinned at her.
"You look fantastic," Nayda confirmed. "The blond hair is definitely deceptive, and the makeup totally changes your look! But the important part is for you to look and act different. Like Cello."
Like Cello. I continued to grin, trying to remember to act like a teenage boy.
Nayda chuckled. "I think you're ready. Let's go."
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