Dolly Bell's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

The next village sat past a grove of glowing cherry trees. Dolly Bell stopped her troupe in their pink shade. The wolf folded its crackling wings and lay down. Rosie and Rosemary peeked toward the gate. Dolly did not move. She had learned the hard way. Villagers here knew her face. Bandits had spread word of the singing girl. If she walked in openly, the gate would close, as it had closed three times before. "They'll turn us away," Rosemary whispered. She tugged her gray cape tight. "They always do." Rosie flicked her striped tail. "Then we don't show your face," she said, sharp and quick. "We show ours." Dolly looked at the two kittens. Small. Silver. Unknown to every bandit on the road. No one had spread word of them. The idea landed hard and clear. She would not sing at the front. She would hide. She knelt and worked fast. She pulled a fallen branch heavy with pink blossoms. She wove the flowers into a wide hood and pinned it over her hair. She smeared petal dust across her cheeks to soften her known features. Then she lifted her enchanted microphone and slid to the back of the group. "You two lead," Dolly said. "You sing. You dance. I stand behind and feed the tune low. My voice carries the crystals. Your faces carry the show." Rosie grinned. Rosemary trembled, then squared her shoulders. They walked to the gate. A man with a rake blocked the road. His eyes searched the group for the singing girl the bandits described. He saw two kittens in flower dresses and a cloaked stranger crowned in blossoms. He did not see Dolly Bell. "We're a children's act," Rosie called up. "Just kittens. No trouble." The man lowered his rake. "You're not her," he said. "The one they hunt." "Only us," Rosemary said. Her voice shook, then held. He let them pass. In the square, Rosie sang. Rosemary danced in her cloth boots. Behind them Dolly hummed low into the microphone, and the crystals woke pink under her hood. The blend was seamless. Villagers gathered. They clapped for the kittens and never once looked for the girl in the flower crown. Coins dropped into a basket. Someone laughed. A child sang along. Dolly stood in shadow and felt it work. Her face was hidden. Her troupe was welcome. The gate that shut on Dolly Bell had opened for two strays and a mask of blossoms. When the show ended, Rosie counted the coins, more than they had lost buying cloth. The kittens beamed. But Dolly's smile faded as she watched the crowd. Word would spread now, not of a singing girl, but of two performing kittens who traveled with a hidden woman. The bandits listened for gatherings. And a growing crowd, praising a new act, was exactly the kind of story they hunted.