He clapped his hands. His acrobats, twenty young men, leaped into the room, warming up their muscles and preparing for the unseen audiences. The acrobat opened the gate to a cage and a bear roared. The women let out shrieks. Raven leaned forward with interest. Three men vaulted the bear, another two climbed the shoulders of the first group, and one balanced himself on top. The acrobat wrapped a cobra around his waist and under his armpits and coiled it about his neck. The fangs of the snake shooting at his lips, he clambered about the acrobats, on their thighs, on their arms, around one shoulder, then the other, dancing, leaping, bouncing, his feet tapping, flying, never landing. With a single leap and a warrior cry, he sprang on top of the head of the last acrobat and raised his hands triumphantly. The cobra stole a kiss from his half-masked lips.

Giggles and delicate patting of hands assured him his performance was appreciated. He bounced down and thrust his head in the bear’s mouth. The animal let out muffled grunts; the sultanas hugged each other in excited fear; Raven gave a joyous yell.

The glint behind the feline slits of the acrobat’s mask ruffled through Gold Dust’s marrow. His flame obliterated the vast room and all its multicolored carpets and oil burners.

Raven watched her mother press her eyes to the gauzed window. She saw her flushed cheeks, the dreams on her face. Pity, her father was not here to observe his favorite blush like a flustered maiden. Raven brushed her mother’s forehead with the tips of her fingers. “Madar, you’re hot.”

“There’s no air here.”

“But a cool breeze is coming from the windows. Do you have a fever? Let me walk you to your room.”

Gold Dust’s tone rose with irritation, “I’ve arranged this for you. Now sit still and watch.”

Raven toyed with the cluster of pearls she’d removed from her cap. “You’re suffering, I’ll get Pedar.”

Gold Dust’s fingers clamped around Raven’s knee and pressed her back onto the carpet. She thought she heard a chuckle rumble inside her daughter, roll off the ceiling, one corner of the hall, then another. She stared back at Raven, around the hall. There was silence. Raven had turned her attention back to the acrobats. Gold Dust was almost sure that inhuman sound had originated from her daughter.

The acrobat checked the metal structure. All twenty of his men, each playing a different musical instrument, hopped from one tier to another, creating a symphony that sent the sultanas for their opium pipes. Reclining on the carpet, they lolled in a euphoric daze, building their own private world with the bricks of their imagination.