Chapter Text
These days you never knew if you would hear 'nursery,' 'playroom,' or something pretentious such as 'children's lounge' in reference to the young people's retreat in a wealthy household, but since Duo had never lived in such a house as a child, it made very little difference to him.
He shouldn't have been forced to spend so much time in such rooms as an adult, either. Thanks, Trowa.
Clarence had been directed by the housekeeper to the playroom, so called here, to wait while she located young Raymond and sent him in to get to know the visitor while their mothers -- old school chums reunited after one family's recent move to Ann Arbor -- chatted over coffee and cake in the parlor. Duo had never lived in a house with a parlor, and, due to his current form, didn't know much of them now. Thanks, Trowa.
Examining the amenities in the small chamber that had more window than floorspace, Clarence waved Duo through the air in a vague flying motion as he often did, and ambled toward a large toy-chest and the much-abused rocking horse beside it. Instead of opening the former to see what interesting playthings Raymond, whose family seemed slightly richer than Clarence's, had stashed within, he sat on the latter, setting it rocking, and looked down at Duo.
Duo wasn't so much a participant in Clarence's games as he was a focus for the dialogues the child came up with. Clarence would stare down at him intently, much as he did now, seem to take an endless amount of inspiration from the sight (Duo had always wanted to be inspiring simply because he was portable; thanks, Trowa), and talk his way, under his breath, through whatever adventure had popped into his head as a result. Sometimes the stories went on for days, though without much recognizable continuity. Judging by the look in the kid's eye, increasingly familiar in this the fourth week of Duo's time with him, Clarence aimed to start a new one, despite here and now perhaps not being the best place and time to do so.
But before Clarence could draw breath to speak, the playroom door opened and another boy appeared. This must be Raymond, though he didn't introduce himself. Maybe he'd intended to, and maybe not -- ten-year-old boys could be little monsters sometimes, no matter how hard their mothers worked to hammer manners into them -- but in any case the sight of Clarence holding Duo completely distracted him.
"Is that a doll?" With the confidence of the master of the house and someone that has never considered himself wrong in his entire life, Raymond closed the door and came inside, swaggering toward Clarence as he continued with rising skepticism, "As if you were a girl?"
Clarence shrank a little and said nothing. Duo had seen it before: this child almost always chose to withdraw rather than engage. For this reason his father erroneously accused him of being sullen.
Raymond, on the other hand, proved the opposite of sullen or withdrawn. He hopped around like a flea, examining Duo from all angles, poking at both him and Clarence, trying to rock the horse beneath the other boy, spouting further witticisms. "I'll bet you have tea parties with it, eh? Do you get it all dressed up and comb its hair? Catch me doing that! Does it sleep with you at night? Can you sleep without your dolly? I'll be a man someday, but I bet you won't!"
A deep crease had appeared between Clarence's fine, pale eyebrows, and Duo thought this might be one of the few instances he'd witnessed thus far when the kid would actually stand up for himself. Clarence hadn't wanted to come, after all, and to keep the experience from being completely miserable he needed to say something sooner rather than later. But Duo couldn't have anticipated what he came up with.
Technically the words were merely, "Go away," which made for the most basic of beginnings to his attempt at rebuffing Raymond and his taunts... except that they emerged in the magical language. They had little power behind them, and in any case only the most skilled of magicians could enact a spell without specifying the object at which it was directed, but the fact remained that Clarence had spoken in the tongue shared by all magicians, clearly enough for Duo to understand him easily.
Duo understood, but Raymond didn't. Now he exhibited what Duo, from his human years practicing magic, recognized as the typical reaction of anyone hearing the magical language for the first time: he started and jerked back, disconcerted. And, given that the gist of Clarence's command had been understandable despite the words' incomprehensibility, and that it had been a sort of spell regardless of its overall effectiveness, no surprise Raymond then took two more steps, his features writhing with fear, confusion, and defiance, and left the room.
Clarence had allowed Duo to swivel into a position from which he could watch all of this, and now the doll remained pointed toward the newly closed playroom door and couldn't see the boy's face. He was conscious, however, of Clarence stretching his short legs out into the air in front of him before bracing himself on the floor again in order to rock the horse beneath in what seemed like a contemplative gesture.
He was also conscious of an urgent necessity that either hadn't existed or that he simply hadn't been aware of before.
Though Duo had only been with him a few weeks, so technically he might have missed something (though he doubted he had), he believed Clarence hadn't shown any signs of magical ability prior to this -- and indeed, children seldom did, seldom had their skill awaken at so early an age. Which probably meant both that Clarence was unusually powerful and that Duo's presence in his vicinity had caused this awakening. And the temporary privacy in this playroom, before Raymond returned with further tauntings or it became time to go submit to the mother's selfish demands, made for a very narrow window Duo had no choice but to take advantage of. There was a good reason, after all -- a self-preservation reason, you might say; a security reason -- nature didn't allow magic into the hands of most children until after puberty.
"Clarence," Duo said.
The child went utterly still.
"You hear me, Clarence?"
"Yes," Clarence whispered, slowly rotating Duo to face him. Nearly his entire extent of eyeball showed in his pale face.
"Don't be afraid of me, kid," Duo said patiently. "You know I'm your friend, right?"
"But you heard all my stories." Clarence's voice remained choked and almost inaudible; lucky Duo was so close.
"I liked all your stories," was all Duo could offer to assuage him on this point. Trust such a private child to worry about his personal mutterings having been overheard before wondering about the magical talking doll in his hands.
Shy and uncertain, Clarence asked, "Did you?"
"Yes," Duo insisted. "But listen, Clarence. We need to talk about magic."
Now Clarence's reluctance began to shed from him. "Is that what you are?" With even more energy he added, "Is that what I did just now to make Raymond go away?"
"Yes and yes. And you need to understand how much danger you're in."
"Am I?" Clarence made this far-too-interested-sounding query before Duo could continue.
"Yes!" Duo's tone turned severe. "Magic can be very dangerous if you're careless about it! How do you think I ended up like this?"
Clarence's eyes went wide again. "Are you under an enchantment?"
"If you want to call it that," the doll grumbled. It was as good a description as any; he didn't really know the nature of the spell Trowa had cast to leave him like this.
"Do you need the blood of a beheaded faithful servant smeared all over you to break it?" Exactly how serious Clarence was with this gruesome suggestion couldn't be guessed, but evidently he'd come out of his shell somewhat. "Did someone turn you into a doll? Could I turn Raymond into a doll?"
Duo didn't like the expression on the boy's face -- something much harder than those rounded, juvenile features were fitted for -- nor the eager bite to his tone. Why did he so immediately envision perpetuating magical harm upon Raymond, whom he did not at all know? There was something lurking beneath Clarence's shyness, it appeared, but sullenness was off the mark.
And why must Duo be the one to deal with this unexpected mean streak? Because his mere presence had caused Clarence's awakening and he happened to have a sense of responsibility? Thanks, Trowa.
"No," he said firmly, "you can't. And you need to be careful about what magic you do try. What you did to make Raymond go away just now wasn't a proper spell -- I think he was only startled, so he may be back -- but you did speak in the magical language, and--"
"And I can do it again!" crowed Clarence -- in the magical language.
Duo winced internally (the only way he could wince). "You see, that's exactly what you need to be careful of. The magical language is used to cast spells, and if you don't take care what you say when you speak it, you could end up casting a spell by mistake and hurting someone with it. You could hurt a friend without meaning to, or your mother..." Realizing Clarence might want to hurt his mother, contingent upon circumstances and mood, Duo hastened on. "Or yourself. People can hurt themselves very badly when they cast spells by accident."
"Hurt themselves how?" Clarence still sounded more interested than concerned; Duo obviously wasn't getting through to him.
The doll pondered quickly. He didn't know how much time he had left, but doubted it was enough to make any kind of roundabout point. He would have to resort to something less than perfect honesty. "I'm supposed to be a human man, Clarence. You wouldn't want to be like this, would you? A doll who can't go anywhere on his own, can't feel anything, can't taste anything?"
The tone of Clarence's negative made Duo fear he still might be contemplating how this could possibly apply to Raymond.
Duo pressed on. "Well, the magic spell that turned me into a doll was an accident; my best friend did it, but he didn't mean to." In fact Duo had no idea this had been the case; he hoped so, but couldn't and probably never would be certain. "You sure wouldn't want to do that to one of your friends, but you could just as easily do it to yourself -- turn yourself into a doll because you were being careless with the magical language, and get trapped like me for who knows how long." And in fact Duo disbelieved a spell like this could be cast easily by just anyone. He didn't know how Trowa had done it, but doubted Clarence would reach that level any time soon -- at least not without a powerful artifact or two, something Duo himself didn't seem to be.
If Clarence's somber expression meant anything, he took at least some of Duo's words into consideration now. He sat silently for several moments, swaying the horse again with one foot and kicking against its rockers with the other. The resultant motion probably jarred him repeatedly, but Duo merely knew it was taking place; he couldn't begin to discern what it actually felt like. And finally Clarence spoke again. This time his tone sounded faintly wheedling, as if he'd gotten the incorrect impression of Duo as some kind of guardian of magic that could, if talked around, grant Clarence permission to do what he wanted with his newfound ability. "So as long as I'm very careful... and know what I'm trying to do so I don't do things by accident... and take care not to speak the magical language except if I want to do a magical spell... what kind of magic can I do?"
Again Duo pondered. It might be wisest to downplay the desirability of magic at this point, try to dampen Clarence's interest in it... but how? He'd already indicated magic could do unpleasant things to other people; he couldn't backtrack and pretend that was untrue after all -- not in his current shape! He feared, however, Clarence might be even more interested in that unpleasant side of magic than in the more pleasant and convenient results it could accomplish that would have engrossed most other people far more. How to present magic in such a way that it would seem relatively uninteresting to a child of ten with a secret vindictive side?
This wasn't fair. A friend -- and that term already exaggerated what Duo was to Clarence -- shouldn't be forced into this position; a relative or a magical mentor or anyone else that had voluntarily entered into a position of authority in this kid's life should be the one to lecture Clarence on magic and try to set him on a correct path rather than a destructive or a cruel one in his use of it. Duo didn't want to see Clarence harm or even kill himself or someone else with his early-blossoming abilities, but felt underqualified and very reluctant to deal with the problem. He was, however, the only one around that could do it. Thanks, Trowa.
"You can do all sorts of things with magic," he began slowly, "if you don't accidentally kill yourself with it. You can..." He still scrambled for examples that would suit his purposes. "...black your shoes so they stay blacked... and..." He tried to remember what he and Trowa had used magic for before the disaster; for some reason he was drawing a blank. "...get your shirts extremely clean without having to pay someone to wash them..."
Clarence's nose wrinkled. "That's different from turning someone into a doll, though."
"Yes, well..."
He didn't know whether he should consider it a rescue or a dangerous interruption that the playroom door opened before he could say anything more. Raymond reappeared, and, though he didn't hang on the handle or hesitate in the doorway, the swagger had disappeared from his step, and his expression instead displayed a healthy portion of both curiosity and respect.
Clarence lowered Duo and looked at Raymond suspiciously without a word; the closed-off lines Duo already knew so well had returned to his face.
Though obviously not the type to beg pardon, Raymond was also evidently ready to do anything necessary for the fun of the moment. He came forward a few steps, looking once again at the doll in the hands of his guest -- though this time, Duo believed, with far less disdain and far more readiness to admit there might be experiences in the world he hadn't had -- and finally, raising his eyes to Clarence's face at last, asked, "What was that you said before?"
Clarence gave him a steady stare in return, and replied quietly, "It was magic words. I told you to go away because you were making fun of my doll."
"Aww, I won't make fun of your old doll anymore." Duo guessed this was as close to an apology as Raymond would ever come. "Will you teach me how to say magic words like that?"
"No," said Clarence sharply. "It's a secret."
If anything, Raymond seemed more impressed than before, and probably not entirely convinced he couldn't winkle the secret out of Clarence, given time. "Well, shall we go outside and play? I've got a new ball and bat, but we can't use them in here."
Clarence threw a half hesitant look down at Duo, who stifled a sigh. He'd had a narrow window, and it had closed. Hopefully he would have another opportunity; hopefully Clarence wouldn't become angry again with Raymond this afternoon and do something everyone would regret before Duo had a chance to impress upon him the dangers of careless magic further than he'd already managed.
"Go play outside," Duo urged him. "We can talk again later."
Clarence started, raising his eyes abruptly to Raymond, whom Duo hadn't allowed to hear. What expression might be on Raymond's face Duo couldn't tell, but after a moment Clarence relaxed. "All right," he said, and stood from the rocking horse. He gazed at Duo again, this time contemplatively, and after a moment turned, swiveling Duo's legs up into a sitting position, and set the doll down on the leather saddle he had previously occupied. He made no comment, but Duo, assuming Clarence planned on leaving him here in order not to have his behavior criticized until it was time to go home, felt his heart sink. He watched the two boys vacate the playroom, closing the door behind them more carelessly than conscientiously, with a sense of indistinct foreboding.
He had no reliable method of marking the passage of time, which had already proven miserable in the four sleepless years he'd spent as a doll, but his eyes worked well enough, even if they were only painted on. Though he faced away from the window and felt no need to lever himself around, he could easily mark the change in the color of the light and the gradual dimming of the playroom while he sat, bored and agitated, on the rocking horse. Evidently far more time passed than he'd expected, far too much time to allow him to believe Clarence was coming back for him. And how had things gone outside with the ball and bat? Quite possibly Duo would never know.
The shadows continued to lengthen, and details in this room, where no electric light shone, grew difficult to make out. If he'd had to guess -- and he sometimes did, though at other times too unhappy to make the attempt -- he would have said it was past seven in the evening before any sound of human habitation met his ears beyond the occasional distant voice or muffled footstep.
Here came the housekeeper poking her head into the playroom, probably to be sure Clarence and Raymond hadn't made a mess she would need to attend to before seeing to other evening duties. Since they hadn't, she moved to withdraw, when it seemed her gaze fell on the figure seated on the rocking horse's saddle. With an air of curiosity she stepped more fully into the room and pressed the switch to turn on the light. Seeing with greater certainty what had caught her eye, a funny little smile took her face, and she strode forward to pick Duo up.
After studying him for a few moments, she shook her head. "Well, they're not likely to be back for you... Left in a hurry, they did... I don't think the ladies got along too well, the snobbish cats." The world was veiled in dimming white cotton as the housekeeper tucked Duo into a deep pocket of her apron, and then complete darkness fell as she switched off the playroom light. "My little girl will appreciate you more anyway."
So Duo was to change hands again. The housekeeper's daughter would be his fourteenth owner so far, and how long that arrangement would last he couldn't begin to guess.
And what would become of Clarence, from whom Duo would undoubtedly never hear again? With no one around to give the child further information, to try to combat his unexpected desire to hurt others with his power, would he even survive his early magical awakening? Would he hurt some friend, or curse his parents, or burn down his own house, or turn himself into a teapot? This too Duo couldn't begin to guess.
He hadn't wanted to be involved in the first place in Clarence's magical journey, but to be forced to begin and then debarred from seeing it through to the end was in some ways even worse. (Thanks, Trowa.) It reminded him of listening to an adventure serial on the radio, hearing every lurid detail of the catastrophic situation into which the heroine had been hurled by today's events, being told to make extra sure not to miss next Saturday's exciting episode in order to find out how she could possibly be extricated from this problem and escape certain death... and then never hearing one more minute of that particular program. Never finding out whether that heroine lived or died, whether justice was served, whether the tale had a happy ending. Even in a story Duo hadn't been particularly enjoying, that lack of closure both galled and disheartened him.
But it was nothing new. Though he hadn't previously encountered the precise problem presented by the precocious Clarence, nor any other with such a potentially disastrous outcome, every caretaker he'd had so far as a doll had been a story in progress, a dramatic serial whose second or even third episodes he'd been able to listen to but whose resolution he would never witness. Given the way he lived now, it seemed likely the only narrative whose ending he would be allowed to observe was his own. And his own tale -- his erratic, largely immobile, sensationless, bitter, meaningless life -- had it been a book, would have been the last Duo would ever have chosen to read through to the end. Thanks, Trowa.
Even Trowa was a story whose setup Duo had been forced to witness as if to make his subsequent lack of knowledge of where things went from there, where they ended up, all the more wretched and unfair.
As he bounced along in the housekeeper's apron heading toward yet another person he might end up calling a friend of sorts or in some aspects of whose life he might, at least, develop some interest, then eventually, inevitably be separated from just when he learned enough about her to feel the beginnings of curiosity and concern, he supposed it would be best to work to accustom himself to these unfinished stories. As a helpless doll, he saw no real alternative. He saw no likelihood of escape, of justice being served, of a happy ending.
He saw no likelihood of an ending, and he supposed he'd better get used to the idea.