"That," said Feltheryn, taking his eye from the peephole that allowed the actors to see the audience without being seen, "and the fact that it is easier to cut a thing to ribbons than it is to imbue it with life."
"That's from The Choice of Mages, isn't it?" Sashana asked.
"Yes." Feltheryn smiled. "When Demetus realizes that even a child can kill, but that he, the greatest of magicians, cannot give life to the dead; not true life- That's when he abandons the warrior's path."
Sashana sighed. "I'd love to play Retifa!" she said.
Glisselrand's eyebrows shot up and for a moment Feltheryn wondered whether the company would make it to the second act of tonight's show. Retifa was one of Glisselrand's favorite parts.
"Of course," Sashana continued, "I'd need about thirty years of experience on the stage before I'd attempt it. And then I just might not have the talent. It takes a truly great actress, like you, Glisselrand, to carry off that part. Have you ever played it?"
Feltheryn relaxed, assured that equilibrium had been reestablished: and then it was time for the second-act curtain.
By the end of the play everybody in the cast was ebullient, and when the bows were all finished they were giddy with mutual congratulations. It was agreed that never had the town of Sanctuary known so much laughter, so much sheer good feeling. They all hurried to the greenroom and took seats behind the table, backed by big jardinieres full of flowers and potted palms, and soon the room was filled with people congratulating them.
The prince and the Beysa came first, then Molin Torchholder, then several noble families responsible for various aspects of the production. It was a shock to Feltheryn when he looked up and saw the doorway filled with goose-turd green, but he took it in good stride when Vomistritus waddled forward and began to congratulate them all.
"Never seen it so good!" the critic burbled in a loud but ill-supported baritone voice. "Such finesse! Such style! So much tastier than that tawdry tragedy you did last time' My compliments' You may be sure my broadsides will read in your behalf on the morrow. You, Madame Glisselrand, were superb! I was fare to weeping when you contemplated the Count's infidelity. And you. Master Feltheryn, were such a masterful buffoon; how did you manage that last scene, apologizing to her on one knee? One would have thought a man of your age would have difficulty with so much spriteliness. Ah, but my greatest accolades are for you, Lady Sashana! Your step! Your song! Your amorous elegance! How could anyone resist your entreaties? Why, I must confess, I thought the Countess to have a heart of stone when you pled your case! And if I felt so, then rest assured, all your audience must surely have felt so! For is that not the purpose of a critic? To stand in for the whole audience? To try and feel the play, not merely as he would alone, but as each and every viewer would feel it? Not so different from a director's Job, is it. Master Feltheryn? Only you try to stand in for the audience before the play is played, and I try to stand in for them once you have prepared it. To see whether what you saw is what they see. You see? See! Saw! Ha ha!"
And thus he went on, for considerably longer than was seemly for a man at the head of a queue, and in considerable contradiction to the tenor of his previous tone regarding the troupe. When finally he left, and the rest of the weil-wishers had paid their respects and departed, the whole company was exhausted. They repaired to the kitchen, where Lempchin had broken out cold pasties, and when they had finished rehashing the night's triumphs and restoring the energy expended by acting, they all went to bed, happy: and wondering, each in his or her private way, if perhaps the slight magic resident in the play had wrought some change in Vomistritus.
The second night was as glittering a triumph as the first. Not only did Lowan Vigeles and Rosanda attend, they brought with them enough gladiators that there was barely enough room in the theater for seating. The gladiators were all dressed in their most elaborate noncombat gear, so the candlelight flashing off gold in the audience was very near distracting from the spectacle on stage. Only Lady Rosanda outshone them. She had dressed in High Rankan style in a way that was quite as impressive as the formal cosa the Beysa had worn the night before.
Except, of course, that the Lady Rosanda kept her nipples covered.
By the third morning Vomistritus's review was plastered all over town, and it was gushing with praise for the production and everyone in it. If any unreasonable prejudice could be found in his words (Rounsnouf noted over a breakfast of hot lemon-grass tisane and egg bread fried in bacon grease) it was the opulence of his praise for Sashana.
"No doubt she's wonderful," he mumbled as he chewed. "Just not that wonderful!"
Thus it came as a surprise when, on the fourth morning after the play had opened. Lady Sashana arrived at the theater with her bodyguard servants and declared her intention to kill the Emperor's cousin, and the price be damned.
"My poor child!" Feltheryn exclaimed, pulling a chair out from the table so that she could sit down and noting that her face was bruised. "What on earth has happened?"
Lady Sashana clenched her fists on the table before her and tried to speak, but her breath was coming hard and the emotions that stormed across her face were too varied and confused for articulation. Feltheryn looked to the bodyguards and noted that they also bore bruises; and cuts and abrasions as well. Worse, each cast his eyes to the floor as Feltheryn looked at him, and the red bum of shame colored all their features.
"He-" Sashana began, but she choked on the words.
Glisselrand came into the kitchen, saw Sashana, and immediately put a cup of hot tisane before her. Myrtis entered behind Glisselrand and froze, her face going professionally blank.
Sashana drank some of the tisane, coughed, then tried again.
"Last night after the performance I received a note from Vomistritus. It said that he was having a small supper party and requested my attendance. After all the nice things he said about the production, and about my performance, I decided to go."
"At that hour of the night?" asked Glisselrand. "In Sanctuary?"
Sashana smiled ruefully.
"I am not a fool; at least not a complete fool! I took along my bodyguards, with the very good excuse that it would be unsafe for me to travel the streets that late without them. Vomistritus met me at the door himself and seemed more than pleased to admit my men. He ordered his servants to provide them with wine and meat, then led me to the upper chamber where the party was."
She took another sip from her cup.
"At once I divined my state, for the room was set for supper for only two. I turned to go, but the door had been locked from the outside. I demanded that he open the door, but he laughed. I used the best voice that you taught me and called for my men, but there was no response.
Then Vomistritus went to the table and sat down to eat, uncovering dishes and behaving as if the battle were won. Then, then that overbred imitation of a downwind pud had the colossal gall to quote your speech at me. Master Feltheryn, the one from the second act of The Falling Star!"
"Men call me venal, yet they do not know, the depths of my depravity and desire ..." Feltheryn began.
"Yes, that one!" Sashana cut him off. "Can you imagine it? And he delivered it badly! Well, of course I took my cue and went to the table, but Vomistritus is not that much an imbecile. There were no knives. The whole repast was finger-food, and none of it very good-looking, either."
"He might at least have had a decent meal prepared," said Glisselrand.
"How would a critic know the difference?" Rounsnouf asked.
"I told him I would as soon couple with the corpse of a poxed leper," Sashana said coldly. Then a burst of bitter laughter escaped her lips. "I should have known coarse language would inflame him! He rose from the table and came after me, exactly as in the play. But he had not counted on my regular wariness, nor on the dagger I keep in my stocking, under the skirts of my gown. I slashed for his throat, and by t?ie gods, my cut should have killed him!"