“That’s … well, I suppose that’s very generous, my lord patron. Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it. It’s in my own interest, eh? Now, what’s the scene?”
“Uh, there’s no scene, my lord. We, ah, need a break, I think. Arguing with Calabazi—”
“Nonsense. You’re no man to be tamed by a mere argument, Moncraine.” Boulidazi mimed a fist crashing into his own jaw, a gesture that made Moncraine plainly uncomfortable. “What did you last practice?”
“Nothing of real consequence—”
“The scene, gods damn you.”
“Uh, six. Act one, scene six. We were just nailing down … nailing down the situation of the chorus.”
“ ‘Vagabonds of fortune raise a bold business in catacomb kingdoms unknown to honest daylight,’ ” said Boulidazi. “I like that one. But that means Amadine’s about to come out for the first time. Surely you won’t stop now.”
“Well, perhaps not—”
“Yes. Perhaps not.” Boulidazi settled into the chair that Moncraine had occasionally rested in while watching the morning’s work. “Mistress Verena, might I beg a few moments of your Queen of Shadows?”
“Why, m’lord Boulidazi, your attention is always very welcome,” said Sabetha with a perfect curtsey. Locke would have sworn he felt the blood congealing in his heart, and he fought to maintain a façade of dopish complacency.
“Thieves in place for scene six,” shouted Moncraine. Bert the Crowd hurried into the middle of the yard, and was met by Calo and Galdo, who were intended to join the spear-carriers for several mob scenes after finishing their orations. Moncraine had promised to hire a bevy of bit players to flesh out the crowds, but didn’t seem to want to start paying them too early in the rehearsal process.
“Well met, my noble peers and bastards! Well met at Barefoot Court!” Chantal advanced from her side of the inn-yard, hips swaying, arms outthrust, playing to the tiny crowd. “What stirs, you ragged suitors, to bring you hence from drink and dice and warm attentions?”
“Allegiance, fair Penthra,” said Bertrand. “Allegiance, fair and fallen lady, for she that claims our deep regard makes those comforts seem cold distractions.”
“Valedon, you ever were a wool-tongued devil, now here’s the air hung with silk. What makes the change?” Chantal touched her husband playfully on the chin.
“My mistress and yours,” said Bertrand. “Her goodness puts a sting to my conscience. I have been remiss in my tributes, and must amend my courtesies.”
“So would we all,” said Calo. “Penthra, let her come forth. She has sheltered us, and kindled loyal fellowship, and even such poor wretches as ourselves must make obedience.”
“We are all wretches at our ragged court, and none therefore a poorer contrast.” Sabetha’s voice was effortlessly regal as she glided into the scene, out of what would eventually be the shadows of the actual stage. Not even the distraction of Boulidazi could truly dampen Locke’s pleasure at watching Sabetha vanish into the role she’d so coveted.
“Grace like fire’s heat, I am made ashamed of my tribute,” said Calo, sinking to his knees. “You are Amadine, called Queen Beneath the Stones, or I was never born. My gift deserves not the name, for such a beauty. It pales, and with it my pride. I beg a second chance, to steal a more worthy courtesy!”
“Indeed, his offering is slight as a passing fancy,” said Bertrand. “Be assured of my love, bright Amadine, and take my tribute first.”
“Unkind Valedon, this is no race with lines to cross before all others. Stand easy. Surely a moment’s wait can little harm your preparations.”
Bertrand bowed and took a step back.
“I am Amadine, called many things,” said Sabetha, gesturing for Calo to rise. “There is no honor more worthy than this, your gift of friendship. I see you are new among us.”
“Many years a thief, mistress, but far too many passed before kind fortune brought me to your company. Oh, let me trade this bauble for something more fitting, or gladly hang for trying.”
“Never speak of such an evil,” said Sabetha. “And never speak of shame, but give what you have.”
Calo pretended to hesitantly pass something over, and Sabetha mimed holding it up between thumb and forefinger.
“A speck of a silver ring,” scoffed Bertrand. “Careworn as a scullion’s hands.”
“I more proudly take a speck from a man with empty pockets,” said Sabetha, “than riches from a man whose purse stays heavy. What good thing might not be coined from this courtesy? It shall become bread and wine, and clothing, and sharp steel. It shall harden the sinews of our fellowship, and for that I hold it dear. You are welcome to our band, brother.”
“Gods willing, I shall never leave it!”
“Gods willing.” Sabetha held out her other hand and Calo kissed it. She turned to Bert. “Now, Valedon, let’s know your heart. Some months you’ve spent among us, yet aloof, a proud and solitary sort.”
“Proud and solitary as yourself, artful Amadine, though I admit my poor fellowship. Here’s the remedy! Oh, how I’ve strained my talents to produce a worthy gift!”
“A bracelet,” said Chantal as her husband pretended to display it with a flourish. “Black sapphires set in gold.”
“As suits a queen of shadows,” said Bertrand. “Pray it please you. I beg you wear it, even once, though you later strike it to a royal ransom of coins.”
“Great weight to grace a single wrist. Our thanks, Valedon; your obscure character is made clear. How did you come by this treasure?”
“Three days and nights of pains,” said Bertrand, “watching a great house, until I saw my chance for the seizing.”
“Will you wear it first, to show me its workings?”
“Why, the clasp is simple, gracious Amadine. Give me your hand, I shall anoint it.”
“I would see this treasure on your wrist, ere it touches mine. Or has your deep regard run shallow?”
“This beauty is not meant for such an unworthy display!”
“Unworthy indeed.” At a gesture from Sabetha, Chantal seized Bertrand and feigned holding a blade to his neck.
“Ladies, please, how have I offended?”
“Your face is a parchment,” said Sabetha, “with treason there written plain. You dread the bauble’s touch, and the venom of its coiled needle!” She mimed snatching the bracelet and unfolding it for all to see. “You think us dullards, that by this infant’s stratagem you might have my life? My spies advised me of your falseness.”
“I swear that when I stole the bracelet, I knew not what lay within!”
“Stole? Should I not know a thief by every scar and callus of the trade? I have them all, Valedon, familiar as children. Your hands are dough and your sinews slack. This bracelet you had as a gift from your masters.”
Calo and Galdo did their best impression of a general outcry in the crowd, and seized Bertrand by the arms.
“I see now my deception was foredoomed,” he whispered. “Clasp the bracelet to my wrist and let justice be done.”
“Hasty dispatch is mercy undeserved. You’ll have your bracelet back, miscarried murderer, after reflection. Bind him! Heat a crucible, and therein cast this scorpion bauble. Past his traitor’s lips, pour the molten slurry of his instrument. Aye, gild his guts with melted treasure, then leave him on the street for his masters to ponder.”
“I beg you—”
The last plea of the unfortunate Valedon was drowned out by the noise of Calo once again throwing up. Bert and Chantal hopped backward, minding their feet, while Galdo put a hand to his mouth and went pale.
“Ha,” shouted Boulidazi. “Ha! I think one of your twins has something to feel guilty about, Moncraine.”
“Very sorry, my lord,” moaned Calo.
“Perhaps you should try living virtuously for a few days, my friends.” Boulidazi rose and stretched. “Well done, despite the sudden ending. Indeed! Especially you ladies. By the gods, I think we’ve got something here. In fact, I’m going to join you at the Pearl for the rest of your rehearsals.”
The sudden pain between Locke’s temples was a match for the expression on Moncraine’s face.
4
“WE’LL FIND our chance to be alone,” Sabetha whispered to him more than once in the days that followed, but such chances seemed to deliberately fling themselves out of the way as the rehearsals wore on.