Locke spotted Brego hurrying toward the woman, folded parchment clutched in his hands. Locke suppressed a smile. That would be the sealed orders from ‘Baron Boulidazi,’ the ones diverting Malloria and her weight of precious metal from the countinghouse to the bathhouse.
The company halted at the north side of the Pearl, where Moncraine’s half-dozen hired players lounged under an awning. They leapt up, nearly tripping over one another in their eagerness to be seen offering assistance with the costumes and props. As Jean and Jenora handed things to them, carefully keeping them away from the wagon itself, a woman approached on foot with a pair of guards at her back.
She was young, sharp-eyed and heavy, dressed in a cream jacket and skirts trimmed with silver lace. Sun veils dangled from her fourcorn cap, and to Locke she had the air of someone used to crowds parting and doors opening before her. Jasmer and Sylvanus confirmed Locke’s suspicions by climbing hastily from their horses and bowing; in an instant the entire company was doing likewise.
“Master Moncraine,” said the woman. “Do rise. It is agreeable to see you and your company gainfully employed again, if somewhat diminished in number.”
“My lady Ezrintaim. Thank you for your sentiments,” said Jasmer, straightening up but icing his words with a thick coating of deference. “We have every hope that our recent loss of a few supernumerary players will prove a refinement.”
“That remains to be seen. I had expected your patron to precede his company; can you tell me where the Baron Boulidazi might be found?”
“Ah, my lady, as to that, my Lord Boulidazi has not confided his present whereabouts to me. I can assure you that he does have every intention of being present, in some capacity, for the afternoon.”
“In somecapacity?”
“My lady, if I may … I cannot answer for him. Save to assure you, on my honor, that my lord is laboring, even now, to ensure that today is not merely memorable but, ah, singular.”
“I shall of course be watching attentively from my box,” said the woman. “You will inform your patron that he is expected, following the performance if not before.”
“Of … of course, my lady Ezrintaim.”
Moncraine bowed again, but the woman had already turned and started away. One of her guards snapped a silk parasol open and held it between her and the sun. Moncraine made his obeisance for another half-dozen heartbeats, then rose, stormed over to Locke, and seized him by the collar.
“As you can see,” said Moncraine, speaking directly into Locke’s ear, “Countess Antonia’s envoy of ceremonies now expects a personal appearance from the very, very late Lord Boulidazi once we’ve taken our bows. What do you propose to do, thrust a hand up his ass and work him like a puppet?”
“You will pretend to be Lord Boulidazi,” said Locke.
“What?”
“I’m fucking with you! Why do you keep acting as though it’s your problem? The playis your problem. Leave the rest to us. And take your hand off me.”
“If I end up facing the rope because of this,” said Moncraine, “I’m going to ensure that I bring a merry fellowship along for the drop.”
Moncraine stalked off before Locke could say anything else.
“I keep asking myself,” whispered Sabetha, giving Locke’s arm a squeeze, “ arewe smarter than that woman’s chicken?”
“At the moment it’s an open question,” said Locke.
4
BEHIND THE stage lay a number of corridors and small offices, as well as two large preparation areas referred to as the attiring chambers. Stairs led to a cellar where hoists could be used to send players up or down through trapdoors. The air smelled of sweat, smoke, mildew, and makeup.
The attiring chambers buzzed with chatter, most of it from the hired players. Bert and Chantal looked stern but willing, Alondo had his arm around Donker’s shoulders, and Sylvanus was relieving a wine bottle of its contents. The twins were robing themselves for their joint role as the Chorus; one in red with a gold-ornamented cap to represent the imperial court and the other in black with a silver-chased cap to represent the court of thieves. Jean and Jenora hung white robes and phantasmamasks on wall hooks, there to be seized and donned in a hurry by that significant portion of the cast that wouldn’t escape the play alive.
Brego and a pair of servants came to retrieve Boulidazi’s horses and colors. Once they’d gone, Jean took up a post at the back door. He would keep a close watch on the wagon and its sensitive contents, darting in to help Jenora only with a few crucial or complicated operations.
“We’re on at the second hour sharp,” said Moncraine. “There’s a Verrari clock behind the countess’ box. When it chimes two, the flag dips. I salute the countess; then it’s out with the louts to tame the groundlings. And gods, will they need taming.”
Locke could hear the murmurs, the catcalls, the shouts and jeers of the Esparans filling the earth-floored penny pit beyond the stage, as well as musicians trying to strain coins out of the crowd.
Second hour of the afternoon,thought Locke. That left about twenty minutes for dressing and thinking. The former was so much easier. His Aurin costume was brown hose, a simple white tunic, and a brown vest. He wound red cloth in a band just above his ears; this would keep the sweat out of his eyes and suggest a crown even when he wasn’t wearing one. For the early scenes at the court of Salerius II, Locke would wear a red cloak over his other gear, a smaller version of the cloak that would be worn by Sylvanus at all times.
Sabetha approached, and Locke’s throat tightened. Amadine’s colors were those of the night, so Sabetha wore black hose and a fitted gray doublet with a plunging neckline. Her hair was coiffed, courtesy of Jenora and Chantal’s expertise, threaded around silver pins and bound back with a blue cloth matching Locke’s red. Her doublet gleamed with paste gems and silvery threads, and she wore two sheathed daggers at her hip.
“Luck and poise,” she whispered as she embraced him just long enough to brush a kiss against his neck.
“You outshine the sun,” he said.
“That’s damned inconvenient, for a thief.” She squeezed his hands and winked.
Calo and Galdo approached.
“We were hoping for a moment,” said Galdo.
“Over by the door with Tubby,” said Calo. “We thought a little prayer might not be out of order.”
Locke felt the sudden unwelcome tension of responsibility. This wasn’t something they were asking of him as a comrade, but across the barrier even the laissez-fairepriests of the Nameless Thirteenth were bound to feel from time to time. There was no refusing this. The others deserved any comfort Locke could give them.
The five Camorri gathered in a circle at the back door, hands and heads together.
“Crooked Warden,” whispered Locke, “our, uh, our protector … our father … sent us here with a task. Don’t let us shame ourselves. Don’t let us shame him, now that we’re so close to pulling it all off. Don’t let us fail these people trusting us to keep them out of the noose. Thieves prosper.”
“Thieves prosper,” the others whispered.
Chantal came to summon them for Moncraine’s final instructions. There was no more time for prayer or planning.
5
THE GREEN flag of Espara came halfway down the pole, then went back up. Locke, watching through a scrollwork grille, signaled to Jasmer, who squared his shoulders and walked out into the noise and the midafternoon blaze of light.
The penny pit was full, and newcomers were still shoving their way in from the gate. Attendance at plays was an inexact affair, and Nerissa Malloria and her boys would be taking coins until nearly the end of the show.
The elevated galleries were surprisingly full of swells and gentlefolk, along with their small armies of body servants, fan-wavers, dressers, and bodyguards. Countess Antonia’s banner-draped box was empty, but Baroness Ezrintaim and her entourage filled the box to its left. Baron Boulidazi’s promised friends and associates filled a lengthy arc of the luxury balconies, and had apparently brought more friends and associates of their own.