“Perhaps not,” Pelmen admitted. “But if that army succeeds, I can’t guarantee you’ll live through the day.”
“I’ll take my chances. I’m going back to bed.”
“As you choose. Parmi, let him go. For the rest of you remember how disgusted you all were with my play praising Ligne? It’s possible that the rightful Queen of this land is among this silent army of invasion.
If so, she comes as a puppet a slave of Admon Faye.” Pelmen waited until the anxious mutterings faded. “I’ll not explain all the reasons, but if we can chase this force from these dark caverns, we’ll do them a favor, as well as ourselves. Don’t feel ashamed if you chose to follow Gerrig back upstairs. After all ” Pelmen glanced at Gerrig’s back. ”
you’re only play actors. You’ve trained yourselves to imitate heroes on stage, not to be heroes in the pitch-black face of fear. I don’t blame you. Turn back.”
No one moved. Though Gerrig stood with his hands resting on the door back up to the infirmary, he didn’t thrust it open.
“On occasion, though,” Pelmen continued with a peculiar lilt to his words, “a chance arises and I think such moments come quite unexpectedly to most a chance to be a hero, instead of playing one. The chance to do something worthy of the playwright’s immortalization.”
Silence greeted his words. Gerrig broke it. “I remember that speech well,” he muttered.
“I thought you would,” Pelmen replied softly. “It was your line, after all, from Shadows of a Night at Sea.” He waited for a moment, then asked, “Are you coming?” Genig looked at him and frowned. “I’m scared,” he breathed.
So am I.” Pelmen chuckled. “Exciting though, isn’t it?”
“You said an army,” Danyilyn whispered. “There’s only a handful of us.”
“Yes, but we’ve got a big friend.” Pelmen smiled back. “Maybe two,” he added to Yona Parmi. “You don’t make any sense,” she grumbled.
“Since when has he ever made sense?” Yona Parmi asked her.
“We don’t have any weapons,” Gerrig said. His voice had changed in texture and tone it was deeper, more mellow. The gravity of this situation had caused him to slip without realizing into stage speech.
“There’s an armory through the side door of the infirmary only fifteen feet away.”
“But what if there are soldiers there?” Danyilyn asked nervously.
“Pelmen held up a hand for silence and cocked his head “to listen. “No soldiers right now,” he said; then he smiled and added, “Believe me.”
He waved at the two young players who had closed the trapdoor, and they opened it up again and climbed through.
While they were gone, Danyilyn tugged anxiously on Pelmen’s arm and asked, “What if these adversaries are just around the corner? We’re helpless—”
Pelmen hushed her again. “They’re still on the far end of the castle.”
“How do you know?” she demanded. She was cross and wanted to be sure he noticed. “You’ll see.”
Jamnard and Magrol hustled quickly back down the stairs, their arms laden with odd armor pieces and assorted weapons. These were distributed quickly around the small circle.
“Just a shield, thank you,” Yona Parmi said, “and… those.” He pointed to a pair of armored shoes, and swiftly took them from MagroFs hands. By the time he had fitted them onto his feet, the door was once more in place, and the other players were armed and ready to move.
“Stay near me,” Pelmen ordered. “I’d rather not lose any of you.” He took their single candle and led them down the passageway toward the cistern.
“Feel as nervous as opening night—” Gerrig began, and someone shushed him. Then there was silence, broken only by the clink-clink-clink of Yona Parmi’s metal boots.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bloodshed and Bathwater
“IT’S TIME,” Admon Faye murmured, and he moved out, leading a long train of fierce, dangerous-looking men and one frowning Princess. He’d ordered them to leave their swords sheathed to prevent the noisy scraping and clanging that would naturally result from carrying drawn weapons through a narrow, dark tunnel. As always, he travelled without a light, relying on his memory of the twisting maze.
He was in no way prepared for an ambush.
“Now!” someone grunted, and something whispered past the slaver’s face. He knew the sound of a blade cutting air far too well to hesitate. He threw himself to the side and jerked his own weapon free.
Before he could swing it, though, he was sent crashing to the ground, crying out in pain. Something had slammed into his shin!
“Ambush!” someone behind him cried, and a thunder of scrapes and clatters echoed through the tunnel as the House of Faye armed itself for battle.
“Oww!” Admon Faye roared a second time, and someone nearby chuckled:
“I got him again.”
“Get back!” another voice warned sharply, so the ugly slaver thrust his sword savagely at the voice, venting his rage with a full-throated scream.
None of the survivors could ever adequately describe what took place after that. Like enraged cats sewn into a sack, the frustrated combatants struggled to fight each other, but found themselves battling the cavern instead. Scores of swords were broken on the walls.
Knuckles were scraped raw. Faces were trodden underfoot. Some people screamed, while others seemed at times to laugh. The entire situation lent itself to description in expletives the black darkness turned blue with curses: muttered, grunted, hollered, screamed, spat and sighed.
One of the maidservants preparing breakfast heard something strange as she passed by the cistern and reported it to the cook.
“Just boatmen, arguing with one another over some trifle. Fishing rights, probably. Set the table.”
The cook served a baked pig that morning.
Ligne missed the actors at breakfast. “Where’s the fool?” she asked airily. “Where’s the rest of your tedious players?”
“They’ve b-b-been working hard lately. Let them s-sleep,” Rosha said as he downed a helping of steaming ribs. His acting was improving. The Queen didn’t realize just how anxious their mass absence made him feel.
Had he been left behind?
“They’ve been working you too hard as well,” Ligne snarled.
“Why, n-no, m-m-my Lady, it’s only that it t-t-takes practice to d-d-do a play well.”
“You’ve not been rehearsing,” the Queen spat. “Your speech isn’t a bit improved for all your practice.”
“Yes, but the p-p-play—”
“The play had better be ready today,” Ligne announced, and she twisted in her seat to look him in the eye as she added, “Since it’s going to be performed tomorrow night, as part of our wedding celebration.” She saw Rosha’s eyes widen. The young man choked down the piece of pork he’d been chewing.
“Wedding?” Kherda broke in, leaning out over the table to try to look at Ligne’s face. “Why is it that I have not been informed of this?”
“Because I just now made up my mind,” Ligne shrugged. “That is satisfactory with you, Rosha, is it not? Your friends are ready to perform?”
Rosha nodded, but his swarthy complexion seemed unusually waxy. “Y-yes, my Lady.”
“But this is highly irregular,” Kherda protested, “to plan a royal wedding while the city is under attack!”
“Ah, but Joss has assured me that Admon Faye will be apprehended before noon. Tomorrow at dinner I will have a celebration of my victories, Kherda. All of them.” She looked pointedly at the Prime Minister, then rose from the table. “I’ll be in my bath,” she announced. “Send Joss to me as soon as he arrives. And Rosha,” she added, “I’ll see you later.” Then she turned to climb the grand spiral to her apartments.