Pul wasn't delighted at all. True, no one expected him to do any mucking-out work. But he was beginning to darkly suspect that he'd soon be consigned to the mucking end of the business—locked in a stall himself, as if he were a mere animal! Fortunately for the limbs of all concerned, he stopped growling and baring his teeth after Sir Richard allowed that the Bard's Sacred Work could be tweaked enough to permit one of the witches to have a familiar.
Pausert was sorely puzzled by the Dame. She was almost two people: One, flamboyant and flirtatious—and still making sly innuendos regarding "service"—outside the theater; the other, when inside the theater, was serious, careful, and clever, treating everyone with respect and Sir Richard with near-veneration.
He said as much to Goth and Hantis.
"She's an actress," Hantis replied immediately, as if the answer was self-evident. " 'Actress' with a capital 'A.' "
"Well yes, but—"
"So, she doesn't confine her acting to the stage."
He thought about it. "But which one is the act?"
Hantis smiled but didn't answer the question. Goth just sighed, shook her head, and started muttering. Pausert didn't quite catch it all, but some of it sounded like: stupid useless klatha . . . oughta be a way to get older quicker . . . it's not fair . . .
The Leewit joined the clowns—or "joeys," as they called themselves—fitting in as if she had been one all her life. A group of four, alike as clones, took her into their tumbling act, making her into a kind of human ball that they tossed about. Oddly enough, the Leewit didn't seem offended by the business. The captain was surprised. As a rule, he would have thought, the Mistress of the Universe does not take well to finding herself the Beach Ball of the Galaxy.
Himbo Petey was certainly much happier about it. A little girl being tossed about he could understand; real witches he couldn't.
But however much Himbo was puzzled by Pausert and his companions, it soon became obvious to the captain that he didn't understand the thespians at all. He truly didn't understand the plays that Sir Richard was putting on, or what motivated them to do it.
Pausert walked in on the tail end of one of his arguments—his, because it was entirely one-sided. Sir Richard might look as if the Showmaster was about to drive him mad, but he clearly wasn't going to budge.
"But the audiences won't like it if the lovers are dead in the end!" Himbo protested unhappily. "They'll walk out! Wait and see!"
"By the time they walk out the play will be over, Himbo. So I hardly see where it matters."
"But why can't you change the ending?"
"Because then it wouldn't be a tragedy, would it?" Cravan waved a playbill under Himbo Petey's nose. "Look there—it's in four colors and full process: The Great Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. I hardly think that the audience is going to arrive expecting jokes!"
"And that's another thing—you've got clowns in this play of yours, but they aren't wearing—"
"They're only called 'clowns,' Himbo," Cravan said, wearily. Pausert got the feeling this was something that Himbo Petey had been told many times before. "I've explained this to you in the past. They are not circus clowns. They do not wear paint, or clown-suits, or red noses, or big shoes. It is a term that means—"
"Well, if it means dunces and fools, then why don't you call them that?" Petey asked resentfully. "Oh, never mind. I still think you should rewrite the ending of that Julioff and Rominette thing. People aren't going to like it, I tell you, and not even all those sword fights are going to appease them!"
After Himbo Petey bounced off, indignation in every step, Cravan put his head in his hands. "One of the greatest classical tragedies of all time, and he wants me to rewrite the ending! Bad enough that I've changed the language to something less archaic, to satisfy him, now he wants me to rewrite a masterpiece!"
Pausert felt he understood why Himbo Petey was so upset. It was clear enough the Showmaster really didn't understand any plays, much less these. Petey couldn't grasp why people would be willing to sit for hours and watch live actors on a stage, with limited effects and scenery, when they could see the same story on holo, replete with special effects—and with no human actors who might forget their lines.
In truth, Pausert wasn't sure he understood it either, no matter how many times Dame Ethulassia tried to explain it to him. Petey was certain that displaying something that was going to make people cry instead of laugh was a bad idea; and while Pausert didn't agree with him entirely, he wondered just how many people would be willing to watch something so primitive, and so full of archaic language.
He reminded himself that, fortunately, the Petey B didn't often set down on sophisticated worlds where there were holo-theaters and threedee parlors, and a vidscreen for every room in your house. So maybe the audiences wouldn't have any objections.
Certainly the staged sword fights were exciting things. Richard Cravan plotted every single one of the moves and had all of the participants learn them to background music, so that it was all like a complicated dance, with the music telling you what to do. And if something happened and you missed a move, you didn't have to think about what was coming next; all you had to do was pick it up at the next beat.
When he wasn't worrying, Pausert was enjoying that part, far more than he'd expected to, but he was certain that his other act, the escapist act, wasn't going to come up to Himbo Petey's standards. He hadn't relled vatch in days, and while he thought he'd probably be able to replicate what the vatch had done, with Goth's help, he was afraid by this time that not relling vatch meant that the wretched little creature would turn up at the worst possible moment.
He was worried about a lot of other things, too. The ISS, for one. This new Nanite plague that Hantis had told them about, for another. The pirates. Why Karres had disappeared again. If he was ever going to get the Venture back.
Meanwhile, Hulik was also enjoying the situation—far more, in his personal opinion, than she should be. She had thrown herself into her four roles with astonishing enthusiasm, but it was the role of Juliet that she was really reveling in. She seemed to have forgotten all about their plight, the poor old Venture, and the urgent need to get to the Empress with whatever information that Hantis had.
As for Hantis herself, well, Pausert never had been able to tell what the Sprite was thinking anyway. He hoped she was as worried as he was, because everyone else, even Goth and the Leewit, was acting as if they really were children who had run away to join the circus.
Even Vezzarn! He didn't have an act at all, and as a consequence, didn't have much choice but to muck out animal cages to earn his way. But when Pausert asked him, in the middle of shoveling out several tons of fanderbag manure, if he wasn't nearly dying with eagerness to get the Venture fueled and fixed and get gone, he looked up with astonishment.
"What, Captain? And give up show business?"
Pausert could only throw up his hands and walk away.
* * *
Their first planetfall after Vaudevillia was a little agro-world called Hanson's Reach. Pausert was a little astonished by the backwardness of the place. Once you got a few miles from the port, people actually used animals for transportation.
Not farming, though. That was business, and animals couldn't do the work that an all-purpose combine could do. But the precious and expensive fuel was saved for farm machines. No one wasted it on the unimportant matter of getting people from here to there.