Page 11 of Play of Shadows
Apparently I’d done just that, for the theatre had gone so quiet I would’ve sworn the audience had disappeared. I couldn’t tell for sure, because my eyes seemed to be resolutely shut. When I finally summoned up the courage to open them, I had to wait for the blurry scene before me to resolve. That’s when I realised something very bad must have happened shortly after I’d stepped out on stage to deliver my final line.
Please, any saints who are listening, don’t let me have forgotten to say ‘triumphs’ again. Also, please let my trousers not have fallen down. . .
The theatrewasn’tempty, as it turned out. In fact, just as Shoville had promised, my performance had, indeed, brought the audience to their feet. But they weren’t roaring with applause or even clapping politely. Instead, the assembled worthies werejust standing there in their finery, staring up at me in horrified silence.
I turned to my fellow actors, but all I found in their answering gazes was confusion and shock. Well, most of them, anyway.
‘Youstupidbastard. . .’ Abastrini growledsotto voce.
Beretto, in the role of Prince Pierzi’s favoured lieutenant, put a hand on his liege’s shoulder. ‘The boy misspoke, my Lord.’
Misspoke? I couldn’t even recall having begun my lines.
‘See you, how he suffers a grievous wound to his head?’ Beretto went on, speaking as confidently as if his every word came straight from the script instead of outrageous improvisation. ‘Observe how the lad’s eyes fail to perceive us standing here. He is blinded, my Prince, and in his confusion he feared he was witnessing vile Archduke Corbier slayingyou!’
I watched with the same mute puzzlement as everyone else.
This can’t be due to me flubbing that damned ‘victories’ line– No!– ‘triumphs!’– so what in the name of Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears did I say?
Abastrini, as though suddenly filled with divine inspiration, bounded across the stage towards me. ‘I see now that you speak truly, my trusted lieutenant. The chaos of battle has robbed the poor boy of his senses. Oh, how the gods do use this foolish messenger to give us all a great warning: we must be for ever vigilant, lest history be distorted by deceivers and malefactors!’ He spun on his heel to the audience, arms outstretched in supplication to the gods above. ‘The truth must be told, and retold again and again for all to hear, from this day forth, across every generation!’
A few coughs and rather more groans drifted up from the audience to the stage, but most appeared at least somewhat mollified by Abastrini’s hasty improvisation.
My career saved by Ellias Abastrini,I thought.Surely the gods despise me.
Still baffled by what I’d done wrong, I nonetheless followed his lead. I swung my head left and right, keeping my eyes unfocused. With trembling hands, I reached out blindly. ‘My Prince? Is that you? Has your dread spirit come back to haunt this land even as your blood spilled upon its soil sows grief worthy of a thousand lesser souls?’
Over Abastrini’s shoulder I caught Beretto rolling his eyes at me.
‘Nay, faithful one,’ Abastrini replied, his rich baritone rumbling with warmth. ‘I am here, alive andtriumphant. Come to me, boy. Come to your Prince, that he may embrace you.’
I made a show of following Abastrini’s voice until my fingers were tracing the contours of Prince Pierzi’s armoured breastplate and the distinctive sigils of his house.
Abastrini pulled me into a hug, feigning affection even as he crushed my ribs mercilessly. ‘Do you still doubt me, boy? Be there any confusion as to whoIam?’
I struggled to turn my gasps of pain into cries of joy. ‘Gods be good, my Lord, itisyou!’
With a great deal of effort, I pushed myself free from Abastrini’s grasp and turned to the audience, proclaiming at last, ‘Thou hast defeated the enemy’s champions with thine own hand! Henceforth shall I travel these lands, every day singing of thy righteous victories!’
I caught Beretto’s barely audible groan.
Triumphs! Fuck! Triumphs. . .
From behind the back curtain, a jubilant melody began to play as the musicians took up the final song. The actors on the stage, even those playing corpses, rose to sing the chorus as Abastrini and Beretto made a show of ushering me from the stage.
‘You little shit!’ Abastrini swore the instant we’d passed the curtains. ‘Are you so very determined to put an end to your own career? And if so, would you mind not taking mine down withit?’
Beretto rescued me by pushing him aside. ‘Leave him alone, man. Look at him– he’s grey as a corpse. Probably has some kind of fever. Maybe syphilis.’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ I agreed, bringing the back of my hand up to my forehead– it really was a little clammy. ‘Not syphilis, I mean, but fever. A terrible, raging fever momentarily overtook me. That’s the only reasonable explanation.’
Abastrini stormed off to his dressing room, leaving the pair of us in the wings while the rest of the cast sang the audience from their seats and out of the doors. The Veristor’s displeasure was mirrored in the eyes of every one of my fellow castmates as they exited the stage.
‘Saint Laina’s tits,’ Beretto swore once the two of us were alone. ‘What in all the Hells was that, Damelas?’
‘I. . . I honestly don’t know– I remember Shoville shoving me out onto the stage to deliver the lines. I started feeling sick to my stomach, then. . . I think I might have blacked out for a moment. What did I say?’
Beretto stared at me wide-eyed with disbelief. ‘You’re telling me that wasn’t an act? Youweren’tjust quitting the business in the most spectacularly offensive way possible?’
