Page 116 of Play of Shadows
You knew all along it would come down to the two of us at the end, didn’t you, your Grace?
The crowds, catching sight of their gleaming duke, gasped in awe.
Abastrini sniffed. ‘Well, of course, ifI’dwalked on stage wearing all that frippery, people would’ve taken me for the real Prince Pierzi, too.’
Beretto patted the actor’s belly. ‘If you came on stage in Pierzi’s armour, Master Abastrini, that lion on the breastplate would be so stretched out it would look like a giant ruby-eyed frog.’
The two fell silent, watching the duke approaching us.
‘Are you and your fellow actors ready, Master Veristor?’ Monsegino asked.
I didn’t answer, but instead led the duke away from the others so that no one would overhear us. ‘When it begins, your Grace,youmustremain in control. See what he sees, hear his words, but donotlet him overwhelm you, else you’ll lose yourself and be trapped inside his memories.’
Monsegino’s eyes betrayed his shock. ‘You know?But—’
‘Viscountess Kareija told me you adored the theatre as a child, and how you were driven to become an actor yourself, but were prevented by your aristocratic rank. Then, of course, there’s the incongruity of Prince Pierzi’s many-times-great-grandson obsessively pressuring us to present what’s looking to be a pretty grim truth about the duchy’s greatest hero. You hear his voice, don’t you?’
The duke’s shoulders slumped. ‘Ever since I was a boy. I didn’t understand what it was, not at first, but I loved the historias and sometimes I’d get this. . . pounding in my head, as if. . . well, as if something– someone– was trying to break free. I didn’t know who he was, only that when I saw the great plays of my family’s history, I’d become nauseous and a great anger would come over me. It was always the same: I’d feel as if Pierzi was trapped in a single moment in time. Over the years, as I grew to understand my proper role as a nobleman of Pertine and gave up any thoughts of becoming an actor, it faded.’
He straightened. ‘Until one night, when I happened to be sitting in the back of the upper gallery of the Operato Belleza. I was pleased– if surprised– to discover thatThe Battle of Mount Cruxiano longer afflicted me. But then a minor player came onto the stage to blurt out the same dull line I’d heard a dozen times before—’
‘Only I screwed it up.’
‘The moment you said those words, it was as if someone had awakened a long-sleeping bear in my skull, one who promptly went about smashing into the walls of his cave trying to escape. All the pain and fears and sickness I’d experienced as a boy returned a hundredfold.’ He gripped me by the shoulder. ‘Thistime Ihaveto know the truth. Pierzi himself wants it revealed.’
I glanced at the crowds outside. Everyone was waiting to see the final part of the play– and what orders their masters would then give. ‘You might have to pay a very high price to find out.’ I looked pointedly at the soldiers.
The duke’s laugh was bitter and brittle. ‘Families like the di Traizos are the real rulers of this duchy. They always have been, despite the great lie that the duke sitting the throne is glorified by the gods and by the great deeds of his family.’ Monsegino clutched his head as if to stop it splitting apart. ‘Whatever secret is locked up inside my skull, the price of keeping it there is too high for me now. It’s too high even for Prince Pierzi.’
Twilight gave way, and as full darkness cloaked the courtyard, the moon and stars above brightened, as if celestial stagehands had lifted the shades. I held up my hands, expecting to see them shake as usual before a performance, but tonight they were as steady as the foundations of the earth itself. When I glanced over at Monsegino, his own trembling fingers were fumbling with his cape.
It was hard not to feel sympathy for this inexperienced, violet-eyed ruler of a troubled duchy; neither of us had asked for this ‘blessing’ inflicted by the saints. Here in the Great Courtyard, before the entire city, we were about to unleash the memories of two men who’d despised each other with a fury that had lasted long past their deaths.
I checked the rapier at my side, wondering how well I’d fare against the duke should things go awry. Neither of us would come out of this final act unscathed, of that I was certain.
Love and truth. I had promised my grandfather I would fight for them both, but as I couldn’t imagine that love would have any part in what came next, truth would have to suffice.
‘The hour has come, your Grace,’ I said, taking my first step onto the stage. I reached deep down for whatever shred of mygrandmother’s daring I had in me before turning back to flash a smile at the man who might soon kill me.
‘Time we let Corbier and Pierzi have their reunion at last.’
Chapter 57
The Battlefield
By tradition, the first show after the death of a theatre’s Directore Principale opens with the entire company taking the stage to sing a dirge. No higher honour could be given to a director that’s gone to the embrace of the gods than the dedication of those left behind to keep the show alive, and during the most poignant scenes of the play, to deliver a line here or there skywards, as if addressing one particular member of the divine audience.
I hoped to do Shoville’s memory justice, though I’d never been much of a singer. ‘The Player’s Lament’ is a simple enough tune, though. It begins and ends with the same intentionally ambiguous line,Still, the dead sing.
I managed to get as far as the first chorus before I slipped into the past, to find hundreds of soldiers charging at me from all directions. Blades rose and fell as warriors in Pierzi’s gold livery and Corbier’s black fought with a fury I’d never seen before. Swords slashed and spears thrust, their manic rhythms an endless refrain of blood and death surrounding me.
A scream erupted from my throat, shattering the sombre moment on the stage that I could barely see beneath the bloodier vista before me. The rest of the cast scattered to taketheir positions, while the nearest audience members, just faint apparitions now, threw themselves backwards in panic. The ripple of their hapless attempt to flee became a wave that spread through the thousands of bodies packed into the courtyard.
I struggled to master myself. Never before had the visions been so clear so quickly. Was my hold on the present weakening from too much use of the Veristor’s gift, or was the strange ritual magic Rhyleis had spoken of amplified by the largest audience ever assembled in the city of Jereste?
‘Gods and saints alike,’ I swore, watching the spectral soldiers swarming all around me, fighting, killing. . .dying. .. Bile rose up in my throat.
I’d never been to war, and no one had warned me that those who knew death was upon them emitted a stench, magnified by numbers, overpowering in its effect and bloody in its result. There were no orderly lines of soldiers marching to their doom, their faces grim yet brave; no rousing war songs were being sung. Here, only madness reigned.
