Page 151 of Play of Shadows
‘But– but how do you know?’ Bida asked. Roz’s former understudy rested her hands on her belly, where the first swell of pregnancy was beginning to show.
‘Because I’m a Bardatti Troubadour. Like the Greatcoats, we are part of the Dal Verteri: the twelve orders created long ago to defend this nation. When Tristia is threatened, when armies are insufficient to the task of protecting it, we are the ones who must act. And I’ll tell you something else that will chill your blood: the Court of Flowers may be only one among many secret courts the enemy has sent to our shores.’
The Knights of the Curtain were the bravest people I’d ever known, but even they gasped at Rhyleis’ words.
Ornella walked over to me and placed a hand on my arm. ‘Dal Verterimeans “Path of the Daring” in archaic Tristian. Are you to be one of them now, Damelas? One of those who fight these shadowy forces we’re facing?’
‘I. . . I think perhaps I am.’
‘Then how do you intend to defeat these other courts?’
Her question wasn’t unanticipated, but I hadn’t expected to see Ornella– the woman who’d been facing down bloody violence since before I’d even been born, just for the right to tread the stage– now looking at me as if I might have an answer worthhearing.
‘Honestly, I’m not sure how to beat them,’ I admitted. ‘Politics and intrigue are as foreign to me as military strategy. All I know is that we only learned the truth about the Iron Orchids through the tale of Ajelaine, Corbier and Pierzi. If there really are other hidden conspirators sowing chaos throughout the country, then maybe the only way to uncover them is by seeking out other false tales.’
Ornella’s head tilted as she considered my reply. ‘So your plan is to travel the countryside searching for other historias to stage, in the hopes that your Veristor’s gift will enable you to summon the memories of those involved in the actual events of the past, and use that information to outwit the impossibly sophisticated and devious schemes of these other insidious courts?’
Weirdly, it didn’t sound completely mad when she said it.
Ornella squeezed my arm. ‘I’m coming with you.’
I looked at her blankly. ‘What—?’
‘You’ll need actors, won’t you? This Veristor’s gift of yours– doesn’t it require the ritual of the theatre? You’ll be needing players to help you stage these historias so you can journey back into the past and learn the truth.’ She nodded to herself. ‘I’ll pack tonight. We’ll leave in the morning.’
‘I can’t ask you to—’
‘Oh do shut up, you simpering swankpot!’ Abastrini bellowed, striding forward. For once he wasn’t accompanied by the usual cloud of alcohol. ‘Do you seriously believe you would have lasted five seconds against the Iron Orchids without us?’
‘No, but—’
‘Silence, you talentless pissing pustule!’ The blustering actor pounded a heavy, hairy-knuckled fist against his own palm. ‘You would dare leave behind the great Ellias Abastrini while you chase after glory alone? Nay, I say thee, nay, a thousand times nay! I’ve acquired a taste for remonstrating venomousarse-boils, and I weary of the audiences that infest this ill-educated parochial little burg. My talents demand a larger stage than fits inside a mere city, and so will I, by grace of my—’
‘He gets it,’ Beretto said, clapping a hand on Abastrini’s shoulder and pulling him aside. ‘You’re joining our little troupe.’
‘Ourtroupe?’ I asked.
Beretto grinned. ‘You think I’d let you have all the fun?’ He took in a deep breath, as if the air were fresh instead of stinking of smoke and dust and decay. ‘Ah,thiswill be the life. Voyaging from town to town, exposing foul conspiracies and beating the Hells out of blackguards and bully-boys. Of course, our plays may suffer from an excess of modesty if we’ve only four actors to stage them. . .’
Beretto’s pause was drenched in unconscionable theatricality as he turned to the others and waited.
Oddly, it was Bida, shy, unassuming Bida, who came forward first.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. The young understudy had a family here, a beau with whom she’d been considering marriage– and she had a child on the way. ‘The life isn’t—’
‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ she said, cutting me off with uncharacteristic curtness. ‘TheymurderedRoz– they drove iron spikes into her skull and they left her hanging from a lantern-post. Even after she was dead, they left her there. And you don’t know what we go through– what it’s like to be—’ She shook her head fiercely. ‘I want to fight. Iwillfight.’
‘So will I,’ Cileila said. She was still gripping the bloodied hammer she’d wielded against the Orchids.
‘And I,’ declared Grey Mags. This time she gave the others a peremptory scowl to ensure none questioned her right to be among them, but others were already speaking up, some with merely a word or two, others– being actors– with attempted soliloquies. Abastrini’s glares ensured those latter speeches werebrisk and to the point.
By the time all those gathered in the ruins of the Belleza had spoken, every player, every stagehand and lighting rigger, carpenter, costumer and set-dresser was standing a little taller. Some of their vows were more bluster than anything else, brave words masking desperate anxiety, but their determination was never in doubt, not even when spoken by the particularly exuberant one far too young to be uttering such oaths.
‘Don’t you dare even think about leaving us behind,’ Zina warned me, a smooth rock almost as big as her fist held high in one hand, the other on little Tolsi’s shoulder. ‘I can bean you with this from fifty paces, Damelas Chademantaigne. Do you doubt my aim?’
‘Neither your aim nor your courage,’ I said, unable to contain my smile. ‘Besides, we can hardly have a travelling troupe if we’ve only Tolsi to play the little boy parts, now can we?’
‘I’m a girl!’ she huffed.
