Page 152 of Play of Shadows
I ruffled her hair. ‘No, you’re anactor. You know what that means?’
‘What?’
‘It means you get to be whoever you damn well want to be.’
There was a sudden rumble of cheers at this, and Rhyleis and Shariza nodded to each other– then remembered how much they hated each other and turned away.
The jubilant mood was punctured by a figure lurking in the shadows cast by the Belleza’s sole unbroken column.
‘Saint Bubo-who-shoves-toothpicks-up-arses, are you all done yet?’ he asked. ‘This is worse than listening to one of Falcio’s speeches.’
As one, the Knights of the Curtain turned on the mocking intruder, ready to deliver a hearty beating for his denigrating insolence.
‘My fault,’ I said, pulling Abastrini back before he bashed thearcher in the head. ‘I forgot to mention I’d invited a guest.’
Taking that as his cue, Brasti Goodbow stepped out from behind the soot-covered column. With his long leather coat and striking red-blond hair and beard, he cut quite an impressive figure among the ruins. The only real Greatcoat most of them had seen up close was my grandfather, who was well past his prime. Now they were gawking at this bold visitor in their midst with a mixture of awe and trepidation– all except for Beretto, who’d seen the coat, then the insignia of crossed arrows imprinted on the left breast, and promptly dropped to his knees. He looked as if he were about to faint.
‘By all the saints,’ he swore, ‘can it really be—?’ He hung his head. ‘Forgive me, King’s Arrow. . . or is it Queen’s Jest now? I mean, we’ve a king and not a queen now, but your previous name was when you served King Paelis and now it’s his son, King Filian, but in between—’
‘Brasti is fine,’ the Greatcoat said, then paused to reconsider. ‘Actually, I prefer Brasti Godslayer, or Brasti the Handsome. Now that I think on it, I should really come up wi—’
‘Mostly, people address him as, “Hey you, arsehole”,’ Rhyleis interrupted. ‘Although, shouting, “Shut up, Brasti!” from time to time seems to work best.’
Beretto looked horrified, and I realised I’d never fathomed the true depths of his adoration for Tristia’s swashbuckling magistrates.
How deeply it must have cut when King Paelis refused to name him to the Greatcoats, I thought.
After glaring at Rhyleis– not that it appeared to have any effect– Brasti gestured to Beretto, still kneeling before him, mumbling incoherently about the archer’s various titles and accomplishments, and asked, ‘He’s the one?’ He swung the polished wooden case up to rest it on his arm.
‘He is,’ I replied.
‘What’s your name, big man?’ Brasti asked.
‘Beretto, sir. Beretto Bravi of South Lankavir.’
The archer began opening the clasps. ‘Well, Beretto Bravi of South—’ He stopped. ‘Hang on. Why do I know that name?’
Beretto reddened. ‘Well, sir, I am an actor of some small reput—’
‘No, that’s not it.’ Brasti stared down at Beretto, eyes narrowed. ‘Saint Anlas’ swollen balls!You’rethe one! The one who sent all those copies of that bloody play to Castle Aramor?The Saga of the King’s Heart?’
Beretto’s beaming face began to look a little uncertain. ‘You’ve, er. . . read it?’
Brasti burst out in peals of laughter. ‘Oh, I’ve read it, all right! Any time I want to wind up Falcio, I just pull out a page from your lovely play and start performing it for him until he runs out of the room swearing to hunt down the– and I quote here– “saintless lackwit who shat this pile of offal onto the page”.’
‘He. . . didn’t like my play? I’d hoped to share with the world my deep admiration for his—’
The rest of Beretto’s words were rendered inaudible by Brasti’s chortling. ‘Like it? We all thought you were writing satire!No onegives speeches that long– not even’– Brasti paused to catch his breath from laughing so hard– ‘not even Falcio-fucking-val-Mond!’
Beretto was crestfallen. ‘Well, the records are incomplete and I just thought. . .’
Brasti turned to me with a bemused expression. ‘Does it really have to be him?’
I returned an ominous stare that would have done Corbier proud. ‘Beretto Bravi will be as fine a Greatcoat as there has ever been.’
Brasti sighed. ‘Very well, then. Beretto Bravi of South Whatever. On instruction of. . . actually, I suppose I shouldamend that to “with what I’m sure will be the eventual enthusiastic agreement of” Chalmers, First Cantor of the Order of Travelling Magistrates, and on behalf of King Filian the First– who’s a right prick from what I’ve seen so far, I should warn you– I hereby call you to the Greatcoats.’ He opened the wooden case and took out the coat, which was even more magnificent in the bright light of day than it had been in the dim glow of the tavern.
On the left breast of the coat was an insignia: an actor’s mask and a rose. ‘I name you the King’s Player. Declare now whatever oath you choose that will bind you to the laws and people of this misbegotten country.’
