Page 40 of Play of Shadows
‘Yourcompany?’ Pink Mol asked, squaring off with Abastrini. The pair of daggers in her hands looked as sharp as her tongue. ‘You fat, overrated sack of dung. . . that whelp stole your role–you should be standing with us!’
With an axe-like sweep of his broadsword, Abastrini forced her back. ‘You thunder-thighed strumpet! Know you not that Ellias Abastrini stands ever with the Operato Belleza, the finest theatre in Jereste, fighting always alongside the Knights of the Curtain, the noblest company of actors in all the world!’
I suspected the slurring of his words accounted for his sudden affection towards the company, to say nothing of his willingness to risk his own hide protecting his usurper, but I wasn’t about to complain.
A heavy brick landed on the head of the fellow holding my right arm. Evidently, Zina had found a fresh supply. The sight of blood pouring from a jagged wound convinced the man holding my left arm to back away. I shook off my distracted captors and leaped into the fray. I’ve never been much good with my fists, but then, actors are accustomed tonotstriking their fellow players; on the stage they’re all about making their intentions obvious for the benefit of the audience and narrowly missing their targets for the benefit of their scene partners.
My blows weren’t missing tonight.
Though my fellow Knights of the Curtain were outnumbered four to one, the Lords of Laughter and the Grim Jesters quickly began to lose interest once they started taking injuries themselves, to say nothing of the mayhem caused by Zina’s constant barrage of bricks. The Red Masques kept going longest, but soon enough they too fled, leaving only a few groaning stragglers too dazed to run, curled up and begging not to be kicked any more.
‘Who says the theatre is dying, eh?’ asked Beretto as he bashed the last remaining attacker in the head with the buckled pewter stein. ‘There’s life here aplenty!’
I shrugged off the grip of a woman on the ground who was down but still valiantly hanging onto my ankle as she tried tobite me to death. ‘The only problem with that theory is that thiswasn’ta performance.’
The company of the Operato Belleza were now engaged in the time-honoured practice of rifling through the pockets of those too stupefied to fight back. Cheers went up every time someone found a coin, but they quickly realised that every coin held up was a shiny new eight-sided gold jubilant worth more than most players earned for a week’s performance with a packed theatre.
‘Shit,’ I whispered to Beretto, as shaken by the appearance of this mysterious loot as the actual attack. ‘It must’ve cost a small fortune to bribe them all. . .’
Beretto chuckled. ‘When have you ever known actors to get off their arses unless there was both money and an audience awaiting them?’
I spun around, but the alley was empty save for my rescuers and the mostly unconscious remnants of my attackers.
The contract, Laredo had said.
The corpulent youth was lying unconscious by the wall, one of the first to fall to Zina’s missiles. I strode over to him, tore off his Argentus mask and started shaking him awake. ‘Who paid you to attack me?’ I demanded.
Eyes still unfocused, Laredo brought a fleshy thumb to his split lip and grinned through broken teeth. ‘Shh. . .’ he whispered before passing out again.
The arrogant gesture sent a chill through me. Hadn’t Vadris the drug-pedlar made that same sign when asked who’d recruited him to the Iron Orchids?
‘Well, now,’ Abastrini said, stumbling up to us. He was favouring his right leg and there was a rip in his trousers revealing a purpling bruise. He was smiling, though, as he held up one of the prized jubilants. ‘Who would’ve thought that Damelas-fucking-Chademantaigne would earn me gold tonight?’
I snatched the gleaming coin from his hand.
‘You dare try to steal from me, you—’
‘Abide a moment, Master Abastrini,’ I said, holding it up to the flickering light of the alley’s only lantern. The coin was indeed made of gold, but the relief on the surface wasn’t the recently minted image of Duke Monsegino, nor even of Duke Meillard. Instead, it showed a six-petalled flower. An orchid.
‘Those arseholes have their own currency now?’ Beretto asked.
‘I couldn’t care less who minted it,’ Abastrini said, grabbing it back. ‘Gold is gold. Besides’– he flipped it in his hand– ‘the way things are going, these may prove easier to spend than ducal jubilants before the year’s out.’
‘But . . .’
Beretto thumped me on the back. ‘A mystery for another day, brother.’ His voice rose to echo across the alley as he held up another of the confiscated coins. ‘I say we spend some of this orchid gold on the finest wine they’ll fetch us, and raise our cups to the valour of the mighty Knights of the Curtain!’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Shoville. The poor director looked like he’d taken more bruises than I had, but still he strode forward with fierce determination, raised a fist high in the air and shouted, ‘For the honour of the Belleza!’
Answering cheers rose up from the rest of the company. Shoville looked up to the rooftop. ‘You, girl!’ he shouted. To me, he asked, ‘What’s her name again?’
‘Zina, sir.’
‘What do you want?’ she asked, still holding a brick in her hand and looking rather tempted to drop it on the director.
Shoville jabbed a finger at the debris scattered everywhere. ‘Look at this mess! Broken bottles, spilled beer and the evidence of many a Lord of Laughter having pissed himself in our alley. Get down here and do your job.’
‘My job?’
