Page 60 of Play of Shadows
Why does the story of a long-dead nobleman matter so much?What in Corbier’s tale is so threatening to those in power?
I whirled on the crowd behind me. ‘Who did this?’ I demanded.
Some backed away further, a few glared at me defiantly, but no one answered.
‘One of you cowards must have seen them hanging the body here,’ I yelled, knowing I was making a spectacle of myself, unwilling to stop. ‘Come on!’ I bellowed, taking another step towards them, daring anyone to make a move against me. ‘Do I have to beat it out of you? Is that the only way to make you care about anything other than your own damned—’
A woman’s hand tugged on my arm. ‘Come on, Saint Damelaswho-shouts-at-crowds. Time to go.’
I recognised the unmistakeable mockery in that melodious voice. ‘Leave me alone, Rhyleis.’ I shrugged off the Bardatti. ‘I’d have thought you’d be pleased. I’m finally going to do what my grandmother would have done. I’m going to beat the living Hells out of these people until someone tells me who butchered Roslyn!’
‘Right now it’syourlife I’m concerned with, you idiot.’ She grabbed my hand and tried to open the stage door behind us, but when she found it was locked, she started hauling me towards the main entrance. ‘Whoever did this wants to see the fear in your eyes,’ she explained. ‘Standing in a crowded alley and challenging half of Jereste to a duel is decidedly the wrong message.’
‘Maybe it’s exactly therightmess—’
She stopped just long enough to slap the back of my head. ‘Do you not get it?You’rethe one they want, Damelas, and when they couldn’t get to you, they killed the actress instead. You think they won’t murder someone else you care about next? Maybe that big oaf who brought you to the tavern last night?’
Saint Ebron-who-steals-breath–if they took Beretto. . .
Dumbly, I followed Rhyleis as she pushed through theonlookers crowding the alley. A few people tried to bar our way, pointing at me and making noises aboutanswers being required. Rhyleis stared down some; others she hit with her guitar, apparently unconcerned about the instrument I had assumed would be sacred to a Troubadour. Once the guitar shattered, she used the sharp broken end of the neck to threaten the mob until they parted for us.
‘You broke your guitar,’ I observed impassively. My rage had faded, leaving me in a fog of confusion and guilt. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw the hideous smile painted on Roslyn’s face.
‘You’ll buy me a nicer one,’ Rhyleis replied. She sounded more irritated than frightened.
We were moving so slowly that it felt as if days had passed before we finally reached the front entrance, which was presently being guarded by several big men and women brandishing clubs. They stood beneath the Operato Belleza’s great arch above the main doors, barring anyone from trying to get in.
‘Looks like your director’s hired a few bravos to guard the Belleza in case someone else decides to come in search of players to string up from lantern-posts,’ Rhyleis observed.
‘That’s him,’ one of the men called out, pointing at me, and his companions moved to surround us, clubs at the ready. Only then did it occur to me that someone could just as easily have hired the bully-boys to beat me– and anyone with me– to death.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Rhyleis asked. She was staring at my arm across her chest.
‘Um. . . protecting you?’
She tilted her head. ‘Normally I’d ask why on earth you would imagine yourself qualified to defend me, instead of the other way around, but right now I’m more curious about whom you intend to protect me from.’
I looked down at my arm, embarrassed. Such pretentiousgestures were the province of the old courtly romances, not actors who flee from honour duels.
Was that you, Corbier? Is this your idea of chivalry, you pompous bastard?
No reply was forthcoming, but the guards were now ushering the two of us inside the theatre. Shoville caught sight of us, and shouting, ‘Thank the saints!’ he strode over to me and began patting at my arms and torso as if searching for hidden weapons. ‘You’re alive,’ he said, ‘and you look unhurt.’
‘Unhurt?’
‘The others are in the rehearsal hall. . .’ He finally noticed Rhyleis. Looking her up and down, he asked, ‘Who is this?’
‘Your new guitarist and orchestra leader,’ she replied, holding up the broken neck of her instrument as if that were proof of her new position.
‘We don’t need a guitar-player and our musicians are perfectly capable of sorting themselves out, thank you very mu—’
‘Your musicians are hacks,’ Rhyleis said, talking over him. ‘I’ve known deaf-mutes who could better carry a tune and keep a stricter rhythm. Besides, you’re going to need my skills tonight if you hope to keep the audience from setting the theatre on fire.’
‘She’s a Bardatti, sir,’ I explained. ‘You can tell by the confusion and irritation you’re feeling right now.’
Shoville stared at me for a second, then searched me a second time for signs of wounds. ‘Whatever. I don’t have time for this right now. Just get to rehearsal so we can start—’
‘Rehearsal?’Has the man completely lost his wits?‘Lord Director, did you fail to notice one of your actors hanging from a lantern-post in the alley?’
