The Blue Flames, page 28
“Is that a theatre? Aw, I ain’t been to a theatre since my granddad took me!”
She smiled. “I thought you’d like it. We’ve got a private box awaiting us inside.”
As with everything else in Ciras, the theatre was very stately and grand. They were led up a flight of stairs and down a narrow hall to a box seat close to the stage. The manager himself—who arrived slightly out of breath as though he’d been running—came to welcome the Lady Seherene and her guest, then showed them a bell pull they could use to call for anything they might wish for during their visit. Ink hurried to the front of the balcony and looked down. Every last seat was full, and each patron dressed in their finest. He jerked back in sudden alarm, remembering how the Atturias servants had reacted upon seeing him. He wasn’t eager for any more attention of that kind.
“Can they see us up here?”
“No,” Seherene said as she took her seat. “There’s a shroud enchantment covering each box for added privacy.”
Ink took the seat beside her and glanced around at the other boxes. They seemed to be empty, but judging by the fact that the floor seats were full, it was reasonable to assume they were all occupied as well.
A few minutes later, a tall, thin man with an elaborately-styled mustache appeared on stage to welcome the audience and introduce the show. His air of bravado and exaggerated manner of speaking immediately reminded Ink of Chester. The man announced the variety of acts to be performed and winked at the mention of a ‘special treat’ that was sure to bring the audience to their feet at the show’s closing. When he bowed low to a polite chorus of applause and whirled off the stage, Ink found himself shaking his head in remorse.
Hang it all, Chester, he thought. Where’d you run off to, anyway?
Music began to play as the curtain rose on a woman holding a violin. With a broad smile, she played a lively tune while dancing about the stage. Her glittering dress changed color with the slightest movement and cast sparkling lights across the theatre walls. The orchestra in the pit joined in, punctuating the song with drumbeats and trills on a tin whistle. Soon, the woman’s graceful leaps took her floating into the air before setting back down again, higher and higher each time. The audience applauded, in full appreciation of the immense focus required to fiddle, dance, and cast enchantments all at once.
As it turned out, most of the acts who performed over the next hour used some kind of enchantment to their advantage. There was a musician who played on a board lined with metal strings using two thin mallets. When the song required several strings to be played at the same time, he used an enchantment to set them vibrating before continuing on with the mallets. The endless looping effect made it sound as though a dozen musicians had joined in. Another act featured a juggler who threw glowing baubles into the air. After a time, he cast a shroud enchantment above his head, and the orbs began returning to him in completely different shapes and colors. By the end, he was juggling a host of porcelain teacups. Ink loved every moment and whistled loudly over the applause from the Entrian crowd below. Some of them appeared shocked by the noise, but it made Seherene laugh, and that was cause enough to keep doing it.
After a short intermission, a second row of curtains rose, adding room for two dozen dancers. They formed parallel lines facing one another, then began a very graceful dance—every step measured and deliberate, every movement perfectly timed until the two lines were crossing and intertwining in intricate patterns.
A few minutes later, another dancer appeared from out of the wings and stood on the edge of the stage. He was not dressed nearly so fine and acted nervous as he observed them. A whimsical melody played by one of the orchestra’s violins indicated that his presence was meant to be comedic. When he had gathered his courage, he approached the others and attempted to join the dance. But it was not to be. At every turn, they blocked and diverted him, once even twirling him out of the line. He would trip—gracefully, of course—and slide along the floor in mock embarrassment as he was kicked at or danced around. The crowd laughed at the poor man’s antics. Only one of the dancers, a young woman, took pity on him. She broke from the line and helped him up from the floor. He bowed to her in thanks. She curtseyed.
Enraptured, they began to dance apart from the others, accompanied by a beautiful strain of music. By the end, the woman had pulled the man into the line with a smile and wordlessly encouraged the others to accept him. But before the group could resume their dance, an old man in a white wig tromped comically onto the stage. A priestess followed close behind. When they reached the couple in the center, the old man held out a large coin purse in front of the young man and shook its contents to the rattle of a tambourine. With a foolish grin, the man fell out of the line, snatched up the purse, and danced off stage with it. The woman began to run after him but was headed off by the priestess, who escorted her in the opposite direction, sternly wagging her finger. The old man faced the audience, wiped his brow with a handkerchief, then bid the orchestra to continue playing. The audience laughed at his exaggerated sense of relief.
There was a bit more dancing until it was over, at which point the audience offered their most spirited applause yet. Ink couldn’t bring himself to whistle again. As the curtains descended, he turned to Seherene with a quizzical frown.
“I’m not sure I got that one. Were they saying the bloke was too poor to join the rest?”
“Not exactly,” she answered, and he saw right away that she was decidedly displeased by the performance. “The act depicted a provision of the Marriage Law which forbids any union between an Entrian and a Cassrian.”
Ink’s confusion turned to disappointment, though he hardly knew why. “Blimey. I never knew there was any sort of law like that. Seems kind of a shame.”
“I never approved of it, either. It’s just one more thing that keeps us divided.”
The tall man took the stage again and beamed a toothy grin as he grasped the lapels of his tailcoat. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have been a perfectly splendid audience! We thank you heartily for your support and good humor. God knows there’s nothing better to cheer us in these frozen days like the wonderful sound of applause!”
He raised his hands with a wink, urging another round of cheers, which the crowd obligingly gave him. Ink whistled through his fingers again.
“But now!” the man called out over the noise. “For the grand finale! I promised you a special treat at the end of our time together, and now the moment has come. My friends! We now present, for your considerable pleasure, a small preview of the biggest, most-talked about, most spectacular show to grace this country in almost a decade. Please join me in welcoming back to our great city . . . the illustrious Plumsley sisters!”
A collective gasp went up from the crowd. As the announcer disappeared into the wings, the lights dimmed, save for a small circle in center stage. Two shadows moved out from behind the left curtain. The audience rose to their feet with deafening applause and adoring shouts of approval. Ink himself couldn’t move a muscle, owing to the cold horror seizing his heart.
Seherene touched his arm. “Ink, we can leave if you want. I didn’t know they’d be here. We don’t have to stay.”
“No,” he managed to squeak out in reply. “I want to see them.”
The sisters moved into the spotlight. They wore the most splendid dresses, the brightest jewels around their necks, and a pair of long white gloves which reached past their elbows. The scenery changed to portray a sun setting over a dark sea. The waves appeared to move across the backdrop, and the orange light of dusk cast the stage in an unearthly glow. The Plumsleys stood straight and tall, but slightly with their backs to one another so that they faced the audience almost over their shoulders. Their painted faces were more solemn than Ink had ever seen them—even when Josephina lay pale in the throes of a serious illness. The orchestra began to play again. The notes were slow and stirring, building into a sad swell of music before diminishing to a hush. The audience watched in quiet reverence.
And then came the perfect, heartbreaking harmonies. Ink knew the song at once. It was a tune without words but every note carried a world of boundless grief and sorrow. He’d last heard it during the Mourning Procession which had marched through Burgess Valley. A herald had proclaimed the horrors of the Battle of Damiras, listed the crimes of the wicked Colonists, and urged every soul never to forget what had happened there. Even without such a sermon, the music proved just as effective. The crowd began to stir, wiping at their eyes, sniffing into handkerchiefs, and finally rising to their feet. A minute later, every man, woman, and child was standing with their hands over their hearts out of respect for their dead, including Seherene.
Still, Ink could not bring himself to move. How on earth could the Plumsleys be here? The last time he’d seen them, they’d been hobbling along a treacherous lane in Ban-Geren with a host of Colonist-hunters waiting for Seherene’s word to pursue them. Now they were on stage singing an Entrian mourning song? Ink put the back of his hand to his mouth. Had they been persuaded to turn?
Gradually, the orchestra fell silent, leaving the ladies to end the song as they’d begun it. When the last note had been sung, a long moment of haunting silence followed. The sisters stood still, their eyes bent to the stage floor. Then, like the roar of a great tide, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The Plumsleys did not smile. They didn’t curtsey or bow their heads. In unison, they held their hands over their hearts, turned, and quietly walked off stage together.
The applause went on for another five minutes, accompanied by countless calls for encores. The thin man re-appeared on stage, clapping his own hands and smiling at the wings where the sisters had made their exit.
“Astonishing!” he cried. “Weren’t they incredible, ladies and gentlemen?”
The noise of applause revived, even louder than before.
“Thank you, ladies! Such a magnificent gift!” He wiped a tear away and stepped towards the front of the stage. “As for our wonderful audience, be sure to reserve your tickets for their upcoming world tour! They’ll go quickly! And that was only a taste of the things they have in store for you! Again, thank you so much for coming to see us this afternoon. Let’s give the ladies a bit more love before we say goodbye, shall we?”
The sisters appeared from the wings again. They blew kisses to the audience and held their hands to their hearts once more. But there was no joy in their faces, no pleasure in the adulation. Something was definitely wrong. The audience, however, did not suspect a thing, but continued applauding even as the Plumsleys made their second exit behind the curtain. Seherene sat down again and looked at Ink.
“Are you all right?”
He hardly knew how to answer. So he said nothing at all. She lifted her hand, releasing a scattering of violet-colored light. Ink guessed it was a silencing enchantment as the box went suddenly quiet, blocking the noise of the audience below. The Entress bowed her head with a look of contemplation. He knew she was choosing her next words very carefully.
“We were . . . encouraged . . . to delay the legal proceedings against them. We thought they might be persuaded to help us in our cause and bring hope to the people by use of their gifts. And there was more value and logic in granting them mercy than exposing their crimes to a world of adoring fans who might never believe the truth. But I swear to you, Ink . . . I did not know they would be performing here.”
Someone knocked at the door leading out to the narrow hall. Seherene rose from her seat again and cast a worried glance at Ink before answering.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a man in very fine suit appeared on the threshold. He stood straight and tall, but his legs had been fitted with metal braces that ran all the way up to his thighs. He walked stiffly forward, grasping a familiar silver-embossed cane.
“Mr. Coram!” she cried. “What an unexpected pleasure!”
He smiled. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady. Forgive my intrusion, but I saw you enter the theatre before the performance and couldn’t miss the chance to speak with you again.”
He extended his hand to her. She took it with a worried glance at his legs.
“It’s no intrusion at all. Are you walking so soon already? We heard it might be another month before you would even have the strength to stand.”
“I’m afraid I was too impatient to be bound by such a limitation. Simply couldn’t bear the sick bed a moment longer, so I set to focusing all my energy on making myself useful again.” He tapped his cane against one of the braces. “These should be off by the spring.”
As he spoke, Ink rose and backed against the low balcony wall. The movement was enough to catch Coram’s eye, and the young man’s amiable expression fell into a scowl.
“Mr. Revore?” he said in a voice edged with steel. “How is it that I come to greet an angel and find a little devil in her company?”
“He is my guest, Mr. Coram.”
He glanced back at the Entress in surprise. “Your guest? So he has seen fit to let you rescue him, then? What benevolence.” He staggered a few steps towards Ink. “You’ve made things very difficult for me, you know. That stunt you pulled at Mastmarner cost me a great deal, including the chance to bring in another half-dozen Colonists. You may as well have helped Isaac Caradoc break these bones.”
“Trust me,” Ink replied, setting his jaw. “I’d have broken a lot more than those little weasel legs if it’d been up to me.”
“Gentlemen,” Seherene said. “There is no need for this. Mr. Coram, I have been informed of his actions at Mastmarner. We don’t have to agree on motives, but we must try to remember that we are all fighting on the same side.”
Coram and Ink continued to stare one another down. The Entress folded her arms.
“Ink, would you please excuse us? You can wait in the lobby. I’ll be along soon.”
Ink narrowed his eyes at the deputy commissioner a final time before moving for the door. Excuse them? Sure. No problem. She could have as much time with him as she wanted. He had more important people to see anyway. Far more important.
Chapter 29
Cages
As soon as Ink was gone, Seherene gestured to one of the seats. Coram obliged her, though not without some difficulty owing to his rigid leg braces. The Entress remained standing.
“Mr. Revore and I have an agreement,” she said. “He helps me locate the Colonists, a few at a time, and I conduct a search for his parents.”
Coram scoffed. “An orphan’s parents? I think it can be no great mystery where they might be found.”
“He does not believe they are dead, and indeed I have found no record of it. No graves, no headstones or death certificates—”
“That isn’t saying much.”
“No. But it does mean I must continue to try. And while I do, he holds up his end of the bargain.”
The young man arched an eyebrow. “You’re saying he had something to do with Abner Hart’s death? And Rivalia’s capture?”
Seherene looked out over the balcony. The crowd had emptied the theatre. Only a few attendants remained, cleaning the stage and inspecting the seating area for the next show.
“He will not say as much. And perhaps he doesn’t truly know how much his actions have influenced those events. But that does not make our alliance any less valuable. Are you in Ciras for the trial?”
Coram nodded. “Commissioner Marlas wanted a representative from the Assembly to show our support. Of course I jumped at the chance. It was also he who told me about the Plumsley sisters’ performance here. They were extraordinary, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were.” She wasn’t sure whether or not Marlas had told him about the Plumsleys’ secret identities, since he had been so adamant about keeping that knowledge limited to a very small group. At any rate, she wasn’t about to broach the subject now. She sat on the low balcony wall across from him. “We owe the commissioner a great debt of gratitude for visiting the Kurna Mountains when he did.”
“He was certainly at the right place at the right time,” Coram replied. “And yet . . . his stubbornness continues to be a thorn in my side. He still refuses to see any merit in pursuing the matter of the Spektors. Refuses to believe they had anything to do with Bash’s death or the talisman on Isaac’s hand. Fortunately, he doesn’t keep me on such a tight leash as to prevent me from looking into it on my own.” He rested both hands atop the ornate handle of his cane. “Do you remember when Rivalia appeared in the West Country a few years ago, preaching in temples and town squares that the Colonists were innocent?”
“I do.”
“She also claimed they had acted on an ominous warning from some woman on Damiras who called herself an oracle. Everyone laughed at her for it—when they weren’t trying to arrest her—including the Entrians, who were no strangers to things such as oracles and prophecies even a few hundred years ago.”
Seherene bowed her head for a moment. “That is true. But we know Rivalia’s claim was false. We searched the island after the Battle most thoroughly. There was no living soul to be found.”
“Perhaps not at the time. But I’m determined to give it a look myself. After the trial, I sail for Damiras with an expert in supernatural matters. This oracle woman may be quite deeply hidden, trying to evade anyone looking for her. But I am confident we can give her reason enough to let herself be found.”
“I pray you succeed where we have failed. I myself have determined to track down the location of the Spektor Crypt as soon as the trial is over.”
Coram’s eyes lit up. “I have heard something of this Crypt. The finding of it—at least by a Keyholder—is dreadfully dangerous, is it not? Giving one power to control the Spektors?”
“So it is said. Which is why I mean to find it before he does. We cannot endure another massacre, much less one that puts every soul in peril. Even if the Crypt lies in the depths of Hell, there must I go.”
