Page 3 of Play of Shadows

Without the beard, he would have looked closer to my own age of twenty-five than I’d first thought. The two of us must have looked ridiculous side by side like that: a great red bear looming over a pale, shivering hare.

Beretto folded his arms across his broad chest, observing the proceedings with calm curiosity. ‘Fled a duel, did you?’ he asked me.

‘I prefer to think of it as engaging with the enemy honourably but from a safe distance.’

‘How’s that working out so far?’

‘I think we’re both about to find out.’

I limped to one of the weapons racks near the wall, grabbed a longsword and turned to brandish it at the bravos advancing on me. ‘Stay back,’ I warned them. ‘I’ll see the blood of all twelve of you consecrate the floors of this hallowed hall ere the first lays a hand on me.’

The leader chuckled when he saw the weapon I was brandishing and patted his thick leather fencing vest. ‘Which should we fear more, Rabbit? The fencing skills of a coward who runs from a lawful duel, or the wooden toy he now waves in my face?’

It was only then that I noticed the distressingly light weight of the sword– due no doubt to the fact that theblade was painted wood rather than proper steel. Usually the operatos pride themselves on having authentic weapons for their performances. Apparently business wasn’t booming at the Belleza.

I tossed the wooden prop aside and offered up my best approximation of a victorious smirk.

Well, Grandmother, Grandfather, I thought,now we’ll find out if all those acting lessons you paid for were worth the money.

I took a deep breath and declared, ‘What need would I have of a blade, you ill-bred dogs, when we all know performers in Jereste’s operatosare exempt from honour duels.’

My unexpected show of bravado was less convincing than I’d hoped. Their leader looked torn between amusement and disbelief. ‘What–you?Anactor?’

Now that hurts.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. I had, in fact, attended not one butthreeof the city’s finest dramatic academies. That I’d been tossed out of all three of them was an entirely different matter.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I asked, trying unsuccessfully to make my question rhetorical. I gestured to the motley assortment of actors now discreetly huddled against the back wall of the rehearsal hall. ‘Engaged by this fabled company of players, the legendary—’

Oh Hells.

I looked over at the big, red-haired man desperately.

‘Knights of the Curtain,’ he replied with a hint of a smile.

‘The Knights of the Curtain!’ I managed to repeat without irony. ‘Among these paladins of the stage am I to perform the sacred role of the herald, as all here can attest.’ I wiggled my fingers in a dismissive wave at my pursuers. ‘So you see, I can’t possibly fight some petty honour duel when my talents are needed here.’

The leader of the Iron Orchids cast a dubious glance at the cowering company of actors. ‘And you’d all swear to this?’

If only he’d asked that question with ateensybit more disdain in his voice! My gambit relied entirely on the well-founded hatred actors felt for the bravos of this city, who looked down on them as nothing more than pampered, overprivileged prostitutes.

His question elicited nothing but deathly silence.

More honour among thieves than actors, I thought bitterly. Although, to be fair, I suppose barging in on their rehearsal and lying about being a member of their company wasn’t the strongest foundation on which to expect instant and steadfast camaraderie.

One of the narrow doors at the far end of the rehearsal hall swung open to reveal a man of middle years with sallow skin and thinning grey hair. His pronounced pot belly was at odds with his skinny, stoop-shouldered frame. But in his eyes– ah, inhis eyes– there lay a lion waiting to pounce!

Shoving his way through the milling players, he bellowed, ‘In the name of Saint Anlas-who-remembers-the-world,whatis going on in my theatre? I leave you for all of ten minutes and instead of rehearsing, here I find you dawdling about with—’

He arched an eyebrow as he finally took note of the black-shirted bravos infesting his hall. Without a trace of fear, he strode up to their leader, ignoring the bared blades pointed in his direction.

‘No admission without a ticket,’ he announced, ‘and weapons must be left in the cloakroom. The show isn’t until tomorrow night, so until then, get your arses out of my theatre.’

Definitely the director, I thought.

The leader of the bravos looked oddly discomfited by the man’s officious tone. ‘We, sir, are lawfully deputised. . . um. . . deputies.’ His fingers reached up to brush the iron flower broochpinned to the collar of his leather vest. ‘We’ve come to retrieve this fugitive from justice, Damelas Chademantaigne, who must face. . . um. . . justice in—’

The director barely spared a glance at me. ‘If what you’re so ineptly trying to convey is that you’ve brought acriminalinto my theatre, then you’d best have him out of here before I bring suit against your duelling court for wasting my company’s valuable and much-needed’– he turned to glare at his players– ‘rehearsaltime.’

---