Shadow Magic (40 page)

“What’s it about?” he asked. “The play, I mean. Some stupid history? If there’s singing, I’m
not
going.”

I whirled around, trying my very best not to look as though I’d been expecting that. My face was the very picture of surprise. At least, I hoped it was. I was an appreciator of the theatre, but never an actor myself.

“Oh,
do
come and get dressed,” I implored him, not entirely answering his question. I had a tragic dearth of knowledge when it came to Ke-Han theatre. I only knew what I’d managed to squeeze out of Lord Temur, that there were familiar stories, changed and updated according to the tastes of the people but never truly
different
. There was something delightfully traditional about it, and wicked as well, since as I understood things, it was a clever way to get topical political commentary past the censors. My only concern was that I had failed to ask whether or not there would be singing.

He glared at me, then at the clothes I’d set out for him. They were neither red nor blue, but a delightfully stony
green
I’d discovered after I’d been fortunate enough to run across the palace tailor making his way from the Emperor’s chambers. Some explanation of my situation, as well as my dear friend Alcibiades’ predicament in terms of suitable attire, had been required, and after that it had only been a matter of slipping into the general’s rooms in order to purloin an outfit of his for the purpose of measurements.

“What’s that,” he asked, regarding the clothes as though they might well contain poisonous vipers.

“They’re your clothes for the evening, of course! You don’t expect to wander into the heart of the city dressed in that awful old coat, do you? We’d be turned away at the doors. Come, come.”

I took it upon myself to pick them up, pressing them into his arms
and shooing him from the room so that
I
could get dressed appropriately, myself.

“So what
is
it about?” Alcibiades bellowed through the wall between us. “I’ve had about enough of moon princesses, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh no, my dear, it’s the most scandalous thing,” I replied, delighted by the informal nature of speaking through the wall in this fashion. Like something out of a story. “It’s a
new
play. Said to be about the prince and his retainer! Though it’s not
said
, of course, since that would land everyone in a spot of hot water, but it seems quite evident to the people themselves. Or so I’ve heard. From my
sources
. By which of course I mean our delightful tailor! They’ve been popping up all over the place since the prince’s disappearance, so I suppose one can’t call it
new
, precisely, but it’s the latest thing in the theatre district and I mean to experience it.”

I heard a confused swish of fabric, and what was doubtless Alcibiades trying to sort out the layers of his outfit. I did hope he wouldn’t be
too
angry with me procuring something in the Ke-Han style for him, but truly, it wouldn’t kill him to blend in every now and again.

“Are you quite all right, my dear?”

Alcibiades grunted, and I heard a loud thump that sounded as though he might have kicked a footstool toward the adjoining door between our rooms.

“You stay on your side,” he said. “Anyway, how’d you get tickets for this thing, if it’s supposed to be so scandalous or whatever?”

“Oh, they’re advertising it quite enthusiastically in the streets,” I informed him. “It’s merely at the palace that we have to keep things so tightly under lock and key. It seems we’re worlds apart up here from the glorious goings-on down there.”

“Right,” he said, as though he didn’t believe me. “Well, I can keep my mouth shut, in any case. Seems to me that—hang on a minute.”

I went to the mirror to don my earrings. Pearl drops, this time, to complement the dusky grays and bright whites of my own outfit. I did hope that Alcibiades had been speaking only in jest when he’d claimed to be sick of moon princesses.

“Do you need help with the sash?”

“No,” came the indignant reply. “Just a minute!” Another thump,
perhaps moving the footstool from where it had fallen, and the door between our rooms slid open. Alcibiades lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “What I was going to say is that it seems to me if there’s something the Emperor doesn’t want us seeing, then it’s our job to go out and see it.”

“So it’s our duty to attend the theatre!” I turned once more, clapping my hands in delight. “And don’t you look
handsome.”

“Don’t I?” Alcibiades asked, sounding grumpy about even that. He’d done the knot in his sash all wrong, bless him, but it really was a good effort, and the color suited him marvelously. I felt a flush of pride in my own handiwork once again.

I’d train him yet.

“You do,” I assured him, extinguishing all the lanterns in my room. “I’d invite Josette in to agree with me, but I didn’t think to get the poor dear a ticket since she’s been so busy with Lord Temur these past few days, and it would be dreadfully rude not to invite her, don’t you think?”

“I guess so,” Alcibiades said, as though agreeing with me was something very difficult for him to do. “Wait, what was that about her spending time with Lord Temur? How
much
time?”

I slipped my arm through his as we left the room, taking that opportunity to readjust the sash before he noticed what I was doing. All in all, I felt quite accomplished. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, my dear. Josette’s Volstovic through and through. I believe she’s just absorbing some of the local culture, which I might add, it is high time
you
did. In fact, it is what we are about to do right now!”

“I think I’ve absorbed enough local culture,” Alcibiades said, rude as ever. At least he’d had enough sense to keep his voice down. That time.

I hadn’t been able to make the connections necessary for arranging a carriage into town. The only man we’d encountered with such power was Lord Temur, and though I felt sure he liked us as much as his upbringing permitted him to, I felt equally sure that Alcibiades and I would
not
be able to enter the city without at least some questioning. I wouldn’t have blamed him in the slightest for it, either, but by my thinking it was much easier just to bypass the entire difficulty. I had an excellent sense of direction, after all, and we’d traveled the route once before.

Besides, it was a warm evening. Perfect for walking.

It seemed that I was not the only one with that idea, since the streets were teeming with people young and old, men and women, finely dressed and shabby alike. Here they were all allowed to intermingle—ourselves included in that tally. I held firmly to Alcibiades’ arm, confident that with such a large and forbidding companion, I would not find myself the victim of pickpockets or their like.

“You sure you know where we’re going?” Alcibiades asked with an expression of mild concern, as though he believed he knew the directions better than I.

That was just like him.

“Yes,” I answered, doing my very best not to be exasperated with him. He was coming to the theatre, after all. Perhaps there was just so much room for change or surprise in Alcibiades, and he’d used up his quota all at once in agreeing to come with me. “Just follow along, my dear. I shall lead the way.”

The sun was just setting. Some of the street-side vendors seemed to take this as a sign to begin closing up shop, while others remained open, confident that the warm night would bring them yet more customers. It was true that the closer we drew to the theatre district, the more vendors I saw lining the walkways. Perhaps it was common to buy food to enjoy during a performance?

I was just about to ask Alcibiades if he would consider sharing some sweet dumplings with me when I noticed that his head was already lifted—like a dog detecting scents on the wind—and that he was already cutting his way through the crowd to absorb some local culture of his own. The fried dumplings. I ought to have remembered.

I stepped quickly to keep up with him, since it was either that or be dragged away through the crowd.

“I’ll have one of those as well, my dear,” I said, examining the stand to see if there were any distinctive markings, or whether I was going to have to use Alcibiades’ excellent nose whenever I wanted to track down the fried dumplings for myself.

He looked down at me, almost disappointed, as though he had wanted to keep the entire cart for himself.

“All right then,” he said, holding six fingers up to the vendor. “We’ll take six.”

“
Six?
” I repeated, aghast.

“You’ll hold these for me, won’t you?”

Then, without waiting for a response, Alcibiades took two sticks in each hand, and handed two to me.

I told the vendor thanks, and then hurried after my companion, lest he become caught up in his feeding frenzy and do something inexcusable like wipe his hands on his new clothes.

“It’s good food,” he said, around what must have been three dumplings in his mouth, judging by the empty stick.

I felt my mouth twitching in laughter before I could help it. Perhaps through dumplings, I would convince my friend to enjoy his stay there after all. At least, if the matter of Yana’s letters could be resolved.

Alcibiades had gone through two more sticks of the dumplings by the time we reached the theatre, so at least my hands were free to reach for the tickets. I’d made certain to leave enough time for us to find truly excellent seats, and once inside the theatre proper I took off like a shot, slipping away from Alcibiades so that I could examine the stage from every viewpoint, in order to decide where it would be best to sit.

Fortunately, whoever had designed the theatre had kept in mind the comfort of all the patrons; there was no one seat, no matter how far removed from the stage proper, that would leave its owner with a poor view of the play. There were also wooden walkways, suspended just above the general seating area, that bisected the audience—and which, I realized, must have allowed for the actors to come out into the audience; to join with them, however momentarily, as one. The theatre itself was not so large that sitting far removed from the stage would ruin our view; the question was merely whether or not we would be able to find two seats together amidst the crowd.

“Quit swooping around like a bat in the belfry and just sit,” Alcibiades said, crossing his arms like he was rethinking the entire night out.

“Eat your dumplings, my dear,” I told him. There was nothing to do when he got into these moods except pay him no mind whatsoever and go on with my business. That was precisely what I intended to do.

It seemed that eating his dumplings was a course of action that Alcibiades and I could both agree upon, since he fell silent after that, munching away like a contented monkey.

Truly, there were so many animals the general resembled that it was very difficult to characterize him.

I came to a rise just left of the center, set so that one could see
all
of the stage, and just the
tiniest
bit of the area backstage, where Lord Temur had told me the actors might congregate before they were ready—that is, if they chose to enter through normal means. The theatre in the Ke-Han style, Lord Temur had also told me, was in this particular incarnation enamored of unorthodox entrances: Puffs of smoke were not uncommon, nor was it out of the question to expect an actor to appear from the rafters above us, dropping directly onto the stage as though he had leapt from the heavens.

It was perfect.

“Here!” I called, settling delicately down against the cushions and sitting straight up with excitement. Alcibiades followed me to where I’d settled, looking somewhat mollified by fried food and the prospect of a large cushion to sit on.

“More comfortable, anyway,” he admitted, peering forward to try to catch a glimpse of the goings-on backstage. We both saw a flash of red at the same time, the flutter of silk and a pattern I could just barely make out: three golden diamonds, nesting one inside the other.

“Who do you suppose that was?” I asked, and gripped Alcibiades’ sleeve. “I do so
love
the theatre.”

“Hm,” Alcibiades replied, in a way that intimated he was just as excited about what came next as I was.

The shows began in the morning, much to my disappointment, and could last as much as the entire day. That was typical of plays in the capital, I’d learned, whereas the more provincial shows in the countryside resembled an evening of Volstovic theatre and took place only at night. Sadly, I knew that it would be quite impossible to trap Alcibiades into a full day of cultural activity, from dawn to well after dusk. His constitution simply wouldn’t allow the affront. And thus I was left to pick my battles very carefully; he would have been immensely impressed if he had known what a clever strategist I was becoming, just for him. The final act was what I was most curious about.

The audience was far more rowdy than the pristine palace would have led anyone to believe the Ke-Han people could be. But there, gathered in the theatre with us, were the merchants and umbrella makers, the artists and the farmers, even peddlers with an extra coin or two to spare for their entertainment. Whoops and calls emanated from the audience in the native, if slurred, Ke-Han tongue. From what I could
understand of the situation, they were all calling for the appearance of one man—an actor—no doubt the star of the stage that night.

“They are waiting for it to grow dark outside before they light the lanterns,” I whispered to my companion. Alcibiades grunted, and looked up to the ceiling, where the fat paper lamps hung in two straight lines, bisecting each other at the center.

The entire place was full of the scent of food and sweat and, my very favorite, anticipation. We were all as one, every member of the audience, leaning forward as we waited for the moment that the lanterns were lit: And then we were bathed in the golden glow of atmosphere, the perfect, supernatural experience just before smoke began to roll across the stage, and a howling voice began its narration.

“What’s he saying,” Alcibiades hissed, as the cheers and cries quieted and the audience fell hushed with momentary reverence. From what little I already knew of the Ke-Han theatre—Lord Temur had warned me against going due to all this vulgarity—that silence would not last.