So Silver Bright (32 page)

“It was certainly not my intention.” Varvara indicated a small pile of ash at the base of The Book’s pedestal. “Yet there is no excusing murder, I think.”

The tarnished-gold gleam of the Theater Manager’s pocket watch glinted in the half-light, cover open, glass face cracked down the middle. Bertie stooped down; though she did not touch it, she noted the watch had ceased
tick-tick-ticking
. Like the clepsydra, it had marked the minutes of something now finished.

“It was self-defense,” she told the fire-dancer. “At last you’ll be safe from his machinations. As will my parents.”

“As will you,” Waschbär noted.

Behind them, the fire curtain began its unhesitating ascent, revealing a group of sodden but triumphant Players. Nate stood in a massive puddle, shirt hanging in tatters, eyes bleak. The moment he spotted Bertie, he crossed the stage at a flat run.

“We did it, lass, th’ fire’s out.” Jubilant, he embraced her, only realizing when she pulled away that something was very wrong. “What’s happened?”

Bertie swallowed, too tired to recount all that had transpired, too heartsick to say the words aloud. Yet certain things must be explained. “Ariel’s gone.”

“Again?” For a moment, it seemed Nate couldn’t decide if he were furious the air elemental had abandoned Bertie during the crisis or thrilled to be rid of his rival. The dark horse of that particular race revealed itself as wry resignation, winning by a nose. “Don’t let it trouble ye, lass. I very much doubt it’s th’ last we’ve seen o’ him, despite what ye said.”

“What I said?” Bertie repeated, parrot to his pirate.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “That if he wished t’ abandon us a third time, not t’ return?”

The irony of it grated on already tender flesh. “I did say that, didn’t I? It seems I have the ‘spirit of deep prophecy,’ if not palmistry.” She turned her hands over, cursing the secretive scars upon her palms.

What would I have done differently if I’d known how all of it would end?

Nate nudged the thought aside, though he was careful not to crowd her. “Ye think him forever gone, then?”

“I am certain of it.”

I released him from his prison of flesh and blood.

She was spared saying it by the appearance of the fairies. Utterly bedraggled, Peaseblossom and the boys resembled nothing so much as four airborne filthy handkerchiefs. Behind them hurried Ophelia and the Scrimshander, their hands yet clasped, looking for all the world like the young lovers Bertie had long imagined.

“You disappeared!” the water-maiden accused before Peaseblossom could. Ophelia let go of the Scrimshander to embrace Bertie again. “We were so worried!”

Nearly suffocated by wet chiffon, Bertie had no time to make excuses before Mrs. Edith entered, skirts hiked up above her ankles to allow for her brisk pace, followed by Mr. Hastings coughing his way through the residual smoke.

“Oh, my dears!” The Wardrobe Mistress gathered both women into her arms. “Are you all right?”

“We’re—”
Fine,
Bertie started to say, except it was a lie.

“But you’re home! And safe, praise be!” Mrs. Edith backed up far enough to clasp Bertie’s chin, to take in her bedraggled costume, and her glance fell upon the broach pinned to the bodice. “You visited Her Gracious Majesty … well, well, well!” Each successive “well” rose in pitch and volume until they rang out across the stage; even the Scenic Manager took note of it.

“No doubt she didn’t wreak this sort of havoc in the Distant Castle, or her head would be on a pike instead of her shoulders!” In light of the recent destruction, Mr. Tibbs was conspicuously without his usual cigar, though he roared twice as loud to compensate for his loss, urging his crew and the Players to clear the worst of the mess off the stage.

“You were missed,” Mr. Hastings said, adjusting the spectacles over his suspiciously moist eyes.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, there’s more that must be said.” Bertie twisted away from her guardian to address the Players and the various Managers present. “You all acted valiantly, and the Théâtre Illuminata already heals itself, but we lost one of our own today. It is with regret that I must tell you that the Theater Manager was killed in the inferno.”

She saved her condemnations, forced herself to swallow the words that would wipe the shock and dismay from their faces. Half the Ladies’ Chorus already sobbed loudly into their handkerchiefs, while members of the Gentlemen’s Chorus loudly alternated between exclamations of “It can’t be true!” and “What a damn shame.”

“There is more indeed to say.” The Stage Manager joined her at the front of the crowd.

“Oh, crap,” said Mustardseed. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“The truth is never pretty,” the Stage Manager said. The usual roar of his voice dialed down to a near whisper, he asked, “Aren’t you going to tell them the rest?”

“I am not,” was Bertie’s soft reply. “No one would benefit from such a revelation.”

Nonplussed, the Stage Manager stared hard at her. “I heard what he said. He tried—”

“He tried,” she interrupted, “in his own misguided way, to preserve the theater. It’s better that he be remembered for his quiet dignity, for his tireless efforts.”

Goggle-eyed, the Stage Manager seemed to see for the first time the woman she was rather than the child she had been. “You would give him that charity?”

“I would give that charity to those who remain.” Clarity of thought came as though Bertie peered through Her Gracious Majesty’s golden binoculars, the truth brought magically into focus. “Such news would fracture the company and allow chaos to descend. Contrary to popular belief, I want what is best for this place.”

“There we are in decided agreement.” He produced a rusty half smile that surprised Bertie and terrified the fairies. “Most unsettling, this finding of common ground.”

“Indeed,” Bertie said, borrowing some of Her Gracious Majesty’s inflections. “This place requires a new Theater Manager, one who can temper what is good for the Théâtre Illuminata with what is best for the Players. Someone who cares as much for this place as its people.”

“Someone like you,” the Stage Manager said, his words startling the both of them.

Two could play this game, though. “Someone like
you,
” Bertie countered.

The Stage Manager blinked, mouth working without words for several seconds before he managed a sputtered “Me?”

“Him?!” Moth squeaked.

“Abandon ship!” Cobweb added.

About to tell them to shut up, Bertie suddenly found herself at a rare loss for words. A woman had joined them onstage, and she was in all ways Ophelia’s double, possessing the same sweet face, the same dreamy expression but without the signs of age or mother wisdom upon her face. This water-maiden took no notice of Bertie nor her former incarnation, drifting instead nearer a vaguely perturbed-looking Hamlet.

“One Player was too much altered to continue in her part,” the Stage Manager said. “I took the liberty of placing a call upon the board.” He glanced into the wings and beckoned to someone standing in the shadows. “And not just for Ophelia.”

A second newcomer stepped into the light, revealing herself as a slim girl of perhaps twelve, fey of face and silver-white of hair. There was no mistaking the character, even in this altered form.

Bertie could hardly speak the name without choking upon it. “Ariel.”

The Stage Manager nodded. “It seems the theater decided this time to cast the part with a girl child, though we know such creatures are hardly less willful than the Ariel who preceded her.” With an eye twitch at Bertie most likely meant to be a wink, he sent the girl to mingle with the rest of the Players.

“Speaking of girl children…” Bertie handed him
The Complete Works of the Stage
. “Intact once more, with no pages missing, you’ll find. All that happened outside these walls is now transcribed within, under the title
Following Her Stars
. You’ll have new Players turning up soon, I’m guessing. Best of luck with a certain blue-haired girl.”

He looked perturbed and bemused all at once. “And you? Where will you go?”

Bertie tried not to think about how she’d left the first time, with Ariel at her side, but the comparison was inevitable. “Roaming, I think. A journey to the other Twelve Outposts of Beyond. Nate’s coming with me, as are the fairies. They’ve only a few lines between them. I think understudies would be most glad for the opportunity.”

“Will you go as the Mistress of Revels again?” Mrs. Edith asked, drawn into the conversation by the possible need for a costume.

Mistress of Revels, Teller of Tales, Forest Queen, wordsmith, daughter … “I think I’ll go as myself. For a while anyway.”

“Yourself!” Mustardseed screwed his face into a monkey’s fist. “What kind of costuming does that require?”

Mrs. Edith’s mouth quirked with approval, though all she said was, “Follow me, my dear, and I’ll see you properly outfitted.”

“We’ll need provisions, too!” Moth clapped his little hands. “And lots of them!”

“To the Green Room for pies!” Mustardseed said, sounding his battle cry.

“Shouldn’t pies be Mr. Hastings’s department?”

“Not if I hit you in the face with one!” Cobweb said, rocketing to the Stage Door. “Then it’s makeup!” The other fairies pursued him, arguing whether the pancakes should be buttermilk or buckwheat, served with butter and syrup or chocolate hazelnut cream.

“For my own part, I am less interested in food than frolicking.” Ophelia glanced up at the Scrimshander, the beginning of a smile playing about her mouth. “Do you think yourself ready for another adventure?”

“I do.” He tightened his arm around her, as though not quite able to believe she wouldn’t once again be wrested from his grasp. “This time, neither success nor failure will be due to the machinations of others.”

Bertie reached out a hand to each of her parents and gave them a parting caress. “Overdue for a honeymoon?”

“Indeed,” the Scrimshander said. “Bertie, please think of the Aerie as your home. Seek it out when you’re ready for a rest from your travels, and don’t keep your mother and me waiting overly long.” Trying to sound stern and fatherly, he almost managed it.

It was so much easier to let them go, knowing they went together! “I will.”

The Scrimshander swept Ophelia into his arms alongside his daughter’s promise-made, carrying her like a newlywed bride down the stairs, up the aisle, and out the Exit door.

“What about you?” Bertie turned to Waschbär. “You’ve seen this thing through to the end. Wither wilt thou go?”

The sneak-thief scratched the ferrets under their chins and smiled. “I’m with you. You’ll need a navigator and a roustabout, no matter what trade you undertake.”

Varvara had already gone to join the other dancers in the Ladies’ Chorus; though she’d almost destroyed it, the fire-dancer recognized the theater as her home, and Bertie couldn’t gainsay such a decision.

I did manage to set the fire curtain on fire myself, once.

The Stage Manager lifted a hand to Bertie as he issued a quiet command into his headset. The Players disappeared during the scene change, and then she and Nate stood where it had all started, amid the blue-green lighting and pearl strands of
The Little Mermaid
set.

“Are ye sure ye want t’ leave again?”

Surrounded by coral and tap-dancing starfish, Bertie slowly pivoted on her heel. The journey had taken them to the sea and back, to the Distant Castle of the Queen, and through countless looking glasses, but Nate had weathered it all, his presence as steadfast as his gaze, the scar upon his hand proof that he forever belonged to her.

“I couldn’t stay,” she finally admitted, “not surrounded as I would be by memories of things that can’t be changed.”

He coughed lightly and gestured to her head. “Will ye want t’ dye yer hair before we leave?”

“I think I’ll wear it this way for a while, in memory of someone departed.” She slanted a look at him through her eyelashes. “Will that bother you?”

“Nay, lass, I’ve more important things t’ consider.”

“Such as?”

“How best t’ acquaint myself wi’ th’ person ye are now, at th’ end of one grand adventure an’ th’ start o’ another.” Nate hugged her, just long enough so she could feel his heart beat, then started to let go.

Bertie didn’t let him pull away, not wanting or needing more space between them than the linen of his shirt. “Promise me something?”

“Anythin’.”

Nothing she liked better than a challenge. “Promise me pie.”

Nate’s mouth twitched. “As much as ye can eat an’ yer pockets can hold.”

“Promise me you won’t let Mrs. Edith put me in a corset again.”

Eyes widening a bit at the idea, he nodded anyway. “Though there’s no chance o’ hemmin’ ye in, even wi’ fabric an’ cords, I’ll give ye my word on that as well.”

Bertie took the deepest of breaths before issuing the last and most important of the three demands. “Promise you’ll stay with me as long as you want to, but not a moment longer.”

His hand slid into hers, and he raised them as one to his heart. “Ah, now, lass, there ye’ve done yerself a mischief.”

“I have?” Her pulse thudded twice in quick succession.

“Aye. Now yer stuck wi’ me forever, an’ perhaps even a bit longer than that.” Nate made her a gallant bow. “‘Beyond all date, even t’ eternity.’”

“Quote all the Shakespeare you like at me,” Bertie countered as she led him toward the Wardrobe Department in search of appropriate adventuring attire. “I’ve words enough when the Bard’s run out.”

CURTAIN

Acknowledgments

The Management of the Thêâtre Illuminata would like to extend roses, glitter, and thanks to the following people:

First and foremost, the readers, for accompanying Beatrice Shakespeare Smith & Company on their grand adventure. Your enthusiasm and applause are greatly appreciated, and the performers reserve their deepest of bows and widest of smiles for you … except the fairies, who pelt you with sprinkles and might also waggle their naked bums in your general direction.