by Robin Owens
The Thespian Club was on a tree-lined street that would have shade all day, the building was old, well-maintained red brick. As soon as she passed through the double smoky-glass doors, the atmosphere of theater wrapped around her. Not quite the same as a real theater, with the addition of outsiders—audience—but all the drama and unique emanations of actors.
Hand in hand they walked through a comfortably shabby lounge to a back room. There was an unexpectedly elegant dining room, complete with white tablecloths and softleaves and fancy silverware settings . . . for actors to practice with, she understood from an idle thought of Raz’s. Both for actors who came from less privileged backgrounds as well as for certain obscure plays.
The carpet was a faded red with a muted design in other colors that had once been bright.
Johns scowled when he saw her; he’d obviously expected Raz to come alone. But he rose when they approached the round table and held a chair for her. “Pleased to meet you again, GrandLady D’Elecampane.”
“Thanks.” Del sat. “Call me Del.”
“I’m famished,” Raz said, smiling at both of them as he sat. He looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have the scrambled eggs with porcine strips and a flat muffin.” He took Del’s hand, twined fingers with hers, and set their hands on the table for all to see, including Johns. “Order something you can’t get on the trail.” He grinned. “Something lavish, since it’s Johns’ treat.”
It only took a glance at the menu. “I’ll have the poached eggs in sauce on a flat muffin with spinach and porcine slices.”
“Raz—” Johns began, glanced at the waiter, and said, “My usual.”
After the waiter strode away, without even glancing at Johns, Raz said, “One look at Del shows anyone that she can be trusted implicitly. She won’t say a word about any secrets.”
There was a note in his voice that snagged her. She frowned at him. “What secrets do you think I’m keeping that you’re not happy about?”
“And she’s very direct, doesn’t play games.” Raz spoke to Johns, but stared at her. “Secrets with T’Blackthorn.”
Del blinked. “I don’t have any secrets with Straif.”
“It seemed to me that you do. I pick up nuances, Del.”
She straightened her spine, sat stiffly. “Straif’s son has been shown my HouseHeart since my Heir is too young to access it. I only have a house, not a Residence, but the HeartStones need tending.”
Johns’ eyes widened; he leaned back in his chair, as if not wanting any part of a lovers’ disagreement.
Raz’s turn to flush. He inclined his head, then raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them. A stream of understanding and comfort came from him, an apology, and she relaxed. He turned to Johns. “And Del is one of the most trustworthy people I know.” His brows rose. “In fact, I trust her more than I do you.” He flashed a grin. “Because she and I won’t ever be competing for a part.”
Del sniffed, shuddered. “You couldn’t get me on stage.” She nodded to Johns. “You’re an excellent actor, too.”
Johns’ expression was torn between pride and wariness. He shook his head, lifted his hands. “All right, all right.”
They were served their food and ate a few minutes before Johns leaned over and said, “Amberose definitely has written a new play and was circulating it, looking for interest. Lily Fescue was approached, but when she lost some pages in that theft you had at your theater, Amberose’s agent was none too pleased and revoked Lily’s offer.”
He caught Raz’s gaze and the two men stared at each other. Johns chewed and swallowed before saying, “There are two male leads. Wide-ranging emotion, good character arcs.”
Raz’s pulse spiked under Del’s fingers.
Johns forked a couple of mouthfuls of eggs into his mouth before saying, “I’ve seen the script, Raz. The parts could’ve been written for us.” He grinned. “Maybe they were, got the feeling Amberose is up to date on what’s happening in the theater. A part for your villain, Rieng Galangal, too, one where he starts out evil and is redeemed. He’ll love that. This could really make us, shoot us to the top. We’d be good with the material.”
“Yes. We’d play off each other well. Which is what I will tell Amberose’s agent if he approaches me.”
Sighing, Johns said, “Me, too. But if there’d been only one part . . .”
“Understood,” Raz said. He glanced around the room. Johns narrowed his eyes and slid them to both sides, checking out the other diners.
Del shrugged. “No one’s paying attention to our conversation.”
Raz sipped his caff and said, “Did Lily say which actresses Amberose sent the script to?”
“Nah,” Johns said. He poured another cup of caff and stirred sweet into it. “And I asked.” He raised an eyebrow. “Lily likes me better than you. I’ve been smoother with her.”
“She got a script before you or I did,” Raz said. “Amberose must want her more.” He stabbed at a porcine strip and crunched.
Johns shook his head. “Lily’s a good actor but . . .”
“Yes, negative. I feel that, too. I’d much rather have Trillia and she’d jump at the chance,” Raz said. “Did you wring any more information from Lily? Like who might produce? What Family? What theater?”
“No. But I think more than one is interested. Amberose’s plays always sell very well. She’s made actors’ careers before.”
“Good job, Johns.”
A corner of Johns’ mouth quirked. “Thanks.”
“What of the story?” Del asked.
Raz chuckled and squeezed her hand, then turned back to his food. “Story’s not as important as the character for us.”
Del thought of Amberose and frowned. “Is it dark and grim? Amberose likes dark and grim, and that’s not what I like to watch, whether she sells out or not.” Especially when she was on the road, but she’d decided to minimize references to that for a while.
Johns was shaking his head. “Not dark and grim. The story has it all: mystery, twists, humor, romance.” He gestured with a large hand. “I’m not good with words, but Amberose is. I was dazzled.” He winked at Del. “The roughly handsome big and tough guy gets the girl.” He turned to Raz. “But there is hope for the slender, elegant, smooth guy.”
“I’m not slender,” Raz said.
“Relatively slender,” Johns said.
“Leanly muscular,” Del said, and Raz grinned wickedly at her, dipped his head. “Thank you.”
Pushing away his plate, Johns sighed. “Problem is, I saw Lily’s copy before she gave it back, and the whole deal seems to have gone under since then.” Again he waved a hand. “Various rumors about that.”
“It’s the artistic control thing,” Raz murmured. “People might be having second thoughts.”
Johns nodded. “Understand that. T’Spindle wouldn’t front the gilt for it if the whole thing wasn’t in his hands; nobody else I can think of, either. Wouldn’t let Amberose pick the actors, even if we are perfect for it.”
Raz grimaced. “Stalemate.”
Nineteen
Johns shook his head. “I wouldn’t let a playwright have full control if I were a producer. Not that I want to direct, like Raz here.”
Del glanced at Raz. “You want to direct?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Maybe someday, but right now I want the acting and the applause.”
Del thought of the trail. Clapping echoed lonely in her mind.
She remained silent and neither man seemed to notice, both talking about their craft. It was interesting to hear them dissect things in plays that she’d never noticed and she guiltily liked the occasional gossip about other actors that she knew.
For a moment she thought how it might be if she spoke with other cartographers, but her old master, the one who’d trained her, was irascible and wouldn’t appreciate her dropping in on him when he could no longer be in the field. She’d learned that lesson a decade past.
There weren’t that many carto
graphers around that she knew of, not that she professionally respected, and the . . . two . . . she thought of as near her equal were in the field.
“Del and I should go see more of the plays together, don’t you think so, Del?” Raz said.
She yanked her attention back to the conversation. “I’ve seen all of them already, but it would be interesting to go with you,” she said politely.
Johns roared with laughter, stood, and threw his softleaf on the table. “You come see mine again, I’ll play to you.”
Warmth crept up Del’s neck to her cheeks. She raised her brows. “That would be interesting, too. Something new.”
Circling the table, Johns bowed to her. “I’m sorry if our craft-talk made your eyes glaze over.” He shrugged. “Nature of the profession, talk, talk, talk.”
Del smiled and stood. “I just got lost in my own thoughts, and if I didn’t want to listen to actor-speak, I shouldn’t have come to the Thespian Club for breakfast, should I?”
“A wise woman,” Johns said. As he straightened, he scowled. “There’s that damn fox again. You should never have brought him here, Raz. I swear the staff and the others think of him as a mascot . . . but he’s—”
“He’s Del’s Fam,” Raz said, at the same time Del said, “He’s a moocher.”
“Ah.” Johns snapped his mouth closed.
“He is clean,” Del said. “I know he looks scruffy, but he won’t be bringing in any vermin. Though I suppose I should pay for any meals he’s gobbled.”
Shunuk yipped to those who turned to watch his progress, fluffed his tail, and trotted toward Del and the men, angling his head to check out any food left on their plates. With the unerring knowledge of all animals of those who disliked them, he came and brushed Johns’ legs, leaving a nice lot of hair on his trous. Tongue lolling, he managed to attach a small string of drool, too.
Raz’s laugh was cut short when Del, wincing, then frowning at her Fam, stepped up to place both hands on Johns’ wide shoulders. She met the big actor’s blue gray eyes. “Hold still a minute and I’ll clean you up.”
She glanced at Shunuk. “You were rude, apologize.”
He smells very good, Shunuk said with a sulky sniff. Irresistible. But I won’t approach him again.
“Just get it over with, will you?” asked Raz as Johns stepped closer to Del, looking down at her with a charmingly crooked smile.
I will have clucker for breakfast. Shunuk pointed his nose at Johns, and said, You were going to insult me. Shunuk lifted his muzzle. But I have killed all the mice and rats around here, so I get to eat whatever I want free.
Shunuk was making up for the past. They rarely stayed in an area for a long time, and he’d had to abandon most of his caches.
Johns shuddered under her hands and she caught a loathing for rats, a wariness of all animals, including Fams. Too bad; he was such a nice guy otherwise.
She drew in her breath and focused on the new spell Danith D’Ash had given her when she’d asked the woman to keep an eye out for a kitten for Raz. Naturally, Del hadn’t cared whether she’d had hair or spit on her leathers in the wild, but it was totally different here. She concentrated on the flow of her Flair from the soles of her feet up her body, said a Word, and Johns’ clothes fluttered with the cleansing. Johns made an exclamation of pleasure and Raz was there, pulling her away, putting his arm around her waist. “Good job, Del. I wonder if my sister has that spell. I’ve noticed cat hair on her.”
“My thanks.” Johns bowed again.
Shunuk had hopped up to an empty chair, and though he examined the remnants of Del’s and Raz’s breakfasts, he didn’t move over to finish up the food.
A short fox bark came from Del’s trous pocket. Since she’d seen how useful Raz’s perscry was, she’d activated the experimental one Elfwort had made for her a few years ago and put it in her pocket. “Hey, Del, you have a call,” said a voice—the voice of her deceased cuz, Elfwort. She’d never update the greeting he’d inserted into it.
Reaching into her trous pocket, she took out the small scry. It was tinier and different than the one that was being sold, more like a stone disc with a little half-spherical drop of encased water atop it. Unlike Raz’s iridescent turquoise one, this one shimmered a golden bronze color.
Both men’s gazes fixed on it.
“What’s that?” Johns breathed.
“Perscry,” Del said.
Johns pulled out his. It was the regular sphere, purple with the shimmery droplet of water trapped inside.
“Was experimental,” Del said, even as her perscry announced again in Elfwort’s voice, “Del, incoming scry.”
She answered, “Here.”
The stone projected a viz that went from ceiling to floor. The location was the Guildhall clerk’s office.
The men blinked. “Some perscry,” Johns said and slipped his back into his belt pouch. “I’ve never seen one that shows life-sized.”
Del shrugged. The assistant clerk of All Councils stared out at them, a gleam coming to her eyes as she saw Raz and Johns. Del didn’t know whether it was from the newssheet story on her and Raz the day before or something else, but that clerk had usually been bored whenever they’d had to interact.
“We have had a request for your presence, D’Elecampane.”
“Yeah? From who?”
The clerk’s voice lowered. “Captain Ruis Elder on behalf of the starship Nuada’s Sword.”
“Ah.” The waiter appeared with Shunuk’s clucker and Del went over to cut it into respectable bites he could eat without gulping. She set the perscry on the table.
“. . . As soon as possible,” the clerk emphasized.
Del met Raz’s eyes. “I have other plans,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Johns goggled at her.
“And you might give the Ship the coordinates to scry my house or me.”
“It is my understanding that the Ship can only connect with true Residences.” The clerk lifted her pert nose.
Now Del grimaced. “All right. But the Ship always wants me as soon as possible. Did you send it my maps?”
“Of course,” the clerk huffed. “It says there are some discrepancies.”
“From the last time it mapped Celta, four hundred and seven years ago? I should think so.” Del began to think that she wouldn’t be able to put this off. “Was Ruis civil?”
The clerk sniffed. “Captain Elder was very courteous.”
Then Del should go see him. The Ship was probably nagging him about the maps. She sighed, turned to Raz, and smiled. “The day has clouded over, looks like it might rain. Nice time to visit the starship?”
He glanced out the large bay windows, nodded. “Perfect. But we should go soon; I have a matinee today.”
She nodded. “As long as Ship doesn’t rile me about my maps, it’s fun . . . Ruis and his children, their Fams, the Ship itself.”
Raz was smoothing his shirt. She’d bet he hadn’t been on the starship since he was a child during a grovestudy trip. When it was still cursed. “When was the last time—”
“Before Ruis Elder became Captain.”
She’d been right. It would be good to see Raz in such surroundings—with people she knew and was comfortable with, a great being she generally liked. Someplace she could take him. “Tell Ruis, Captain Elder, I’ll be there within the septhour. We’ll take a glider.” Since Ruis Elder negated all Flair, there were only a few areas available on the Ship where a person could teleport. Most people ’ported to Landing Park then walked to the Ship.
Raz should like the place since he and his father had made models of the starships. She and Raz had plenty of differences, but this might not be one.
She didn’t know whether they could overcome their differences now or if it would take years. Stupid thought, stupid doubt. Forget the negativity. She’d have to craft options for compromise. Her brows knit.
“I will inform Captain Elder.” The scrystone went dark.
Heh. Shouldn’t h
ave scowled at the clerk. That woman could make trouble. Maybe Del would drop by with a landscape globe, her creative Flair was going strong. Lots of material to pick up she didn’t often see . . . scraps of papyrus, city flower petals, strange little items dropped from someone’s pursenal or pocket. Discarded broken bits.
She would go mad if all she did was make landscape globes for T’Ash. Creative Flair was supposed to be fun, a hobby. She’d tire of it as a profession fast.
She turned to Johns and smiled, holding out her hand. He’d made her feel comfortable, too, hadn’t worn any false mask that she’d noticed. “Good meeting you again.”
“My pleasure.” He took her hand and bowed over it with a flourish, brushing his lips on the back. Not a hint of a tingle of attraction.
Raz grumbled beside her anyway.
“I meant it,” Johns said. “I’d play to you.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t know if that would be good for the story or not but figured he was an actor who could make it work. A man good at his profession.
He nodded and let her fingers go, glanced toward the windows in the direction of the starship, but though the Ship itself was two kilometers long, it couldn’t be seen. “Nuada’s Sword, eh?” He rocked back on his heels with a considering expression. “I haven’t been there since I was a student, either. Might be good to see it again.” He gestured with a broad hand. “New experience.”
“Actors are curious,” Del said.
“Always,” Raz said.
Me, too! Shunuk snorted down a last gulp of food, leapt from his chair. I have only been to the great starship once.
Del grunted. “You’ll have to be nice to the cats and the dog.”
I can do that.
Raz nodded to Johns. “Good conversation. I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything about that script.”
“Me, too,” Johns said. He’d retreated a little from Shunuk.
Winking at the fox, Raz tugged Del’s hand. “Cherry’s outside.”
The temperature was cooler than when they’d entered, the air so humid Del felt dampness against her skin.
She got into the glider and Shunuk hopped onto her lap, pressed a paw so the window thinned to nothing, and stuck his nose out.
