by Mark Robson
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Do you plan to use any real actors in this endeavour?’
Femke gave Devarusso her most winning smile. It had always been a source of amusement to her that she had never yet revealed her true name to the troupe leader and the irony of the response she had to his question tickled her all the more. To Devarusso, she had always been Dana, the actress. If he had deduced her true occupation, he had never said anything.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘There’ll be you and me. We’ll also need at least one or two of your regular troupe. I only want your most trustworthy people to be involved, though. We can’t afford to have the true nature of this play leaked to the tattle touts.’
Devarusso pursed his lips. ‘And have any of the others you propose to involve ever acted on stage before?’ he asked.
‘That’s unlikely, which is why they will only have minimal roles. Theirs will be visual, rather than speaking parts. By necessity some of them may have to speak one or two lines, but not many. The beauty of using The True King’s Gambit, aside from the irony, is that we’ll only need four main speaking actors, and it will take minimal adaptation to include the rest of my team as a supporting cast.’
‘And what am I supposed to do with the rest of the troupe? I don’t want to lose them. They’re good people.’
‘Tell them they can have a paid holiday, Devarusso,’ Femke replied. ‘I’m sure they’ll work all the better for a short break. The Treasury will pay. Won’t it, my Lord?’
Kempten nodded, never taking his eyes off Devarusso.
‘You’re assuming, of course, that you’re going to be successful,’ the troupe leader pointed out. ‘What if you’re not? Who will pay then?’
‘I will give you the money in advance from my own pocket,’ Lord Kempten said, watching the actor intently. ‘That way you’ll lose nothing by going along with this venture.’
Devarusso drummed his fingers on the tiny table, his brows knitted together in a deep frown. Femke got the distinct impression that if there had been space within the wagon, he would have been pacing. It was as well that the actor was a tidy person. Living in such a small space required constant discipline to avoid clutter building up. The inside of Devarusso’s wagon was immaculate. It was clear that he was not one to be tempted into acquiring possessions that were excess to requirement. For such a flamboyant person, his quarters displayed remarkable restraint.
‘Tell me again about your plans for a theatre, my Lord. I can see so many things to go wrong that I need something positive to focus on.’
Kempten looked across at Femke, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. She gave him a solemn wink in return.
‘Are you saying you’ll help us?’ Kempten asked.
‘Can I trust you to keep your promise of building a public theatre?’
‘You can. It will be one of my first acts on becoming Emperor.’
‘Then, Shand help me, I’ll do my best. To be honest, I think it’ll be a disaster, but I’ll try. When can I see the adapted script, Dana?’
Femke’s eyes twinkled as she responded. ‘Right after we finish writing it down, Devarusso.’
‘The adaptation is not written yet! When did you say we’re going to go public with this?’
‘Like I said, it won’t need much adaptation,’ Femke said casually. ‘Besides, the few changes that will be required are right here,’ she added, tapping her head with her finger. ‘All we need to do is put it down onto parchment.’
‘All we have to do, she says! All we have to do! All we have to do is rewrite a play to feature more characters than have ever been seen in a production in Shandrim before, train a bunch of novices to play the parts and make it so good that we get invited to stage it at the Imperial Palace. Oh, and we have a whole ten days until the first performance! No problem.’ Devarusso looked up at the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention. ‘Shand’s teeth, Dana! You’ve been in plays before. You know such a task is impossible.’
‘Nothing is impossible, Devarusso. Difficult, but not impossible. Oh, and I think you should know that Dana is not my real name.’
‘I suppose I should have guessed,’ he replied with a rueful smile. ‘Every time you turn up here I discover something new and unexpected about you. Why not a different name? Come tell me, what is your true name?’
‘Femke.’
‘A strong name. It suits you. Well, Femke, I shall see you tonight. I’ll tell the troupe that the performance at the sixth call will be the last. Be here by the eighth call. I just hope you know what you’re doing. Bring parchment, pen and ink with you. I have an old copy of The True King’s Gambit you can mutilate, but I don’t have writing materials here.’
They all rose to their feet. Devarusso had to stoop slightly to avoid hitting his head on the roof of the wagon. It seemed amazing to Femke that he had not developed a permanent hunch living like this.
Kempten gave Devarusso a firm handshake. ‘Thank you for doing this,’ he said fervently.
‘My Lord, the promise of a proper theatre is thanks enough. Acting has always been my life. The idea that I could be instrumental in making plays more popular and accessible to the population of Shandrim is something I have often dreamed of. Let’s pray that you’re successful.’
‘I think even the least pious of us could say a quick prayer for that,’ Femke agreed.
The look Serrius gave Femke was one of total outrage.
‘You go too far, Femke! Play-fighting on stage – you had better be jesting. I’ve never feigned a fight in my life. When I fight, I fight for real. If there’s no danger, then there’s no fight. Such a staged dance with blades would be a fiasco – and it would look as such.’
‘Call it sparring then if you must. You must have practised with other fighters to become as good as you are. I promise you this is no jest, Serrius. I’d like you to approach some of the other top gladiators and bring them in on this. If you want to make the fight scenes serious, then that’s fine. Make the on-stage clashes as real as you like – the more spectacular, the better in fact. My only condition is that you’re careful not to kill or maim one another. It is the fighting off-stage that’s important. That will be deadly enough, I assure you. It’s this fighting you’ll get your money for, so there must be no scope for you to forget yourselves and allow old rivalries to get in the way.’
‘So the blades will be real?’ Serrius asked
‘Yes.’
‘And whom exactly is it that we’ll be fighting off-stage?’
‘The Guild of Assassins,’ Femke answered, watching his response carefully. ‘Are they dangerous enough to add the risk you crave?’
‘What, all of them?’
‘Well there aren’t that many of them,’ Femke pointed out. ‘And you would have some help. If all goes well, we’ll hit them with the element of surprise firmly on our side. The idea is to kill them, not give a swordplay demonstration. None are to be left alive. This is probably the most severe test of your abilities as a swordsman that you could find outside of the arena. Members of the Guild of Assassins have a certain reputation for having masterful skills with all weapons. What do you think? Is it enough of a challenge for you?’
Serrius stared at her through narrowed eyes. She had not expected convincing the ex-gladiator to be easy. Ever since he had started fighting in the arena, the challenge of being the best fighter in the land had dominated his thinking. Making him appreciate that there was anything else in life worth doing was always difficult. Without the help of Serrius, they were unlikely to find fighters capable of facing Guild assassins in single combat. He was the vital last element to the plan. If she could not convince him, then they would have to scrap the plan and start again.
‘Who would be the help?’ Serrius asked cautiously.
‘We have a Legion Commander willing—’
‘No soldiers,’ Serrius interrupted.
Femke took a deep breath. ‘Very well, no Legionnaires. There are also two magician
s.’
‘No . . .’
‘Whom you cannot veto,’ Femke continued quickly, ‘as we have discovered the assassins use magic. We’ll need to counter that magic somehow. One of the magicians is also a strong swordsman. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some sparring if it would set your mind at rest.’
The ex-gladiator’s brow furrowed deeper. ‘Anyone else?’ Serrius growled after a short pause, his eyes sparking.
‘A couple of street entertainers.’
‘And what are they going to do? Keep the assassins laughing whilst the rest of us chop them into little pieces, I suppose,’ he said with a twisted smile that matched his sarcasm.
‘As it happens, the two men I’ve hired are the two best knife-throwers in Shandrim. I think you might find them useful to have along.’
‘Derryn and Bartok?’
‘The same,’ Femke confirmed.
The expression on his face softened a little. ‘I’ve seen their acts. They’re both very skilled,’ he said. He picked up his glass of water from the table and took a sip. The silence in the room grew as he contemplated Femke’s proposal.
As the silence grew louder, Femke found that her need to say more grew with it. The overwhelming urge to give an impassioned plea for help blossomed until she felt ready to explode, but instinctively she held her peace. If there was one discipline she had learned over her years as a spy, it was to trust her instincts.
She was right.
‘Very well, Femke,’ Serrius conceded, his voice killing the ringing silence with the same sharp precision he displayed in his swordplay. ‘I’ll speak to Nadrek and the other top fighters. I can’t promise anything, but if I keep the details of what they’ll have to do for their money to a minimum, the fee should be enough to entice most of them.’
‘Thank you. Secrecy is everything at this stage. If word were to reach the street of what we’re doing, then I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how vulnerable we’d become. As long as we maintain the element of surprise, then we have a good chance of success.’
‘Surprise is a useful ally, but don’t rely on it to the exclusion of all else, Femke. A good plan should see us triumph whether we maintain that ally to the very end, or not. When this is over you will likely see that it’s the speed and accuracy of the strike that has won the day. I’m trusting you to be the person directing the strike, rather than being on the receiving end.’
‘Rikala, I need your help,’ Femke began.
‘Yes, dear, I can see that. Those clothes are positively dreadful! Where in Shand’s name did you get them? The seamstress deserves to be shot for such shoddy work.’
Femke smiled. Rikala always spoke her mind when it came to clothing, but her tone on this occasion made her sound every bit as pompous as Femke did when in disguise as Lady Alyssa. Rikala had only ever known Femke as Alyssa, so it was not surprising that she sought to imitate in order to please.
‘No, Rikala, it’s not clothing for me . . . Well, yes it is . . . and it isn’t.’
‘Well, my Lady, which is it?’ the seamstress asked. ‘Is it for that young man again? He’s quite a good-looking young fellow. You could do a lot worse for yourself. He has nice legs.’ Rikala gave her a saucy wink, which seemed strange coming from the stout little woman.
‘Rikala! No, I’m not here for Reynik. I’m here because I would like to utilise your skills in preparing the costumes for a play. Have you been to the open-air stage and seen Devarusso’s company perform?’
‘I have,’ she said. ‘They’re very good. He has nice legs too!’
Femke ignored her teasing.
‘Well, they’re going to perform a special play, which they’re trying to prepare in very quick time. I’m the patron, so naturally I wish to see the players get what they need for the production. I’m also very excited, as Devarusso has agreed to let me play a small part as well. I’ve seen many plays over the years. To take part in one has been a dream for a very long time. How quickly could you turn out costumes, do you think?’
Rikala thought for a moment, the fingers of her right hand stroking absently across her chin. The woman was no fool. Femke knew the seamstress suspected there was more to Lady Alyssa than met the public eye. However, the woman had held her tongue up until now and there was little reason to suspect she would suddenly lose her sense of discretion.
‘What sort of costumes are we talking about and when will I get to measure up the actors and actresses taking part?’
‘The play is to be a variation on the classic, The True King’s Gambit, so it’s all set around a Royal Court. Most of the costumes will be for courtiers, but there’ll also be the King’s costumes, an assassin’s garb, a couple of magicians and some soldiers’ uniforms. A lot of the military stuff should be obtainable ready-made, though I’d like to give them a different look from anything normally seen in Shandar. I’ll make some enquiries to see what I can give you to start with. The troupe has courtiers’ clothing, but it’s all rather tired. I’ve promised to pay for the costumes, so Devarusso intends to make the most of the opportunity and get something that will last. I can’t say I blame him. As for measuring, well some of the actors could come straight away, but the others may be a couple of days. If you show me the measurements you want, I could collect them myself more quickly.’
Rikala nodded.
‘Measuring’s not difficult. A Lady of your intelligence should have no problem with it,’ she agreed. ‘Here, take my knotted string. This is how I like the notations.’
The seamstress pulled out a piece of parchment from a dresser drawer and spread it onto the central table. It took just a few minutes to explain what all the notations meant. Femke agreed that it was straightforward and that she would have no problem remembering which measurement was which.
‘The King’s costumes might take a little while to produce, as they will need to be fancy, but colourful clothing for the courtiers will be simple enough. I could turn several of those out each day. If you’re not worried about them being stitch-perfect, then I could possibly turn them out even faster.’
‘Whatever you produce is likely to be of a far higher quality finish than the players are used to,’ Femke said with a grin. ‘I think the majority of the clothing that they work with is barely tacked together.’
‘Then I’ll give them something that will last through many repeat performances,’ she replied. ‘Come back and see me as soon as you can with the measurements. In the meantime, what costume will you need for yourself?’
Devarusso rubbed his eyes for the third time in as many minutes. Dawn was breaking and the early-morning birdsong was nearing the peak of its daily crescendo. Dark rings encircled his eyes. Femke was still hunched over the stack of parchments working like a woman possessed.
‘For Shand’s sake, Femke!’ he swore. ‘Take a rest. You’ve earned it. Your spin on the play is great. You’ve utilised all the extra characters in a way that will see them needing minimal acting practice. As long as their weapons play is good, then they’ll look spectacular on stage. Your instinct for drama, irony and use of language is excellent. I’m beginning to share this vision of yours in spite of myself.’
‘But we’re so close to finishing . . .’
‘Which means it will not take long to do so when we resume. Go. Get a couple of hours of rest and come back when you’re ready. I need sleep, even if you don’t. If anyone had ever told me they could adapt a play to give it such a different feel in a single night, I’d have declared them mad. Had I not witnessed you do it, I’d never have believed it possible. I can see where you’re going with it. Some of the amended lines will need work, but you’ve held to the traditional storyline, which has always worked well. We’ll sort out the casting and start rehearsing this afternoon. However, we won’t be able to do that if you’re dead on your feet.’
Femke sat up and looked at the page of text on the table. It blurred in and out of focus as she struggled to read the notes she had written. For a moment she felt dizzy, as
the world seemed to spin out of control. She placed her hands flat on the table in front of her and pressed down hard in an effort to restore her sense of balance.
‘Are you all right?’ Devarusso asked, his voice suddenly full of concern.
‘I just sat up too quickly, that’s all. You’re right. I’m tired.’ She got to her feet slowly to avoid any further dizziness. ‘I’ll see you in a few hours. Thanks for all your help, Devarusso. I’d never have got that much done without you.’
He shook his head self-deprecatingly. ‘The work was yours. All I did was nudge you every now and then. If you ever get tired of getting into trouble, I’d be happy to have you back here as one of my actors – you know that. After seeing this, I’d be happy to have you rewrite plays for me too.’
Femke gave a weary smile as she reached for the door handle. ‘Thanks, I appreciate the sentiment but, inspired or not, this will most definitely be my first and last. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. It would be good to get the amended script finished before we begin rehearsing.’
‘Good, yes – essential, no. Rest. I’ll see you when you’re feeling recovered. I’ve plenty to work with for today.’
Lady Kempten could not sleep. Her imagination would not stop creating dire images of what might be happening in Shandrim. Bad dreams had troubled her every night since her husband had left and she was becoming paranoid that buried somewhere in the nightmares there might dwell a grain of truth.
There were many who believed in the power of dreams. Some claimed they could interpret them. Isobel did not normally believe in such things, but the dreams were beginning to wear at her sense of reality. The more she worried, the more she convinced herself that something bad was happening, or going to happen.
She rolled over again, plumping the pillow before trying to settle her cheek into it. No position felt comfortable this evening. Despite the heavy blankets she felt cold and alone without her husband.
A flicker of light against her closed eyelids had her sitting upright in an instant. ‘I didn’t imagine it,’ she thought, her heart racing. ‘That was a real light, I know it was.’ With shaking hands she reached out to the bedside table and felt around to the back leg nearest to the bed where she had tied a small dagger. It was well that she had tied it in place with a bow, or she would have struggled to make her trembling fingers untie the knot.
