Realms of the Dragons vol.1 a-9

by Коллектив Авторов

  "Good," said Talbot. "Great! Then it's settled. Let's get back to work."

  He hopped down from the stage and went back to the stack of lumber they had bought to repair the roof. Since the rainproof enchantment over the previously open roof had expired, the shareholders built a conical shelter over the yard rather than pay the wizard's exorbitant fee. Unfortunately, they had since learned that the constant repairs and the need for continual flame spells to light the stage were almost as dear as the spellcaster's price.

  "But why is that?" asked Ennis,

  Despite his thirty-odd years and three hundred pounds, Ennis sounded like a querulous child when perplexed.

  "Why what?" said Talbot.

  "Why don't we do commissions?"

  Talbot laughed, but soon he realized he was the only one laughing. The other players were staring at him with their arms crossed, their eyebrows raised.

  "We all know why" he said, moving the lumber from the ground to the stage so as not to look his fellows in the eye. "You tell him, Sivana."

  Sivana sniffed and said, "Well, I might once have said it was to preserve our reputation, but considering what everyone in Selgaunt is saying about Azoun and The Rose…."

  "Never mind that," said Talbot. He didn't appreciate the reminder that the past few productions at the Wide Realms had become fodder for the most vicious gossips among the nobility. While The Uninvited Rose was indeed a hackneyed comedy that made none of the players proud, Talbot was pleased with Azoun, a tragedy in which he had finally played a title role. Unfortunately, the critical tongues of the gossips were sharper than the fangs of the wyrm that had slain the king of Cormyr.

  "There are plenty of other reasons," Talbot said, nodding affirmatively at Ennis. "Tell him, Mallion."

  "Tell him what?" said the actor. He had just passed thirty years and was beginning at last to look his age. In truth, Talbot was often jealous of the older actor, whose good looks and natural talent made him the obvious choice to play the lead in most plays. "I can think of no reason not to accept a commission when our treasury is so poor and attendance dwindles by the day."

  "What's the matter with you? It is a matter of artistic integrity!" insisted Talbot. "We can't have some dilettante hiring our troupe to satisfy his own vanity. Presbart agrees with me. Don't you?"

  Presbart made a study of his fingernails, but as it became increasingly clear that the others would not look away from him, he sighed and said, "It would be far easier to take your part, dear boy, if I had dined somewhere more elegant than a street cart this month."

  "If we wanted a life of security," said Talbot, "we'd all be coin-counters, wouldn't we? The player's life is full of adventure, and sometimes that means a few lean months. Listen, even after buying these supplies, there's still a little left from my shares. Maybe it's time for a summer bonus all around."

  "It's not about the shares, Talbot," said Sivana. "You and Ennis spend more time repairing the playhouse than rehearsing with the rest of us. It's beginning to tell in the shows-even the fight scenes."

  "That's true," said Ennis.

  Talbot thought immediately of a once-thrilling fight that had degenerated into unfunny slapstick in their last performance of Azoun.

  "Shut up," he told Ennis.

  He winced to hear himself snap. There was no point taking out his irritation on Ennis, of all people.

  "She said she chose us because she liked you as Azoun," said Mallion.

  "She said that? Exactly who is this worn-?" Talbot smelled a rat. "Say, if you think a little flattery will change-"

  "That's what she said," said Sivana." 'He is the very image of a king,' I think were her words. Believe me, we were as surprised as you are."

  "She did not even appear to be drunk," offered Mallion.

  "Maybe she fancies him," suggested Ennis, grinning.

  "Well," said Talbot, "I suppose it couldn't hurt to hear her out before explaining to her that we do not accept commissions."

  "That's the spirit," said Sivana.

  Mallion clapped Talbot on the arm and said, "You won't regret this."

  Act II

  She arrived just after dawn, when Talbot was the only one left awake in the playhouse. Talbot had spent the night finishing the thrones intended not for the actors but for guests willing to pay a premium price for a seat directly on the stage, where everyone could see them. It was a custom that had lapsed since the days of Mistress Quickly's management, and he hoped to parlay a few days of his labor-and the vanity of his fellow nobles-into enough hard currency to pay for the next production's costumes.

  Lommy had wrangled his brood back up into their nest after they had spent the wee hours leaping from rafter to rafter, practicing by instinct the locomotion they would have needed had they been born in the jungles from which their parents had been stolen. While Lommy served as one of the troupe's favorite clowns, his mate, Otter, and their offspring were the only permanent residents of the Wide Realms playhouse. And as long as Talbot had a stake in it, they would be welcome there. All night long, the nocturnal creatures had kept him company with their chatter as they bounded through the playhouse. They were already more facile with human language than their pidgin-speaking sire, but with their mother they communicated only in the clicks and shrieks of their kind.

  After they had quieted, Talbot set aside his hammer lest he keep the youngsters awake. He was debating between scoring the leather upholstery and staining the wood when he felt the hair on his nape rise. He had learned to trust that feeling since the Black Wolf awoke within him, and he tensed as he turned to face the main entrances.

  He smelled her before he saw her. The scent of her body was dry, warm, and spicy, with a hint of some foreign incense, but he realized instinctively that she wore no perfume but her own natural musk.

  When he saw no one at either of the ground floor entrances, Talbot looked up to see her standing on the mezzanine. The woman stood so still that at first she appeared like a statue over which someone had thrown a dark crimson cloak. Even from thirty feet away, he could feel the warmth of her body, and the morning gloom did nothing to diminish the luster of her hair. It might have been a wig of gold wire as the ladies of the Old Chauncel fancied, but its strands were far too fine and light where they floated above her shoulders like wheat chaff soft-lifted by a summer breeze.

  Talbot realized he was sweating, and some invisible force broke over him like warm air in the cool, damp morning. Whatever the nature of the woman's aura, it made his body yearn toward her even as his most primal intuition tickled at his brain to flee. She was powerful.

  "Mnomene," she said.

  Talbot gaped, realized he was gaping, and shut his mouth.

  "My name is Mnomene," she clarified. "You are Talbot Uskevren, the playwright?"

  No one had ever called him a playwright before, at least not outside of a joke. He had never written a complete work by himself, for the Wide Realms typically purchased its plays before adapting them to their particular strengths: sword fights and broad humor. It had given the troupe an unfortunate reputation: "As actors, they are excellent fighters," was the common jibe. While the other players winced at the backhanded compliment, Talbot was secretly pleased that his fellows had become, under his tutelage, nearly as famed as Master Ferrick's students of the blade.

  "Yes," he said. "I am he."

  Mnomene stepped closer to the railing, and Talbot saw that she was smiling. He blushed, thinking her smile aimed at his self-consciously correct grammar, but he could not look away from her golden skin, smooth and flawless as a fresh-minted coin.

  "You are the man I need," she said, and his next heartbeat was a prayer to Sune that it was true. Mnomene, however, turned immediately to business. "Craft me a tragedy to break a miser's heart, perform it each night for three rides, and I will match your receipts for the duration."

  It was a good offer. Even with poor attendance, a guaranteed match of receipts would do much to recoup the year's losses. His previous prot
ests all but forgotten, Talbot almost agreed at once, but years of his father's unwelcome lessons had left an indelible impression on his brain. No matter how hard he had striven to avoid the fate, his parentage demanded that he would always be, in part, a coin-counter.

  "Match the receipts for a full house," he said. "Plus expenses for all costumes, sets, and props. And we will discuss the details."

  It was Mnomene's turn to gape. She recovered smoothly, smiling down at Talbot with an expression of dawning respect. He noticed then that she was very tall, and her neck was as long and as elegant as a swan's.

  "I will guarantee half the house," she countered. "And I must approve all of the costumes, sets, and props if I am to cover their cost. Also, you must always reserve the finest seat in the house for my guest."

  Talbot nodded as he walked toward the base of the gallery. The edge of the mezzanine rail was twelve feet from the floor, but he leaped straight up and over it to land on the wooden floor. One of the advantages of being the Black Wolf was that he enjoyed all the beast's strength even in human form, but he was disappointed to see neither surprise nor particular admiration for his stunt in Mnomene's expression.

  "You will be wanting plenty of fight scenes," he said hopefully.

  "If you think that will draw a bigger audience, then by all means," she said. "I want the largest possible audience, and for word of the play to travel far and wide. The details I leave to you, so long as you craft the drama around this scheme." She handed a roll of vellum pages sealed with gold-flecked red wax.

  Talbot accepted the scroll and broke the seal. His fingers tingled as he unrolled the pages and scanned the outline. As he read, Mnomene perched upon the mezzanine rail, graceful as a bird upon a branch. Each time Talbot glanced up to see her watching him, he felt a warm flush upon his face. Nonetheless, he could not resist continued glimpses.

  "This has… potential," he said at last.

  "It needs an artist's touch," said Mnomene. She slipped down from the rail and put a hand on his arm.

  "This King Krion," he said. "He could make quite a tragic hero."

  "No," said Mnomene. "Do not try to make a hero of him. He is a miserly old fool, blind to the qualities of his offspring."

  She did not raise her voice, but Talbot felt the heat of her body rise as she gripped his arm with surprising strength. He realized she was taller than any woman he had ever met, only a handspan shorter than he.

  "That may be, my lady," he said. "Yet an audience must find something sympathetic about him, or the play will not move them."

  Mnomene hesitated, considering.

  "They must be moved," she agreed. "But they must see his greed, too, and know that he is wrong to withhold his treasury from the prince and princesses."

  "Well," said Talbot, "it would help if the children were not all so innocent. Perhaps if two of them schemed to inherit his fortune alone, leaving the other with nothing…"

  She frowned at the suggestion but then slowly nodded.

  "That could do, so long as the youngest daughter remains true. She must be our heroine."

  Talbot looked down at her, finally feeling comfortable enough to smile as he might at a pretty barmaid.

  "The youngest daughter, is it?"

  Mnomene pushed back and released his arm, but then she offered her hand and said, "We have a bargain?" — Talbot imagined how Mallion would triumph at the news of his hasty capitulation to a situation he had so fervently opposed. It occurred to him that he had been smitten by Mnomene's beauty, but no one could say he had not made a fair bargain with her. He took her hand and felt its iron grip match the strength of his own.

  Act III

  Sivana spun through the air and hit the floor rolling until she slammed into the stage-right pillar with a bone-crunching impact. Above her head, Perivel's sword shook on its pins where it hung as one of the set's permanent decorations. The massive blade Talbot inherited from his great uncle was far too dangerous to use in a stage fight, but Talbot kept it there both as an impressive decoration and as a handy weapon in case serious trouble ever returned to the Wide Realms.

  Sivana glanced nervously up at the monstrous sword, rubbed her shoulder, and said, "Take it easy, big fellow!"

  "Sorry," moaned Ennis, holding his quarterstaff gingerly, as if it had suddenly become hot to the touch.

  Presbart took it away from him.

  "Tal!" shouted Presbart. "We need you down here. This choreography needs work."

  "The problem is not with the choreography," muttered Mallion, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand.

  A bruise was already forming where Ennis had clipped him earlier. Behind Mallion, two junior players clutched their elbows.

  Ennis slumped his shoulders and hung his head. He had been exceptionally clumsy ever since meeting Mnomene. It was worst when she was present, but even a day after her last visit to consult with Talbot, her aura lingered, inspiring almost all of the actors to greater fervor. Everyone wished to please their new patron-everyone except the tasloi, who scurried into their nest above the stage whenever she arrived, and Presbart, who became uncharacteristically quiet in her presence. The old actor had even seemed ready to protest the commission-a futile gesture, once Talbot and any one other shareholder decided to support it-until he saw the coffer full of gems she offered as initial payment on the work.

  Talbot looked down from the upper gallery, where he had made a desk between the benches so he could work in the fresh air near the gap between the roofs. Throughout the rehearsal, he had paid scant attention to the battle scene in which the king's disgraced but loyal retainer fought the soldiers of the treacherous prince and princess. Usually Talbot's greatest pleasure was in directing those scenes, but for the first time he found himself absorbed in the text.

  When he saw that no one was bleeding or unconscious, Talbot waved his quill absently and said, "You take care of it, Mallion. This dialogue between Krion and Nesme needs more work."

  "Come on, Tal," complained Sivana. "You have been saying the same thing about every scene with them. It's good enough, which is more than I can say for this battle."

  "It is rather good," said Presbart.

  That got Talbot's attention, since Presbart was notoriously critical of any text they performed, even those bought from real playwrights.

  "I think Tal just wants any excuse for more 'story conferences' with Mnomene," said Ennis.

  His grin evaporated when he saw Sivana scowling at him and hefting a practice sword, vengeance in her eyes.

  Tal set aside the quill and spilled sand upon the page he had been writing. "Very well," he sighed.

  He stood up and stretched until the bones in his neck popped. Then he spun down around the support beam to land on the mezzanine rail, from which he leaped out in a somersault to land in a swashbuckling posture on the stage.

  Applause from a lone viewer came from the ground entrance. All of the other players turned to see Mnomene approach, but Talbot had scented her moments earlier.

  "What a show-off!" Sivana stage-whispered.

  Talbot's heightened senses no longer fooled any of the regular players.

  Talbot shot Sivana a glare. Yes, he had been showing off, but he did not want it to be so obvious, especially to Mnomene.

  "Welcome, my lady. We did not expect you until tomorrow," he said. "Unfortunately, I have not finished with the revisions."

  "That is quite all right," she said, gesturing gracefully to the gallery above. "Are they upstairs?"

  "Yes, but they are not ready to-" Before he could finish, Mnomene had already levitated up to the gallery to land gracefully beside his makeshift desk, where she began perusing the new pages.

  "I told you she was a sorcerer," whispered Mallion.

  Talbot shrugged. His brother was a sorcerer, too, though no one had known it until recently. His own family members were so far beyond eccentric that Talbot practically expected anyone who entered his life to be some sort of magician, monster, or otherworldly v
isitor.

  He didn't even wonder which one Mnomene might be as he looked up at her reading the pages. He hoped only that she would approve of the additional changes he had made. They were not exactly what she had requested the last time they'd conferred.

  "All right, troupe," said Talbot, turning back to the assembled players. "Let's figure out this fight. I am the seneschal this time. Ennis, watch me."

  They drilled for half an hour as Mnomene read. Try as he might, Talbot could not help glancing up to the gallery for some indication of her reaction. Her face was a study in stoicism as she read through the new fourth act and went on to the conclusion. Once Talbot saw her hand rise involuntarily to her mouth, as if she found something shocking. He knew at once what she had read, and he turned back to the fight work lest she catch his eye.

  Talbot turned over the seneschal's role to Ennis, who got it right the first time. They did it again, faster, and faster again. As the rest of the company joined in by twos and fours, Presbart and Talbot walked away to view the scene from the groundlings' view.

  "Nice," said Presbart.

  Talbot nodded and said, "She was just the inspiration we all needed."

  "Maybe to you," he said, "but she is much more of a distraction to the rest of us. Do you not realize what Ennis needed today?"

  "Just an example," said Talbot.

  "That is correct," said Presbart. "But not of the sword play."

  Talbot looked down at the neat little man. To be fair, he was not particularly little, but everyone at the playhouse except Ennis-and Mnomene-seemed small since Talbot's late, and continuing, growth spurt.

  "What are you getting at?" Talbot asked.

  "When Quickly led the troupe," said Presbart, "she was more than just our employer. She was like a-"

  "Pardon my intrusion," said Mnomene. She had floated down from the gallery too quietly and too quickly for Talbot to smell her approach. "Perhaps you can explain why you have given all of Nesme's lines to this fool character."