Tig poked the eggs furiously. The cheek of Snell, acting like he was trying to save the Royale money when this had been his plan all along. She caught Eliza’s eye and gave a meaningful eyebrow wiggle to remind her of their conversation, but if Eliza understood, she ignored it.
‘And then what? We can’t afford to hire a new act at short notice. Better to have poor ticket sales than none at all.’
‘Precisely, we can’t afford it. It’s high time you listened to me and—’
Tig couldn’t just stand there while Snell continued his scheming. ‘He’s getting better!’ she said. Both adults turned to look at her. ‘The professor’s got some amazing ideas to improve his show. He needed to get used to the place, that’s all, and now he’s ready to really improve his performance.’
‘We don’t need your input, child,’ sneered Snell.
But Eliza smiled, waving him away. ‘Quite right, dear. Do you hear that, Edgar? The professor may surprise us yet.’
Snell scowled as Tig placed his plate of eggs on the table.
‘You don’t understand how business works, Eliza.’
‘You don’t understand how theatre works, Edgar.’
‘I say we give him until the end of the week. If he’s not bringing in a full house by then, we can’t afford to keep him.’
Their voices were getting louder. Tig could sense the storm coming in and she didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it. She slopped out a bowl of porridge and put it in front of Eliza, then covered the pot with a lid, and wrapped a cloth around the handle.
‘We’ll see, Edgar.’ Eliza stood up and flounced away into her bedroom.
Snell smirked to himself, and Tig couldn’t stop herself from speaking.
‘I know what you’re doing.’ She knew she shouldn’t provoke him. But Snell was a cheat and a bully, and he thought he was getting away with it. Even though her heart was beating very fast, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye.
‘I doubt that,’ sneered Snell. ‘You’re just a little girl. You don’t know anything.’
‘I know you’re trying to ruin everything so you can sell the theatre. You’re not as clever as you think.’
‘That’s none of your business, child,’ he hissed.
‘It is my business. I live here, and work here.’
‘Not for long, if you don’t watch yourself.’
They held each other’s gaze for ten long seconds. Everything was silent except the roaring inside her brain.
Snell blinked first. ‘You keep forgetting your place, Miss Rabbit. You need taking down a peg or two. You’d better not put one toe out of line, or you’ll regret it.’
Tig snatched up the pot and spoon and darted out of the apartment, heading upstairs to the Green Room. The professor needed to eat, and he needed to listen. That’s all there was to it.
‘Here.’ The pot came down onto the table with more of a bang than Tig intended. Faber pushed aside the notebook he was working on, this page filled with meticulous diagrams of cogs and pulleys. She itched with curiosity to see what else he might be working on, but she was feeling grumpy and annoyed, and didn’t want to ask.
‘What’s this?’ Faber lifted the lid with his sleeve pulled over his hand and peered inside as if something might jump out.
‘Porridge,’ said Tig. ‘I made it for you, since you don’t like the street food.’
‘Oh.’
‘In English, we say thank you.’
Tig’s insides were full of sharp feelings, and they put her in no mood for his usual rudeness. If she couldn’t get him to co-operate with her plan to save the theatre, everything was lost.
He pointed at the spoon. ‘Did you—’
‘It’s clean,’ she snapped.
He took a very small mouthful and chewed it for an unreasonably long time. What was going on inside that brain? What a strange, stubborn, infuriating man.
There was magic in the machine, and he was keeping her from it, even though it very clearly had something to do with her. There was no way the professor could have known her name was Antigone. Whether it was a wonderful and exciting kind of magic, or a dark and sinister type, she deserved to know.
‘You are angry,’ he said eventually.
‘No.’
‘You do a poor job of hiding it,’ said Faber.
‘Eliza says I wear my heart on my sleeve.’
Faber frowned and leaned sideways to look at Tig’s arm. She smiled at this, despite her dark mood.
‘It means I let my feelings show too much,’ Tig explained.
‘I see. I think that I, likewise, wear my heart on my…’
‘Sleeve.’
‘Yes.’
‘Professor. I want to know why the machine said my name. I need to know.’
Faber ate in silence, refusing to meet Tig’s eyes.
Her temper was rising, but she couldn’t afford to make him cross. She would have to put the question aside, for now.
‘I love the theatre, professor,’ she said in what she hoped was a soft and reassuring voice. ‘I love the sounds and the lights and the stories and the crowds.’
He prodded the food with the spoon and said nothing.
‘I have a memory – one perfect golden memory – of coming here with my parents when I was very small, and seeing all the magic for the first time. I think they must have known one of the performers, because I remember someone letting us go back stage to see how it all worked. And I fell in love and I’ve loved it ever since. And I don’t mind working late into the night or crawling around under the stage in the dark, because this is where I belong.’
‘Very nice,’ muttered Faber. It was hard to tell if he was even listening, but Tig pressed on.
‘Only… I don’t mean to be rude, professor, but you don’t seem to like the theatre much at all.’
He stared forlornly into his breakfast. ‘Wherever I go, the audiences don’t like her. They don’t care about what I have achieved.’
‘Well then,’ she chewed thoughtfully on a fingernail, ‘why do you put yourself through it? It doesn’t look like you’re having fun.’
‘No one has ever made anything like Euphonia before. And they’ve tried!’ He sighed. ‘I’ve made a scientific breakthrough. I don’t expect you to understand.’
‘Rude,’ muttered Tig.
‘The point of the theatre show was to spread the word, gain me an audience with people of learning and influence.’ He pushed the porridge away.
She pushed it back towards him. ‘You need to eat.’
‘And in truth, Miss Rabbit, I have no other way to make a living. I spent my life building Euphonia. I know I’m not a showman but…’ He trailed off.
Tig could think of a dozen professions he’d be more suited to than performing, but she kept those thoughts to herself. At least he was aware things weren’t working as they were. ‘May I speak freely, professor?’
‘Has there been a time when you did not?’
‘Euphonia is incredible. She’s fantastic, spectacular, but… You’re not very…’ She’d just have to come out and say it. Things couldn’t get any better unless someone was honest with him. ‘You’re boring to watch.’
‘Ah.’ He removed his tin of Mr Becker’s patented pick-me-up pills from his pocket, and shook out a handful into his palm. He swallowed them all at once without water, grimacing as they went down. ‘I do know that. I… I spent all those years in a workshop alone. I never learned how to talk to crowds.’ He seemed a little hurt, but not surprised by Tig’s words.
‘People want excitement. The way you explain things, well, it doesn’t catch their interest.’
‘But it’s not about me. The machine is the thing!’
‘Mr Snell says if we don’t fill the audience by the end of the week, he’s going to cancel your show. And then no one will get to see her.’
‘Mr Snell,’ he repeated, with a look of disgust.
‘Let me help you fix the show. Make it flashy. If we work t
ogether, we’ll get the crowds in!’
He ate another spoonful of porridge then shook his head slowly.
‘Please—’ A single, sob rose unexpectedly like a hiccup and she quickly turned her back to the professor in case it led to tears.
‘Are you crying?’
‘No!’ But she was close.
‘Why do you care so much?’
‘Because the Royale is in trouble,’ she said, without looking at him. ‘If your show fails the whole place will close down. And I know I can do something about it but no one will let me!’
‘Ah. I see.’
‘Why not just go? You’re miserable and you don’t care so why are you still here?’
‘I sold everything to ship Euphonia across the sea. I thought people would see her value here, in this country of industry and science. And with no investors, there’s no money to travel back.’
‘Then you can’t afford to fail, either,’ said Tig.
Faber sighed. ‘Very well. You can show me your tricks.’
‘Really?’ Tig turned back towards him and smiled. ‘We can start today. I’ll tell Nelson.’
‘Wait, Miss Rabbit.’
She paused with her hand on the door handle.
‘Thank you. For the food.’
Technical Rehearsal
Tig, Nelson and Professor Faber met in the auditorium at two thirty. That was when Snell took his regular constitutional walk, and usually followed it up with a couple of lazy hours at the Shakespeare Inn. It was their best chance of rehearsing without his interference.
‘Hello again, Professor Faber!’ Nelson said brightly and held out his hand, though he looked wary.
‘I don’t shake hands.’ Faber folded his arms.
‘Are we ready to get started?’ Nelson rubbed his hands together. ‘What’s the plan, Antigone?’
Tig groaned. ‘I wish I’d never told you that.’
‘It’s a good name. You should be proud of it,’ said Faber. ‘It’s from Greek mythology – Antigone defied the king to do the right thing. There’s a play about her.’
‘I’m just named after an aunty or something,’ Tig muttered. ‘Can we get on with it? We need to figure out two things. How to make the show better, and how to get more people in to see it.’
‘Second one’s easy,’ said Nelson. ‘We just need to chuck him a jolly.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Faber.
‘Chuck a jolly… you know! Get people on the street talking about how amazing the show is! Tell them the tickets are sold out for the next two weeks.’
‘But if people think there are no tickets left, they won’t come.’ The professor frowned.
‘If people think it’s sold out, they’ll be begging for tickets. Everyone wants to be seen at the best shows.’
‘In fact—’ said Tig, catching on and smiling broadly.
‘Lord Dauncy?’ said Nelson, excitedly.
‘Yes!’ said Tig. ‘Go on. Now, for the professor.’
‘What is all this about?’ Faber looked confused and Nelson quickly hurried off. ‘Who is Lord Dauncy?’
‘Sit down in the audience,’ said Tig. ‘I’ll explain while we wait for Nelson to come back.’
Lord Dauncy was a character she and Nelson had made up a year ago to help with ticket sales on another slow production. A decorated general, minor aristocrat and all-round person of high fashion and good taste, Lord Dauncy had made a few notable appearances at shows that were struggling. Using leftover costumes, they dressed up a stagehand and sat him in the royal box for everyone to see. Word would get around that people of importance were visiting the Royale, and suddenly those who were not so important wanted to be seen there too.
Euphonia suddenly made a gasping, wheezing noise, as if pulling in breath. Tig jumped.
‘The circle breaks.’ Euphonia’s eerie voice echoed around the empty theatre until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Faber leaped to his feet.
‘The chamber falls. The widow wears red.’ The lips were moving, though the keys and bellows were still. It made Tig’s whole body tense and she wanted to run and run.
Faber almost shoved Tig aside to reach the machine. He jumped up onto the stage with surprising agility but by the time he reached Euphonia it was already silent again.
‘You can’t deny it now,’ said Tig loudly. A fluttery, tingly feeling ran down her back.
Faber’s eyes were so wide she could see the whites all the way around the irises.
‘How does it do that?’ she demanded.
‘I don’t know.’ He tugged wildly at his hair. ‘I don’t know! It shouldn’t happen. It can’t happen!’ He was pacing back and forth across the stage. Then suddenly, he laughed. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
Wonderful – that’s what Tig had said to Nelson that morning. But somehow the more she saw and heard, the less sure she felt. She felt as drawn to the machine as a moth circling a candle flame. And just as unsafe.
Faber seemed as surprised and confused as Tig. There was no question of it being his doing. He had created Euphonia, but he’d obviously never expected it to do this.
They were interrupted by a knocking on the theatre doors, and a voice bellowed, ‘His Lordship, Solomon Dauncy, Earl of Wythenshawe!’
‘Don’t say anything,’ Faber urged. ‘Not yet. Please.’
Nelson strutted into one of the private boxes, ten feet above where Tig stood by the orchestra pit. He was wearing a grey wig and an admiral’s hat over a red-and-gold-trimmed coat, and striking a noble pose. The fabrics were cheap and had been mended many times, but from a distance, framed by the carved and painted woodwork he looked like an oil painting of his namesake.
‘I thought you’d be more impressed,’ called Nelson, looking from Faber’s pale face to Tig’s shocked one. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘The machine spoke again,’ said Tig.
‘Miss Rabbit!’ barked Faber.
Nelson’s eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth to shout when there was a sudden commotion on the street outside. A great, woody crash like a falling tree, and voices shouting. They were right in the middle of the huge building, so for them to hear a disturbance outside it must be very loud indeed.
Nelson reacted first, running from the box, holding the wig in place with one hand and the oversized trousers up with the other.
‘Back in a moment, professor,’ said Tig, then ran up the centre aisle and into the lobby.
Gus was right behind the door. ‘Oi!’ he shouted as she shoved past him.
Out on Spring Gardens, directly in front of the Royale, a carriage had been overturned. One of the wheels had buckled and come loose – it lay on the paving flags a few feet from Tig and Nelson. Three men were already trying to corral the horses who were rearing up in panic, while a fourth stopped traffic behind them. The road was always busy with coaches and carriages and carts, and people were gathering round the one that had fallen. Nelson stood on the theatre steps, craning his neck to see over the crowd. There was a great deal of shouting. Mr Becker was running across the street to see if anyone was injured.
Gus emerged from the building beside her. ‘What were you up to in there?’
‘None of your business.’
‘I heard shouting.’
‘Not now, Gus!’ said Tig. Even in an emergency that sly little toad was looking for an excuse to make trouble for her. No doubt he hoped to catch her misbehaving and snitch to Snell.
The carriage driver appeared unhurt, though his uniform was soiled with the mud and horsemuck covering every inch of the road. He was helping a lady climb out of the carriage. The passenger lifted her black mourning veil to dab her handkerchief at a bloody cut on her brow.
Red blood. Broken circle. A widow.
A moment of horrible understanding.
Tig spun round and ran back indoors.
‘Tig?’ shouted Nelson, but she didn’t stop to explain.
She yanked open the auditorium doors
which slammed back against the wall with great force. Faber, still standing by his machine, looked startled. Tig marched down the aisle towards the stage.
‘A carriage overturned outside,’ she panted. ‘A wheel broke.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘A woman was bleeding,’ Tig continued. ‘A woman in a mourning veil.’
Faber sat down on the stool behind Euphonia.
Tig climbed up the steps onto the stage. ‘The machine said a circle would break and a chamber would fall and a widow would wear red. The wheel, and the carriage, and the blood.’
Faber rubbed his eyes.
‘The machine knew what was going to happen. Euphonia predicted the future.’
‘Circle breaks…’ he whispered. ‘Broken wheel.’
‘Did you know what it was doing?’ she demanded.
‘No.’ He ran his hands through his hair and clutched his head as though to hold his brain in place. ‘She said… in the night she said… but I didn’t.’ He laughed, and then his expression transformed into one of horror. ‘But that means…’
‘But you knew she could talk on her own.’ Tig paced backwards and forwards, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The machine could predict the future. This was far stranger and more wondrous than she had imagined. And completely terrifying.
‘It only began when I got here. That first night.’
Tig was hot, burning from the inside out as a hundred emotions flickered through her at once. ‘If we’d known what she was predicting, we could have stopped it.’
‘Perhaps. I don’t know.’
The doors opened again and Nelson appeared, with Gus at his heels a second later.
‘Gus! Out!’ shouted Tig. The last thing she needed was him making trouble when they were on the cusp of figuring something out.
‘You can’t tell me what to do!’ Gus shouted back. ‘I’m allowed to be here as much as you.’
‘Out!’ bellowed Faber, so loud it made Tig jump. Gus slithered away, slamming the door on his way out.
‘What’s going on?’ said Nelson, making his way down the aisle towards them.
Tig turned her attention straight back to the professor. ‘Why is it happening? How does she know the future? Is she some kind of ghost? Or, or angel?’ Tig had seen this thing predict the future with her own eyes, and no amount of wood and brass and rubber could do that, no matter how talented the inventor.
The Incredible Talking Machine Page 8
