Stealers` Sky

THE INCOMPETENT AUDIENCE by Jon DeCles

ACT ONE

"I don't care if he is the new Emperor's cousin!" cried Feltheryn the Thespian, brandishing a paper broadside that he had just ripped off a wall before its glue could dry. "If Emperor Theron liked him he wouldn't be in Sanctuary!"

"My darling," said Glisselrand, her fingers flying amidst many-colored yams, "there is a difference between not liking one's relatives and wishing them harm. Remember that Emperor Abakithis sent our darling Kitty-Kat here to Sanctuary, presumably because he thought him a threat. Nobody has any doubt that Abakithis wanted Kitty-Kat out of the way, but neither does anybody doubt that he would have dealt severely with anyone who spilled the royal blood."

"I wasn't suggesting that we murder Vomistritus," said Feltheryn, frustrated by his lady's calmness.

Glisselrand laughed.

"If not, my pet, then he is the first critic ever to escape that suggestion after giving you that kind of review!"

(Yes, it was true! The very vilest villain of all had slunk into Sanctuary, a creature so reprehensible as to make all previous contenders-with the possible exception of Roxane-pale. It had been written-long before the fall of Ranke, long before the fall of Ilsig, long before the first settlers had put down roots at the confluence of the Red Foal and the White Foal rivers-that the appearance of criticism portended the first sign of maturity in an art form. But for his part, Feltheryn rather thought that the appearance of critics was the first signal of total social decay, a sign that people had lost control of their own minds and tastes and had therefore to resort to the opinions of others.)

"And rightly so!" Feltheryn growled. He then waxed pedantic: "A critic is one who espouses the idea that one must divorce one's self from emotional involvement in a work of art in order to apply unchanging standards to all such works and thus render a judgment on the individual work based on a reasoned measurement made against those standards. Yet a work of art, by definition, is a thing which directly engages the emotions, carrying feeling through what is only, really, a cold construct: a channel by which the heart of a perhaps long-dead artist may touch the heart of a living perceptor!"

Glisselrand looked up at him from her knitting, today a series of small orange, purple, and red squares which would later be assembled into a folksy quilt that would even later give someone a headache. She raised one elegant eyebrow in question, prompting him to continue-

(There had been a point, perhaps thirty years earlier in their romance, when he wondered if, at such times, she really understood what he was saying, really cared; or if she was just humoring him. It no longer mattered to him, for the essence of the situation was that she wanted him to continue, and he wanted to continue, and, after all, it wasn't going to change anything.)

He took a deep breath and delivered his conclusion: "That of course means that a critic is someone who is congenitaHy incapable of appreciating art!"

Glisselrand stopped knitting for a moment and considered his thesis. Then she smiled and her fingers once again flew, gnarled but fast.

"Now that you mention it," she said, "it did seem that way in Ranke. They spoke a great deal about form and structure and style, but I am not sure I ever met a single critic who I felt really understood what he was talking about. Flash without fire, as the poet says. But looking back at our years in Ranke, I do believe we can be grateful that Sanctuary has only one critic, even if he is an especially bad one, and even if he is the Emperor's cousin."

Feitheryn growled again and Glisselrand wondered if perhaps he was thinking of producing The Cowslip Flower, a play in which he was magically transformed into a camel.

"With all the faults this town has," Feltheryn continued, "with all the horrors it has endured, yet the old adage about Sanctuary has proved untrue. It was not. after all, the one place you could find the worst of anything. Stinking Sanctuary could still hold high its head on that one point, and I think it could have got along just fine without ever having acquired a damned critic of its own!"

"Well, my dear," said Glisselrand, "I quite agree with that. I just wonder that the people of Sanctuary have fallen for it."

"It's the economics of the thing, of course!" Feltheryn continued to rave. "It's not cheap to come to the theater, because producing theater costs so much, even with the generous patronage we've got here. That's all the opening a vulture like Vomistritus needs' A little clever writing, a wicked turn of phrase, he hires a couple of scribes who can copy neatly if not well, pastes these broadsides all over town to gain an audience, and then the people will spend a copper to read what he has to say before they spend their soldats to come see the play. And the most insidious thing about it is the smug satisfaction of those who have never been to see one of our performances, yet who feel competent to discuss them!"

"How long have the broadsides been up?" Glisselrand asked, stopping her work once again and fixing Feltheryn with a look not unlike the one she gave the crooked bailiff in the great trial scene of The Merchant's Price.

"Well, the paste was still wet when I pulled this one down," said Feltheryn. "It cannot be too long."

"Very good!" said Glisselrand. "Then we shall set Lempchin to running around town today pulling them all down. Better still, we shall give him a chance to practice his performance (he wants so much to go on stage!) by going in disguise, and thereby not making it obvious that we are the ones responsible. Unless Vomistritus is very well off, he won't be able to have his scribes keep making copies as fast as we can take them down. Perhaps he will get tired of being a critic and find some other way to annoy people!"

Lempchin was called, Glisselrand cozened the chubby boy neatly into disguising himself in the interests of the theater troupe's welfare, and Feltheryn was shortly back to preparing the script for The Chambermaid's Wedding, the next play the company was to produce.

Their current production, The Falling Star, was doing well enough, but Feltheryn was not fond of playing the villain and Glisselrand was waking each morning after the performance with aches and pains brought on by the finale, that desperate scene in which the actress who was the "star" of the title hurled herself from the castle walls rather than face the charge of murder against her from Act Two.

Of course as the villain Feltheryn got that wonderful scene in the second act in which he soliloquized about the joys of lust: and the scene that followed was not without satisfaction as he got to order the torture (horrible, but off stage) of Snegelringe, who would soon deserve torture if he didn't stay out of the bedchambers of some of Sanctuary's better class of bored ladies. Rounsnouf, the company comedian, got to play the torturer and he was quite good at it; although one had to keep an iron hand on his performance or he would chew the scenery to such a degree that the audience would begin to laugh, and that was unforgivable in a play of such passion and violence.

It was a good play, no doubt about that! But Feltheryn would have preferred to delay his own murder to the last act. As it was, he lay dead in a puddle of pig's blood at the end of the second act, and there was naught for him to do for a full third of the play but sit backstage in his costume and makeup waiting to take a bow at the end. And he had a sneaking suspicion that the applause he got would have been considerably greater if the audience had not had time to forget how good he was when Glisselrand plunged the knife from the supper table into his throat.

But enough of that! It was time the company took on a comedy, and The Chambermaid's Wedding was probably the best comedy ever written. Tragedy was all very fine, and it inevitably drew a crowd, but Sanctuary was a town with plenty of tragedy of its own; Sanctuary could use a few laughs, and Feltheryn intended to provide them.

There was only one small difficulty, and that was the lack, in the troupe, of a third-string female. Glisselrand would of course play the Countess, and Evenita the title role of the Chambermaid. But there was Serafina, the Schoolgirl, to cast as well, and one needed a strong actress for that because there were a great many lines, a song, and most of the time on stage the school was disguised as a schoolboy. That was because she had a schoolgirl crush on the Countess and, in an innocent schoolgirl way, wanted the Countess to make love to her.

They had tried doing the play with a boy in the part and it had proved a disaster. That was before Lempchin had joined the company. If they were forced to use Lempchin it would be worse than a disaster! Besides which, audiences loved to see a pretty young girl dressed up in tight pants pretending to be a boy. It was traditional, and even a bit erotic.

No, Feltheryn sighed to himself as he sat at the kitchen table looking at the script; they would have to find another female, that was all there was to it. And the best place to look for women was in the Street of Red Lanterns, at the Aphrodisia House. Myrtis had helped them before, she might be able to help them again.

He went upstairs to where Glisselrand was preparing for an afternoon nap, explained carefully what he had in mind, and got her blessing. Whatever else might be thought of The Chambermaid's Wedding, it was the one play in which all the sympathy and love went to the older woman, not to the younger title role; and Glisselrand was of an age to appreciate that-

Feltheryn would of course play the Count, who was also in a way a villain; but at least he would be on stage right up to the final curtain.

His trip to the Aphrodisia House was despoiled only by the presence of the offending broadsides distributed by Vomistritus. Apparently Lempchin had not yet got to the Street of Red Lanterns. Feltheryn pulled a few down as he passed them, but the glue was beginning to dry and it was difficult to get it off his hands once it was on. He had to beg pardon at the door when he finally arrived and ask for a basin and then, as the glue was much tackier than he had thought, he had to ask for help from one of the ladies of the house.

Feltheryn was not beyond appreciating the charms of the lovely young woman who helped him, nor was he in the least insensitive to the finetuned professionalism of her performance, displayed in even so humble an activity as helping him get his hands clean. The world's oldest profession was at least eighty percent theater, he recalled from his wild and reckless youth. Any woman could offer sex for money, but it took talent to make that sex so desirable that the audience returned again and again for the show.

And it was a show: the act itself was only the last curtain of an evening compounded of beautiful costumes, exotic perfumes, graceful movement, tantalizing conversation, stimulating music, and a setting that was a marvel of womanly design. To visit the Aphrodisia House was to enjoy a show with only one plot but a constantly changing cast of characters: and it was that fact which made the difference between Myrtis's elegant courtesans and the sad and desperate women who walked by night in the Promise of Heaven.

"There now!" said the young woman, drying his hands with an embroidered towel. "We've got it all off, Master Feltheryn. I'll clean up this mess, and you can go talk with the madam. Do you know the way to her room?"

"No, I am afraid I have not had that pleasure," Feltheryn answered in his most courtly fashion as he stood from the little table.

"Then I'll have one of the girls show you," she said, beginning quickly to clean as she had said she would. "Shawme! Shawme, would you please show Master Feltheryn up to Myrtis's room? I sent word up to her that he was here."

Shawme, a mere child whose blue eyes held inordinate pride, smiled at Feltheryn and led him up the stairs. A moment later he was seated in a small parlour, explaining his needs to Myrtis, the proprietrix of the Aphrodisia House, and sipping the blackberry tea she provided.

"-so you see, lovely lady," he finished, "she must be talented and willing to leam to act if she cannot, and reasonably beautiful, but she must also have the sort of figure which lends itself to wearing men's clothing. For most of the play she must be disguised as a man, and it must not appear laughable that she is so disguised. The audience will suspend its disbelief to see a young girl in tight pants, but it will not accept a full-blown womanly figure in the same outfit. I very much want to do the play, but without your help I fear I cannot."

Myrtis laughed-

"My dear Feltheryn! The fact is, there are plenty of people running around this town in the clothes of the opposite sex, and most of them are women. For some strange reason they assume cross-dressing to be the one way in the world they can protect their precious chastity. Not that I am in any wise tolerant of any man abusing a woman, mind you, but really, there are so many other and better ways of preventing rape! Why, you will never find a softer, more engagingly femimne roster of ladies than reside within my walls; but any one of them could tell you a dozen ways to keep a man in place if he tried to take something that wasn't his. Yet it is not the lovely, soft, delicate ones who worry, and who sometimes should. It is those hard, intolerant women: the ones with some kind of chip on their shoulder. They never in their lives have tried to make themselves attractive to men, yet they assume they are irresistible to anything on three legs. Ha! They should try working here, coaxing some poor merchant to arousal who is more worried about whether the money is well spent than whether he is having a good time! But beyond that, these women have gone to extremes to make themselves less than attractive to men, have often learned some devastating martial an in response to their fear, and they have acquired manners that would get them barred from my house if they were men; and still, they go through life assuming that rape is around every corner! So they disguise themselves as men, and spend most of their life energy worrying about whether they will be found out. It saddens me deeply, A woman should live her life going forward at full charge, not cringing back in fear of something that may never happen."

"But Myrtis," said Feltheryn, "some women do get raped."

"Well of course they do!" said the madam- "And some get murdered and some get robbed and some get tortured and a great many are beaten by their husbands in the cozy confines of respectable marriage. By far the greatest number of women die in childbirth! But life is about living. Master Player, not about the piddling little moment at the end when you die. Oh, some of these fearful women are dear friends of mine, and I try to understand. But it does seem foolish to put such a high value on rape when a woman in this town is far more likely to be robbed or murdered. What a rapist seeks to take he really cannot, unless the woman lets him; and that is not her body, but her dignity. She may not like the physical part, it may sit with her like a canker for her lifetime if she lets it; but frankly, nobody can use my body to humiliate me. I am flesh, but I am more than that. I am a woman, and inordinately proud of the fact, and neither pain nor humiliation can touch that. Besides, men get raped too, so it's not much of a disguise in the long run. In fact, in Sanctuary, disguising yourself as a goat wouldn't be much better!"

"I had heard that goat rape was up," Feltheryn said.

"Only since the influx of all those foreigners who are working on the walls." Myrtis smiled. "But getting back to the point, I do believe I have someone in mind who might fill the bill. Her name is Sashana. Her family was killed by Raggah in the desert. She hid among the dunes, and then, being very young, managed to pass as a boy with the next caravan that came by. It was sensible in those circumstances, but now she lives and dresses as a woman. In fact, such a charming woman that I have often wished her fortunes had been a little worse when she came to Sanctuary. She would have made me a bundle! I'll give you her address, and a letter introducing you. She does not disguise herself anymore, but she doesn't take any chances, either!"

It was too late in the day to pay a call on Sashana when Feltheryn left the Aphrodisia House. There was to be a performance, he had to get into his makeup, and before that he needed a little rest. It was not as if he were a young man. He noted, as he left the Street of Red Lanterns, that all the broadsides were, if not gone from the walls, at least defaced enough to be uninteresting to the passersby. He made his way back to the theater, went up to the room he shared with Glisselrand, and lay down on the bed next to her.

For a moment the stimulation provided by Myrtis's elegant environment caused him to think about waking his leading lady for an afternoon tryst; but thinking about it led quickly to dreaming about it, and in his dreams he was more the man than even he used to be. He had discovered, with age, the one truth a young man dare not face; that dreams are always better than reality.

The Lady Sashana lived in a small but well-appointed house in as good a section of town as Sanctuary had. She employed few servants but they were all strong and healthy and Feltheryn suspected, as he waited in her parlour, that they could double as bodyguards. There were shelves in the parlour, and on them manuscripts: beautiful volumes bound in fine leather. Reading the titles, Feltheryn understood exactly why Myrtis had sent him to Sashana. Most of the manuscripts were plays, and those that were not were tomes of tales of far lands and enchantments. There were even some he had not read!

Lady Sashana entered the room with a graceful but firm step, the tilt of her fine chin bespeaking confidence and the clarity of her green eyes revealing intelligence. Her hair was chestnut brown, not long but coiffed with beads in a manner that gave the impression of controlled luxuriance. She wore an emerald satin gown with a mauve chiffon overdress, colors which enhanced her beauty even more in the environment of rubbed woods and buff and cream velour that was her parlour.

"Myrtis's letter intrigues me," she said, taking a seat and gesturing that Feltheryn should take the one opposite.

Her voice was rich and dark and naturally vibrant. Without further consideration Feltheryn knew that she was precisely the woman for the part, if only he could persuade her.

"I am glad of that," he said, "for now that I meet you I see that Myrtis's praises were not half what they should have been. To be brief, I note by your library that you hold an interest in the theater. I note also that you own a copy of The Chambermaid's Wedding, and are therefore familiar with the part ofSerafina. It is that part which I would like you to play, if you would consider the prospect of performing a play in public."

Lady Sashana laughed, a deep, throaty laugh like the songs of large warblers from the forest.

"Master Feltheryn, can you imagine the scandal it would cause in Ranke if a woman of my position and breeding were to appear on stage? Oh, I should be barred from every respectable house and exiled from court for years! But this is not Ranke, Master Feltheryn, this is Sanctuary, and here I am in little danger of being forced to live the dull, constricted life my mother lived before her untimely death."

She stood and clapped her hands together with all the strength and deliberation of a potter about to assault a new lump of clay.

"Of course I shall do it, if you will promise to teach me all the things I need to know!"

She strode to the shelves and Feltheryn was delighted to see in her walk that she was already transfiguring her body language to that of the character she would play. She would need little coaching for this part, he thought as she removed the blue-bound volume from the shelf. She turned to him and held the heavy tome against her breasts with both arms, like a sacred treasure.

"Oh, I love this town.'" she cried, her eyes glittering with delight.

The next morning the broadsides reappeared on Sanctuary's buildings, but with an improvement; they were put up with a different kind of glue.

The glue that had stuck so tenaciously to Feltheryn's hands was nothing compared to the stuff that caused Lempchin to cry and babble as he returned to the theater from his rounds, his hands, face, and clothes plastered with pieces of paper bearing the offensive criticisms. He had become, in less than an hour, a miserable little walking billboard, and nothing they tried could make the stickum dissolve.

"Well," observed Rounsnouf as he gnawed on a piece of cold fowl he was having for breakfast, "nothing sticks to an actor like criticism!"

"Rounsnouf, that is not funny!" scolded Glisselrand, who was dressed in her best and most dignified clothes for a day of canvassing contributions. "Can't you see the poor child is terrified?"

"It would be worse if the glue had been applied to the rim of his chamber pot," Rounsnouf said. "As he didn't get around to emptying them this morning he would be in dire straits indeed!"

This caused Lempchin to howl all the worse and rush toward Glisselrand for comfort; but she dodged him deftly, and he stumbled instead into Rounsnouf, thus gluing himself firmly to the fat little comedian in a way that made them resemble a globular waste receptacle.

"Enough!" Feltheryn cried, now thoroughly distracted from both his breakfast and his script. "Lempchin, stop that caterwauling! And you, Rounsnouf, you've got what you deserve for goading the boy. You're stuck with him, at least until I can get you both down to the Street of Tanners. That glue is a nuisance, but I doubt that it is fatal. It was no doubt made by Master Chollandar, and I am sure he has a solvent for it. It will take time, but you will both be free soon enough to cause me other problems. Perhaps we can also get enough of the solvent to take down those damnable posters, while we are at it!"

"Well, thank the gods!" said Glisselrand, clearly relieved that she would not have to accompany anybody to the Street of Tanners. "If that is settled, then I must be off. Goodbye, my sweeting! Be sure and get your nap if I am late."

She kissed Feltheryn on the cheek.

"Don't be loo late, my love," said Feltheryn, kissing her cheek in turn. "You need your beauty rest as much as I do, with that dreadful leap at the end of Act Three. And don't stray into any streets that look more dangerous than others. Remember that the folk of Sanctuary have very little in the way of money to contribute, unless they are truly wealthy."

"I know, I know, my dear." She smiled. "But there are a few people of wealth and position we have not yet visited, and it is my intention to correct that. Goodbye now, and take care."

She exited through the kitchen door.

Glisselrand never merely left a room. She always exited.

Had anybody but Rounsnouf been glued to Lempchin, the journey through the streets of Sanctuary would have been a mortifying experience for the boy. But Rounsnouf being the comedian he was, the trip proved to be an amusing one. When people pointed and laughed, Rounsnouf turned their jibes back on them:

"Don't laugh, lady, I can see the man you're stuck with!"

"If you think this is bad, you should have seen me last night before I sobered up!"

"I told the tailor there was room enough in this outfit for two, so he put somebody else in here with me!"

"This isn't what you think! I'm really Enas Yorl's twin brother. Both of me!"

It was in this manner that Feltheryn led his two charges into the miasma that permeated the Street of Tanners, past Zandula's tannery, and into Chollandar's Glue Shop. A lanky boy with a mop of golden hair asked them to wait and a moment later the master gluemaker emerged from the back, wiping blood from his hands.

Feltheryn wasted no time in explaining the predicament of his comedian and his factotum, adding at the end: "There are also the broadsides. I shall have to purchase some of the solvent for taking the miserable things off the walls of this fair city as well as for removing it from Rounsnouf and Lempchin."

Chollandar grimaced and leaned on the counter of his shop.

"Master Feltheryn, you have been a good customer, buying all the glue for your stage constructions and the like, but ... Well, I cannot sell you the solvent for that glue."

"Why not?" asked Feltheryn.

"Because Vomistritus paid me an unconscionable amount not to sell it to anybody. I didn't know at the time I made the agreement that there would be problems like this ..." He indicated the squirming bundle that was Lempchin and Rounsnouf. "But the contract was quite clear. He said he had trouble with vandals, and I assumed he was going to use it to put up some sort of protection. It will hold wood, metal, anything you can think of; and of course, human flesh as well, but I never expected ..."

The gluemaker lapsed into a troubled silence, his eyes cast down on the counter.

"Perhaps I could cancel that contract," suggested Feltheryn, "by simply offering you more."

Chollandar laughed.

"I don't think you can!" he said. "The amount he offered me was so large I thought he was joking. He said I was welcome to check his credit with Renn, which I did, and frankly, Master Feltheryn, I wonder that there's any money left in Ranke at all. If you was to ask me, I'd say the new Emperor is cleaning out the treasury and storing the loot in his cousins' pockets. First Noble Abadas moves in and hires a house full of Ilsigi servants, for the gods know what purpose, and makes it clear that the Emperor has some very nice relatives. Then this not-nob\e Vomistritus moves in and shows how unpleasant the Emperor's relatives can get. If I was Emperor Theron I'd call Abadas and his family home and cut off the purse strings to old Vomit-breath, as his servants call him. But I'm not the Emperor, and I'm not in a position to just cancel my agreement with one of the Emperor's cousins. Still, it does seem a little inhumane to leave these fellows ..."

At that moment a commotion in the street interrupted the discussion and a boy no less pudgy than Lempchin, but with olive skin, came rushing in.

"Master, master!" he cried. "There's a whole army coming down the street!"

"Is that so, Sambar?" Chollandar asked. "Then we must dispose ourselves to defend the fort, eh, Master Player?"

They all went through the front door of the glue shop and saw, if not an army, at least an irate war party. Pages, foot soldiers, and an unnerving number of gladiators. At the front of this column strode an older man with a look like storm clouds on his countenance. In the center of the column eight gladiators carried a veiled sedan chair, and from the sedan chair came the terrified shrieks of a woman having hysterics.

"Oh, dear," said Rounsnouf quietly. "It's Lowan Vigeles, and he seems to be upset."

"Who is Lowan Vigeles?" asked Feltheryn, just as quietly.

"He's Molin Torchholder's half-brother," explained Rounsnouf.

"Then why haven't we seen him at the theater?" asked Feltheryn.

"Possibly because they're estranged," said Rounsnouf, "and possibly because he keeps to his estate at Land's End, training gladiators, and possibly because ..."

Rounsnouf stopped explaining as Lowan Vigeles came to a halt in front of the glue shop. "So, gluemaker, I see by the company you keep that you have already run afoul of your formula's success!" announced Lowan Vigeles.

Chollandar let out a huge sigh, and began once again his explanation of the arrangement he had made with Emperor Theron's cousin Vomistritus; but the Rankan nobleman cut him off.

"I care nothing for what that pretender's petty relations may offer you in the way of riches! The plain fact is that my sister-in-law, the Lady Rosanda, has got herself as stuck up in this mess as have that man and that boy!"

With that he pulled open the curtains of the sedan chair to reveal the Lady Rosanda, who did not have as much paper glued to her as Lempchin and Rounsnouf, but enough: enough to set off her hysterics again.

"Now, gluemaker, you will get a bottle of solvent, and you will release the Lady Rosanda from her humiliating predicament, and then we will consider the situation of your contract with Vomistritus."

Chollandar threw up his hands in a gesture common to persons of business throughout the world, a gesture indicating a hopeless situation, a gesture indicative of profits down the drain- He headed into his shop, but a gesture from Lowan Vigeles gave him the company of two gladiators, just in case he should try to proffer some other solution to the problem than the solution which had been demanded.

In a very short while the Lady Rosanda was free of the glue and papers and secure once again in the seclusion of her chair. Chollandar applied some of the solvent to Lempchin and Rounsnouf as well, freeing them from both the offending broadsides and each other.

There was then a lengthy discussion between Lowan Vigeles, Chollandar, and Feltheryn concerning the doom that had descended upon Sanctuary with the arrival of Vomistritus. It was revealed that the Lady Rosanda had merely tried to bring home one of the broadsides for the family to read; and that her sympathies, formerly opposed to any operation which had her estranged husband's blessing, were now definitely with the theater. It was also revealed that Lowan Vigeles was a profoundly level-headed man when not provoked by the screams of his sister-in-law, and further, a man well versed in law.

Unfortunately, after careful consideration of the situation, Lowan Vigeles could not think of a legal and legitimate way of breaking Chollandar's contract with Vomistritus; at least not one that would keep the gluemaker both alive and adequately reimbursed.

The subject of murder was skirted with the greatest delicacy, and clearly left as a last contingency.

"After all," Lowan Vigeles said, sighing, "that usurper, Theron, would like nothing better than an excuse to send his army down here to crush Sanctuary and sow it with salt. But enough! I must take Rosanda home. I will see to it, Chollandar, that it is made clear you had no choice but to use the solvent on my behalf. Yet we must all of us think, and think hard, on some way to undo this Vomistritus before he undoes us!"

"Perhaps," suggested Feltheryn, "we might discuss the matter again after a performance, perhaps over a late supper? I trust that we will see you and the Lady Rosanda at the theater in the near future?"

"Oh, most definitely!" said Lowan Vigeles. "Most definitely!"

Back at the theater, Feltheryn felt ready for his afternoon nap; but Evenita reminded him that he had asked Lalo the Limner to come by regarding the sets for The Chambermaid's Wedding, so he went instead to get his script and the rough sketches he had made, which the master painter would turn into fine drawings and, eventually, stage pieces. Evenita had also taken the trouble to prepare a lunch for Feltheryn and Lalo in Glisselrand's absence, and as she served them he was once again glad that he and his lady had accepted her petition to join the troupe.

There had been many, many such petitions over the years, from young women and young men of greater, lesser, or equal beauty. And many had made those petitions from similar motives: the desire to leave an unbearable life-and the hope of some measure of glory. But most of those petitions had been rejected. Those might be admirable ambitions, but they were not what made an actor or an actress. To join the theater for those reasons was as foolish as getting married for those reasons!

But Evenita's tale had been so piteous, her life so fragile at that point, that they had relented and accepted her and taken her safely away from her hometown, hoping perhaps that along the way they might find her suitable employment. She had repaid their kindness with a diligence and a show of talent that was quite unexpected, even spectacular, and now she was one of the minor jewels of their little crown. Her dark hair and warm brown eyes, her round face and full lips, were of a kind of beauty that contrasted greatly with Glisselrand's patrician features and auburn hair. And she could cook, as the little spiced clams she was serving them for lunch attested!

Lalo asked a number of pointed questions, made suggestions (most of which Feltheryn accepted), then packed up his sketchbook and bade goodbye. Feltheryn considered the bed which invited his company upstairs, then remembered a detail of the set (a door which had to be real, which had to open and close) which he had not mentioned to Lalo, and so he was off running after the painter. By the time he had found him (at the Vulgar Unicorn) and set the matter straight, and got back to the theater again, it was time to get into makeup and run lines.

And as if all the previous excitement of the day were not enough, Glisselrand was late in returning from her canvassing! Feltheryn continued to dress and prepare, but as nightfall came on he worried more and more; and was on the verge of calling the performance and sending out a search party when the door opened and his leading lady rushed in and started to dress.

"My dear, you have no idea what an exciting day it has been!" she said cheerfully, slipping out of her clothes and into her costume.

"I might guess," Feltheryn responded as he applied his lip rouge with a tiny brush of camel's hair.

"You know," she babbled on, "everyone has told me, again and again, that I must stay away from that shabby little house down on the White Foal, but something inside me, some instinct, said to me that anyone who grew such lovely flowers-you've seen them, haven't you, the black roses?-must be a very nice person indeed! Well, after visiting three homes where they clearly had plenty of money but no taste, and getting not a single contribution, I decided to follow my instincts!"

Feltheryn stopped working on his makeup and sat stock-still, his brush not moving at all. He knew full well who lived in the house on the White Foal River. The hair on the back of his neck began to rise.

"Naturally enough," she continued, "I was not so foolish as to attempt to violate the wards on the iron gate. People don't put up wards for nothing, you know. Instead I went up and sniffed the roses. They have a lovely fragrance. That was sufficient to get the attention of the lady of the house without giving her the feeling that I was being pushy, or violating her privacy. When I neither left nor tried to pluck the blooms, her curiosity was whetted and she came out on the porch. I waved hello and complimented her on her roses and asked if there were anyplace I might purchase similar plants. She smiled at that, with just a touch of contempt I think, but I didn't let it bother me. I told her how much they reminded me of the ones we have to make out of paper when we do Rokalli's Daughter, and that of course let her know that I was with the theater. -Would you help me with the corset, dearest?-Well, the gate swung open and she invited me in for tea! That is one of the nicer things about being in the theater, don't you think, Feltheryn? Almost anyone is glad to receive a player into their home, perhaps out of the sense of celebrity. Except of course that time in Sofreldo when the whole town censured the baron and baroness for inviting a mere actress to breakfast; but then, that was a frontier town, after all. Well, anyway, you cannot imagine how delighted I was to see the inside other house. Feltheryn, it was like being back home again. It was a gorgeous riot of color! Silks, satins, velvets, everything strewn about with the gayest, wildest abandon! I showed her my knitting, and I think she was very pleased. And I gave her a little bag of one of my tisanes, you know, the ones I take along as a gift for people who contribute more than their share to the theater? The poor dear, she seems so shy, really. I don't imagine she has many women friends. She's exceptionally beautiful, and you know how that makes many women jealous. I have suffered enough from that myself, all these years. There now, I think I'm ready!"

Feltheryn swallowed hard.

"Did she then make a contribution?" he asked, opening the door of the dressing room and offering a silent prayer to whichever deity was responsible for the safe return of his lady.

"Well, no," said Glisselrand sheepishly: a very unusual mode of response for her. "She said that at the moment she had nothing suitable in the house. And ... Well, I hope that you won't be too upset with me, Lamby, but, well, I ... I told her I would leave her name with Lempchin out front, so that she could come to see a show for free. Her name is Ischade, and I am sure that when things look up for her, financially, we'll see her" in the audience all the time."

And as if the previous week's ordeals weren't enough, the morning after Glisselrand gave Ischade a free pass to the theater, Lempchin brought home a dog, a scruffy little bitch with a disturbing gleam in her eye and a glittering nimbus of something about her that made Feltheryn loath to say no when the boy proffered the usual tale of having been followed, and could he keep her?

"If you can teach her tricks!" the master player said. "And if you name her Beneficence,"

"Master Feltheryn," said Lempchin, with a worried but reasonable look on his pudgy face, "you can't go out and call a dog: *Here, Beneficence!'Everyone will laugh, and besides, it won't carry!"

"You are right," said Feltheryn. "But when I was a boy, before I became an actor, I had a dog named Beneficence and we called her Benny, which will carry quite well, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes. Master Feltheryn, yes! Thank you!" cried Lempchin.

The small dog looked up at Feltheryn with an expression of scandalized horror, and for a moment he thought she understood exactly what he was saying. She backed away and let a low growl escape her lips.

"I am afraid it is that, Benny, or find another home," said Feltheryn firmly.

The dog hesitated, as if she would do jus! that rather than answer to her new name; but at that moment Molin Torchholder entered the back of the theater and headed down the center aisle, and that seemed to change everything. She looked at Molin, looked back at Feltheryn, did three neat back flips in the air, then disappeared into the scenery before Molin got to the stage.

"A born actress," Feltheryn said, and rumpled Lempchin's hair before turning his attention to his patron.

"I have heard," Molin said, without preamble and with embarrassment, "that Rosanda will be attending the theater. Could you keep me advised of the nights you expect her, so that I can absent myself?"

ACT TWO

As if by divine edict (and in Sanctuary, it seemed the only way that it could happen) things began to go well. Vomistritus's broadsides stayed up, but his poisonous commentary failed to cut too deeply into the theater's receipts. Those who took the critic at face value and stayed away were balanced by those who were intrigued by his acerbic pen into coming to see what could possibly be so bad.

Lalo delivered final sketches for The Chambermaid's Wedding and they proved to be his most inspired designs to date. The flowery pergola for the wedding scene was of surpassing loveliness, and construction of the costumes and properties was begun with much enthusiasm by all concerned.

Lady Sashana proved not only beautiful and enthusiastic, but an apt pupil as well. Glisselrand actually blushed when the disguised Schoolgirl sang her the serenade, and that was no small tribute from an actress who had played the part more than fifty times.

As for Myrtis: she was pleased to contribute the talents of some of her younger protegees to the production, and the girls themselves were pleased and delighted (and amused) to be playing the Chambermaid's virgin bridesmaids.

"The only problem," Myrtis commented, "is that song in which they sing about being pure and chaste. Some of their customers may be in the audience, and if the poor men laugh, their wives will figure it out!"

Lempchin discovered that his new dog could leam any trick with the greatest of ease. It was not long before he had persuaded Glisselrand to sew a fluffy collar for the mutt, and not much more time before Benny had got a role in the show, doing tricks for the Countess in the wedding scene.

Master Chollandar stopped by the theater to deliver some glue and related how Vomistritus had demanded half the enormous payment for exclusive rights to the solvent returned on the basis of the one unauthorized use in freeing Rosanda, Rounsnouf, and Lempchin.

"I argued with him," said Chollandar, "but in the end I figured I would have to give him what he wanted. And that's not so bad, because it was really a lot of money that he paid. But I made him print, on each broadside, that the glue was dangerous and might not be removable. And I told him that if he didn't print the message on the poster, I would not be responsible for the consequences."

"Did he accept that?" asked Feltheryn.

"Oh, yes," said Chollandar. "I think he enjoys the idea of spreading something dangerous around Sanctuary. It makes him feel sinister, maybe."

Near the closing of The Falling Star a small purse appeared on the table in the greenroom, directly after the performance. Although Lempchin did not remember admitting her, a note within the purse identified the gold it contained as a "small" gift from Ischade; and Glisselrand commented that she was happy the dear shy woman had not only fallen upon better times, but, it seemed from the size of the gift, now reveled in them.

Glisselrand finished the red, purple, and orange quilt, and one day when rehearsals had gone especially well presented it to Sashana: who accepted it gracefully and in the spirit in which the gift was intendedSashana then asked Evenita (in private) if she had anything for a headache, and Evenita, who also possessed a quilt, rushed to an apothecary for some of the little leaves whose crushed essence was palliative for eyestrain.

The Falling Star closed, there was the usual closing-night party for the cast and a few friends, then the serious business of preparation for the next play began. Old sets were torn down, wood and canvas cannibalized, and the theater rang with repeated speeches and reeked with the smell of paint.

Lowan Vigeles and Lady Rosanda sent their regrets that they had not managed to see the recently closed play, but with their regrets they sent a request for the best seats in the house for opening night of The Chambermaid's Wedding. This presented a problem, as the best seats in the house were those in the royal box, and they would surely be occupied by Prince Kadakithis and the Beysa Shupansea, who, Rounsnouf assured Feltheryn, were not the favorite people of the Rankan household at Land's End.

Feltheryn asked Glisselrand's advice in the matter (which was his usual procedure in such thorny circumstances) and she quickly composed a note to Lowan Vigeles expressing regret that the best seats were those in the royal box, which had been flocked at the expense of the prince and the Beysa, who would most surely be in attendance.

"Do you think it wise to say that?" Feltheryn asked as he read the note.

"Read on," his lady commanded.

The note further expressed regret that the theater did not have a second box of equivalent splendor, and noted that in Ranke the company's theater had possessed three such boxes: the royal one at the center, and the two at the sides of the stage which allowed the attendance of visiting dignitaries and guests of the company's director. The note then politely asked whether Lowan Vigeles would like to have the royal box on the second night or a lesser box on opening night, and appended the opinion that many attendees preferred the second night, as the initial nervousness of the performance by then had dissipated.

Feltheryn smiled.

"I see you are angling for more pomp and nocking," he said; and Glisselrand grinned.

"It couldn't hurt, my dear," she said.

Rehearsals continued, the costumes and sets were finished, and in no time at all it was opening night. Lowan Vigeles and Rosanda elected the royal box on the second night, Molin Torchholder accompanied the prince and the Beysa for the first night, and everything went as smoothly as melon with custard. In fact, by the end of the first act the impossible seemed to be taking place.

"Yes, that's him!" said Rounsnouf, who was playing the servant who turned out to be the father of the bridegroom, who was played by Snegelringe. "That laugh is unmistakable. Look out through the peephole' You see, that big, fat, ugly man? That's Vomistritus, and he actually seems to be enjoying himself!"

Feltheryn looked, saw, and had to agree that Vomistritus was big, fat, and ugly. His face was like a cantaloupe about to spoil. He had sagging chins aplenty and a grayish tone to his skin that made one wonder if he coupled regularly with corpses. His stubby fingers rested wetly on the rail and his bulgy eyes were bloodshot. His mouth was slack; Feltheryn wondered if he drooled as well. His teeth were snaggly when he smiled, and his smile was not unlike that of a shark. He wore loose robes of gooseturd green that failed to conceal his corpulence.

The young woman who sat next to him was pretty, and obviously paid for her participation.

"Suppose he turns out to be an honest critic?" asked Lady Sashana, stunning in tight blue satin breeches and a white brocade coat.

"An honest critic?" asked Snegelringe, standing close to her but as yet unable to affect her with his charms (she knew his hairline was receding under the wig).

"Yes," said Sashana. "Suppose he is actually doing what he thinks he is doing. It may be that tomorrow morning we will awake and find a good review glued all over town."

"Such things have occurred, my child," said Glisselrand, "but rarely. I don't think it is that critics go to the theater hoping to see a bad play so much as that they have seen so many plays they are numbed to the experience. I suspect they are like courtesans: always hoping for the exceptional and most of the time disappointed."

"That," said Feltheryn, taking his eye from the peephole that allowed the actors to see the audience without being seen, "and the fact that it is easier to cut a thing to ribbons than it is to imbue it with life."

"That's from The Choice of Mages, isn't it?" Sashana asked.

"Yes." Feltheryn smiled. "When Demetus realizes that even a child can kill, but that he, the greatest of magicians, cannot give life to the dead; not true life- That's when he abandons the warrior's path."

Sashana sighed. "I'd love to play Retifa!" she said.

Glisselrand's eyebrows shot up and for a moment Feltheryn wondered whether the company would make it to the second act of tonight's show. Retifa was one of Glisselrand's favorite parts.

"Of course," Sashana continued, "I'd need about thirty years of experience on the stage before I'd attempt it. And then I just might not have the talent. It takes a truly great actress, like you, Glisselrand, to carry off that part. Have you ever played it?"

Feltheryn relaxed, assured that equilibrium had been reestablished: and then it was time for the second-act curtain.

By the end of the play everybody in the cast was ebullient, and when the bows were all finished they were giddy with mutual congratulations. It was agreed that never had the town of Sanctuary known so much laughter, so much sheer good feeling. They all hurried to the greenroom and took seats behind the table, backed by big jardinieres full of flowers and potted palms, and soon the room was filled with people congratulating them.

The prince and the Beysa came first, then Molin Torchholder, then several noble families responsible for various aspects of the production. It was a shock to Feltheryn when he looked up and saw the doorway filled with goose-turd green, but he took it in good stride when Vomistritus waddled forward and began to congratulate them all.

"Never seen it so good!" the critic burbled in a loud but ill-supported baritone voice. "Such finesse! Such style! So much tastier than that tawdry tragedy you did last time' My compliments' You may be sure my broadsides will read in your behalf on the morrow. You, Madame Glisselrand, were superb! I was fare to weeping when you contemplated the Count's infidelity. And you. Master Feltheryn, were such a masterful buffoon; how did you manage that last scene, apologizing to her on one knee? One would have thought a man of your age would have difficulty with so much spriteliness. Ah, but my greatest accolades are for you, Lady Sashana! Your step! Your song! Your amorous elegance! How could anyone resist your entreaties? Why, I must confess, I thought the Countess to have a heart of stone when you pled your case! And if I felt so, then rest assured, all your audience must surely have felt so! For is that not the purpose of a critic? To stand in for the whole audience? To try and feel the play, not merely as he would alone, but as each and every viewer would feel it? Not so different from a director's Job, is it. Master Feltheryn? Only you try to stand in for the audience before the play is played, and I try to stand in for them once you have prepared it. To see whether what you saw is what they see. You see? See! Saw! Ha ha!"

And thus he went on, for considerably longer than was seemly for a man at the head of a queue, and in considerable contradiction to the tenor of his previous tone regarding the troupe. When finally he left, and the rest of the weil-wishers had paid their respects and departed, the whole company was exhausted. They repaired to the kitchen, where Lempchin had broken out cold pasties, and when they had finished rehashing the night's triumphs and restoring the energy expended by acting, they all went to bed, happy: and wondering, each in his or her private way, if perhaps the slight magic resident in the play had wrought some change in Vomistritus.

The second night was as glittering a triumph as the first. Not only did Lowan Vigeles and Rosanda attend, they brought with them enough gladiators that there was barely enough room in the theater for seating. The gladiators were all dressed in their most elaborate noncombat gear, so the candlelight flashing off gold in the audience was very near distracting from the spectacle on stage. Only Lady Rosanda outshone them. She had dressed in High Rankan style in a way that was quite as impressive as the formal cosa the Beysa had worn the night before.

Except, of course, that the Lady Rosanda kept her nipples covered.

By the third morning Vomistritus's review was plastered all over town, and it was gushing with praise for the production and everyone in it. If any unreasonable prejudice could be found in his words (Rounsnouf noted over a breakfast of hot lemon-grass tisane and egg bread fried in bacon grease) it was the opulence of his praise for Sashana.

"No doubt she's wonderful," he mumbled as he chewed. "Just not that wonderful!"

Thus it came as a surprise when, on the fourth morning after the play had opened. Lady Sashana arrived at the theater with her bodyguard servants and declared her intention to kill the Emperor's cousin, and the price be damned.

"My poor child!" Feltheryn exclaimed, pulling a chair out from the table so that she could sit down and noting that her face was bruised. "What on earth has happened?"

Lady Sashana clenched her fists on the table before her and tried to speak, but her breath was coming hard and the emotions that stormed across her face were too varied and confused for articulation. Feltheryn looked to the bodyguards and noted that they also bore bruises; and cuts and abrasions as well. Worse, each cast his eyes to the floor as Feltheryn looked at him, and the red bum of shame colored all their features.

"He-" Sashana began, but she choked on the words.

Glisselrand came into the kitchen, saw Sashana, and immediately put a cup of hot tisane before her. Myrtis entered behind Glisselrand and froze, her face going professionally blank.

Sashana drank some of the tisane, coughed, then tried again.

"Last night after the performance I received a note from Vomistritus. It said that he was having a small supper party and requested my attendance. After all the nice things he said about the production, and about my performance, I decided to go."

"At that hour of the night?" asked Glisselrand. "In Sanctuary?"

Sashana smiled ruefully.

"I am not a fool; at least not a complete fool! I took along my bodyguards, with the very good excuse that it would be unsafe for me to travel the streets that late without them. Vomistritus met me at the door himself and seemed more than pleased to admit my men. He ordered his servants to provide them with wine and meat, then led me to the upper chamber where the party was."

She took another sip from her cup.

"At once I divined my state, for the room was set for supper for only two. I turned to go, but the door had been locked from the outside. I demanded that he open the door, but he laughed. I used the best voice that you taught me and called for my men, but there was no response.

Then Vomistritus went to the table and sat down to eat, uncovering dishes and behaving as if the battle were won. Then, then that overbred imitation of a downwind pud had the colossal gall to quote your speech at me. Master Feltheryn, the one from the second act of The Falling Star!"

"Men call me venal, yet they do not know, the depths of my depravity and desire ..." Feltheryn began.

"Yes, that one!" Sashana cut him off. "Can you imagine it? And he delivered it badly! Well, of course I took my cue and went to the table, but Vomistritus is not that much an imbecile. There were no knives. The whole repast was finger-food, and none of it very good-looking, either."

"He might at least have had a decent meal prepared," said Glisselrand.

"How would a critic know the difference?" Rounsnouf asked.

"I told him I would as soon couple with the corpse of a poxed leper," Sashana said coldly. Then a burst of bitter laughter escaped her lips. "I should have known coarse language would inflame him! He rose from the table and came after me, exactly as in the play. But he had not counted on my regular wariness, nor on the dagger I keep in my stocking, under the skirts of my gown. I slashed for his throat, and by t?ie gods, my cut should have killed him!"

Her green eyes flashed like demon fire.

"What happened?" asked Feltheryn, by habit and nature as good an audience as he was an actor.

"I cut, but his damned fat saved him! He yowled, blood spurted, but my dagger didn't reach the vein. At that his men rushed in and seized me. I think one of them is missing a finger, at least, but there were too many and they got me down. Then things got worse.

"He wrapped a linen round his throat and his eyes bulged all the more, and his servants brought in my bodyguards, all stripped and bound. My men were held and forced to watch as he ..."

Once more Sashana's voice broke, and rage and desperation and horror all warred for supremacy on her face. One of her servants wept.

"He ... He quoted more of the play," she said at last. "How I do love to break the tigress of her fight ..."

There was a cold, horrible, quiet moment. Then:

"He raped you," Myrtis said quietly.

It was the cue Sashana needed.

"Yes, the bastard raped me!" she cried, and in a swift moment she was on her feet, her dagger in her hand and somehow the delicate cup from which she had been drinking smashed against the opposite wall. "And I will kill him!"

Myrtis alone of the company was able to move, able to act against the icy tide of horror and anger which engulfed them all. She moved to Sashana and took her in her arms, where Sashana finally was able to let her tears come, her sobs break.

After a while Sashana quieted, then whispered again, against Myrtis's breast: "I will kill him."

"No, child," Myrtis said. "You will not kill him. If you kill him then it will be over for him, and you will be left with this pain and no place to put it."

"What do you mean?" Sashana asked-

"I mean that justice is a matter of balance," the madam said. "He did not take your life, so taking his life is an inappropriate punishment. We must seek instead to take exactly the things he took from you. We must seek to relieve your pain by putting it upon him."

"Are you talking magic?" Feltheryn asked. "Or ..."

"Myrtis," Glisselrand said, "I don't think we will find anyone who will want to rape Vomistritus."

Myrtis snorted in a very uncourtesanly way.

"This is Sanctuary, Glisselrand," she said. "That would be the least of our difficulties. It is not the sexual part of the crime with which I am concerned, but the violence and the humiliation. And more than that, a means by which we may mete out this villain's punishment without bringing down the town around us."

Sashana drew away a little.

"Oh, he is very aware of that!" she said. "When he was finished he said that I was powerless to gain revenge because if he was harmed the Emperor would tear down Sanctuary and decimate the population. He was very proud of knowing what decimate meant. He joked about it, asking me which friend out of each ten I would like to see murdered before my eyes!"

"My lady!" cried the servant who had wept, "let me deal with him, and after I am done I will give myself up to the prince for execution! That will save Sanctuary and revenge us a!! as well!"

"Nobly offered, Miles," Sashana said. "But I cannot sacrifice you in exchange for a creature so far beneath you in worth."

"Lady Sashana," R-ounsnouf said, and for once his comic's voice was pitched in dead seriousness. "If I might offer a plan?"

Sashana turned to him. She still trembled, but the prospect of some action, any action, seemed to calm her. "Yes?"

The comic addressed the madam: "Myrtis, how well do you know the proprietor of the House of Whips?"

"Well enough," Myrtis answered.

"There is a small courtyard in that house, with stocks," said Rounsnouf. "It was a popular place when the Stepsons were here, or so I am told, but now its fortunes have declined; especially since that goat farmer ..."

"Yes, yes!" Feltheryn interrupted, beginning to see the drift of what the comic was saying. "About the stocks?"

"They seem a gentle torture to anyone who has not endured them," Rounsnouf said, "but in fact being forced to stand bent over at the waist, one's head and wrists through the board and one's rear end exposed, can be an agony. The back hurts first, then the muscles of the shoulders, the legs, and so on. They ache, they cramp, and by the end of the first day one is willing to do anything to escape. And that even without the assistance of the patrons of that particular house, many of whose chief pleasure lies in the infliction of various other tortures upon a bound victim."

"A good beginning," said Lady Sashana, now regaining some of her composure. "But we are not discussing some attractive slave, we are discussing Vomistritus."

"My lady," said Rounsnouf, his little eyes beginning to glitter with creativity, "the courtyard is there for that special taste of public humiliation. There are windows round it from which one may watch what transpires without being seen. That too is a taste to which the house caters. One could stand thus concealed and drop a soldat or two to anyone who gave an especially fine performance. And I am sure there are many in the Downwind who have never been able to afford a night in the Street of Red Lanterns, many whose tastes might be beyond our darkest imagination. Word could be dropped with the Beggar King, Morruth, and who knows what might transpire? Though you might not guess it, there are those in Sanctuary who are even less attractive than Vomistritus!"

Sashana took one long breath and her shuddering stopped. Her proud chin lifted, but still she looked to Myrtis for some council.

The smile, and the nod, that Myrtis gave might have frozen even mighty Tempus with fear.

"It were best," said Glisselrand, her rich voice suddenly an emblem for reason, "that none involved be recognized- Moreover, what is to stop Vomistritus from announcing himself to his tormentors and offering more money than any of us possess for his freedom?"

Rounsnouf giggled.

"That very glue by which Lempchin and I were bound shall be brushed across his lips," the comic said. "Before we deliver him to his particular purgatory he shall be prevented from praying his way out!"

"Better!" said Sashana.

"And Master Feltheryn," Rounsnouf continued, "we have not performed The Fat Gladiator for some years; can we perhaps use the demon costumes from the last scene? We shall wait, and we shall lure him to the woods with some sort of tryst, just as in the play, and there he shall be set upon by horrors, bound up, his mouth glued shut, and he will not be able to swear who it was who delivered him! Then we can bum the costumes, eliminating the evidence."

They all looked to Feltheryn, but Feltheryn did not answer at once. That they were asking to destroy some old costumes was nothing. Neither did he mind the risk. Of course Vomistritus would recognize the plot of The Fat Gladiator at some point in the proceedings and understand that it was the theater troupe taking revenge upon him; that didn't matter, for the critic could not have them all killed. Emperor Theron would not tolerate that, not even from his cousin. And the criminal in such a case would be obvious to all.

No, Feltheryn hesitated for Sashana's sake. If he approved the plan he would be putting her into a position wherein she inflicted such cruelties as she felt she had endured. Wherein she could achieve a catharsis, but at what cost to her? She was a fine-bom lady; but she had also survived the murder of her parents and the rigors of the desert. How might this chance wind twist the very finest sapling?

But then, how had it already been bent?

Feltheryn nodded.

"But still," the master player added, "there is an untied string. We may prevent Vomistritus gaining any evidence against us, but he will know, and he will try to take a counter revenge if I am any judge of him. We need some sharp and terrible sword to hold over his head, that he may never come back against us again."

There was another silence in the room, then a quiet cough sounded from the doorway. They turned to look and there stood Lalo the Limner, his ginger fringe of hair awry, his fingers stained with paint where he had come early to adjust a few things about the set with which he had not been satisfied.

"I believe I can help with that," Lalo said.

Thus it was that in a strangely deserted park called the Promise of Heaven, a heavy man dressed in goose-turd green was assaulted by demons. He cried out, but his minions were appalled, when they rushed to his aid, to find their way blocked by a contingent of gladiators from Lowan Vigeles's school at Land's End. The cries of their master soon ceased, or at least became muffled, and those minions (having only the loyalty born of cash) quickly retired from the fray.

It was not the first time that park had played host to demons; but later on, the ladies too much enslaved to krrfor too ill featured to work in the Street of Red Lanterns returned, their time well compensated.

It might have been noted that for a few nights the Schoolgirl disguised as a Schoolboy (in The Chambermaid's Wedding) was a little less springy of step. That perhaps the play took on a tenderer note than it had shown on opening night. That certain aspects of the ensemble were sharpened while others were softened.

It might have been noted, but it was not, for in Sanctuary few people came to see a show more than once. And there were thenceforth no critics to be concerned.

For to be a True and Just Critic is a risky business. One must have standards against which one measures, but one must also become submerged in the emotions of the work. One must, like the director, be able to see the play from the point of view of an entire audience. One must, in fact, be an entire audience.

Yet an audience does not simply observe a work of art. An audience participates. If a play is performed perfectly, but with nobody to see it, it is not a play. A painting unseen does not exist, not even for the painter; for the purpose of art (and of everything else of value in life) is communication. A tree falling in the forest does not make any. sound. At least, not any sound that an artist could understand.

An audience does not merely come to the theater, it brings with it Observation, Participation, Response. If the audience comes unwilling to submerge itself in Feeling and Understanding, then it is like a lover who merely lies there, waiting to be acted upon.

It is the difference between those sad women who walk the paths of the Promise of Heaven and the beautiful ladies who sail the satin sheets of the Aphrodisia House. The difference between a courtesan and a whore.

In short, the audience unwilling to act its part is incompetent, and nothing in the performance, nothing in the painting, nothing in the book, nothing in the music will alter its state; and the critic stands in for the audience.

A rain came, brief but enough to wash the ink from the broadsides that defaced the town's walls. On the back wall of a closet in the palace a new portrait appeared, one which Prince Kadakithis was pleased to receive from Lalo the Limner but which he did not desire to display in public, as it showed, with the preternatural accuracy of Lalo's brush, the True Soul of a naked ugly man in the stocks at the House of Whips. It was a portrait which might be of use to the prince should the new Emperor plan another visit to Sanctuary, and its subject knew the prince possessed it.

A small dog had to be told point-blank not to do so many tricks, as she was stealing the scene in which she appeared from the star,

And one night, when the actors all repaired to the greenroom, the jardinieres were filled with fragrant black roses.