by TJ Green
“Anthony,” Josh shouted down, “can we just run through the whole scene, and you correct us after? I just want to get a feel for it, with costumes and the set.”
“Sure,” Anthony shouted back. “Go from the top.”
Avery was concerned less about the performance than the scripts, and she leaned forward, trying to see where the actors had left their copies, because obviously the actors on the stage weren’t holding them. After a quick scan of the front seats, she saw a few at the end of the row, and crept out of her seat to grab a copy. Anthony, and a cast member who sat next to him, were so absorbed with the performance they didn’t notice, and she was sure wouldn’t care.
“This isn’t that old,” Avery whispered as she turned the pages. There was enough light to see that the pages were grubby, but it looked like modern copy.
“It looks like the one Briar found yesterday,” El agreed. “On first impression, no magic here.”
“I agree,” Reuben said, frowning at the script. He glanced up at the stage. “Those two, however, have got real chemistry. Anthony is letting them get on with it, and the more they act, they more I feel their intensity. Watch.”
Avery leaned back, watching Josh and Emma go through the scene, and Reuben was right. It was easy to get caught up in their emotions, and that could be a credit to their acting, or it could be something else. Even as the scene progressed, and other actors came and went, Avery felt as if a spell were stealing over her, and it was only with the greatest effort that she reminded herself that the performance wasn’t real.
Then suddenly the hall they sat in disappeared, and there was only the stage. For a moment, Avery heard the sound of the ocean, the calls of the seagulls, and smelt brine. When Brangain brought the potion out to give to Tristan and Iseult, Avery jolted out of her reverie, wanting to cry out for the pair not to take the potion. She jerked upright, her hand gripping El’s arm, but that was enough to bring her to her senses, and she glanced at El and Reuben, who were also blinking as if coming out of a trance.
“What the hell happened there?” Reuben whispered, his eyes wide. “I was gone.”
“Shh,” El hissed, her finger to her lips. “Look at the potion!”
“It’s not a bloody potion,” he hissed back, “it’s coloured water!”
But the water did seem to smoke in the seconds before the actors downed it. Within minutes the scene had ended as they declared their love for each other, and there was a moment’s silence until Anthony shouted, “Cut! That was, er, excellent. I’d like to suggest a couple of things.”
Anthony sounded as if he was having trouble focussing, and that was doubly true for Emma and Josh. They were locked within each other’s gaze, motionless, and it was with the greatest difficulty that they turned and looked down at their director.
“That’s just plain freaky,” El said, looking at Avery and Reuben. She sat between them, the script in her clenched hands. “That was more than just acting, right?”
Avery nodded, trying to gather her thoughts. “That was definitely an enchantment; I felt it steal over us. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. So,” she nodded at the script, “why can’t we feel it in this?”
Reuben leaned in. “Maybe there’s another script—a master?” he suggested.
“Harry is playing Governal, Tristan’s advisor,” Avery whispered back. “He’s obviously a support for Tristan, as Brangain is for Iseult. That could explain why she stabbed Frocin, who essentially betrayed her mistress, and why Harry agreed that he deserved it.”
“It’s nuts!” El said, sounding like Dan. “You can’t justify a stabbing because of a bloody play!”
“Unless you’re bewitched,” Reuben reminded her.
Avery looked to where Anthony was now standing and discussing the scene. “We need to get backstage. Let’s sneak around the back. No one will notice, and I’m sure they won’t mind. We need to see what the mood is like there.”
El pointed to the second row where there were still a few cast members watching. “I’m going to speak to them, get a feel for what they think. You two carry on, and I’ll see you when you’ve finished.”
With that they all stood, hoping to find some answers.
11
Backstage at the theatre was buzzing with activity, and the cast members were spread out, absorbed in their preparations, allowing Avery and Reuben to explore.
Some of the cast were grouped in the wings, waiting to go onstage; others were rehearsing lines in the dressing rooms. Additional members who weren’t acting were instead liaising between the front and backstage, checking props and costumes. Everyone gripped scripts, and while some people looked nervous, others were laughing and joking. Avery estimated that there were about 20 or 30 company members of a variety of ages and sexes.
However, she definitely detected an air of tension underlying the laughter and general excitement. They received a few inquisitive glances and mumbled greetings, but it was a young woman of Avery’s age who finally spoke to them when they reached the large dressing room. It looked as if she was checking the costumes. “You two are Harry’s friends, right?”
“A friend of a friend, actually,” Avery explained. “He’s doing us a favour by letting us look around today.”
She shrugged. “That’s fine. We’re used to people coming to see if it’s something they’re interested in. I’m Alison, by the way.”
“Avery, and Reuben,” Avery said, introducing them both. She wondered whether it was too soon to mention the stabbing, but knew she needed to be fairly direct to get the information they needed. “How are your friends? We saw the news about the incident last night.”
“Oh, that!” Alison said, looking warily at them. “That was pretty terrible, and quite unusual. We don’t normally stab each other! Many of us are good friends. We even all went to Gail’s thirtieth birthday party at the pub the other day! Please don’t think we’re normally like this.”
Alarm bells started ringing for Avery, but she tried to sound casual. “A party? That sounds fun. Where was it?”
“The Flying Fish.” Alison looked distracted. “Why would we hang out together if we hated each other? This is not right.”
The Flying Fish. Avery’s thoughts flew back to the woman who had been crying in her shop. She must have been at the same party, and must have been affected by the cast, who no doubt were already bewitched at that point. However, Alison was still talking, as if pleased to unburden herself.
“I think things were a bit tense last night—not that tension excuses it, of course. But Lawrence is fine, fortunately. Jamie stabbed him in the shoulder, so he’ll recover, but obviously he won’t be performing now.”
Reuben nodded encouragingly. “Great news. The possibility of getting stabbed in the name of art did worry me,” he joked.
Alison stumbled over her words in her haste to reassure them. “No! That never happens. This performance is a big deal, and I think we’re all nervous—you know, we want it to be perfect!”
“Why is it a big deal?” Avery asked.
“Because the council approached us directly to do the play. There are other local theatre groups they could have asked, but chose us, so we feel really privileged. This will give us a real boost.”
“And a chance for some of us to actually get noticed!” A voice said from behind them.
They turned around to see a stern-faced, middle-aged man dressed in an elaborate costume. He was sitting in the corner, rehearsing his lines, but he stood and joined them. “Hi, I’m Ian, and I’m playing King Mark.” He shook their hands.
“What do you mean, ‘get noticed?’” Reuben asked.
“I’d like to act professionally, a few of us do. This play will get a lot of attention.” He swelled with pride and expectation as he said it, and Avery wondered if this was something he’d wanted to achieve for years.
“Oh, right,” Reuben nodded. “I presume you mean because of the crowds.”
“Yes. Normally we only get a couple hundre
d people watching us, but it will be a lot more this week. More importantly, it also means reviews by the papers, right Alison?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, this is really important for some people. I’m not interested in doing this full-time, like Ian. This is just fun for me, so I was happy to be backstage on this one. We all take it in turns to work as crew.” She looked at Ian with an almost pleading expression, and Avery noticed her hands were clasped together tightly, the knuckles turning white. “I was telling them that we think it’s nerves that is making everyone tense.”
Their eyes met for a moment, and it seemed as if something unsaid passed between them. Finally he nodded, almost reluctantly. “Probably. It’s been a weird one. This play has got under everyone’s skin.” He laughed nervously, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes.
“Even yours?” Reuben asked, watching him closely.
Ian looked defensive. “I just want to put in a good performance.”
An older man stuck his head around the door. “Ian, we need you.”
Ian nodded. “Sorry. Must go.”
After he’d left the room, Alison said, “I should get on. I need to make sure the costumes are labelled and ready for the next act.”
It was clear she didn’t want to discuss anything else, but Avery was beyond caring about her sensibilities right now. It was time to use a little magic, something to relax Alison and invite confidences. She used a gentle spell, sending it swirling around Alison, and asked, “What do you think is happening with this play?”
Alison’s resistance crumbled. “I think everyone is taking their characters too seriously. There’s an undercurrent of fear and suspicion, and the cast is taking sides and whispering about each other. It’s insidious, and getting worse. Jamie was so incensed last night with Frocin’s—sorry, Lawrence’s,” she said, correcting herself, “interfering ways that she just lost it. She chased him into the kitchen and grabbed the nearest thing to hand.” She buried her face in her hands for a second, and when she looked up again, her eyes were wide with disbelief. “Jamie screamed as soon as it happened, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d done, and Lawrence roared and raged. We ran in, and I couldn’t believe it. There was blood pouring down Lawrence’s back, and the knife was on the floor, and then Jamie just started screaming again. She kept looking at her hands, and then at Lawrence. It was like she couldn’t remember doing it!”
Alison staggered to the closest chair and sat down, her hands gripped together, and she stared at the floor.
Reuben pulled a chair up and sat down too, his tone comforting. “But it hasn’t affected you. You sound quite rational.”
“I haven’t been rehearsing. I’m not even a back-up.” Alison lowered her voice and leaned closer, and Avery crouched to listen. “Everyone who picks up that script is taking themselves very seriously. Talk about method acting! But—” she shivered and looked around nervously. “I think this theatre has made it worse!”
“In what way?”
“Well, we only arrived here last night, and although things have been tense before, they just got worse, really quickly. I think it’s haunted!”
Haunted? Avery groaned inwardly. This would make everything far more complicated.
Reuben glanced at Avery and then said to Alison, “What makes you say that?”
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” she accused, suddenly mutinous.
“No! I believe in those kinds of things,” he reassured her, and his glamour rolled around Alison again, soothing her. “Why do you think it’s haunted?”
“There are cold spots, icy spots, that I can’t explain, and there is a prickling feeling of being watched—a feeling of...” She struggled to find the words, and then said, “Malevolence! And I keep smelling perfume, too, when there’s no one else around. And I’m not the only one to notice, either!”
“You’ve performed here before, right? Notice anything then?”
Alison shook her head. “It’s an old theatre, it always feels a bit creepy, but nothing like what I’ve felt this time around.”
Reuben nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Okay, thanks Alison. You’d really like to show us a script now, an old one. Can you get one for us?”
Her eyes clouded for a moment, and then she turned around, scanning the room. “Most of them have gone, but there might be a couple left in the original box.”
She walked to a long table crowded with props on the far side of the room, knelt down, and after pushing aside some blankets, picked up a box on the floor. When Alison returned to them, her eyes were still slightly unfocussed. “This is what the council gave us.”
Reuben took the box from her, letting Avery look inside. At the bottom were a couple of slim books approximately A5-sized, with Tristan and Iseult written on the front. The covers looked worn, grubby, and yellow with age, and as Avery lifted them out she felt a tingle of magic run through her. She looked victoriously at Reuben, and then smiled gratefully at Alison. “I’ll borrow both of them, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.”
Avery tucked the scripts into her bag as Reuben put the box down and flashed Alison his most charming smile and a soothing wave of magic. “Thanks, Alison. I’m sure things will settle down. You’re probably right—it’s just nerves. And hey, ghosts can’t hurt you!”
Alison smiled. “Let’s hope so.”
Avery stood, eager to leave now, and said, “We’ll leave you to it. I can see you’re busy. Just one more question first. Who gave you the scripts?”
“Stan, you know, our Druid.”
Stan! Was he behind this? Surely not. Avery tried to hide her confusion, smiling quickly. “Thanks for your time, and break a leg! That’s the saying, right?”
“Right,” she confirmed, already turning back to the costumes, and Avery and Reuben headed for a final tour of the backstage before joining El.
***
The bright sunshine of late afternoon was a shock after the darkness of the old Victorian building, and Avery took a deep breath of fresh sea air and lifted her face to the sun. “I’m so pleased to be out of there!”
“You and me both,” Reuben said, raising his pint in salute before taking a long drink.
El, Avery, and Reuben were sitting around a table in the courtyard garden of The Wayward Son, sheltered from the sea breeze by the walls covered in a trellis and climbing plants. The sun would sink behind the walls soon, but while it lasted, Avery enjoyed it.
“What do we think of Stan’s involvement in all this?” El asked. She put her pint aside and picked up one of the old scripts, handling it gently. “Wow. There’s definitely something here.”
Avery sipped her wine and eyed the script as if it might bite. “Stan can’t possibly be involved, not malevolently, anyway.” She looked at El and Reuben. “I mean, come on, it’s Stan!”
“I agree,” Reuben said. “Either someone suggested this to him, or he just found the scripts and realised what a good choice of play it would be for Beltane.”
El opened the script out on the table, and started to examine it methodically, turning the pages slowly. “But we still have so many questions, the most important being, what spell is on this, and who put it there?”
“And can we break it?” Avery added. “Or at least counteract its effects.”
“I want to know where it’s been hidden all this time,” Reuben said. “We need to speak to Stan, which shouldn’t be hard, as he’s popping up everywhere at the moment. In fact, he’s coming to the nursery tomorrow. He wants to check on the pots we’ve planted up for along the quay.”
“More pots?” Avery asked, surprised.
“Of course! Stan is obsessed with Beltane.” Reuben rolled his eyes. “My staff are really good at this, but he can’t help adding his suggestions. However, the council is paying us a lot of money, so—” he shrugged. “We put up with it. I’ll make sure I’m there when he arrives tomorrow.”
“Of course, I forgot you were open seven days a week
,” Avery said.
He nodded. “We’re flat-out now. Spring is our busiest time of year.” He sipped his pint thoughtfully. “I’ll just praise his brilliance for choosing the play, get him talking—which isn’t hard—and see what he says.”
“What if someone did suggest it?” Avery asked, already trying to imagine who that could be. “Does that mean they know this script is bewitched?”
Reuben shrugged. “Let’s wait and see what he says. We should focus on what we can work with—finding out how the spell works.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” El said, looking up at them. “The spell has limits. The cast seem to be able to function normally most of the time, it’s just when they’re performing the play that it takes hold of them.”
“I’m not so sure,” Avery replied. “If the lead actors are having an affair, it suggests the enchantment is affecting them outside the play.”
They talked through some theories, and within half an hour, Briar, Hunter, and Alex had joined them at the table, eager to hear what they’d found. Once they were settled with drinks and food had been ordered, Avery and Reuben updated them on their conversation in the dressing room, and then El shared what she’d discussed with the cast.
“I realised,” El told the group, “that most of the cast had no idea that they were behaving so intensely—if that’s the right word? But company members who were acting as crew could see that their behaviour was odd. There was tension among the cast, no doubt about that.”
“Who did you speak to?” Alex asked.
“The guys who were playing the three Barons. In the play they are King Mark supporters, and hate Tristan. They were a tight bunch, just as you’d expect. I spoke to some others who had minor parts, and everyone seems to have taken a side.”
“What happens to the Barons in the play?” Briar asked. As usual, the arrival of Hunter had given her a glow, and she sat next to him, looking like a flower in the sunshine, while he emanated protection.
Hunter answered. “They died—two at Tristan’s hand. I’m not sure about the other.”