The Royal Perfects

by Jeremy Neeley

  Chapter 10: Greek Tragedy

  Benedict was put into action that very night, adding his muscle to the designated stage crew. Along with Brock and John Ladyfist, the three-man team hustled and bustled as they ran through their last checks. Timmy had taken a prime seat in the audience, right next to Gabriel Goldhand. The rest of the men had stage roles and were performing them dutifully within the glow of spotlight.

  The Emerald Cat was packed. In the hiatus between this show and The Death of Bugs Harrington, hype had stirred amongst the people of Upper Southrump. Everyone wanted to see what work of imagination and unbelievable entertainment The Royal Perfects would unleash next. The Rectangle That Went That Way was that piece, and fans came from far and wide to be among the first to bear witness.

  The play spun a wild yarn made up of equally strong fibers of comedy and drama. There were several points of absolute hilarity, and quite a few of moving dialogue, and the crowd loved the entire thing. When the curtain line was finally delivered, the people rose to salute the performance. As had taken place so many times before, the praise rained down like a summer storm, and the Perfects embraced the drenching.

  Patrons began to shuffle out, their bellies thoroughly filled by the theatrical feast. Timmy was left conversing with a decent crowd that had noticed him in the front row. They offered their good wishes on a job well done and pandered for autographs from a man whose name was gaining greater acclaim with each passing production. Not one to disappoint, Timmy made time for them all.

  A similar scene played out the following night at The Rusty Pelican. This venue had an oceanfront patio and an open-air setup with much of the dining area organized under a wall-less roof. Another portion was laid out within the tavern’s main house, and the stage area spanned the gap between, giving it a central location. Gabriel Goldhand always liked the ocean atmosphere and the constant salty breeze, so when the building became available, he leapt at the opportunity. While the unique, centrally located stage setup was nice, Goldhand knew that the place was a seasonal showcase given its patio section. He had debated whether to modify the design, but elected to leave it while the temperate months prevailed.

  The Rectangle That Went That Way was again put on display, and was again lauded by the public. Many of the cast had changed roles and duties, and Timmy himself felt well enough to handle backstage tasks. Regardless of who worked where, the event produced the same positive effect. The pattern continued the following day at the Thumbtack Pub.

  Soon, the crew found itself at their fourth and final new venue, The Monkey King’s Crown. It was by far the most elaborately built and largest of all the properties Goldhand had acquired. Located in the Central District, The Monkey King’s Crown was originally built as a theater. It already possessed all the necessary stage accouterment, but unlike the rest of the forums, lacked the dual function of dining. Gabriel didn’t mind because his hope was to make more than enough from a straight, ticket sales approach to business. He felt The Royal Perfects had forged a strong reputation and a citywide brand capable of drawing fans by the carriage-full.

  Opening night at the Monkey King’s Crown proved him right. The place was sold out and packed with the elite of the land. Mink stoles, lace fans, polished shoes, and waxed mustaches were everywhere. The finest people had turned out in their finest garb as the excitement of another Perfect premiere held them in welling anticipation.

  Timmy and Bugs had decided that, due to the upscale locale, debuting One Comment Too Many was a justified strategy. Both men took stage roles on this occasion and eagerly waited for the moment they would turn the public’s perception of events on its head. The ruse was set, and the show began as a performance of The Rectangle That Went That Way. Minutes into the first act, the lights were doused and a woman’s scream cut through the darkness. When illumination returned, two nearly identical ushers, Smirks and Romeo, were tending to an older woman.

  To the ghastly shock of the audience, Romeo proclaimed the woman, who was actually John Ladyfist, dead. The cue immediately brought a comically bumbling Bugs Harrington to the scene, playing the role of a constable. What followed was an accusation-laden investigation to determine which of the twin-brother ushers was responsible for the death.

  As the play wore on, the audience was repeatedly clued into the fact that it was a work, and everyone enjoyed the splendid twist of fantasy and reality. Many of the patrons were brought into the play for moments at a time as Bugs worked the crowd for information and hypotheses. In the end, one of the brother’s comments betrayed his earlier alibi, and the killer was revealed to the delight of all.

  Another standing ovation later, and the Perfects had proven their powerful magic once more. Timmy took a deep bow on stage, flanked by the other members of the cast and crew. He looked out across the applauding mass, thanking them for their support. That’s when he spotted Genny, standing alongside the villainous John Smith. She was staring right at him, a warm smile on her face. Smith was the antithesis, glaring venom toward the stage. He whispered something into Genny’s ear, and it was received with a reluctant nod of understanding. He then shoved his way out of the aisle, pulling her along with him, and made his way out of the theater, soon disappearing within the departing crowd. Timmy wasn’t sure what he had just witnessed, but anything involving Smith was bound to be something of ill design.

  Later that night, at the after-party, Timmy told Bugs what he had seen. Bugs was immediately put on guard. He had heard a rumor that The Illegitimate Sons of Sophocles were all but extinct. They had cut back their nightly shows to one a week because they couldn’t fill the seats. The Royal Perfects had swung the public forcefully in their favor, and the Ill So-Sos just couldn’t compete. Seeing Smith at one of their shows brought fears of sabotage. Timmy and Bugs took the concern to the rest of the troupe, and all were advised to be extra cautious.

  Over the next few weeks however, nothing odd transpired. They saw Smith and many of the other Ill So-Sos at several of their performances, but other than noticing them talking to various townsfolk, there was not a thing out of place. So it was with confidence that the Perfects pushed on, performing their plays in a rotating manner to full houses at every location. The level of their success continued to grow, and by month’s end, they had amassed quite the treasure of both coin and notoriety. It was a wonderful time.

  The Monkey King’s Crown was playing host to the team once more, their fifth performance on that popular stage. The evening’s production showcased The Rectangle That Went That Way. After incorporating One Comment Too Many into their repertoire, all in attendance were held hostage by the possibility that anything could happen at any time. This made for quite an exciting night of entertainment, regardless of what plot actually transpired. But as fate would have it, the Perfects would be the ones shocked by unexpected events on this evening.

  Gathered together on stage, the troupe took its final bows before a cordial crowd. It was then Timmy noticed a man approaching from the left and ascending the staircase to the stage. It was the mayor of Upper Southrump, Percival Snodgrass. Percival, along with his wife, Madison, had been present at many past performances, but this was the first time he had actually set foot on the dais. He paid the Perfects no mind as he moved front and center and motioned to the audience for silence. Being the mayor, his words were quickly headed.

  “Fellow people of Upper Southrump,” Percival began in an authoritarian tone, “it has come to the attention of my administration, as well as that of the local parliamentary office, that the content you have all just borne witness to may not be of highest moral ideals that we, as elected officials, deem appropriate for the masses. The questionable antics of two homosexual characters do not properly reflect the values of this town, nor does exposure to such corruptible and contemptuous material bode well for the proper teachings of our children. It is with the authority of my office that I formally declare an immediate and lasting ban on the works of The Royal Perfects, and upon the very company i
tself.”

  Dozens upon dozens of armed constables marched into the theater, taking up positions at each aisle end and forming a barricade in front of the stage. Timmy and the rest of the Perfects looked on in stunned silence.

  Percival, bookended by two rather enormous officers, continued. “Now, being as many of you may be at a loss as to how you will fill the entertainment void left by the Perfects’ rightful prohibition, I offer you an alternative.” The mayor motioned to the audience. Stepping forth was the entire group of Ill So-Sos. John Smith led them on stage and took a position next to Percival.

  “These great actors need no introduction, as their past work has spoken clearly for itself. Masters of their art, The Illegitimate Sons of Sophocles have provided us with countless moments of stage excellence. They have dedicated themselves to the classic works, not the lewd fantasies of deranged homeless men. So it is with great pride that I announce their designation as the official acting company of Upper Southrump. To celebrate this momentous occasion, The Illegitimate Sons have agreed to perform one of the finest plays of Theban locale, Oedipus Rex, and as an added bonus, you’ll be treated to the stage début of a guest thespian, your cultured mayor himself, Percival Snodgrass!”

  The gathered assembly was awkwardly silent for a moment, but upon realizing this announcement was paramount to a formalized, legal decree, they politely clapped. This was more out of fear than willingness.

  Snodgrass and the Ill So-Sos accepted the moderate support, its presence validating the proclamation and public’s acceptance from their point of view. The mayor then signaled his army of constables, and they began to escort a bewildered crowd out of the theater.

  “Smith, you bastard!” Bugs cried, lunging for the scheming scallywag.

  One of the mayor’s security personnel stepped in and held a raging Bugs at bay with a stiff baton shot to the sternum. Bugs fell hard to the polished wood floor. John Smith laughed.

  Timmy had been fixated on Genny, standing only feet away from him. Their eyes had been locked in a desperate fit of non-verbal communication. Timmy’s expression was one of questioning shock, wondering how all this could have transpired. Genny’s only reply was that of lightly falling tears.

  Mayor Snodgrass pointed with contempt at the Perfects. “Please escort these hooligans out of the theater.” The eleven-man troupe was then surrounded and ushered down the stairs and up the aisle toward the exit. Timmy, still a bit slowed by his recent injuries, was prodded along by a few vicious jabs from the baton.

  “Smith,” Bugs shouted again, “this isn’t over!”

  His angry yell was met by laughter from the Ill So-Sos and Mayor Snodgrass.

  “Goodbye, Royal Perfects. May your bones find familiar comfort upon the cobblestone of Sooty Stoops!” a smug John Smith shouted back.

  Shoved into the streets, the Perfect gang was at a loss. They had no idea what action to take next. They could only look on helplessly as the mayor’s men chained and locked the doors to The Monkey King’s Crown. The sound of maniacal laughter emanating from within was the last echo to pass through the large, golden doors. With a loud creak and defining slam, those doors had abruptly closed on their dreams.

  Arriving back at the Rat’s Tail, they were met by another unfortunate find. Dozens of large crates were stacked high outside the tavern. Gabriel Goldhand sat atop one, his head in his hands.

  “Mr. Goldhand!” Timmy yelled upon seeing him.

  The elder man lifted his vision. His eyes were red and damp.

  “They took it all, Timmy,” he uttered with sadness, pointing to chains that had been locked across the tavern doors. “When I got back here, I found all of your belongings boxed and lying on the street. My tavern was locked tight and an official transcription was left for my reading.” Gabriel pulled it from his pocket. “It states that all of my property has been seized by the city and my business license has been revoked as punishment for my implicit role in fostering and harboring such acts of immorality and debauchery. I’m ruined!”

  Gabriel began to weep, and Timmy carefully knelt down to comfort him. The entrepreneurial Goldhand could not believe how quickly things had turned. He never foresaw such a calamitous future, and was simply overwhelmed by the weight of it all.

  “Timmy, Bugs, to be clear, I do not blame you for anything that has happened.” Gabriel dried his eyes with a handkerchief. “I know other forces are at work here, and unfortunately, they are of such power and influence that we are forced to accept and move on.”

  “We can’t just let it be like this,” Brock stated.

  “Yeah, there must be something we can do,” Romeo added.

  Gabriel stood and straightened his suit coat. “Boys,” he began with a fatherly delivery, “you mustn’t push. In this world, there are those who will stop at nothing to get what they want. You are all good men, and as such, hold yourselves to certain bounds others would break without hesitation if it meant getting their way. Please, take heed, if you do not cease and let fate be as it may, I fear far worse will be waiting for each and every one of you.”

  Gabriel’s words were heavy and frightening. He had been a businessman for many years and had seen many underhanded circumstances in his day. Timmy could also attest to Gabriel’s warning, having seen it in action with his old friend William Mudd.

  “It was a grand ride gentlemen,” Mr. Goldhand stated, delivering a sturdy and grateful handshake to every member of The Royal Perfects. “I suppose the sun is setting for me. It came a bit earlier than I would have hoped, but I regret nothing. It’s high time I listen to my wife, hang up my hat, and enjoy my last days in the peaceful comfort of our country home. It was a pleasure.”

  Gabriel placed his topper upon his head, and after giving Timmy a loving hug, wobbled off down the lane. Timmy could only watch as this man of great trust and loyalty stepped out of his life.

  Pantaloons had been rummaging through the boxes left on the sidewalk. They contained all of the group’s personal effects.

  “I guess we’ve been evicted,” he said.

  The locked doors of the tavern were evidence enough that none of them were bedding down in their shared apartment tonight.

  “What are we going to do?” Smirks wondered aloud.

  Bugs stroked his beard for a moment. He then offered a temporary solution. Not far away was a building he knew lay vacant for months. It was once the location of Lester's Sealed Jams and Wool Stockings, but after going out of business, it had simply been left to ruin. He suggested they carry what they could and hole up there until they could devise another course of action.

  It was getting late, and with no better plan on the table, the party agreed and loaded up with belongings before trudging off to the abandoned building. Timmy was still not one hundred percent, but he carried what he could, in addition to a stub-beaked finch that had flown down from the roof of a nearby store and landed, as he always did, upon the comfortable shoulder of his master.

  In a back alley, Bugs pried open a loose board blocking one of Lester’s windows. He then squeezed between the slats and opened it up a bit more from the inside. The rest of the crew wiggled through. Romeo felt his way around the darkened interior and discovered a few half-melted candles sitting upon a table. He struck a match and lit them. The illumination revealed that Lester's Sealed Jams and Wool Stockings was virtually barren. There were a couple of dust covered tables, a few chairs, a stack of small wooden carts in one corner, and a couple of knickknacks sitting silently upon a crooked shelf. Brock examined the crates and found a few more candles, which he promptly set ablaze. Lancelot dug a couple of wool blankets out from beneath a shelf. While the store was without many of the comforts of the Rat’s Tail, it provided ample shelter. There was more than enough floor space for everyone, and soon, each man was carving out a little portion for himself.

  Sitting around the candlelight, the group contemplated their situation.

  “I say we march over to the Halfwit Theater and burn it to the
ground,” a misguided Lancelot proposed.

  Bugs had been stewing for a very long time. “I should have just shot the braggart when I had the chance.”

  No one argued.

  “How can this be? The people love us. They come out to see us in droves. The mayor can’t just decree we’re immoral all of a sudden.” John Ladyfist still couldn’t grasp the reasoning.

  “Immoral has nothing to do with it,” Timmy explained. “Look at what he offered as our replacement, a play about a son who kills his own father and then sleeps with his own mother. That’s not exactly a story cleansed and prepared for children’s eyes and ears. The man is a hypocritical narcissist, spurred by Smith to flex his political muscle and promote his own position of fame.”

  “Timmy’s exactly right,” Snoots affirmed. “I dealt with the mayor in the past on certain business deals. Getting anything done was only a matter of massaging his ego. The man’s number one priority is himself.”

  Pantaloons chimed in. “But does he honestly think he and the Ill So-Sos will be able to fill a theater? The mayor has no acting pedigree to speak of, and the So-Sos aren’t called that for no good reason.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Bugs. “They’re the only act in town now. We’ve been blacklisted. Not a single venue, nor employer, would take us.”

  "I wouldn’t say that’s entirely true,” Timmy corrected. “Bugs, have you forgotten where we came from, where most of us cut our teeth? The streets. We take it back to the streets!”

  The idea had some validity, and a sense of direction began to set in.

  Timmy crouched down closer to the light. The flickering flame showed sparks of hope in his eyes. “The mayor can lock us out of the theaters and taverns, but he can’t lock down the whole town. The people want to see us. They want to be entertained. If we perform, they will come. And sooner or later that pea-brained mayor and the detestable Smith will have to concede and give the people back what they clearly want.”

  The idea reinvigorated the group. All ears were open as Timmy laid out a strategy based on guerilla tactics. They would resurrect some of Timmy and Bugs’ earlier one-act plays, modify them slightly to incorporate an extra man or two, and then, in smaller, agile groups, they would dispatch across town. When a location and crowd permitted, the task forces would burst into spontaneous theater wherever and whenever they could. This would keep their names and works alive among the populace, and sooner or later, the grassroots would compel someone of prominence to challenge Percival Snodgrass’ statute. The only obstacle would be constables on beat. If they were alerted, all Perfects were instructed to cut their performance short and disperse immediately. Lester’s would be their base of operations, and any alms collected while exhibiting their skills would be shared amongst the entire troupe.

  The plan seemed sound and every man happily agreed to execute. Bugs and Timmy ran through some of their old skits, outlining what was needed and conveying the lines of dialogue for each work. The men stayed up until dawn, learning the new roles and practicing within their smaller groups. As the sun lit up the sky, they felt prepared and ready. It had become a vaudevillian war. Smith had fired a heavy volley, but the Perfects would not be broken. They hoped a crippling series of comedic slapstick would be enough to weaken a growing, politically poised battle ship. With prop satchels in hand, they headed out.

  The eleven men divided into four groups, each anointing themselves with a code name. The Perfect Folly consisted of Brock, John Ladyfist and Smirks. Romeo, Benedict and Sir Snoots chose the moniker of The Perfect Storm. Lancelot, Francis and Captain Pantaloons were the third team. The Perfect Wave was their alias. And finally, Timmy and Bugs formed The Perfect Duo.

  The marching orders stated that each mini-squad would work a different part of town. The Perfect Folly conducted its clandestine efforts in Sooty Stoops, while The Perfect Wave worked the Moors. With Romeo and Snoots both having the greatest knowledge of Central District, their group, The Perfect Storm set to task there. That left The Perfect Duo to work Shillings, which possessed an interesting situation. For one, it tended to have the greatest mass of people at any given moment due to its role as a center of commerce. On the other hand, this fact tended to draw the greatest police presence. Add in the extra element that it was the home of the Halfwit Theater, and it made for quite an interesting challenge. Quick, memorable bursts of public show would be needed, and Timmy and Bugs knew they were just the pair to provide it.

  Beneath each Perfect’s hooded long coat, they hid an appropriate costume for the skit they would perform. Timmy and Bugs were no exception. Under Timmy’s jacket he wore the famous purple ensemble of the Grapel Duke. Bugs donned the trademark trappings of the eccentric tailor. Both men were happy to reprise the roles that gave birth to The Royal Perfects of today, and their memorization of such parts made for quick, smoothly delivered, unflinching exchanges of hilarious dialogue.

  As they walked down the main lane of Shillings, they peered out from the shade of their drawn hoods. The day’s traffic was growing more congested, and the pair looked for a prime location to deal out a drive-by performance. There was no more public point than the circular rotunda at the center of the avenue. It was at the epicenter of travel, marking a four-point intersection. It also provided a raised platform upon its stonewall and elevated flower beds.

  Timmy and Bugs nodded their shared acceptance of the locale and quickened their pace. At a half-run, they wove through the mass of people, carriages, and carts before leaping onto the platform. They drew back their hoods, dropped their coats and cried aloud for everyone to hear, “The Royal Perfects present a scene from The Grapel Duke's Burnt Straw Knickers!”

  The announcement and sudden spectacle brought traffic to a halt. Timmy and Bugs wasted no time breaking into their skit. Within seconds, people were flocking to the location, taking in the show. The crowd chuckled and cheered as The Perfect Duo cut jokes and merrily stumbled about, conversing as their classic characters of old. The show was minutes in when Bugs noticed a black-clad constable shoving his way through the audience, cutting a path much in the way a thresher knocks down wheat. Timmy spotted another baton-waving officer making his way to them from the other side.

  “We bid you fine people adieu,” Bugs stated, cutting the scene short. “And remember, there’s no greater joy than that delivered by your Perfect compatriots!”

  The twosome jumped down from their perch and ran in the opposite direction of the fast-approaching constables. Seeing this, one of the officers began to blow a whistle and yell at the thick crowd to disperse. He lashed out with his stick and struck wildly at those not moving fast enough for his liking. The other constable did the same.

  While Timmy and Bugs increased their distance, they could see a group of three more armed deputies running toward them. Bugs motioned toward a nearby alleyway, and the pair ducked down its narrow path. They ran hard and fast across the gravel trail, weaving a disorienting line behind shops and homes before emerging from the shadowy corridor.

  A few meters ahead, a paddy wagon with two more mounted constables was scouring the scene, hunting the renegade pair. The sound of gruff yelling was gaining volume behind them. Timmy and Bugs could feel the authorities closing in fast, tightening their noose. They made a break into the daylight and toward a lane directly behind the paddy wagon. One of the drivers saw them out of the corner of his eye and wheeled the horse-drawn buggy around, causing its steeds to whine with fury.

  Exhaustion was beginning to set in. Both men were breathing hard, but desperate to escape. That’s when Timmy noticed a pen of livestock adjacent to a butcher shop. Inside the fenced area were two exceptionally large pigs, snorting and rooting through the muck. Timmy rushed over to the enclosure and unlatched the gate. As quickly as he could, he procured a heavy length of rope, and fashioned it into a harness. Lashing the beasts to an empty vegetable cart, he yelled at Bugs to get in.

  With a scratch of the hogs' hindquarters and the whip of Timmy’s p
urple cape, the creatures let out a shrill oink and broke into a brisk trot. Bugs could hardly believe it. While the swine weren’t trained, the expert ex-pig musher was able to steer them with more than fair accuracy. He whipped again, and the pigs doubled their pace. A third whip, and the makeshift chariot was steaming by rushing constables and galloping horse buggies. Timmy had driven through Shillings by this means on more than one occasion, so he knew where the slapdash contraption could gain an advantage. He recalled William Mudd’s maps and alternate routes, and Timmy used them to great effect. Before long, the constables were left in a cloud of dust many meters behind.

  Timmy continued to push the pigs until they reached Sooty Stoops. Using the back alleys was not only more efficient; it provided the elusive vegetable cart a bit more cover on its escape. Bugs was amazed by Timmy’s proficiency at such a unique and implausible skill. When they finally pulled around to Lester’s, The Perfect Duo felt at ease. After dismounting, Timmy unhitched the cart and then slapped the swine on their tails, sending them scurrying away. The pair ran for the window, kept ajar at the store’s rear, and ducked into the safety of their hideout.

  The Perfect Wave was there as well, all three members sopping wet and smelling of brine.

  “What happened to you guys?” Bugs asked the trio.

  Pantaloons rung out his shirt. A gush of salt water doused the floorboards. “Constables. They had us cornered on a pier. We had nowhere to go but into the drink.”

  “Yeah, we just jumped for it,” Lancelot added. “We swam underwater for as long as we could, finally coming up for air between two large cutters.”

  Francis coughed a watery gurgle. “Luckily, the constables lost sight of us, and when we saw them heading back to their posts, we made our way back to shore and then back here.”

  Francis sniffed the air. The foul smell of boar filled his nostrils and his face contorted in an unsavory manner. “What is that odor?”

  “Timmy can drive pigs,” Bugs said matter-of-factly.

  Francis, Pantaloons, and Lancelot simultaneously stared at Timmy. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders in affirmation. Further questions were not pursued.

  Lancelot retrieved their prop pouch and pulled forth a bunch of pennies and shillings. “We did get on a while before the lawmen showed up. We were able to pull off one complete skit and were partly into our second. By that time, people had already offered up quite a nice take, along with more than one man pledging fervent support to our cause.”

  It was nice to see the cash tributes, but even more important was the fans’ continued loyalty. To Timmy, that was going to make the difference in the end, and the main reason behind their effort to keep in the public eye.

  As the men counted their coin, The Perfect Folly members entered the shelter. They too had successfully eluded police pursuit and arrived with full pockets. The Perfect Storm was last to arrive back. While Central District was the location of many government agencies, it was also the wealthiest and most law-abiding section of town. Rarely were incidents of enforcement required, and so the constable concentration over the entire zone was rather sparse. That allowed The Perfect Storm to perform several acts at several different areas before finally being chased away by officers. Snoots reported an exceptional turnout at each performance and an admirable display of encouragement and donations from those present.

  All in all, it was a good day given the way things had gone for The Royal Perfects over the past twenty-four hours. That night they dined on their traditional meal of beef and salad, bought fresh at a Sooty Stoops café. The empty confines of Lester’s was not the most luxurious setting, but they were together, and still optimistic.

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