“Who’s that?” Lem asked.
Farley had not so much as looked up. “Mannan, Lord of the Sea. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Mannan?”
“Of course I have,” he lied. “I’ve just never seen a statue of him.”
“Bloody sailors still worship the old man, if you can believe it. The Archbishop tried to have it removed a few years back. Nearly caused a riot.” He shook his head. “You can force them to pray to Kylor all you want, but they won’t let go of some superstitions.”
A few minutes later they entered a square with borders stretching for several hundred feet. Various tents and pavilions were lined in neat rows from east to west, each filled with a countless array of goods, everything from food and clothing to jewelry and weapons. To Lem it looked like a miniature city unto itself. At the farthest end of the square, towering above, was a pair of stone pillars of polished black marble.
“That’s where we’re going,” Farley told him. He dismounted and began to lead his horse through the tents.
Lem did the same, trying to keep his bearings while at the same time marveling at the sheer variety of goods for sale.
On nearing the pillars, he saw that a stage had been erected between them, behind which stood several covered wagons and an assortment of tents. Above the stage, a banner proudly proclaiming that it belonged to The Lumroy Company had been hung. Apparently, Farley had chosen to keep the former owner’s name.
“Best spot in the city,” he announced, with a broad smile.
They led the horses around to the back of the wagons, where a gangly young boy was kneeling over a washtub, elbow deep in soapy water as he vigorously scrubbed a shirt against a washboard.
The moment he saw them coming, he beamed a smile and leapt up, shaking dry his hands. “Mister Farley! You’re back. I was starting to think something terrible might have happened.”
Farley gave him a warm smile. “You worry too much for someone so young, Finn.”
The boy eyed Lem for a second before taking both mounts and pulling them toward the last wagon.
Just as he set off, the flap to the nearest tent opened, and a woman with straight red hair tied into a ponytail, her mouth twisted to a frown, stepped out to bar their way. Tall and slender, she looked to be in her early forties and was wrapped up in a white silk robe with matching slippers. She planted her hands on her hips, tapping one foot as she regarded Farley.
“So, you’ve finally decided to come back, have you? You know the douan has come by twice about their fees. You were supposed to pay them before you left.”
He held up a hand, nodding. “I know, I know. I forgot. I’ll see to it in the morning.”
The woman gave a snort and then looked over at Lem. “Who’s this, then?”
With a sweeping wave of his arm, Farley said, “Lem, might I present Vilanda Morsette. Vilanda, this is our new musician, Lem.”
She let out a humorless laugh. “Musician? Like we need another bloody musician. Well, I hope he was worth it. Crowds have been lousy. Can’t even get them to stay for the second play half the bloody time.”
“I think young Lem here can help us with that.”
“Well, he’s pretty enough, I’ll give him that. But it’ll take more than good looks to please this lot. When are we going east?”
“When I say so.” Farley’s tone had become firm.
Vilanda looked unimpressed. “Well, you’d better say so pretty damn soon, or I’m bloody gone. You hear me?”
“I hear you quite clearly. Now, shouldn’t you be getting ready? Or are you taking a holiday?”
After shooting Farley a furious look, she turned back to Lem. “Careful around him, boy. A real snake’s arse that one is.”
“Charming as always,” said Farley.
With a final angry look and a dramatic exhalation, Vilanda returned to her tent.
“That, my boy, is the leading lady of this fine troupe,” Farley said. “Don’t let her foul mood put you off. She’s really quite good. Now, let’s get you introduced to the others.”
He led Lem from tent to tent, making introductions and explaining the general layout—which wagon held supplies, costumes, provisions, and so forth. The interiors were without exception a disheveled mess, with wooden chests, cots, and piles of clothing shoved into every corner. There were ten other members in all—seven actors and three musicians.
Lem was shocked and embarrassed to see that not only did both men and women live together, they appeared to have no sense of modesty whatsoever. Lem tried to avert his eyes from actors in various states of undress, but found it impossible without stumbling into the stacks of boxes scattered about.
On the way to the musician’s tent, Farley clapped him on the shoulder. “Life is different around actors.” He was clearly enjoying Lem’s embarrassment. “They’re a … how should I put it? A free-spirited lot.”
“Do they always run around like … that?”
“I asked the same question back when old Lumroy still owned the troupe,” said Farley. “Sadly, the answer was no. If it bothers you, best stay out of their tents when they’re getting ready for a performance.”
“I will.”
To Lem’s great relief, all three musicians were men. Not to say that he cared about playing with women, but the thought of living the way the actors did made his stomach churn with anxiety.
In contrast to the dismissive way he had been greeted thus far, the musicians displayed mild displeasure when he was introduced. There was Clovis, a short, stocky fellow who played a stringed instrument similar to Lem’s balisari, only with six strings and a bigger body; Quinn, a narrow-shouldered percussionist; and Hallis, a tall, spindly flautist.
The trio were sitting around a table playing a dice game.
Clovis regarded Lem closely, sizing him up. “Don’t need him,” he declared.
“Not a problem,” Farley responded. “He’s not playing with you. He’ll be entertaining during intermissions.”
Hearing this, Quinn and Hallis relaxed their posture and gave Lem a polite nod.
But Clovis shot up from his chair. “That’s my job. You can’t do that. I won’t stand for it.”
Farley turned to Lem with a smile. “How would you like to double your pay? It seems there might be another opening.”
This was enough to cow the man back into his seat.
“I expect you all to make Lem feel at home,” Farley said. “Am I understood?”
Quinn and Hallis both nodded, while Clovis folded his arms over his chest and sulked, refusing to so much as look at Lem.
“I have to attend to a few things,” said Farley. “I’ll be back before the first show ends.”
Once Farley was gone, Lem gauged his new surroundings. It was as cluttered and disorganized as the other tents, with barely an empty space to be found. “Where should I put my things?”
“Wherever you want,” snapped Clovis, flicking his wrist and returning his attention to the game.
With a half-hearted smile, Hallis stood. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” Crossing over to a stack of boxes, he pulled out a cot. “Just clear out a spot wherever you want. I’ll have Finn bring you a pillow and blanket after the show tonight.”
Clovis flung the dice at the tent wall. “I swear to Kylor, soon as I can find another job, I’m good as gone.”
“What’s your problem?” asked Hallis. “The boy didn’t do anything to you.”
“No? He just cost me two silvers a night. That’s not nothing.”
Lem thought it best not to mention that he was being paid more than twice as much. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“As if it would have made any difference if you did,” Clovis retorted. “Well, you’d better be able to play the blazes out of … whatever that thing is that you’re carrying.”
“It’s a balisari.”
Clovis snorted. “Who cares? All I’m saying is, you’d better be good.”
“You think Farley would h
ave hired him if he wasn’t?” Quinn chipped in. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve been able to hold the crowd.”
Clovis glared down at him, red-faced and hands balled into fists. For a moment Lem thought it would come to blows. But after letting out a loud growl, Clovis slammed his knuckles on the table and stormed out.
“You shouldn’t push him like that,” cautioned Hallis.
“What’s he going to do?” Quinn responded. “What I said is true. He can’t hold the crowd. What good is two silvers if the troupe goes out of business? Then we’re all buggered.” He stretched his arms, clasping his hands behind his head. “I hope you’re as good as Farley thinks you are, Lem.”
Me too, he thought.
Clovis returned a few minutes later, ignoring everyone and throwing himself down onto a cot at the far side of the tent. The young boy who had taken the horses, Finn, arrived a short time later with a tray of roasted pork and bread. Lem joined the others at the table, eating in silence. Clovis made a point of casting him angry looks every time he thought Lem would notice.
At least he’s not as big as Durst.
Lem spent the rest of his time sitting on his cot, tuning his balisari. Clovis threw across a few cutting remarks every now and then—mostly centered around the fact that no one would know what instrument he was playing. Obviously a balisari was uncommon.
By the time the evening arrived, Lem could hear the clamor of expectant voices outside. Finn came to call them to the stage moments after the other three had finished changing their clothes. With a slight touch of surprise, he saw they were not wearing anything as fine as he would have anticipated for a public performance. This made him feel a little less awkward about his own shabby attire; not that it stopped Clovis from hurling a final insult.
“You’re playing music, not feeding hogs,” he chided. “Next time dress for the occasion.”
The other two musicians rolled their eyes.
Lem followed them to the left-hand side of the stage. Where the market had been earlier was now completely empty of tents, and in their place was what he guessed to be nearly a thousand people milling about. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but the buildings surrounding the square were mostly taverns, inns, and a few eateries. More people were gathered on the second- and third-story balconies, laughing and drinking as street performers below put their talents on display. It reminded him of the Harvest Festival back home.
“Is it this crowded every night?” he asked Hallis.
“Most nights. But if you can’t hold them, they’ll pack themselves into the taverns ten minutes after the first play ends. Too many times, and we’ll lose our license.” He paused, noting the look on Lem’s face that said he had no idea what he was talking about. “I suppose this is your first time in a troupe.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“It’s not too complicated. The city pays us to play, and we pay the king’s douan for the license. Of course, if the people don’t like us, no one will have us back. Or worse, the mayor will complain to the king and we’ll be removed from the registry. Understand?”
“I think so.” The point was clear—they were expecting him to keep the crowd interested. And it was vital that he do so.
The actors, led by Vilanda, arrived a few minutes later. With faces covered in white powder, they wore an elaborate assortment of attire. The women were dressed in gowns that flared out just below the knee. Two of the men had on armor, though it looked to be made from flimsy metal that offered no real protection. The other two were in long leather coats with tall conical hats perched atop their heads.
Clovis, Hallis, and Quinn moved to a corner just off the stage where Finn had set up their instruments. This was why they didn’t need to dress so well, Lem realized. No one was able to see them.
Vilanda climbed onto the stage and clapped her hands twice. On cue, the music started. It was a lively albeit simple tune. Lem’s initial opinion was that they were competent enough as musicians, though unremarkable. The leading lady strode to center stage, her steps long and graceful and her arms spread wide, inviting the spectators to give her their full attention. After a few seconds they quieted down and pressed in closer.
“Thank you, gentle ladies and kind lords,” Vilanda began in a much different accent than the one she’d displayed at their initial meeting. Each syllable was pronounced precisely and projected with force. “It is so very good of you to come. It will be my pleasure to show you something quite new on this fine evening.”
“Good!” called a voice from within the crowd. “Last night was awful.”
This was met by laughter and shouts of agreement.
Vilanda gave no hint of a reaction to the heckle. “Many a late night we have spent preparing for this production. And now, at long last, we are ready. The Lumroy Company proudly presents A Midnight Encounter with Fate.”
As she spoke the final word, the musicians switched to a bouncing little tune that Lem quite enjoyed. With the crowd cheering enthusiastically, the entire troupe hopped onto the stage.
It was short, as Farley had told him, lasting no more than twenty minutes or so, and with its witty dialogue and well-choreographed movements, Lem found it enjoyable to watch. Once the play ended and the actors were taking their bows, he caught sight of Farley standing just in front of the stage. Clovis and the other musicians stood and started toward Lem, leaving Finn to stand guard over their instruments. By now the audience had doubled, but only seconds after the actors’ departure, most of them were already showing signs of impatience.
“Good luck,” said Hallis.
“You’ll need it,” added Clovis.
Quinn shook his head and sighed. “Don’t be an ass, Clovis.” He looked to Lem. “You’d better get up there.”
All at once, Lem felt his stomach flutter with anxiety, not uncommon when playing at a new venue. And this was by far the largest number of people he had ever played for, and without doubt one of the most important performances of his life. Climbing onto the stage, he walked to the center. No stool. It would have to be a standing performance.
“Not again,” a heckler called out. “I bet he’s no better than the last bloke.”
“Is that a woman?” shouted another. “Or just a pretty man?”
“I’ll take him either way.”
Gales of laughter struck into him, setting his nerves slightly on edge. Slowly, he looked up to face the audience, and placed his hands on the strings. Glancing quickly over to the side of the stage he saw Clovis wearing a wide grin, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. He took a deep breath and imagined he was back in Vylari, playing for Mariyah for the first time. No performance could have been more nerve-racking—or more important—than that one. He pictured her smile as she sat by the Sunflow and watched him play, and he felt his nerves settle.
“Dance of the Dragonfly” was by far the most complicated tune he knew. Most Vylarian musicians could not even begin to play it. Even with his talent and skill it had taken months to learn properly. Under normal circumstances Lem would never have tried something so complex without a few days of practice first. But from the smug look on Clovis’s face and the impatient mutterings from the crowd, he knew he would need his most impressive routine if he hoped to win them over.
Slow and tranquil in the beginning, the melody gradually increased in tempo, with short bursts of atonal scales serving as markers for the building rhythm. Faster and faster he played, his hands soon a blur over the strings; faster and faster until beads of sweat formed on his brow and dripped from his nose. Faster and faster; by now he could see the colorful creature clearly in his mind, darting from leaf to leaf, zigzagging this way and that before shooting skyward. It was as though the dragonfly were actually speaking through his balisari, each note called out in its voice. The scales and chords melded together, sounding for all the world as if they were being played simultaneously. Lost in the moment of sublime creation, for a time Lem had no sense whatsoever of where he was or why he was playing.
He looked up. The crowd was slack-jawed in astonishment. Not a single person had moved a muscle toward the tavern. Then, as if everyone recovered their wits in the same instant, a booming applause rose up, striking Lem with an almost physical force. People were whistling and waving their arms above their heads, shouting for more. He spotted Farley standing dead center, arms folded over his chest and smiling broadly. Lem bowed several times before turning to leave the stage. By now the actors had changed into new costumes and were ready for the next play. Clovis was nowhere to be seen.
As he stepped down, Vilanda caught his arm and whispered into his ear. “Who in blazes are you?” He could barely hear her over the roaring cheers, begging him to play again.
“No one,” he replied. “I’m just Lem.”
“Hog turds,” she shot back. “No one pops up out of nowhere and does that.”
Lem shrugged, not knowing what she expected him to say. He pulled free and stepped to the rear of the stage. The actors gave him praise as he passed, and a few slapped him fondly on the back.
“We’ll keep our license now for sure,” he heard one of them say.
Clovis had returned to his instrument and was gazing down with a defeated expression. Hallis, conversely, was staring over at Lem with a puzzled look, while Quinn was chuckling into his hand.
Lem played once more that evening, the second time singing as well, and just like the first time, was met with tumultuous applause. When the last play ended, Finn hurried to gather the instruments and then began sweeping off the stage. Lem started to help, but Farley arrived and called him over.
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