«Places for Act Two!»

by Bradley H. Sinor

  «Places for Act Two!»

  Bradley H. Sinor

  «Places for Act Two!»

  by Bradley H. Sinor

  "Blimy, mate! You're out of your bloody mind!"

  Liam Gideon stared down the length of his sword at the pale face that moments before had been a blustering menacing figure.

  "Crazy or sane, it doesn't matter," he said. "Because I am the one who has a sword at your throat. So I wouldn't be advising that you move too quickly or count on any help from either of your friends."

  The pale faced man's eyes darted to the far side of the ally where another man, dressed as shabbily as him, lay. This one was still breathing, but with two teeth dangling over edge of his lip it was obvious he was coming to no one's aid. A second man lay on the ground, conscious, but not moving. A heavy black boot was planted across the man's chest. The boot belonged to a tall dark man, dressed in elegantly cut clothes, who the three had been attempting to rob.

  "Now, sir," Liam said to the stranger. "I think it only right and proper that you make the decision about what to do with our friend, here. Should I run him through, perhaps cut him just a bit, say, remove certain portions of his anatomy; or should we just hold him and the others for the arrival of the police."

  "My first inclination would be to give them a long, very slow, very painful death. A public impalement might be a beneficial lesson to others." The man's dark eyes glittered with a strange redness to them. He spoke with the slightest hint of an accent, each word clearly, crisply and evenly pronounced. It occurred to Liam that perhaps English was not his native language.

  "It would be an interesting sight, but consume far more time than I am willing to give to it."

  With those words the man lifted his boot from the thief's chest and half turned away from him. Liam had the impression of someone who had done with a matter; though he did notice that the stranger never fully took his eyes off the three thieves.

  Liam drew his sword away from the first man's neck. The other one scrambled to his feet, watching Liam and the stranger with the look of a trapped animal. A moment or two passed as both men stood frozen, rain washing across their terror-striped faces. Then they grabbed their unconscious companion, dragging him down the alley.

  "I imagine they will have quite a tale to tell once they hit the pub," said Liam.

  "It is always wise to spread news of your prowess among an enemy. The story will grow with each retelling," said the stranger. "You never know how it might help you in the future."

  "Hopefully, neither of us will have to deal with them again," said Liam.

  "True, but with that kind of ilk it never hurts to have a reputation."

  The stranger turned toward Liam. This was the first time he had had a chance to get a good look at the man. He was tall, with dark, somewhat disheveled hair, combed across the tops of his ears, giving him an almost feral look. There was something intense and controlling in the man's manner.

  "Now, if I may inquire, who is it who stood to battle at my side?"

  "Gideon. Liam Gideon, late of Dublin, Edinburgh and parts beyond."

  "Liam Gideon. I thank you for your assistance. It came at a most propitious time."

  Liam had been minding his own business, hurrying to get back to The Strand Theatre on the west side of London. Passing an alley, hearing the sounds of a fight, he turned and saw three men attack a lone figure. He had hardly thought about it before he was plunging into the middle of the melee, sword in hand.

  "You were holding your own pretty well against these fellows. I suspect that you didn't need that much assistance from me."

  "None the less, you chose to ally yourself with me in battle. That is something that among my people means much. So do not doubt that you have the gratitude of Vlad Tepes, Count Dracula," he said.

  "Thank you, Count. It wasn't that much of a decision for me. It was simply something that seemed needed doing. Something that I didn't think about, just did, my duty, and I am but a slave to duty." he said with a smile.

  "A slave to duty?" Dracula looked at Liam oddly.

  "Your pardon, Count. I was quoting a line from a play that I am in. It seemed fitting, somehow," said Liam.

  "A play? You are an actor, then?"

  "At times," he said.

  "And what is this play?"

  "'The Pirates of Penzance' by Gilbert & Sullivan."

  "Gilbert & Sullivan? I am new to London, recently arrived from my native Transylvania, so I'm afraid that I am unfamiliar with either of these gentlemen. I must admit that they sound more like a law firm than playwrights."

  "A law firm? That's novel," laughed Liam. "They are the creators of the most popular operettas in the last dozen years."

  "Indeed? I may have to seek them out," he said. "That may, perhaps, explain your sword. Seeing a young man carrying one is a common thing in my homeland. But here in England, except for military ceremonies, I have seen none."

  Liam held up the sword for his friend's inspection. Its surface was shiny as a teapot, the grip emblazoned with a dozen brightly colored stones amid Celtic knotwork.

  "At first glance, it does appear to be a formidable weapon," said Dracula.

  Liam could see that the Count had discerned the blade's true nature.

  Liam cupped his left hand and sharply slid the edge of the blade along it. Then he turned his palm where Dracula could see it. Both men were smiling and not surprised that the flesh was uncut. "I'm afraid I couldn't have done much real damage to those three. It's a prop intended for the character of The Pirate King."

  "The thing is, our enemies didn't know that. Their imaginations were a very potent weapon against themselves," said Dracula.

  "Thank you, Count. Our company manager asked me to pick up a replacement for one of our principals, who broke his this morning. Since it was only a slight detour from where I was going, I was glad to do it." Liam pulled out his watch and flipped the cover open.

  "Damm! I was due at the theater a full ten minutes ago. I'm sure that Mr. Bunberry will be snarling like a banshee!"

  "Fear not, friend Liam. I am in your debt. You have stood to combat at my side. So I shall not abandon you. I will accompany you and explain about the delay to this Mr. Bunberry," he said.

  "Thank you, Count, but that isn't necessary."

  "I feel it is," said Dracula. "Besides, along the way you can tell me more about this Gilbert & Sullivan."

  By the time Liam and his companion reached the theater, what had begun as a light rain had turned into a torrential downpour. As they rushed up to the stage entrance, Liam noticed that the new advertising poster had been put in place.

  GILBERT & SULLIVAN'S

  THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE

  A SPECIAL LIMITED RETURN ENGAGEMENT

  A theater in the midst of rehearsal a few days from opening night could resemble chaos personified. That evening The Strand was no exception. Yet to Liam's experienced eye there was an almost musical order to the whole scene, though he imagined Count Dracula found it quite confusing.

  An entirely new operetta, Utopia (Limited), the first by Gilbert & Sullivan in some years, was scheduled to open in October. Yet at the last minute the decision had been made to reprise Pirates, using the group of actors who had been touring with it for well over a year and only recently returned to London.

  "It is a matter of publicity, Liam," said Alexander Bunberry, the company manager. "We will still open with Utopia in October, but a brief reprise of Pirates can only help to generate interest."

  "Liam! Liam Gideon! Where the hell have you been! I expected you back by half past four!"

  The voice belonged to a tall skinny man, with muttonchop sideburns that seemed to cover half or more of his face. He came cha
rging toward Liam from behind a huge Greek column that was part of the Pirates set. He seemed to be on the edge of pure fright. Hands were constantly in motion, pointing this way and that or flipping through the pages of a libretto that had seen better days.

  "I'm sorry I was delayed, Mr. Bunberry. It couldn't be helped," said Liam.

  "Couldn't be helped! You know that Everett is screaming that he can't rehearse unless he has his new sword," said Bunberry.

  "I well know all his complaints, sir," said Liam.

  "Then why were you dawdling about! I'm still expecting him to fall in the pit deliberately, just to spite me!"

  "I doubt that," said Liam.

  "Sir, Mr. Gideon was not as you say it, dawdling about," said Dracula.

  "And who would you be?"

  "I am... Count Dracula." Dracula's eyes fastened on Bunberry's. Neither man blinked "Had it not been for the timely intervention of Mr. Gideon when three thugs were attacking me, I would have found self in a grave situation. He did the only thing that a man of honor and duty could do."

  Bunberry stood there for a moment, his eyes glassed over, a thin sheen of sweet on his forehead.

  "Well, if it was something like that I can understand the delay," he said. "Just get that sword to Everett. The old hen will be fretting his life away, sure that his performance will be ruined and his career over, until he gets it. Then get down to the costume shop. They need to measure you for your new Frederic costume."

  At that, Bunberry whirled on his heels and headed off in the direction of the pirate ship set that filled much of stage left. Just before he got there, a large fat man that Liam didn't recognize, dressed in a tailored waist coat with a top hat and cane in hand, stopped him. The two men began to speak in whispers.

  "I expected him to be quite a bit more vehement about the whole thing," said Liam.

  "Perhaps it was something I said," mused Dracula.

  * * *

  "Look, you blinking Irishman. If you don't stand still, Effie is going skewer that pretty little bum of yours with a very long needle!"

  With those words ringing in his ears, Liam made a conscious effort not to move. If Effie Ferguson made a threat, she meant it. Looking somewhere between 30 and 60, she was the absolute mistress of The Strand Theatre costume shop. She had the reputation of being able to make a gunny sack, four buttons, a flower, a skein of thread and some glass beads into the fanciest ball gown.

  Facing the mirror Liam could see the woman's hands moving swiftly, marking with a long piece of chalk on his pants leg. Then she produced a rather formidable-looking shaving razor and slid it along the cloth from the back of his knee to his ankle. He could feel the cloth parting, but never once felt the touch of the metal.

  "You just tell me what I need to do, Effie, and I will do it."

  "Now, that's a good lad," she said. "We want you looking only your best, now, to go on for their Highnesses."

  "Highnesses? What are you talking about?"

  Effie chuckled but did not look up. "Now tell me, Mr. Liam Gideon, are you trying to say that you don't know about our 'guests' for opening night?"

  Liam drew a breath and forced a smile. He had played this little game with Effie before. "No Effie, I don't. So would you please share that information with me?"

  "Well," she said. "I suppose if they had wanted you to know someone would have mentioned it to you."

  "Perhaps. Or perhaps everyone thought that every one else had told me. So why don't you tell me."

  "Maybe I should. After all, it isn't often that poor little common actors get the chance to perform for the high and mighty likes of 'themselves,' now do they?"

  "Yes?"

  "It seems that opening night we will have some people in the audience that will bring all of the 'right' sort of society as well as the commoners in."

  "Who in hell are you talking about, woman? Is St. Patrick himself coming to see the show?"

  A sharp pain drove its way into Liam's calf. He could barely keep from moving, knowing that Effie would do much worse if he did.

  "No, you Irish gobashit, it isn't St. Patrick, nor is it Grace O'Mally or even Finn MacCool! Trust an uncivilized Irishman to think of those insignificants in a case like this," she said.

  "Insignificants! Geez, woman, there are moments I wonder about your sense of who is or isn't important," Liam said. "So, now, who would it be, if it isn't those noteworthies?"

  "Simple; it is himself, Albert Edward, Prince of Wales and heir to the throne of England who will be gracing these premises on opening night. Seems that he and his wife think that seeing a performance of "Pirates" would make a grand way to spend her birthday," Effie said.

  "I suppose they're renting out the entire Theatre? Just an intimate little gathering of 1,500 of their closest friends," said Liam.

  "No, they aren't renting out the entire Theatre, you Irish idiot. But don't you think that Bertie has that many friends?"

  Another pain shot through Liam's calf to punctuate Effie's words. There was a muted chuckle from the costume mistress.

  "Woman, you enjoyed that!"

  "Me? Of course I did. Now, stand still!"

  * * *

  "I wanted to stop in and wish you good luck, Liam," said Dracula.

  "I appreciate the sentiment, Count. But I really wish you hadn't said it," said Liam.

  "What?"

  Liam smiled. Explaining theatrical traditions to non- theater people was something that every actor had to do now and then. He led Dracula into the Strand Green Room.

  The Green Room, which was painted a mottled brown, was a large lounge in the back of the theater where actors and stagehands could take a few minutes and relax in. Why it was called The Green Room Liam didn't know. As a matter of fact he had never been in one that was green; it was just another theatrical tradition.

  "It's an old theatrical custom. If you wish a performer good luck before they go on, you don't say those words; they'll bring him bad luck. Instead, actors say "break a leg." Every actor knows what you really mean" said Liam.

  Dracula raised an eyebrow at Liam's explanation.

  "I suppose each profession has its own customs. Very well, let me bid you to 'Break a leg.'" Figuratively, of course, not in reality."

  "Thank you," said Liam.

  "Are you nervous?" asked the count.

  "A bit," Liam said "A very wise actor once told me that if I weren't at least a little bit nervous before each performance, then that was the time to worry."

  "Your friend had the right attitude."

  Just then the door to the Green Room flew open, as if a storm was behind it. Bunberry came barreling in, followed by Effie and several stage hands.

  "Liam, there you are. I've been looking all over the theater for you!" said Bunberry.

  "Is there a problem? Everett has his sword and knows the new choreography backwards and forwards."

  "I don't know what he does or doesn't know, and it doesn't matter. Everett is incapacitated and won't be going on tonight," said Bunberry.

  "Incapacitated? Is that a fancy way of saying he's drunk again?" said one of the other actors.

  Effie answered them with a humph, and a look of disgust. There were tales that Everett had, over his twenty-five year career, given some of his best performances drunk.

  "He's passed out and no one can rouse him. He's breathing, so I assume he is alive. I spoke to the gobashit earlier, not an hour ago," said Effie. "He seemed fine then. I certainly didn't smell any alcohol on him then."

  "Could he be sick?" asked Liam.

  "There's a doctor in the audience. I had him come back and look Everett over. He says nothing appears to be wrong with him; he is just asleep and no one can wake him up.

  "The thing is, we are going to need a Pirate King and neither of the usual understudies is available," said Bunberry.

  "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" said Liam.

  "We can use Gene Yearson as Frederic, but not for the Pirate King. I want you to take t
he role," he said.

  The words hung in the air. Liam felt the bottom fall out from his stomach. He glanced toward the big clock that hung near the door. It said 7 o'clock.

  "And curtain is at half eight," he muttered. "The things is, I don't know half the songs or the dialogue. I'll try, but I'm afraid that I will end up making a fool out of myself and disgracing us in front of the Prince of Wales."

  "That's a chance that we are just going to have to take. Effie, can you alter his costumes and fit him out as the Pirate King in time to go on?"

  "A moment, Mr. Bunberry. Liam will do what he has to do; that is all any man can do. Understand that I do not doubt Liam's abilities, but I may have an alternate possibility that you should consider."

  "Count, right now I can see no other answers, besides Liam, short of sending a man on with script in hand," said Bunberry. "But, I'm willing to entertain any ideas. Just make it quick."

  "Very well, then I suggest you leave Liam in the role for which he is prepared and put me in the role of the Pirate King."

  There was utter silence in the Green Room. Everyone of the actors had heard Dracula's words, none were more surprised than Liam.

  "You, Count?" said Liam.

  "Yes."

  "You're an actor?" said Bunberry, a tone of disbelief in his voice. "In university, I suppose."

  "There and in other places. I was in fact considered very good," said Dracula.

  "You never mentioned that you were an actor," said Liam.

  "It was a long time ago. Besides, you never asked," said the Count. His eyes locked with Bunberry's, as they had the previous night. The company manager didn't appear to breathe for several minutes.

  "You know the libretto? The songs, the dialogue?" said Liam.

  "Every word."

  "Only two days ago you hadn't even heard of Gilbert & Sullivan, let alone the 'Pirates of Penzance'," said Liam.

  "Meeting you and seeing this company made me curious. Shall we say I borrowed a copy of the libretto someone had left on a chair, read it over, and was amused by it. I even slipped in last night and watched the rehearsal."