“Nothing,” said Adriana. “We're no further than we were yesterday."
“Not necessarily. We've learned a few things."
“You have, maybe.” Adriana swung the wardrobe door shut a little harder than necessary. “Care to share them with me?"
“Well, we know the killer probably used magic to get out of here. Either that or he's the fastest lockpicker in Hurst. Also, we've got a strange dust all over a tidy man's desk, and something missing from the corner of the room."
“I hate to say it, Huntsman, but that doesn't sound incredibly helpful to me."
Alexander laughed. “Maybe not, but it's something. Something is always better than nothing."
“Is that the Huntsman's motto?"
“No, my motto is to never get involved in a strange town's politics. Since I seem to be breaking that one I might take on your suggestion, though."
Adriana smiled. “All right. What next?"
“Ask the clean-up crew to leave the room for a few more days. It may not amount to anything, but I want to bring an apothecary up to look at the dust."
“Anything's better than something?"
“Exactly,” said Alexander. “It's just not as good as everything."
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Theater of Giants was all Alexander had hoped for and more.
The rickshaw deposited him and Adriana amidst the crowd milling about the entrance of the towering structure. Even from the outside he could see why the theater rated inclusion in the Splendors. The great stone walls rose at least six stories, higher than any other structure in the southeastern quadrant of Hurst. Alexander had seen two temples that appeared larger, and the keep was half again the theater's height, but all other buildings were dwarfed by its shadow.
Streamers and banners flapped from lines of windows, and intricately carved moldings framed the doors. A band of polished metal encircled the building just above the second floor, gleaming under the light of roaring torches. Strange characters, embossed in gold, arched above the third-story windows. The letters, Adriana told him, had yet to be deciphered. Even the pavestones shone, cleaner than any street Alexander had ever seen under the feet of richly dressed men, women and dwarves. Half the wealth of Hurst appeared to be crowding the theater entrance. Even their rickshaws and the saddles of the odd horse were studded with gems and silver inlay. Gold glittered from every hand, ear and neck. Most of the patrons wore light summer cloaks of fine silk, and some were followed by servants who kept the expensive garments from touching the ground. Alexander wondered at the price of admission and was glad he was a guest of the Emperor.
A knot of people at one corner of the great building caught his attention. They were part of a line which extended into an alley beside the theater; the members of this queue were dressed in less-expensive fashion. Alexander glanced woefully at his own tunic and considered sneaking away to join the figures at the side entrance.
Adriana snaked her arm through his and tugged him forward, as if sensing his intent. She wore a clinging gown of sea green, the first purely feminine clothing Alexander had seen on the counselor. A subtle golden chain encircled her neck. A small emerald dangled from identical links at her wrist. Her hair was pulled back into a net of fine silver. A sword and dagger hung from her belt. The larger weapon sported a decorative guard and pommel, which were polished to a brilliant shine. He was surprised to see the counselor's enraptured expression as she craned her neck. Apparently, the theater's magnificence remained even for one who'd seen it often. Adriana's eyes met his and she smiled briefly, then turned her attention to leading the way through the crowd.
“Entrance for the court of His Righteousness only, Lady,” said a gray-robed man at the door. Adriana produced a folded sheet of lavender paper. The doorman studied it carefully, then gave a small bow and held the door for them.
The atrium was equally breathtaking. Archways rising to the second floor led to the depths of the massive structure. Their feet fell silently on thick rugs, and the walls were covered with chiseled bas-reliefs where they weren't hung with thick tapestries. A boy in a smaller version of the doorman's uniform offered to relate the history of the theater for a few coins. He received payment from a young dwarf and Alexander moved to listen in when he heard Adriana say, “Oh, my."
The object of her disgust stood to their left. A large cage in the center of the atrium contained a thin, silent figure. Long, white hair was pulled back into a braid, revealing pointed ears. Alexander's stomach rolled, but he stepped closer, fascinated. The elf stared back at him with expressionless eyes, deep wells of forest green. Despite the white hair, the elf's face was smooth and appeared no older than a human teen's. The manacles on the unmoving creature's wrists were connected by heavy chains to the bars of the cage. It seemed an unnecessary precaution, given the cage itself and the presence of so many dwarves and men.
“Let's go to the box,” said Adriana. Her nose wrinkled as she pulled him away from the cage. “This is supposed to be an evening for artistry, not ugliness.” Behind them, a man made a joke about the captive and raucous laughter filled the atrium.
Though the viewing box could accommodate eight or ten comfortably, only two chairs stood in it this night. Thick curtains of red velvet lined the back of the box and, Alexander saw, could be drawn across the front and sides. The view of the theater proper was incredible. The fourth story, where Adriana and Alexander sat, was lined with similar boxes, as was the third. Below that were rows of seats in the second-floor balcony, then the wooden benches arrayed on the theater floor.
The stage itself took up just less than a third of the lowest level, separated from the cheap seating by a throng of musicians. Shielded lanterns of some sort lined the edge of the stage, bathing the entire vast space in soft light. The curtains, reaching all the way from floor to fifth-story ceiling, were drawn back. Alexander stepped up to the front of the box, looking over the rail to take in the dizzying height. All levels of the theater were filling with people, and Adriana touched his elbow. She nodded toward the centermost box, which stood vacant.
“That's the Emperor's,” Adriana said. “He won't be in attendance tonight. I'll point out people as they arrive. Try not to draw attention. I'm sure we'll be watched."
Alexander gave her a sideways glance. “It's not the first time I've done this, you know."
“Third box to our left,” said Adriana. “Harri Domerrit, the Emperor's majordomo. You may meet him tomorrow, before your audience with His Righteousness."
Alexander studied the oily little man and his companions while Adriana named those she knew. Two were minor functionaries of the court, while the others were members of Hurst's wealthy elite. The latter, Adriana theorized, sought favors from the Emperor and were using Harri as a conduit.
“Next box over is Prince Fenric's, the older of the two Imperial heirs. He's supposed to be here tonight.” She looked the other direction, drawing Alexander's gaze along. “Our younger prince hasn't arrived yet, either. There's Franklin Draston, though. Rumor has it that he'll be promoted to Samuel de Niron's generalship later this week."
The prospective general was an unremarkable seeming fellow, which caused Alexander to immediately register him as potentially dangerous. In his experience, the innocuous usually disguised the lethal. Draston was an athletic, well-groomed figure who entered his box with the ramrod stiffness of a career soldier. His hair was short and waxed into fashionable ringlets, but his hands were free of jewelry and he scanned the crowds as he took his seat. Definitely a sharp one, Alexander thought. Then again, it was doubtful an incompetent would have risen to high rank in the Hurst military.
Adriana sighed. “Look to the next box, Huntsman, and you'll see the pride of the Empire. Prince Darien, youngest son of His Righteousness. Patron saint of the breweries, though he'll be pickled long before he's canonized."
Alexander stared at the counselor for a moment, shocked at the bitter edge to her voice. He turned his attention to the prince's box, wh
ere an extraordinarily muscular dwarf stood. The dwarf cast a critical eye over his immediate surroundings, then his gaze swept the other boxes. Even across the open space, Alexander could see the violence behind the dwarf's scowl. “That's not...” he started.
“That's Stamovan,” said Adriana. Her bitterness had turned into a mixture of fear and loathing. “He's one of the Emperor's elite but spends most of his time babysitting His Highness."
Apparently satisfied, the dwarf vacated the box. He was replaced by a slender figure with long, blond hair that weaved between two scantily-clad women. The three giggled and clung to one another as they stumbled to their seats. Alexander's sharp eyes caught the looks exchanged by the two Evening District women, and he realized they weren't nearly as inebriated as they appeared.
The curtains in the back of Darien's box parted again and two porters appeared. They lugged a wooden cask into the box and placed three mugs on it, then exited. Stamovan's face appeared once more through the back curtains, then vanished again.
“He'll stand guard until the show's over,” said Adriana. “Then he'll probably carry the prince home. Nobody lives in Hurst long without seeing His Highness passed out somewhere. Thank the gods he's the younger brother."
The theater continued to fill, richly dressed patrons appearing in the boxes as the ground floor benches were claimed by the lower class. Adriana pointed out various court officials, prominent citizens and the leaders of the local temples. It seemed half the population of the city-state had turned out for the night. Alexander marveled at the theater's capacity even as he memorized the names and notes given by Adriana. She had just drawn his attention to the Grand Mage of the Magician's Guild when the faces in nearly every box turned to the right. Alexander and Adriana looked as well, the Huntsman expecting to see the Emperor making a surprise appearance.
The crowd's attention, however, had been captivated by the arrival of a quartet to a box on the second level. They were Sandlanders, and four of them alone seemed to fill the box. Alexander stared at them, taking in the black robes and oblatt weapons. He made a mental impression of the gold patterns after realizing that the decorative stitching differed for each man. The red, hairless skin of the Burning Men appeared to glow in the orange light of the torches. If they saw they were under the scrutiny of half the theater, they gave no sign of discomfort.
“The tallest is Mezzino Malakkahn, the fandyiha of the clan,” said Adriana. “They've been awaiting an audience with His Righteousness for a few days now, but Harri Domerrit keeps putting them off. From what I can gather, some relic was stolen from their city and they think the thief brought it to Hurst."
“I'd think twice before stealing from them,” said Alexander. “They look pretty tough."
“So they are. They've brought some of their men in to train with our infantry, and I'm told they're more than capable."
The theater filled with sound abruptly as the musicians struck a common note. The torches lining the walls extinguished in unison, leaving only the lanterns at the edge of the stage for illumination. Alexander caught his breath and stepped back from the edge of the box. Adriana, however, was unconcerned. She grinned and indicated the ushers on the theater floor, who were lighting smaller lanterns and hurrying people to their seats.
“The lights are put out by a magician,” said Adriana. “Tends to startle people the first time they visit the theater."
“Just about startled me into a heart attack.” They took their seats, and a flicker of movement caught Alexander's eye. He looked toward Prince Darien's box. One of the prince's guests was wriggling out of her gown while the other drew the curtains around the sides and front of the box. In a second the Emperor's heir and the women were obscured from view. He turned his gaze back to the stage and found Adriana watching him.
“The life of a prince,” the counselor said.
Alexander shrugged. “I'm much happier with my present company."
Adriana gave him a searching look, then laughed. “Do they raise all the Huntsmen as gallant as you, Alexander?"
“Oh, no. It's a natural gift."
They fell silent, along with the rest of the spectators, as a change took place on the stage. People and stage settings were appearing in the space between the spread curtains, as if another shroud were being raised before them. Squinting, Alexander could barely discern a dark ripple rising toward the ceiling.
“How clever,” he said. “A black cloth makes the stage appear empty, and they were preparing the show behind it all along.” Adriana's amused nod told him that the counselor had witnessed such a display before. His embarrassment faded as a good portion of the audience gasped and clapped at the opening.
The entire stage was a network of taut ropes, anchored behind the side curtains, to the upper walkways and to the stage itself. The arrangement resembled a giant, intricate spider's web, ready to snare the collection of brightly costumed ropedancers standing in a silent line at the front of the stage. The Pelorisins were shorter than the typical man of the Western Realm but taller than the average dwarf. Their bodies were thin and appeared tight as the ropes above them. Though Alexander's sharp eyes could pick out the impressive musculature displayed by each of the dancers, he found it impossible to distinguish male from female. If they had hair, it was tucked under their tight-fitting hoods.
Their costumes contrasted well against the black background—solid dyes of blue, red, and green. Some were decorated with slashes of other color and a few painted into specific patterns. One trio was covered with curling flames, and three others sported rippling waves of blue against a green sea. In unison, all six of these leaped into the air and caught the lowest rope with their hands. Stomach muscles flexed and the dancers were standing on the rope, as casually balanced on the narrow threads as if they stood on foot-wide boards. The flames continued climbing, whipping their way up the horizontal lines until they were level with the fourth story of the theater.
The blue dancers, meanwhile, each whipped a leg over his or her head and fell into a backward somersault. They returned to a standing position in close proximity, and a shudder passed from one to the next. To Alexander, it appeared that the Pelorisins’ bodies had turned to liquid and simply flowed from one point on the rope to another. The leftmost dancer cartwheeled back toward the center of the lowest rope. The other two followed closely and, to Alexander's amazement, the third actually passed the other two in mid-tumble. They ended the maneuver with the same rippling motion, and the Theater of Giants thundered with applause.
Alexander tore his gaze away from the stage long enough to glance at Adriana. The expression on her face shocked him for a moment—the counselor stared at the dancers with pure, unabashed fascination. He turned away quickly, not wanting to spoil the moment for his companion. Despite their brief acquaintanceship, he was certain that her natural state of being was one of guarded control. He found her look of wonder almost as enjoyable as the show itself. He knew the tension of their work would still exist on the morrow, but it felt good at the moment to share the exhilaration of the Pelorisins’ display.
The blue dancers vacated the web, and the red flames fell from the topmost rope. A few shrieks and cries arose from the audience, but the musicians never paused. At a height roughly equivalent to the second-floor boxes the three dancers snagged a horizontal rope and flipped back up with a slingshot effect. The two on the outside landed with ease on ropes canted forty-five degrees while the other came to rest in the center of a horizontal length. This dancer began to spin in a tight circle, leg flashing up in arcing kicks. The other two held their ropes with one hand and one bent foot each, then twisted all the way around and back to their feet. They rolled backward down the angled strands, so close to the center that Alexander feared they'd dislodge their partner. The third dancer continued spinning like a blazing whirlwind, feet barely touching the rope between kicks. The others sprang back to the angled ropes and launched themselves from there, shooting to the next horizontal. Each landed on
one foot, facing the other, hands grasped tight. They kicked into the air and rolled. When they landed they were hanging from the rope by their knees. The third dancer jumped toward them and was hauled upward by the wrists. They threw him toward the ceiling and his knees contracted to his chest until he resembled a tiny ball of flame hurtling through the dark air over the stage. The audience went wild with applause, Alexander and Adriana joining in enthusiastically.
The music slowed as the trio of red-costumes descended through the web. The deep, rich sound of the greathorn resounded on its own as two dancers appeared on a horizontal rope, one at either end. Unlike their predecessors, these two wore masculine and feminine costumes appropriate to a formal ball. They slid gracefully toward one another, accompanied by the horn solo, and met in the center of the rope. When they came together they clasped one another's arms. The masculine figure whirled his partner completely around. Her dress billowed out as her feet floated out over empty space. The man waltzed backward, pulling the woman gracefully after. He pivoted and lowered his partner into a dip, which turned into an agonizingly slow back flip supported by the man's arms. The thunder rose to the ceiling again as the audience acknowledged the dancers’ skill.
Alexander clapped along with the crowd, leaning forward to watch the nimble figures. He stopped suddenly, becoming aware of an odd sensation that eluded solid identification. The dancers worked their way up an inclined rope. The applause rose again, and Alexander understood what tugged at the corner of his mind. Though he clapped his hands together vigorously, the sound of his palms striking together failed to reach his ears. He turned to Adriana with a question on his lips, but it died as he caught sight of the counselor.
Adriana struggled in her chair with unseen hands, clawing at her throat with her own fingers. Her face was flushed and darkening rapidly. Alexander's sword cleared its scabbard in an instant. There was, however, no attacker to dispatch. No garrote was looped around Adriana's neck; the space behind her chair was clear all the way to the back curtains. Alexander thrust his sword past the chair anyway. The blade met no resistance and he dropped it. He slapped Adriana's hands away and felt with his own around the base of her throat. Nothing. Still, the counselor thrashed and twisted in her seat. Her eyes bulged and her lips worked frantically as her face darkened even further. Alexander bellowed for help but the sound refused to emanate from his mouth.
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