Марк Ньютон - Drakenfeld

‘Something like that. I’m after information, and I think you might be able to help me.’

‘I’m guessing you’re going to want to know at least two things.’ Clydia reached down for a clay jug beside the table. ‘Wine?’

I shook my head. ‘It’s too early.’

‘Suit yourself. As I was saying, you’re going to want to know what we were doing the night of the murder, and you’re also wondering how a bunch of people like us get to know the king.’

‘If the acting doesn’t work out, with a mind like that you could try for a career in the Civil Cohorts.’

‘Pah, I’d trust them less than I’d trust an actor,’ she sneered.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Low-downs. More often than not, men from the cohorts will accuse us women of all sorts, get us in some dark alleyway and then try to lift our dresses. Life’s shit at the bottom, not that someone like you would know. Just look at the way you dress. Fancy fabric, ’n all. Such a lovely voice. A nice education, no doubt.’

‘I am not here to judge,’ I said, ‘I’m simply here to find answers to my investigation.’

‘What’s she here for then?’ Clydia indicated Leana, then slumped on a cushion near the wall, alongside two fine-looking amphorae.

‘Leana helps when the answers aren’t as forthcoming as I would like.’ I gave a gentle smile.

‘That a threat?’

‘Not yet.’ I hoped Clydia wouldn’t give me too much trouble, and it seemed to me that her tongue was likely to be her most offensive weapon. ‘What exactly is the Skull and Jasmine?’

‘I’ve often wondered that myself.’ Clydia chuckled as if noting some private joke. ‘We’re a loose group of nine actors, from different parts of Vispasia.’

‘You have a local accent – you’re from Tryum, I take it?’

‘Close. I’m from a small town further along the coast. Tryum seemed to absorb me somehow. Came here five summers ago, when I was fourteen, but the Skull and Jasmine didn’t really come together until two years back.’

‘How did it happen?’ I spotted a couple of stools next to the table, and drew them up for Leana and myself.

‘We were desperate people. Had little in the way of money. We all fell in love with street theatre – how could we not? – and started putting on little productions to spread the word of the older cultures.’

‘How did you get on?’

‘Not well. We didn’t make much money.’ Clydia shrugged.

‘What happened?’

‘Instead, people wanted more and more popular tales instead of art. They wanted to hear stories of what General Maxant had been up to in Mauland, stories of popular heroes, gods, comedies …’ She took a sip from her cup and sighed sadly. ‘There’s not much art to that, but it paid our rent and food for a while. People don’t come to see us to learn, they come to forget, to dream.’

‘Dreaming still requires thought. So somewhere along the line you fell in favour with the king.’

She smiled, shaking her head with amusement. ‘Strange isn’t it, people like us – a girl like me – suddenly finding ourselves in that big residence.’

‘It is a rather breathtaking place,’ I remarked.

‘Seemed like it was made for the gods. And there we were!’ She was much less aggressive now. Her face became vibrant, her attitude far warmer than before. ‘We were good friends with the king.’

My look of surprise didn’t seem to go down well. Clydia rolled her eyes, as if she’d seen that reaction a hundred times before. It must have been annoying, if she’d had something to brag about, that people didn’t believe her. ‘It seems unlikely…’

‘King Licintius likes to visit the city at night. Course, if you even mention it to him he’ll deny everything, but he liked to visit his people, only… not as himself. He dresses up in disguise.’ Her expression was perfectly serious.

‘You’re not actually joking, are you?’

‘Course not. That’s how he found us. I think it’s a good thing, too – how else is a king to know his people? From senators whispering into his ear? No. He’d heard about several theatre groups, but wanted to meet one for himself – away from the life in Optryx, so he said. We were new, we had little in the way of a following. So one night, with ten armed guards in civilian clothing walking up and down the street outside one of our performances, the mighty King Licintius came to pay us a visit.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘That seems…’

‘Hard to believe?’ Clydia finished. ‘I know. Could scarcely believe it myself. Came in here, he did – right where you’re sitting. Dressed almost like one of us. He’s a handsome man up close – did you ever see him?’

‘I have spoken face to face with him, yes.’

‘When he’s in his royal fineries he’s like a god, but when he dressed like us he seemed almost within reach. I wanted to touch him to see if he was real. I made a drunken pass at him once, I think. A girl in my position’s got to try these things.’

‘I take it he didn’t accept your kind gesture,’ I said.

‘Nah, he wasn’t interested.’ Clydia gave a warm laugh. Her moods seemed to skip between extremes within the same sentence.

‘So what did he actually do with the Skull and Jasmine, when you were all together?’

‘Do? We acted, of course. He wanted to join in. Wanted to have some fun, the kind he couldn’t have up there.’

‘You’re telling me the king simply came all the way down here, putting his life at risk, to have fun with some poor actors.’

‘Poor doesn’t even cover the half of it. We were massively in debt – we couldn’t even afford the rent on our tiny little apartments at the time, let alone this place.’

‘Do you have any evidence of these assertions? Forgive me for asking, but it seems remarkably unlikely and, as you say yourself, the king will deny such occurrences. Where is your proof ?’

With her free hand she gestured to the room around her. ‘This place. How in Tryum d’you think we could afford to live somewhere like this? We’re not renting any more – this is ours.’

‘Licintius’ money paid for this building,’ I said.

‘And the rest,’ Clydia said. ‘For a small time we dined like kings and queens. Well, not quite, but we had mushrooms and pheasants at least. He wanted actors to enjoy a little luxury so that they “might refine their craft free of worries”. It meant we could finally perform the plays that we wanted.’

I absorbed what she had told us and contemplated this large house in one of the poorest districts of the city. It seemed so unlikely, yet here we were. The only other possibility of them owning such a place is that they were operating criminal activity on the side, yet there were none of the rough types on standby for protection, none of the questionable social circles that build up around it. At the moment, there was just one girl.

‘Where is the rest of the Skull and Jasmine troupe?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to speak to them.’

‘Upstairs asleep. Same as I was before you arrived.’

‘It’s midday,’ I observed.

‘What’s your point?’

It appeared her spirited half was about to return, so I decided to ask her about what happened the night of Lacanta’s murder at Optryx, all the while scanning her face for signs of evasiveness.

Clydia spoke calmly, clearly and with a surprising amount of detail, all of which matched up with what had been put forward in the written statements of the guests that night. She discussed the play they were putting on, a rendition of ‘The Gods and their Conquests’, an old play that dated back to the beginnings of the Detratan Empire hundreds of years ago. It was the king’s choice that they perform this particular piece, as it would highlight the importance of Maxant’s own triumphant conquests in Mauland.