James Roy - The Gimlet Eye

‘Actually, it’s not that -’ Amelia began to say, but she stopped as Florian and a couple of his courtiers arrived.

‘Wizroth! Explain yourself!’ Florian blustered, standing up close to Fontagu. ‘What do you mean to do, dedicating this play to that Vidler child? It’s Our birthday. Ours!’

‘Steady, Amelia,’ Philmon said under his breath, as she stiffened.

‘I… I meant no disrespect, my lord,’ Fontagu stammered.

‘You might have thought it was noble and brave, but We thought it was rather foolish, in the scheme of things,’ Florian said. ‘But we can talk about your so-called future later. For now, We need Our costume.’

‘Over here, my lord,’ Fontagu said, taking a cloak from a hanger nearby. ‘It should fit… We thought it would be quicker and easier if your costume just slipped over your very fine, very elegant clothes, which do befit your greatness and your -’

‘Oh, do shut up, Wizroth,’ Florian said, slipping the cloak on. ‘Now, where’s Our sword?’

‘Here, my lord.’ Fontagu handed him a wooden sword, painted to look silver.

Fontagu swung it about as if he was preparing for a real duel. ‘Yes, this will do nicely,’ he said, and Amelia had to bite her tongue again. Florian had never been much good with weapons when he was the spoilt nephew to the Archon, and now as a spoilt Emperor he was probably just as useless. ‘And Actor, remember to let me look good before you kill me.’

‘Of course, my lord,’ Fontagu replied.

‘Now, when is Our cue?’ Florian looked around smugly, making sure that everyone had noticed his use of a real acting word. ‘I believe We go on from stage left, is that right?’

‘Stage left is right. I mean… stage left is correct, my lord,’ Fontagu said, picking up his stage sword from the props table. He attached it to his belt, momentarily confused by the buckle. But then it was on, and he gave his head a little mind-clearing shake and looked at Florian, who suddenly appeared to be struggling not to vomit. ‘Ready?’

‘Of course,’ Florian replied. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Um… Very well, my lord. Break a leg.’

‘Yes, well let’s hope not.’

‘No, of course.’

From the side of the stage, Amelia and Philmon watched Fontagu make his entrance. He walked up to the boy playing Robar’s wife Sarad, who was in the middle of a long speech about how much she was missing her dead friend the hunter.

As Robar, Fontagu stood there, listening to his wife weep. Then, as she paused, he stepped towards her, taking her hand in his. ‘Why harken thee to the early morn and list to hear the voice of lovers?’ he recited, his voice bold and clear.

‘O Robar, deride me not this never-fine day, for my heart grows sullen-headed with worrisome affront,’ Sarad replied, pulling her hand from Fontagu’s and turning away to gaze offstage.

Fontagu stepped towards her again, speaking to her back. ‘Even with birdsong I heard our casement squeak, and coming hither I spied thee, your face with torment razed, while I had erstwhile slumbered within our wedding casket.’

‘But lo, who from afar approaches?’ Sarad said.

‘That’s my cue,’ Florian said, and clearing his throat, he stepped into the glow of the footlights.

Even from backstage, Amelia heard the crowd gasp as they recognised Florian. Then came the tittering. He’d come in on the wrong side of the stage, and Robar and Sarad were facing in the opposite direction.

Florian waited until they’d noticed and had turned to face him. He hesitated, then began his lines, but without much confidence. ‘Greetings. I am Calran, a wandering hawker, out to do great harm and no good. I have seen your fine animals and this, your lovely wife, and wish to take them all for myself, O lame and blind carpenter.’

‘You insult me with your devilish handsomeness and your working legs and eyes,’ Robar replied. Judging from the way he winced, Amelia could tell that Fontagu was hating these clumsy lines he’d been forced to say, but he pressed on regardless. ‘Lame and half blind I might be, good sir, but I will not stand idle by while you take all my fine animals and this wife to whom I’m married.’

‘Then shall I fight you for them, and her?’ Florian asked.

‘If you wish,’ Fontagu retorted, drawing his sword. ‘Have at you!’

The swordfight was in full swing when Amelia remembered. As she watched Fontagu and Florian move about the stage with clumsy stage-fighting, she glanced across at the royal box. Janus and Rendana had remained there, Janus sitting, the red-headed man standing, and as she looked at Rendana, what she’d seen through Fargus’ eyes returned. Could it be? No, of course not. She must have made a mistake.

‘You fight ever so well for a humble hawker,’ Fontagu was saying.

‘Thank you. And you are quite good for a blind, lame carpenter, but it would still take a stroke of very good fortune for you to defeat me.’

At that moment, Florian ‘tripped’ over a stool in the middle of the stage and fell onto his backside.

‘A stroke of good fortune like that?’ Fontagu said, standing over Florian and raising his sword, ready to run the hawker through. ‘Now you die!’

‘Stop!’ Amelia screamed, leaping forward onto the stage. ‘Fontagu, don’t!’

The crowd gasped at the interruption. So did the actors. Florian looked up with an expression of horror and fury, but Fontagu simply stared in surprise.

‘Amelia! What are you doing?’

‘Get off!’ Florian hissed. ‘He was about to kill me!’

‘Yes, he was,’ Amelia said, reaching up and taking the sword from Fontagu’s hand. ‘With this.’

‘It’s a stage sword, you silly girl,’ Fontagu said. Then he groaned. ‘Oh, now you’ve gone and ruined everything!’

‘A stage sword? Are you sure?’ With a sharp downward thrust, Amelia jammed the tip of the sword into the stage. It quivered there for a moment, its point buried deep in the boards.

‘What? I don’t…’ Fontagu fumbled. ‘It was meant to be a stage sword. It was always meant to be a stage sword, my lord, I swear it!’

His face pale, Florian had climbed to his feet. He shrugged the costume from his shoulders and stepped closer to the trembling Fontagu. ‘What treachery is this, Actor?’

Fontagu fell to his knees. ‘My lord, I wish I could explain, but… but I can’t. I truly believed that to be a stage sword, not… not a real one.’

‘Of all the people I might have expected to attempt an assassination, I would have hoped it to be someone a little more dignified than… than you. Get up, you disgusting wretch. You’ll be swinging from the nearest yardarm before the sun rises again.’

‘How about Janus – are you going to hang him as well?’ Amelia asked in a clear, strong voice.

There was absolute silence in the playhouse as Florian turned slowly towards Amelia. ‘I beg your pardon? You would dare to insult my dearest friend?’

‘Your dearest “friend” tried to have you killed. The only thing is, he was too cowardly to do it himself.’

‘That’s a very serious accusation,’ Florian said with a scowl. ‘What proof do you have?’

‘Ask him,’ Amelia said, nodding towards the royal box.

All attention turned to Janus, but he simply laughed. ‘What? The girl’s mad! She’s making up fairytales!’

‘If I’m making up stories, why will the guards find your servant carrying a stage sword instead of a real one? I’ll tell you why – because he substituted a real sword for the fake one. You wanted Florian dead, but you would rather have seen a Simesian actor commit the crime and pay the price.’

‘Dead? Why would Janus want me dead?’ Florian asked. ‘He’s my friend!’