34

Life is a Stage

‘He wants to see you personally, so keep moving.’ The guard pushed Ludgar onward, causing him to stumble over his own chains. The shackles dug well into his skin. Nice and tight with zero chance of escape. These guys knew what they were doing.

Going from the bright light of an early afternoon to the dim ambience of an unknown building, it took a moment for his vision to adjust.

If this was a prison, it was probably the nicest he had been in, although the competition wasn’t fierce in any sense.

An immaculately polished floor waxed by grumbling but diligent peasants, an unnecessarily high ceiling with golden, hanging chandeliers of such immaculate design that they must have been the entire life’s work of some blacksmiths, a crimson carpet that rolled along the floor, up the crescent marble staircase, and to a set of double doors so large they may as well have been gates, and so crafted that they could be an art piece in their own right. A deep, rich, brown they could be made from chocolate, etched with the images of dancing figures, general merriment, and a few wars or two. Specifically, it looked like the Unification War of Evandis. There King Horic stood, piercing his blade into the earth to split Evandis from Versia and create the Broken Sea.

An ever popular tale.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Sethel snuck in close to the doors and took a good whiff.

‘I believe this to be constructed of Vilsian Dreamwood,’ he said loud enough for the guards to notice and throw him back into line. ‘Only one ever grows at any single time every one hundred years. I always wondered what became of it.’

At either side stood two busts of the infamous Lord Trister. The rich white marble painstakingly sculpted into the image of a peacock; years of dedicated, detailed work by steady, intricate hands, now splashed with various clashing colours by someone who has no idea what they’re doing, but they call themselves an artist so whatever they do must be good. Leave it to the artists of Savanti to take something nice and completely ruin it with their own terrible ideas.

Further along the wall, sat in decorated alcoves, were the busts of many female actors; the busts of said busts being very busty indeed; suspiciously so, looking down the hall of them. Almost as if they were hired for that one specific attribute.

Further down the hall, they were brought to another set of double doors. A local usher in a red waistcoat and black everything else opened the doors for them revealing a great stage in front of huge, dark curtains, surrounded by an uncountable number of seats of soft, red material, and huge balconies looming above.

Ludgar had the growing sensation that this wasn’t actually a prison, but he wasn’t completely sure; it was Savanti after all.

They pulled the mercs down the aisle, towards the middle.

One of the very few audience members sat back in one of the seats, feet up on the back of one of the chairs in front, while he smoked from a crystal pipe. The guards brought them to the row behind, forcing them into the seats close by.

Two men stood on stage, papers in hand, screaming at each other with acting so bad, even Ludgar could tell.

‘Have you seen this play?’ the man asked without turning his head. He had the voice of a professional. Cold, bland certainty. He looked through the corner of his eye at the group. ‘Of course not. It’s quite a story, regardless.’ His pipe disappeared into the breast pocket of his high collared coat. ‘The tale of a man who desired nothing but wealth to cure his ailing wife. He commits all manner of reprehensible acts to achieve this, as the quest soon consumes his soul. He returns to his wife with the money, but all she sees is a monster, and stabs him with his own blade.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ Ludgar said. ‘But I don’t really watch theatre shows. Don’t have the patience for it.’

‘A pity. However, you seem like a man of action.’ He stood. The high, black, collar hid his spectacular, ivory white feathers. From that came a bright orange beak beneath a pattern of dark feathers that hid his eyes in the way a mask would. ‘I need that.’

‘You’re not Trister.’

‘No, I’m not. He’s currently indisposed. My name is Alamdis. Almadis Mayer.’ He gave a polite bow. Ludgar should have expected a ridiculous Savantian name. ‘I suppose you could say I’m his secretary, but that’s not completely true either. You could say I’m more like his... handler. I’m here to keep things running and to make sure he’s sufficiently distracted.’

‘You distract your own Lord?’ Kathiya asked, trying to gesture with hands bound within a restraint that looked like an iron set of mittens. Such devices are used exclusively for thieves. Ludgar wondered how they knew. Probably from all the fake jewelry she had stolen. ‘I thought Lord Trister wasn’t interested in politics anyway.’

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

‘That’s mostly the case, but believe me, when Lord Trister is interested in politics, he makes a far bigger mess than anyone would ever want, and I’m the one left cleaning it up. I heard you cleaned up one of Lord Isanthol’s messes.’

‘How’d you know?’ Kathiya didn’t even try to hide it. Probably for the best. There are some times when playing coy is to your detriment.

‘Word gets around. In Savanti, it gets around fast. I must ask, do you enjoy being arrested in every Versian city you step foot in?’

‘That’s two for two now.’ Ludgar said. ‘If I get another, I think I win a hat or something.’

‘Amusing,’ he said, without a single hint of amusement. ‘Let’s get a good look at you.’ He stepped over to the end of the seats, where Caspar sat at the end; bored but pretty comfortable as the restraints would allow him to be. ‘A bit young for a merc, aren’t you?’

‘There’s an age limit on mercs?’ he responded.

‘I doubt it. Hmm.’ He held Caspars head from under his chin and got a good look at his face.’

‘You have a nice face, boy. Young, yet strong. Like a noble King. Ever consider becoming an actor?’

‘Not really, but I appreciate the offer. Thanks!’

‘A pity.’ He waltzed a step over to where Sethel seemed to be actually enjoying the rehearsal. ‘A wizard? Why are you a merc?’

‘Some altercations regarding my tenure at the university. Now I’m in need of funding to further my own education.’

He gave a nonverbal hum of acknowledgement and stepped to Ves’sa, who was trying to chew her way through an iron vice around her beak.

‘Why is this one muzzled?’

‘Our protection,’ the guard behind said. ‘She has a habit of biting, sir.’

Ves’sa growled and fidgeted around in her chains; significantly more chains than the rest of them.

‘Scary, but exciting. I know some people that would pay quite handsomely for a night with someone of your looks and disposition.’

She growled again.

‘Very well. I get your point. Please let me know if you ever want to make some real money.’ He slipped a card somewhere between the chains and turned to Kathiya, who sat in quite a neutral, unassuming way. The obvious way a thief always does.

‘Ah. The thief. People with your particular skills don’t do well in Savanti.’

‘I stole three necklaces, four rings, and even a wig on the way in.’ She held up the iron mittens clasped around her hands. ‘While wearing these.’

‘And you’ll find them all to be fake. The point of Savanti is to look valuable. Actually being valuable is irrelevant.’

‘Damn it!’ She threw her unshackled mittens to the ground, much to the surprise of the guards behind. The jewellery and wig spilled out from them.

He finally got back to Ludgar, who took the opportunity to put his own feet upon the chairs in front.

‘Yes. I think you’ll do.’ He turned to the men on stage and shouted, ‘That’s enough, thank you! We won’t be in touch!’

‘W-why? What did we do wrong?’ asked one actor.

‘Nothing in particular, other than being complete shit. Next!’

The two were promptly ushered off stage and two more walked on from the opposite end. The nervous actors held their scripts.

Without turning, Almadis yelled, ’Page fourteen! Line twelve! You’re a desperate man trying to kill a farmer for his measly sack of coin! Begin!’

The actors got off to a rocky start, but soon became more comfortable as they settled into the script.

Almadis didn’t look at them even once.

‘Yes. I think you’ll fit in perfectly for this role.’

‘For what?’ Ludgar asked with slow, emphasised words of both suspicion and interested curiosity.

‘Look at you.’ The swan gestured to the row of mercs. ‘You’re all losers.’

‘Hey! I resent that!’

‘Am I wrong?’

‘Well… No, but you shouldn’t say it!’

‘I’m in need of a strong set of people who can play the part of revolutionaries. The downtrodden. The destitute. The unusual. You all look downtrodden, destitute, and unusual enough to play that part well.’

‘We’re not actors. Have you been outside? You can barely walk for all the desperate actors trying to get noticed. Hire one of them.’

‘Look at this shit!’ His outburst filled the hall, and he pointed at the two on stage, who dropped their scripts in surprise. ‘You think these idiots can be convincing revolutionaries? They can hardly even show convincing pain if I were to hit them in the face with a hammer, let alone emotion! No.’ As quick as it arrived, the outburst was gone, and he returned to his calm, composed self. ‘I need real people who have done real things. Not those who only know strife from what they see on stage.’

Ludgar brought his feet down and sat upright, ready to get down to business.

‘I take it there’ll be payment.’

‘Naturally. You are mercs, after all.’

‘Alright. Revolutionaries, then. Who’s the leader?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Where are they based?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How many of them are there?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘Are they well equipped?’

‘Probably not, but I’m not sure.’ He slid over to Ludgar, taking the seat next to him, draping his arm across his shoulder. ‘There’s just a few dissatisfied people who wish to overthrow our Lord. I have no idea why. Just last week we commissioned that wonderful crystal building that’s shaped like Jobak’s head. A wonderful actor. I’m sure you’ve seen it. It seems some people just don’t appreciate art. I need you to find them, and stop this little game they’re playing. It’s funny, really. It’s like watching children put on a show.’

‘So they’re like actors as well, then?’

‘Everyone in Savanti is an actor. Hell, everyone in the world is.’ He threw his hand out, gesturing to the stage. ‘Even these jesters. They just need the right role. Life is a stage, you see. And we all have our part to play.’