Mardans yawned and stretched. He had eaten, bathed, and taken a three-hour nap after he and his escorts had ridden into Blayne just after noon, but he still felt exhausted. It had been many months since he had ridden that long and hard. His backside would likely complain for days.
Finding Dinae, he knew, would be no problem. By Margonni standards, Blayne was a large town, but compared to Palisade, it boasted few entertainment venues. He could probably just ask the first man on the street about the new redhead in town, and he would point him to her. Washing his face and dressing in civilian clothes, he passed through the barracks’ mess hall for another small meal before heading into the streets. It felt good to walk.
Despite being early evening, the end-of-summer heat lingered, and sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his back as soon as he stepped outside. Blayne sat at the confluence of two major rivers, the White and the Highwater, making the town more humid than the plains just below. To the north and east, foothills rose toward the lofty Dragon’s Teeth Mountains beyond, where even at this late date, a few tall peaks still glistened with snow. At this distance, they provided Mardans no relief.
He strode toward the center of town along a wooden sidewalk. So few people walked the dirt streets that the dust had settled. Most citizens, it seemed, were trying to stay cool out of the sun, many sitting down to their evening meal. A clerk was carrying items into a store across the street, getting ready to close. Mardans hurried over to catch him when he came out.
He nodded to the young man, smiling. “Evening! I’m a stranger here, and I’d be obliged if you could tell me where I could find some entertainment. I heard there was new show or a new actress recently arrived. A friend told me she was good.”
The clerk guffawed. “Oh, she’s good all right, mister!” he said. “Good lookin’, good singin’, good actin’, sure enough. I had the pleasure of seein’ her first performance. But Shepherd help us, she’s hell’s own mistress! She’s caused nothin’ but trouble like she’s an emissary of the Dark Lord hisself! She ain’t been here a month, I reckon, and we’ve had a couple of brawls and knife fights a week, and wives have been slappin’ their husbands in the streets and haulin’ them home by the ear. I heard she can’t leave her room without causin’ a riot. That’s all my way of sayin’, get in line.”
Mardans chuckled, shaking his head. “So that’s how it is. I should have guessed.”
The clerk looked at him more seriously, his eyes narrowing. “You sound like you know her.”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “I’m sorry for being vague earlier, but yes, she’s like a sister to me. I’ve come to see what I can do to help.”
“A sister?” the clerk scoffed. “No man looks at her like she’s a sister. You are a man, aren’t you, and not some demon-master sent to return her to the nether realm? Or a cut man?”
Mardans laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. He had to bend over and rest his hands on his knees until he stopped laughing. “You, sir, are very entertaining in your own right,” he said at last. “But, no, I am as much a man as you. However, she and I have had a working relationship for more than a year. We are friends, nothing more.”
The clerk gave him a sidelong look and a “Humph!” that made his disbelief apparent. “Then, tell me: Does she practice some sort of witchcraft, I mean, like cast spells or make love charms? It’s gotta be somethin’ otherworldly the way she attracts men. I admit, I followed her like a lost lamb for three days before my boss made me come back to work. I nearly got fired—and my boss is my dad.”
“No, I’ve never seen her make a witch’s brew or use a wand on a man,” he answered without irony. “Her beauty and charm are natural, and so is her vivacious personality. She makes use of them as an actress—successfully, I might add. She has admirers all across Osegra.”
The young man looked crestfallen. “I don’t have a chance, do I?” he asked in a small voice.
Sadly, Mardans shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my friend. Besides, she is not about to quit acting for any man right now. I myself need to ask her for a favor, but I have little hope she’ll help. I hear she’s making real money here.”
The clerk nodded, a lovelorn expression softening his features. “I’d pay double or triple the ticket price every night just to be in the same room she’s in.”
“Cheer up, my friend!” Mardans said, slapping him lightly on his shoulder. “You cannot lose what you never had. Besides, she’s grouchy as a spring bear in the mornings, she cannot cook boiled water to save her life, and she spends most of her time running away from lustful men, learning her lines, or getting beauty treatments. Oh, hours and hours of beauty treatments! You don’t want that kind of life, do you? No, don’t answer that.”
The young man sniffed. “Is that why she’s just a friend?”
“Exactly!” Mardans exclaimed. “You’re coming around to my way of thinking. She’s a much better friend than a lover or a wife. The wise man admires her from a distance.”
The clerk stood up straighter and took a deep breath. “It’s time I stop moonin’ like a calf, I guess. I’ve got a girlfriend—or I had one before this. I should stick with her. She’s pretty, too, and she makes a wonderful apple pie.”
“See, you’re on the path to wisdom, happiness, and satisfaction already, my friend!” Mardans said heartily. “Now, I don’t want to take up all your time this evening. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll see if the Queen of the Underworld will do me that favor.” He grinned so that the clerk knew he was joking.
“You can’t miss it,” the clerk said after a moment. “Just walk to the center of town and see where all the men are gatherin’. The show starts in less than two hours, so there should already be a line halfway to Palisade, if you get my meanin’.”
“I do. Thank you for your help. Tell your girl you’ve come to your senses. Tell her you were bewitched by the Devil’s own.” He winked as he walked away. The clerk grinned.
Mardans had no problem finding where many of the men of Blayne were gathering. The town’s center was a square built around a brass statue of a dragon in flight, commemorating Margonne’s victory over the Leitani forces a century-and-a-half before. Blayne’s Leitan populace had watched the aerial battle of the dragons from its walls, and when the monstrous black drake had fallen to the smaller golden dragon, they knew their nation’s days were numbered. The fleeing remnants of the Leitan army attempted to stand at Blayne, but Margonne’s superior force broke them like thin reeds, forcing the survivors into the highlands. Most of them died at the old mountain fastness of Essela. Just a handful of Leitani lived in Blayne now.
But a good quarter of Blayne’s Margonni menfolk stood on the square’s north side, milling around under a white banner that proclaimed in red ink, “Bardelbee’s Review.” Most looked to be dressed in their finest clothes, some with last year’s fashionable hats and canes. Inspecting the crowd with an entertainer’s well-trained eye for calculating ticket sales, Mardans counted only two women, both of whom appeared to be in attendance only to monitor their husbands. Their scowls spoke volumes.
Now that Mardans had found the venue, his problem would be inventing a way to have a private conversation with the show’s main attraction. He considered contacting his mother’s agent in Blayne but ruled the idea out almost immediately, as it would delay the meeting at least a day. Buying a ticket, making sure Dinae saw him in the crowd, and waiting for her inevitable invitation backstage had an appeal and would probably work, but he held it in reserve in case he could think of nothing better.
Then it struck him: Was he not the king’s agent on this mission? He had clout! His still-forming plan would entail changing into his palace guard uniform—which he had brought with him only because one of Alfons’ pages had handed it to him just before he left Palisade with Lirens—but he could do that quickly enough. Before he had finished the thought, he was already returning to the barracks.
Mardans reemerged on the dusty sidewalk not fifteen minutes later, looking like a weary but immaculately dressed palace guard. Finding an oily cloth under a bunk, he had even given his boots a few swipes. His two-day stubble would not pass inspection at the palace, but he could do nothing about that now. A brisk walk on the shady side of the street took him back to the town square in just a few minutes.
He instantly noticed that in the short time he had been away, the crowd in the square had swollen by another ten percent. An enterprising couple had set up a drink stand in the dragon statue’s shadow, selling cool water, cider, and beer at inflated prices to the thirsty theatergoers. Another had popped up across the way, offering fried potatoes and meat pies to those who had skipped dinner to stand in line for the show. If nothing else, Bardelbee’s Review was stoking the local economy.
With a start, Mardans remembered he was playing the king’s agent. He stood straighter, squaring his shoulders and looking fixedly ahead, emanating aloof pride in his station. Almost marching, he kept a steady, determined pace straight for his goal. Theatergoers stepped aside for him, eyes widening, wondering what business a king’s official would have with Bardelbee’s Review. Mardans felt sure the rumor mill had already started grinding.
Cutting the line, he strode directly to the window of the ticket office, a small wooden shed to one side of the main door, which was shut and probably locked until just before showtime. The ticket seller, troubled by the appearance of the king’s man, watched him with a mixture of distrust and fear. As Mardans stopped in front of him, he ducked his head in the universal sign of respect for authority.
Not acknowledging him, Mardans made a thorough visual inspection of the shed, his brows narrowing. Finally, his eyes met the ticket seller’s, and then he inspected him, too, with the same stern expression. The man wiped his sweating forehead with his shirtsleeve, and asked, his voice cracking, “May I help you, sir?”
Mardans again looked him in the eye, waiting to a count of five before responding in a deep, confident voice. “I need to see the show’s manager. King’s business.”
"The manager?” the ticket seller asked, as if he had no idea such a person existed. Mardans said nothing, knowing he had been heard, and silence would only increase the man’s anxiety. After a long pause and a gulp, the man said, “Well, uh, he’s inside, I think—at least that’s where he was when I last saw him—and I’m not to leave my post.”
“I will go inside, then,” Mardans said, turning toward the door.
“Sir, you can’t do that!” the man protested, spluttering.
“Why not?” Mardans answered, leveling a penetrating stare toward him.
“You haven’t bought a ticket!” he said.
“The king’s inspector needs no ticket,” Mardans replied. “Open the door.”
“But I don’t have a key!” he whined, wringing his hands.
Though he wanted to laugh, Mardans kept his features still. “Then you are useless.” He pivoted on his heel and strode to the door, rapping loudly several times. After a count of ten, he knocked again more forcefully. The third time, he used his gloved fist, rattling the door on its hinges. Muffled curses promising retribution came from inside, accompanied by approaching footsteps.
The lock turned, and the door cracked open a few inches. Mardans stepped forward and pushed it wide, knocking the small, middle-aged man behind it to the floor. Picking himself up, he blurted out a few profanities that amounted to, “Who do you think you are?”
Towering over him, Mardans looked down, expression unfazed. “I am Sam Tinetta, king’s guard, presently acting as his Inspector of Entertainments. I must see the manager.”
“He’s at dinner!” the small man said as if he were offended. “This is highly irregular!”
“Irregular or not,” Mardans asserted patiently, “I will see him or not, but I will conduct my inspection.”
“You can’t do that!” the doorkeeper insisted, his voice rising and his face reddening.
“I am under the king’s orders,” Mardans explained slowly, “tasked with inspecting this review, the playhouse, its management, and some of its entertainers, at my discretion. That means I can make this as painless or painful as I please.” He stopped and glared at the man. After a long moment, he allowed his features to relax and softened his voice. “Here, I’ll make you a deal: You go find the manager and bring him here as quickly as possible—say, in half an hour. In the meantime, I will conduct a few brief interviews with the cast members who are here. How does that sound?”
The little man hesitated, deciding if he should cross his boss or his king. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were looking at his choices each in turn.
Mardans sighed. “If it will make your decision any easier, my mission is to determine if any shows are worthy of the king’s patronage or perhaps a command performance at the palace during the winter or spring festivals. It could be quite lucrative to cooperate.”
The doorman chose to cross his boss. “All the third-floor rooms are for the cast. The prima has the big room on the far end, but I doubt she’ll speak to you.”
“Excellent!” Mardans said, smiling broadly for the first time, which surprised the little doorman or perhaps frightened him. The grin abruptly transformed into a frown. “I’ll make sure to note your cooperation in my report.” With a nod to the other man, he took the staircase to his right and bounded up the steps two at a time. At the landing, he looked back and saw an empty vestibule. He grinned and continued his climb.
A few notes:
Blayne’s strategic position at the confluence of the White and Highwater Rivers provided great potential for its citizens, but the place possessed an almost tangible lethargy that ground ambition and energy into the dust. The Leitani told an old tale that the town was built on the habitation of an evil spirit, which Tiena Santinetta would certainly have believed. Dinae’s charisma was strong enough to overcome it only for a short while. Be that as it may, it was as uninspiring and dispiriting as any location in Margonne. By contrast, the newly founded settlement across the Highwater just south of the town was growing and prospering—so much so that Blayne’s population was visibly contracting, shifting to the other side of the river.
King Alfons, like all his predecessors, kept a substantial garrison in Blayne. Its position allowed its commanders to deploy to all areas of northern Margonne. Not long after this time, Alfons built a sizable fortress on the opposite bank of the White River close to the road, giving the garrison easier access to both. The removal of the garrison hastened Blayne’s decline. By the time of Alfons’ grandson, Lorens III, its population had shrunk to just a few hundred souls too indolent to move.
No, Alfons did not have an Inspector of Entertainments. Mardans made that up on the spot.