On the theater’s third floor, Mardans ignored all the other doors, knocking on the one at the end. “Go away!” came through loud and unmistakably hostile, yet tinged with boredom, as if she had said it a thousand times. He knocked again, hearing from inside, “I said, ‘Go away!’ Are you deaf?”
He laughed loud enough for her to hear. “It’s me, Red, Mardans!”
Rapid footsteps and fumbling noises came from behind the door. Suddenly, the door swung wide, and Dinae launched herself at him, crushing him in a fierce hug and weeping in a mix of joy and relief. She clung to him for a full minute before she pulled him inside the room and closed the door, making sure to lock it behind her.
Only then did she speak, looking into his eyes. “Why are you here, Dance?” she asked softly, wiping around her piercing green eyes, smearing the makeup she had apparently been applying in preparation for the evening’s show.
As every man would attest, she was stunningly beautiful, owing in large part to the perfectly proportional features of both face and body. Her teeth were straight and white, her nose classic, her lips full without being distracting, her chin neither pointed nor rounded, and her skin a blushing pink and unblemished. Wavy red hair wreathed her face. At the moment, her eyes were downcast and slightly bloodshot from crying, and her nose had turned a deeper shade of pink.
“I sense some distress from the damsel,” Mardans said, eying her gravely. “Do you need rescuing by any chance?”
She chuckled through her tears. “You always know when I’m in trouble somehow.”
“Only because you are pretty much always in some kind of trouble,” he answered with a grin. “I didn’t come specifically to rescue you, but I’m willing to do it if you need it.”
She looked up into his eyes, her green ones swimming in unshed tears. “I need it.”
“Who could refuse that face?” he said, more to himself.
“You forgot ‘cursed,’” she mumbled, pulling her pale pink satin dressing gown more tightly around her body.
“What was that?”
“You should have said, ‘that cursed face,” she explained. “People always say I’m beautiful, and it’s always nice to hear. So, I guess it has its advantages, but it gets me into trouble more often than not. How many times have you had to rescue me over the past year?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t kept a count. But I’m always happy to help. That’s been the deal: I look out for you, and you teach me the trade.”
“Only until the apprentice surpassed his mistress!” she retorted, punching his shoulder. “I’ve been in your debt these last few months.”
“There will never be debt between us,” he replied. “Help is always freely given.”
“Well, there’s that,” she agreed with a small smile. Dinae already appeared more composed, her eyes drying and her face losing the red splotches of her distress. She cleared her throat. “So, what’s with the uniform?”
“Another role of sorts,” he answered, one side of his mouth twitching upward. “I used it to get in here to see you. You are speaking with the king’s inspector of entertainments.” He gave her a lavish bow.
She giggled, her face now shining and glorious. “Is there even such a person?”
Shrugging again, he said, “Not that I’m aware, but the ticket seller and the guy at the door both bought it without hesitation. I think I can keep it up with the manager.”
“Manager and owner,” she corrected, distaste written across her face. “Be careful with him, Dance. He’s a cruel con. At first, he’s kind and helpful, and then he shows his true nature once he’s got you in his grasp.”
“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” Mardans asked, genuine concern in his voice. They sat on a dark red upholstered settee near the door.
“Not physically, no,” she answered, arranging the skirt of her dressing gown. But he made threats. And he hasn’t paid me what he promised.”
Mardans’ face hardened. “No one messes with Dinae Camara and gets away with it. Not while I’m around.”
“I don’t need the money!” she said, now worried about him. “I would just like to get away, go back to the troupe.”
“I’ll make sure you can do whatever you please,” he growled. “Did you sign a contract?”
She nodded.
“What were the terms? Specifically.”
“Fifteen percent of the take for every sold-out performance, and the normal ten percent for the ones that don’t sell out, all of it paid weekly.”
“I assume every performance sold out,” he said dryly.
“Of course!” she replied, eyes flashing a warning that he should know better. Mardans knew better. He never rose to her pop-up thunderstorms because he had learned they passed swiftly through when he failed to react.
Chuckling, he continued, “So, what do you estimate he owes you? As close as you can.”
She walked over to a desk and took out a small notebook, which she flourished and handed to him. “I can do better than that! You can see how I figured it here: seats, ticket prices, and performances, times fifteen percent. The figure at the end is the minimum he owes me. And that doesn’t include the price he charged standers, and there are always a lot of them.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve always been good with numbers.”
Mardans whistled. “Half a gold mark! That’s not the kind of money you want to leave behind! You worked hard for that. You should have it.”
“Oh, believe me, I want the money,” Dinae said. “I earned it, but I’m willing to sacrifice it if that’s what it takes to get out of here.”
“Why hasn’t he paid you yet? You are supposed to get your share each week.”
Her quick temper flared again. “He told me he’d hold on to it for me since I’m a little lady in a rough town. I wouldn’t want someone to take advantage of my womanly weakness, now would I?”
“He’s definitely trying to take advantage of you,” Mardans said in a voice edged with steel. He rose to his feet. “Now, let’s make him pay.”
A note:
Currency in Margonne is based on a pound of sterling silver. It is divided into various denominations: the “tenner” (a copper coin) is one-tenth of a pound, and a penny or pence (a brass or bronze coin) is one-hundredth of a pound. The ten-pound coin (a gold coin stamped with a bison on the obverse and an arrowhead on the reverse) is a mark. Bardelbee owes Dinae “half a gold mark” or five pounds sterling. Today, that would fall in the $1,500 range. However, in Margonne’s economy, where money bought far more than it does today, it is equal to half a year’s wages for a skilled craftsman (or enough to buy three horses or thirteen cows). No wonder Dinae wanted it!