Truesingers
Apr. 1st, 2008 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerThe long-faced man with the thinning hair alighted from the bus and looked up at the ornate stone fascia of the Old Hexagon. Hexagonal it was, with the edge furthest away from him stretched to twice the length of the others, making the back end rectangular. Just a stage and a seating area, with walls and a roof around it. The man hefted his suitcase and approached the double doors. He was early: one of the first to arrive. He wanted to get a good seat.
Inside, he found the faded magnificence that told of the days when the Hexagon was the primary theatre in Broadfields, before the Central had been built on a bombed-out piece of waste ground. A smiling woman took his ticket and franked it, and he thanked her and turned to make his way to his seat.
As he passed through the inner doors, two men in Cragshorn Security uniforms came in from the street, arguing about who could possibly have slashed their tyres. One favoured neighbourhood kids, the other agents from a rival security firm. After a while they settled, or at least shelved their argument, unpacked their equipment and set up the baggage checking station on a low table in front of the inner doors.
*
“I can't believe we're playing Broadfields again.” Suncat was alternately excited and apprehensive.
“It's a lot different now,” Derwent assured her. “Before the majority was Autonomist, with a few Affiliationists here and there. Now the positions are completely reversed.”
“The thing about being in the majority,” Kaichang said darkly, “is that minorities are more dangerous.”
“Oh, can't we just forget about the politics for one night?” Suncat implored. “We're musicians. We're here to sing, not to preach.”
“It was you who got us into it,” Verneen reminded her.
“Yes, well,” Suncat said, “I've lost count of the times I've wished I'd kept my mouth shut.”
“Oh, come on,” Kaichang said. “It needed saying. And it hasn't been all bad.”
“Five minutes,” Derwent said. “I'm going out front. See you there.”
*
The applause which greeted the Truesingers as they bounced on to the stage was proof, if proof were needed, that Broadfields was ready to welcome them once more. Derwent noticed Edmond Solway Levinrange, the music critic, prominent in the front row, clapping as heartily as the rest, and wondered what kind of piece he would write on the morrow.
The set proceeded smoothly. Nevil had made gargantuan strides with his technique since those early days, and Orville's solid musicianship was unwavering. Derwent found himself wondering what they might sound like with a keyboard player, and caught himself running through names. One step at a time, he told himself.
He was not so unself-conscious as to be unaware that he too had changed over the past months, and looking back at his earlier self, he found the change on the whole to be for the better. In the early days they had all been friends together, and that had been fun, but now the friendship had deepened. He could never have imagined himself being angry with Suncat before this, or giving her orders; nor would he have entertained the possibility even for a moment that she would stand for it. They had all become comfortable with each other in a way that he could not have imagined. He fancied that was Suncat's special gift, a power she exercised without even being aware of it. He envied her in some ways...
A movement in the audience caught his eye. Someone was getting up, leaving his seat; a man with a suitcase. How the hell did a suitcase get past the baggage check? Derwent wondered. Never mind. Derwent made his way into the auditorium and followed.
The man passed through the double doors into the corridor, and headed up the stairs; he seemed to be making for one of the upper circle boxes. There was no time to alert security. Derwent tried to make no sound at all as he pursued the man up the ancient stairs.
*
“...no, I don't have any right now,” Suncat said. “I checked. Carefully.” A ripple of laughter. “So, final song. This one is for anyone who knows what it's like to stand out for something you believe in, and how hard it can be.” She glanced at Kaichang, who appeared to have nodded off. Suncat nudged her, and she “woke up” with a feigned start and began to play.
“I hurt you, and that's a shame
But if you ask again I'm still gonna say the same.
And you can walk away--”
The flash of the plasma rifle, the bolt of orange light, came a fraction of an instant before the sound. Suncat's voice skidded into an animal noise of pain, and she fell backwards on to the stage as the rest of the music stuttered to a halt around her.
*
Derwent burst through the doors of the box to find a long-faced man with thinning hair grappling furiously with another man, wearing what looked superficially like a Cragshorn Security uniform. Nearby lay a plasma rifle, its red-hot muzzle slowly scorching the carpet, and a battered, burst-open suitcase full of well-worn, cheap clothes.
“He—he shot Miss Suncat,” Carson Meldrum panted.
Under the uniform cap, the eyes of Kittredge Elyot Morningsky glared wildly.
To be concluded...
Inside, he found the faded magnificence that told of the days when the Hexagon was the primary theatre in Broadfields, before the Central had been built on a bombed-out piece of waste ground. A smiling woman took his ticket and franked it, and he thanked her and turned to make his way to his seat.
As he passed through the inner doors, two men in Cragshorn Security uniforms came in from the street, arguing about who could possibly have slashed their tyres. One favoured neighbourhood kids, the other agents from a rival security firm. After a while they settled, or at least shelved their argument, unpacked their equipment and set up the baggage checking station on a low table in front of the inner doors.
*
“I can't believe we're playing Broadfields again.” Suncat was alternately excited and apprehensive.
“It's a lot different now,” Derwent assured her. “Before the majority was Autonomist, with a few Affiliationists here and there. Now the positions are completely reversed.”
“The thing about being in the majority,” Kaichang said darkly, “is that minorities are more dangerous.”
“Oh, can't we just forget about the politics for one night?” Suncat implored. “We're musicians. We're here to sing, not to preach.”
“It was you who got us into it,” Verneen reminded her.
“Yes, well,” Suncat said, “I've lost count of the times I've wished I'd kept my mouth shut.”
“Oh, come on,” Kaichang said. “It needed saying. And it hasn't been all bad.”
“Five minutes,” Derwent said. “I'm going out front. See you there.”
*
The applause which greeted the Truesingers as they bounced on to the stage was proof, if proof were needed, that Broadfields was ready to welcome them once more. Derwent noticed Edmond Solway Levinrange, the music critic, prominent in the front row, clapping as heartily as the rest, and wondered what kind of piece he would write on the morrow.
The set proceeded smoothly. Nevil had made gargantuan strides with his technique since those early days, and Orville's solid musicianship was unwavering. Derwent found himself wondering what they might sound like with a keyboard player, and caught himself running through names. One step at a time, he told himself.
He was not so unself-conscious as to be unaware that he too had changed over the past months, and looking back at his earlier self, he found the change on the whole to be for the better. In the early days they had all been friends together, and that had been fun, but now the friendship had deepened. He could never have imagined himself being angry with Suncat before this, or giving her orders; nor would he have entertained the possibility even for a moment that she would stand for it. They had all become comfortable with each other in a way that he could not have imagined. He fancied that was Suncat's special gift, a power she exercised without even being aware of it. He envied her in some ways...
A movement in the audience caught his eye. Someone was getting up, leaving his seat; a man with a suitcase. How the hell did a suitcase get past the baggage check? Derwent wondered. Never mind. Derwent made his way into the auditorium and followed.
The man passed through the double doors into the corridor, and headed up the stairs; he seemed to be making for one of the upper circle boxes. There was no time to alert security. Derwent tried to make no sound at all as he pursued the man up the ancient stairs.
*
“...no, I don't have any right now,” Suncat said. “I checked. Carefully.” A ripple of laughter. “So, final song. This one is for anyone who knows what it's like to stand out for something you believe in, and how hard it can be.” She glanced at Kaichang, who appeared to have nodded off. Suncat nudged her, and she “woke up” with a feigned start and began to play.
“I hurt you, and that's a shame
But if you ask again I'm still gonna say the same.
And you can walk away--”
The flash of the plasma rifle, the bolt of orange light, came a fraction of an instant before the sound. Suncat's voice skidded into an animal noise of pain, and she fell backwards on to the stage as the rest of the music stuttered to a halt around her.
*
Derwent burst through the doors of the box to find a long-faced man with thinning hair grappling furiously with another man, wearing what looked superficially like a Cragshorn Security uniform. Nearby lay a plasma rifle, its red-hot muzzle slowly scorching the carpet, and a battered, burst-open suitcase full of well-worn, cheap clothes.
“He—he shot Miss Suncat,” Carson Meldrum panted.
Under the uniform cap, the eyes of Kittredge Elyot Morningsky glared wildly.
To be concluded...
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