Chapter Two: Artram
The opera house really wasn't bad to look at. Gold-woven red carpets, marble railings, brass statues, well-dressed theatre workers bustling about on stonework just imposing enough to be impressive…
Also, the lobby windows, strictly designed to let light in, didn't offer much of a view. By the looks of it, it hadn't so much as rained on this spot since the world's fall.
Stenden walked with Danfry to the brass reception desk, behind which sat a broad-framed young man with a pronounced squint.
"Hello, Halson," said Danfry.
"Who's that with you?"
Stenden waved a hand to indicate he'd rather introduce himself, thanks. "Name's Stenden. If Artram's available, I'll speak to him about a job in the orchestra."
"I can't leave now," said Halson apologetically. "They'll be buying tickets any minute. Hey, Dela?"
"Yes?" asked a rushed-looking sandy-haired woman somewhat acerbically.
"Could you see if Artram can take his interview right now?" Halson jerked a thumb toward him. "Orchestra."
"Yes, I could," said Dela more softly, drawing herself up. "Just a moment."
"She's our troupe's lead soprano," said Danfry as she walked composedly up the stairs. "Not as good as Maria, but definitely easier to manage under pressure."
"What makes you so frustrated with Maria?"
"Just as a taste – in A Warrior's Wife, she was so irritated by the villain's subtlety that, even after Impresario told her the understatement was just what he'd – speak of the devil." For Maria had just shoved her way into the lobby.
In Owzer's gallery, Maria wore an elegant hair ribbon and an elaborate ballroom dress. The Maria stalking past them to the main stage doors had unadorned hair, a no less elaborate but more form-fitting dress, and a cape. With that forbidding expression on her face, she looked… she looked almost…
Chills ran through his body, and a myriad of thoughts warred in his head.
"Stenden," asked Halson after a moment, "you don't know about the Setzer crisis?"
"You mean the captain of the Blackjack?" asked Stenden hoarsely.
"He was then. But anyway, Maria's been in the opera for ten years, and we definitely know her."
"So what's this about Setzer?" he asked, reassured, but only a bit.
"Can't it wait?" said Danfry to Halson. "He's about to speak to Artram."
Halson opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment, Dela emerged from the balcony.
"Artram is ready to take your interview."
Stenden breathed to clear his mind of Setzer, and concentrated hard as he could on musical matters.
Artram waited, seated, in a small room to the left of the balcony. He was well into middle age, with short blond-to-grey hair, bristling eyebrows, and a rather square jaw.
"Sit," he said, gesturing at an upholstered chair in the corner.
Stenden laid down his bag and took a seat, somehow calmed.
"Dela missed telling me your name."
"Name's Stenden."
"What was your last job?"
"I played the flute for a tavern in Jidoor. They didn't give me a very good selection, though," he added, smiling slightly.
Artram nodded. "Jidooran fashion. I don't think much of it myself. You lived there, then?"
"Until I was evicted."
"How was it?" asked Artram, leaning forward.
"People were generally stuffy. Basically good-natured, though. With notable exceptions. But the smell, and the look, and the sky… I wouldn't have left if I could help it."
Stenden didn't say such things, but now, it seemed perfectly natural. Artram's entire demeanor invited trust and confidences. And after all, who didn't cherish that vibrance of the old world, deep down?
"You'll be applying for another flute position, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get yourself prepared," said Artram, rising to his feet. "I'll be back with scores to test your reading."
Stenden extracted his flute from his pack, swabbed it out swiftly with his rag, did a quick scale. He was focused and sure in a way he hadn't been in, oh, ages. Possibly not since his part in the taking of South Figaro, decisive and bloodless.
He'd been under General Leo then.
Stenden shook his head violently. Remember the purpose you just felt. Brooding won't help. Breathe. Focus.
Kefka, you utter bastard.
"Any word from Thamasa?" asked Stenden to Artram when he came back. He thought it sounded offhand enough.
"Not yet," he replied, and did not press the subject. He seemed very sure about that "yet", too, as if there were any way of knowing that the place hadn't simply fallen into the sea. "Now then, here is your first piece."
The harmony was a basic sort of martial rhythm, which Stenden found natural as speech, and used to collect himself. The melody, which he played next, was another matter. Carefree, with a wild beauty, its edge was somehow lyrical. Poignant. It filled his chest with an intense, pure emotion he couldn't quite name. Artram had a faraway look about him as Stenden played, just as moved as the player.
He played an old Kohling ballad after that, and a dance harmony from The Dream Oath. He moved to playing by ear, then was asked about composition (which he had never done), but he thought the job was in the bag after that first, unattributed piece. At any rate, he was happy, but not altogether surprised, to be hired.
As they walked out of the room, Artram called out to a swarthy woman in a bizarrely bright merchant's outfit. "Nerissa, could you show our new flutist around while I take his things to his quarters?"
He opened his mouth to protest, but Artram had already taken up Stenden's bag. It was better, at this stage, to act as though he had nothing to hide – he might not be searched that way.
"You know, we're quite lucky to have you," said Nerissa as Artram left the balcony. "We'll have to make do with half the orchestra missing once Impresario's gone – and the actors too, I suppose, but the actors only intermingle when necessary. And between our lead tenor and their lead soprano, I can't really blame them. I mingle more than most, though – they always need a lot of bit parts, I don't know how any of the writers will ever cut down. At any rate, the room you just left has a door to the catwalk, but the lock is in the effects room, on the other side. Has a trap door, lights, sound effects… This is the balcony, obviously –"
"Speaking of Maria, what's the Setzer crisis?"
"I'm a bit of a veteran here, so I could tell you better than most," she said as they walked down the stairs – quite a few Jidoorans and Marandans were already in line for tickets. "I was a floater then – Impresario was the only one with a fixed troupe at the time, and even before the incident he wasn't the kind of man I'd like to work for – well, anyway, Setzer wrote a Wandering Gambler note to Maria, saying he'd kidnap her. Well, Maria was always a bit touched, thought it was rather dashing, but Impresario found the letter, and he wasn't too pleased with it. Drank himself into a right stupor." She led Stenden through the auditorium doors. "There's the orchestra pit – the woodwind section is to the far right. You'll be sitting there. What's your name, by the way?"
"Stenden. What were you saying about Maria?"
"Oh, right. So he comes back from a friendly visit with Owzer, sporting the world's most exquisite hangover, but he's pretty pleased with himself. Tells Maria she's safe and hides her in one of the rehearsal rooms – that's far backstage, past the sets here – the Castle of the West, though, same play, is still in a heap outside, they never bothered to repair it after that day, though Halson's always pushing for it –"
Stenden had seen it against the side of the opera, a dusty heap of broken pressboard covered in chunks of stone-colored plaster, white at the cracks.
"That happened during the Setzer crisis?" asked Stenden with some alarm.
"No, no, not that day. You know. That day."
"Ah, do you mean…"
Nerissa was suddenly tight-lipped, which Stenden took as confirmation.
"Never mind. I'm sorry. So what happened to make Impresario change his mind?"
"He didn't. Well, at least Maria did. Reconciled herself to the idea that being kidnapped wasn't the best idea, which is good, considering what else was in store for her, but anyway, they used a decoy."
Oh hell.
"Incredible he happened upon her, really. Looked practically identical, had a lovely voice – you know, they say it was Celes, the Imperial general who escaped from South Figaro, but I don't think a Magitek Knight would know much in the way of music, do you?"
"So Setzer took her instead?" asked Stenden, as calmly as he could.
"Yes, yes," said Nerissa impatiently, "but that's past the meat of the story – that's the mass rehearsal room to your right, a few subdivisions to the left – completely soundproof to the outside – Thamasan construction, I'm told, finest in the world, but the Jidoorans we hired to patch this place up weren't bad themselves. Room's ideal for orchestra, dance, you name it. Anyway, I was actually on stage when all hell broke loose…"
And as she turned from the stage, she babbled incessantly about a land-octopus and the Impresario's inconsideration to Maria, whose personal life was apparently quite wrapped up in the whole affair. Occasionally, she punctuated her chatter with a detail of the building. Well, whatever his social faults, the Impresario certainly lacked consideration for how his actions might affect others. Giving the Returners the world's only airship, just to keep things smooth with the troupe… good that the land-octopus denied him that. Better that the fool was on his way out, so Stenden wouldn't have to look at him.
But it didn't change the basic fact: the Esper horde razed Vector on Impresario's witless account.
"Halson," said Nerissa, flipping back the drape of her merchant's hat, "stop fobbing off the ticket-booth on the rest of us. It is your job, you know."
"I had to discuss the script with, you know, Artram and the rest." said Halson, looking somewhat weak in the knees. "That's my job too, and I'm heading back."
"You don't act, you can't be much use with the script," snapped Nerissa. "You wouldn't know where Artram put his things?"
"Main quarters."
"Very well, then, like I told you, men are the west end, just short of the balcony stairs. Can't follow you there, of course."
"Could you show me, then?" Stenden asked Halson.
"'Fraid not. I have a job to do –" he jerked his thumb at the growing queue – "and I couldn't help you regardless, as I don't sleep there."
Stenden did not enjoy the prospects of his pack left in a fairly public room. He walked as quickly as was reasonable to his door.
-
"Halson – Danfry –" said Banon, emerging from the main quarters, "may I have a word with you about our next production?"
Halson glanced at the doors. "Could you hold the guests until I'm done with this?" he asked a shadow standing idly by.
"They won't be happy about it, if they're as self-righteous as usual," said the lanky youth, though shuffling behind the desk all the same.
"Duty calls."
And he followed Danfry – not to the rehearsal rooms, not this soon before a play – just to the little red-carpeted suite behind the right balcony statue, where Dela, Hoven the composer, and a few others Halson hadn't yet got to know were already seated. The general hubbub was nearly as good as that silence spell, but Halson knew some who might turn the same commotion into an opportunity to catch some gossip. He'd keep an eye on the peephole.
"First things first," announced Banon, standing. "Captain Barkhurst of Nikeah will attend our next performance of The Enchanted Lake. He's seeking information on Narshe's whereabouts."
"I can't imagine we know more than he does, then," said Danfry gloomily, settling down on the floor. "With all the effort we've put into finding those extra forces… the Elder…" He shook his head.
"Ah, but maybe we do," said Hoven with that maddening grin. His leather Returner's cap was in place as usual for the meeting. Aside from Hoven, Halson had never seen the genuine article even in the old world, but he admired the touch. "They've just reorganized carrier pigeon routes from Kohlingen. And do you know what they say there?"
"Go on," sighed the woman in the corner after a minute of silence. A first violinist, Halson thought.
"They say… that they've acquired a new citizen about three months ago."
"Dance on around those facts, Hoven," said Dela. "You've so dizzied yourself that you're bound to run into them soon."
"Besides," said Halson, taking another glance through the peephole, "who doesn't know when the Sundering was? Elaborate, won't you?"
"A Narshe guard. Washed onto the Dragon's Neck two days after. He was conscious."
"And thus can retrace his journey to an extent," Banon finished, eyes aglow. "Very well. Very well indeed. Danfry, alter the Song of Mead to point Barkhurst to Kohlingen. And as soon as possible, we'll want to get in touch with the man ourselves."
"Narshe," whispered the first violinist in awe.
"Now, onto opera business. Firstly, be very sure to keep the new flutist in the dark. He's Stenden, the very pale one. A regrettable waste – his heart is in the right place – but in my search of his belongings, I found an Imperial brownsuit deep in his pack. He won't desire to know me as anything but Artram."
"Imperial?" said Danfry, astounded. "I chose him in part because he played Madrigan Mezzo at the Black Leaf."
"Why take on this liability?" demanded Dela. "Why shed the Impresario if we're willing to take up an Imperial dog in his stead? Find another flutist."
"We won't cast him out. He's a very good musician. He played Arvis's composition better than any I've seen, and if we'll sacrifice our artistic quality –"
Dela rose from her chair, incensed. "You admire an Imperial take on Arvis's work? You, who yourself saw the bloody Magitek soldiers shoot him through the back scant days after we talked peace?"
"Dela," said Danfry hastily, "he played Madrigan Mezzo. He must have some experience in South Figaro."
"He also seemed attached to Thamasa," muttered Banon, his back to the throng.
"It wouldn't be his hometown, I don't think," said Danfry, with a meaningful glance at Dela. "Too isolated. Hasn't had many dealings with the Empire."
"Oh, I see how it is, then. General Leo, General Leo, you all seem to think so highly of him! And would you be speaking with Banon if your General Leo hadn't had experience in South Figaro? And would I be –" Dela glanced away abruptly. "…Very well. I suppose it does count for something. Banon, please accept my apology. I didn't mean to –"
"Don't mention it," said Banon brusquely. "And remember your instructions regarding Stenden. Secondly –" he turned back to face them – "we'll need an alto stronger on acting than I've found in the chorus. Halson – have you discussed the matter with your sister?"
He had on his last promotional visit, over the family's signature tea (the leaves still thriving on the windowsill). Nenna had the talent, and she'd never wanted anything more than to leave the puffed-up Jidoorans behind, but she'd declined all the same, and declined to tell why, in a thoroughly distracted manner.
"Yes, and I think that's what she wants, in her heart, but… she's holding back."
"It is hard, to leave such a place behind," said a red-haired man, nodding.
"She said… she said she wouldn't miss Jidoor herself. She was going to say something after that, but she swallowed it. I don't know why she won't come – doesn't look as though she will, though. I'll do my best to wring something solid from her on my next trip."
"If she's still in Jidoor by then," said Hoven with a furtive look. "I don't like the sound of it…"
"What do you mean?" said Halson, a nameless fear rising within him.
"I mean –" Hoven gave Halson an apologetic look – "what if… what if she's in that circle by now? That circle of mountains."
The Fanatics' Tower. He couldn't possibly think such a thing. Halson could trust his sister to any extent…
…and yet, he hadn't told her the truth about the opera, had he? If anybody could be drawn to Kefka from the loveliness of Jidoor, it was somebody who loathed the citizens more than they loved the land. And in all the tales they told of the Cult, people had an odd, distant air scant days before they vanished…
He closed his eyes.
"I'll go to Jidoor straight after the performance. If anything… if Nenna… well, I'll see."
He glanced out the peephole again. No one listening, mercifully. But the queue was piling up.
"If you'd excuse me, I have to take care of the guests," said Halson.
"Dismissed," said Banon, inclining his head.
-
In a tight nook of the opera's boiler room, Stenden sighed with relief. The contents of his pack were just as he'd left them.
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Author's Note: Halson, the 'new kid on the block' of my story, is a gank of one of the two characters I'd feel comfortable ganking from my TV show of choice. I only say this to see if anyone else has seen it, not because I expect the rest of you to care.