Chapter Seven: Focus

"Congratulations, Danfry," said Dela late that morning, emerging from the chocobo stables. "You'll have fine Jidooran tea for your water by the next shipment, though by the sample Nenna gave me, I don't know how you ever got used to the taste."

"Dela, there's been a – fine, go on. Are we buying anything from Maranda?"

"Believe it if you will, they have thriving fishing docks on their northern shore. We'll get a bit of meat in our diet soon enough, and with any luck find a trustworthy merchant."

"As we're importing strictly from Zozo at the moment, that shouldn't be a concern," said Danfry, knowing perfectly well what Dela meant. The stable-master knew nothing about their doings, and given his tendency to gossip with the patrons, it was to stay that way. "At any rate, are you ready for the bad news?"

"Go on."

"Maria quit Impresario's troupe last night – and she's been hired in ours."

Dela's hand slipped from her shoulder-strap. "Er – Artram agreed to that?"

"She's signed on as the lead alto, you see."

"What a master-stroke," said Dela, pinching her forehead. "If Maria the lead soprano's fits of spleen were a storm, we can expect a tempest from Maria in an arbitrarily lesser range."

"Let's not forget her way of listening at doors," said Danfry, and started to walk the barren ground to the opera.

"She listens," said Dela, following Danfry's lead, "but I've never known her to talk."

"Maria told a whole throng of people that I gossiped about her last night," snapped Danfry, "and it's nothing short of a miracle that she's only heard gossip."

"Everyone down to the chocobos knows your opinion of Maria," Dela replied, halting at the foot of the outer stair. "If this is indeed the first time she's mentioned it, she's kept it hidden for an age."

"Then you're saying we don't know what she knows, and it might come out in a rage."

"If 'Artram' came up when she resigned, I wouldn't fret."

Danfry racked his brains. Now that she mentioned it, Danfry could dimly remember a reference to "Artram's troupe," but he wasn't entirely…

"I thought as much," said Dela, smiling slightly. "As for me, my concern would be far less with Maria than with Stenden."

That, after her jab at his prejudices. "I'm the South Figaroan, Dela; I'm the one with the license to bear a grudge, and –"

Dela straightened.

" – and…" Danfry sighed. "He's not the Empire, Dela. You saw him in the atrium; he's a good man."

"An ignorant man," said Dela coldly. "And King Edgar owes his life to that ignorance."

-

The dress rehearsal's performances went off better than in the last three – the orchestra didn't slide out of sync once, and nobody needed a prod from Danfry to remember their lines – but there was a strained quality to it. And the performances were one thing, but otherwise, the night-sky backdrop came untethered and fell spectacularly sideways into the floor just before the Aria of the Falls.

For some reason, the stagehands took this as a good omen for opening night. These theatre types were a deep mystery at times. At least Stenden's own performance was decent this afternoon, if it lacked a certain cadence.

"Performances, you know," Lynn told him in the atrium. "Unpredictable and hard to judge, so a good framework has its appeal, even for me, and I don't usually believe in fate."

"I don't think fastening a hook properly is unpredictable or hard to judge, though."

Lynn scratched her nose. "Well, it sort of… rubs off on people. Give it some time; you'll start blaming your fumbles on who was first to take a seat, or what someone said to you the day of the performance, or…" She shrugged. "It's an unhealthy thing, I think. But appealing."

Danfry walked over. "How are you, Stenden?"

"I'm prepared for opening night, more or less."

"You'll be a lot more prepared when the time comes, I'm sure. You're that kind of build."

"Er – thank you. Do you, ah, did you hear Nerissa's latest?"

Danfry started. "No – no, what is it?"

Stenden kept his tone determinedly light. "She says that man in the shipwreck was actually the king of Figaro. I mean, I don't believe it, but it's an interesting thought."

Danfry pursed his lips and looked lost in thought for a moment.

"He didn't so much as speak to me," said Lynn, "and you know Edgar's reputation."

Stenden nodded, feeling somewhat relieved. He hadn't shown any particular interest in the women, had he?

"Anyway, Stenden," said Danfry, "you've been assigned to promotional duty in Maranda, and Hoven needs to give you your materials. He's waiting just outside the post-house."

Stenden wished he'd mentioned Maranda before promotional duty. "The post-house would be around the left side?"

"That's the one."

"How soon is my next trip to Jidoor?"

"I'm afraid we don't plan that far in advance. It's the nature of the business. For instance, as far as time is concerned, Maria is suited better than anyone to visit Maranda when we begin showing, but she says – probably rightly – that it would be a bit awkward just after Impresario has settled in. Though I don't think it wise to defer to her so soon," Danfry added.

"Ah," said Stenden, downcast. "I'll go see Hoven, then."

-

Stenden felt rather foolish standing outside the weather-beaten armory on the broken street, passing out flyers mutely in a ridiculously sleek black boater. Along with the dapper orchestra uniform, it did mask him to anyone who might have gone to the opera that night – more a concern here in Maranda than in Jidoor, where he doubted anyone looked twice at him while he lived there – but if he'd seen himself in a mirror, he knew he would have laughed. When he ran out of flyers, they would probably laugh harder at the fish market, but as Hoven had said, you can't live on beans and mushrooms forever.

"Who's Impresario's new soprano?" The pinched-looking woman was maybe the fifth to ask that.

"I am not part of Impresario's company," said Stenden dully. "I couldn't tell you. Ask at the Maranda Theatre."

"Is Maria your new soprano, then?"

"Alto," said Stenden for at least the eighth time. "We needed one. She has the range for it. No, she will not be performing in Enchanted Lake," he added before the woman could ask.

"Let me know when she does perform," she said, giving back the flyer.

"There going to be dogbaits in the Theatre soon?" asked a sagging man with an off look to his eyes.

"Er – I don't think so," said Stenden, perturbed.

"Figures." He stumped off.

"Lola, do you remember seeing Enchanted Lake when we were fourteen?" said a pretty young woman, nudging another. "We really ought to see it again, see if it's as good as we remember it…"

"It says it shows just after sundown," said the other in a flat voice. "That's my time for reading."

"Oh, Lola… Well, maybe you could see the opera, then read that book? I mean, if you must keep reading the same –"

"Yes, Aishya," said Lola, sounding on the verge of tears. "I must."

"Could you see the opera, too?" said Aishya quietly.

Lola looked down for a moment. "Yes – yes, I could do that. But I'll never stop reading. Or writing. I know he'll come back to me."

But Stenden heard no such determination in her voice. Stenden watched them turn their backs and head down the scarred stair, and hoped Lola was watching her own back. She was easy prey for the Cult's insinuations.

A rough-looking young man walked by, a bucket in his left arm and a fishing pole over his right shoulder. With a shock of recognition –

"Excuse me – do I know you?"

The man halted and peered at his face.

"You were… Stenden?"

"Carrick." Stenden shook his head in wonder. "What are you doing here?"

"Had a girl in Maranda, remember?" Carrick grinned. "Thought I was lying?"

"Plenty of us lied, it was reasonable enough. Could I drop in for a bit? Catch up on things? Maybe give me your rate for fish while you're at it, I'm supposed to look into that while I'm here."

"'Course you can," said Carrick incredulously, starting to walk and motioning for Stenden to follow. "First on the list is who stuffed you into that getup."

The houses in the south of town were modest indeed, cracks sealed with clay and hastily-bolted boards. But even so, they were better-maintained than the businesses. A few gardens still scraped by in front of the houses; others were reduced to dry, cracked earth.

Carrick laid down his bucket at the door and unlocked it with a copper key from his pocket. "Liza, I'm home," he called.

Liza would have been fairly attractive, but the weary, jaded look to her eyes reminded him of Lara back in Jidoor.

"Who's he?"

"He's Stenden. One of the Figaro crowd. Stenden, this is my wife."

"You meant it," said Stenden in awe, stepping into the sparse wooden house and shutting the door firmly behind him. "How long have you been married?"

"All of two months," said Liza. Her amused smile improved her aspect considerably, though it was hard to believe she was so newly wed. "Seems the fashion these days. So… you're South Figaro, then? I thought they didn't get on well with greensuits."

Stenden realized that for the first time since the fall, he could speak freely. It was an incredible release. "They didn't. I'm a bottom-rung brownsuit, and I'm sure I got more abuse from them than Carrick would if he hadn't been discharged. We were expected to show some restraint."

Carrick looked at him strangely. "Where did you hear I was discharged?"

"We were bandying it about for weeks, did you think we'd pass up that kind of gossip? Running starkers along the north wall…"

"I wasn't discharged, I was shuttled off to guard the ghosts."

Stenden felt a jolt in his gut. "It couldn't have been more than a week after…" He whistled low. "Tough break."

"Not really," said Carrick, passing Liza the bucket. "With the number of greensuits they sent to Narshe while they were holding me in Adriccan's mansion…"

Stenden shuddered and nodded. "Either way, though. Either way it comes back to... you know. Kefka."

"They said a sentry was still alive before I showed up," Carrick said, his eyes closed and his cheeks rigid. "Maybe fourteen years old, and he was slumped against the parapets, blind, grasping, muttering… He wouldn't drink. And… and sometimes I think a few lived after Vector, trapped –"

"Stop." Stenden was shaking uncontrollably. "That's… that's not why I came here. I only wanted to ask you… if there's any way you could travel to Jidoor, and – and if you know about someone called Bagian the Mountaineer."

"Jidoor, he says," grumbled Liza, who was cleaning the fish. "If there were any way we could travel to Jidoor, you think we'd be here living off cod and onions?"

"What are you doing trussed up like that?" said Carrick with false exuberance, having opened his eyes.

Stenden steadied himself. "I work at the opera. Everyone who works there visits Jidoor from time to time." He held out his few remaining flyers. "Promotional duty."

"Opera?" said Carrick in disbelief. "Brownsuits singing three hours on end. Incredible."

"Orchestra, actually," said Stenden, thinking it best not to mention the Maranda Theatre. "Maybe a job backstage would suit you; the folks they have now bollixed up it but good at the dress rehearsal."

"What do they pay?" said Liza.

"No idea."

"The other question was, er… Bagian the Mountaineer?" said Carrick. "Yeah, I've heard of him, lived north of Tzen, and he could scale any cliff on the continent. Thought it would help him seek out the truth in legends… the few that weren't completely lying, at any rate." He snorted. "Where are you going with this, anyway?"

"There's this… this painter in Jidoor. You'll understand if you go there, so please remember that job. I'm as lost as you about this Bagian, though. Sounds like a scholar, for one thing… why didn't he try the Albrook University?"

Carrick shook his head pityingly. "No one at the Albrook University was too enthusiastic about their work, that's why. They weren't wild for the idea of studying for the Empire. Either Bagian was enthusiastic, or he was completely useless. I'm betting on the latter."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Stenden, smiling. "I'll have to leave now – I have a show to promote and a premiere to play for – but I'm glad you let me in. It's so nice to see a familiar face. Oh – what is your rate for fish?"

"We don't catch enough of it to sell," said Liza. "Let us know what the rates are for that opera job, won't you?"

"I will," said Stenden, and was gone.

-

There was a focus that came with opening night. It cast off listlessness like a cloak, and quieted the most gnawing worries. There was only the score, and the conductor, and a feeling of capability and certainty as his fingers touched along the darkwood flute, bringing the finale to its apex, and a breath while the brass carried on, and a clear note in the last chords… and it was done. Applause showered down, and Stenden knew it was earnest.

That focus came with opening night, and it came with knowing he was not alone.

----------------------------

Author's Note: Thanks to anonymous reviewer Andrews, I have changed the name of Celes's opera throughout my fic in accordance with canon. I have also learned that the opera is available on CD, complete with real vocals. Sweet.