Chapter 8: Prospectors
It turned out that looking for a job was a full-time job, and there simply weren't enough hours in the day especially with the streets overrun by the shadowbeast 'guard.' Days turned to weeks. When weeks turned to a month, Tarvi and Mathal gave up their personal space to save money and moved into the same room. In the second month, they started skipping meals, which didn't help them squeeze into their narrow, shared bed but did help them squeeze into a third month at the Bruised Eel.
Chelon chewed the edge of a wilted leaf on the cleanest square of their usual corner table. Mathal sat across from Tarvi with a single, sludgy bowl of breakfast stew between them. They said nothing because there was nothing to say. They would be out of coin at the end of the week.
Mathal was the first to break the skin of the stew. She couldn't taste anything but continued to eat automatically. Tarvi stirred the surface. She raised her spoon, but it swung down in her strengthless grip and dripped viscous drops back into the bowl.
Yakopulio came over with her moldy cleaning rag and a nearly transparent, ink-smudged flyer. Thankfully, she put the flyer on the table.
"Listen, normally I'd never recommend this to anyone, but I know you guys are getting short in the change."
"What is it?" asked Tarvi.
"Why don't you recommend it?" asked Mathal.
"Have you heard of a murderplay before?"
They hadn't.
A murderplay was a performance in which the actors put themselves at risk of actual murder for the entertainment of the wealthy. While none of the victims had made it out alive to date, their deaths weren't guaranteed. With a five percent payout from ticket sales at prices aimed at the gentry, anyone who survived a single performance stood to make-
"A lot," said Yakopulio, "more than enough to lock down room and board here for years. Well, if you can hold your own."
"I'm down to fight them to death," said Mathal.
Chelon stopped chewing to give her a look of less disapproving than concerned.
"How is this not a crime?" asked Tarvi.
"Money makes the rules," shrugged Yakopulio.
"I'm gonna need to think about it."
"It's up to you guys, but hot tip from the herald: this is the last call for 'actors.' If they can't find anyone by today, this Nonon's taking her show to the capital."
"Tarvi? Double or nothing?"
"Just gimme a sec to pretend like I have a choice."
Mathal hid her grin by deforming it with a heaping spoonful of stew.
-/-
With the map on the flyer and more colloquial, helpful directions from Yakopulio, Tarvi and Mathal made their way to the wealthiest district in the city either of them had ever entered. The villas, public parks, and art exhibits each behind their gates were so finely crafted that both were surprised when a day guard contingent of dottari only gave them a dirty look in passing.
They only stopped for a moment outside of the Limehouse. The theater stood as tall as any of the three-story villas on columns in the shape of masked players each displaying a different emotion. The walls had been cut from limestone and painted a shade of lime green in a flat but harmless visual pun.
Mathal dragged one of the heavy, red-lacquered doors open without a single squeak from the hinges.
"After you."
"Mathal?"
"Yeah?"
"If this audition is for poor dupes who're gonna kill each other, I'm out."
"If Yakopulio was on point about this payout, I should make enough to buy us both the time to get real jobs. Maybe even get out of Westcrown."
"That...that would nice."
They followed the lime-painted arrows outside the empty ticket booths and concession stands to the back row of a velvet-curtained auditorium so large an airy to appear twice as empty despite the occupants clearly visible and audible in the front row.
"Vesta, Millech, I need you to catch me because I'm about to faint from my sheer, seething rage at this city of philistines," said the one who could only be the director Nonon herself.
Nonon was a short, stout middle-aged woman whose flashing gray eyes and graying blonde hair recalled the heritage of the conquering Taldans rather than either the Chelish or Kellids. She fainted in the arms of a hunched but muscular senior citizen with sand-colored skin, green demi monolid eyes, and a balding head of stringy white hair as well in the arms of the most beautiful Varisian immigrant Mathal had ever seen. Nonon's right-side supporter stood as tall as Mathal but appeared even more athletic. They had deep olive brown skin, a wave of steel-gray curls, and a face as sharp and angular as chipped flint.
Even Chelon warmed to them at once.
"Hi," said Mathal.
"We're here about the casting call," said Tarvi.
Nonon popped one eye open.
"Praise the Archfiend! And that makes three."
A Chelaxian sitting a ways behind Nonon about the same age as Tarvi and Mathal with the typical black hair, black hair, and pale skin, raised a hand and gave them a close-lipped smile in greeting.
"Hey, I'm Gorvio, a genderfluid he/him."
Tarvi and Mathal made their introductions. Nonon's supporters first righted the director before introducing themselves.
"Tarvi, Mathal, nice to meet you. I'm Vesta, she/her, cleric of Asmodeus. I'll be taking care of the healing as well as a few of the magical stage effects."
"Millech, he/him."
"Millech is our stage ninja," said Nonon. "I, of course, am the great Nonon, she/her, director and patron of the arts extraordinaire. Unfortunately, this production will never get off the ground unless we have at least four of you, but preferably six."
"I could-" started Millech.
Nonon cut him off with a flourish.
"Absolutely not. You're the only competent stagehand in this god-forsaken city."
The doors at the back of the auditorium opened as though on cue. Mathal and her inner turtle both stared in shock as none other than half-elf Moris, markedly dirtier and more flea-bitten than they'd last seen him, descended the aisle stairs. He spotted her halfway down the aisle. He screamed.
"Oh, hi Moris."
He screamed louder.
"Silana?"
"What? No. Sorry. I, uh, mistook you for this other Moris who looks exactly like you. But not as pale."
Nonon applauded. She hustled up to Moris and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Wonderful! That was wonderful! I could truly feel your emotion. Use that."
She pointed at Mathal.
"You. You're going to need some work."
After all the introductions had been made, Nonon had the three of them sit beside Gorvio, who had the decency not to wrinkle his nose at their combined, unwashed stink. Nonon paced between them and the stage excitedly and stopped with an echoing clap.
"Well, four will suffice. I'll have to spend all night making uncouth revisions to the source material like some sort of author of fanfiction, but it shall be done. So, which one of you is auditioning for the part of Larazod?"
The silence stretched on for a nearly a full minute before the smile fell from Nonon's face.
"Larazod? The lead of the Six Trials of Larazod? Have any of you actually read the script?"
Nonon only allowed the next silence to stretch on for half as long.
"Vesta, Millech."
Vesta caught her while Millech passed out copies of the script in thin, ink-smudged booklets.
"Everyone will just have to try out for each of the four principal roles," said Nonon, eyes shut in Vesta's powerful arms, "and I'll simply have to sort you out from there. Take ten minutes and memorize Larazod's line on page fifty-seven."
Tarvi flipped through the booklet with her magical chant of 'remember, remember.' Mathal did her best, but the words vanished from her mind the minute that she stepped onto the stage.
"Larazod knows no lies, great...Great. He-I speak no lies."
"Next!" shouted Nonon.
Moris and Gorvio fared little better. Moris managed to put some feeling into the first few lines but faltered halfway through the soliloquy. Gorvio ad-libbed the entire thing. Tarvi recited it word for word-Mathal following along in her booklet.
"Well, that is what he said. Let's just move along to Dentris. He's a sharp-tongued wit of a wizard with a knack for biting insults. So. Each of you will give me your most burning roast of myself. Tarvi, let's start with you."
"Oh, Hells. Um, you don't look like a director."
"Well, I suppose we've gotten the worst out the way first. Moris."
"You kind of scare me."
"And I stand corrected. Mathal."
"Stop insulting my friends or I'll correct your face with my fist."
"That's not a roast so much as a threat. Next!"
"You're the philistine."
Nonon stared at Gorvio, slack-jawed. She threw down her pen and notepad with an incredulous scoff, and then shook herself with a second, incredulous scoff. She stalked off to the other side of the stage. Millech went after her.
"Uh, sorry," Gorvio called out between his hands.
Vesta only snorted with laughter. Cutely, Mathal noted.
Nonon and Millech returned almost thirty minutes later, Millech hauling a small oxcart of rocks behind him.
"Time for Tybain. Traditionally, his actor ends up succumbing first, so the longer they can survive, the better. Take ten minutes and turn to page fifty-five."
Millech pelted them with stones while they stood on stage, which didn't make it any easier to recall their lines. Mathal gave up reciting all together, simply closing her eyes and bracing herself. Millech pelted her straight in the chest.
"Stop! Stop!" said Vesta.
"Cut!" said Nonon.
Millech stopped. Vesta ran up onto the stage and laid a hand on Mathal's shoulder. Warm, healing magic without any of the static pop of her wand spread to her bruised chest.
"Thanks," said Mathal.
"Yeah, thank me now, but get on the defensive during the real thing because I won't be able to get to you until it's all over. And that's if any of you are still kicking by then."
That was news, but it did explain why the play had fatalities despite a backstage healer.
"Don't worry about it. I've got a wand."
"Not during the play you won't," said Nonon. "You're free to use all the physical might you want, but there can't be any spells except from our masters of effects. It would simply destroy the audience's undoubtedly strained suspension of disbelief. It's all about integrity, you see. Integrity is the soul of art."
Mathal was in no position to question anyone's integrity.
"Says the director of a murderplay," said Gorvio.
"Now that was a perfectly acceptable burn. You keep that up. Shall we move on to Drovalid then? Good. He's a torturer who has a change of heart thanks to the integrity of Larazod and the uncompromised loyalty of his companions."
"Wait. Is Drovalid gonna be fighting the other characters?" asked Mathal.
"Most certainly not. Would everyone please read the script when you get home tonight?"
Mathal, Moris, and Gorvio gave some half-hearted, even noncommittal, suggestions of assent.
Millech went backstage and climbed into the rafters without a sound to fetch a 'flying monster.' Mathal squeezed past the others to tangle with this monster first.
"Magistrate Maleficarum, I-"
Metal flashed in the corner of her eye. A sandbag the size of a small dog swung down from the rafters in a metal bucket at concussive speed.
Mathal roared. She struck out with one palm. Her nails gouged deep. The bag tore top from bottom in an explosion of red sand that rained down on her and colored the lights red at her feet.
The bucket clattered against the polished floorboards and rolled for several seconds to a stop.
"I...forgot my line. Whatever. Millech! Don't swing so fast next time!"
"A little slower will do," Nonon called up after her.
Fortunately, the stage ninja heeded his director and the others escaped without concussions although Gorvio received a contusion and Vesta's attention.
At the audition's end, Nonon had them line up between the front row and the edge of the stage. She held color-coded script booklets in her hands, blue, red, green, and yellow. She handed Tarvi the blue booklet.
"Congratulations, you're our Larazod."
Gorvio received Dentris's red booklet. Moris received Tybain's green. Mathal received the torturer's yellow.
"Be here at dawn for rehearsals every day starting tomorrow. Our grand performance is the end of this week and, I'm going to be honest, I've never screened a worse audition in my entire career. Bring your A-game."
Mathal's eyes met Tarvi's. They were in. The two threw up their arms and hugged with a whoop.
