Wednesday: The Plot Thickens

I woke up the next morning, tripped over Alex sleeping on the floor (he lost rock-paper-scissors again), stumbled downstairs for coffee and was arranging my music on the stand before I realized what I was doing. It had only been three days and already I had settled into a sort of routine. The realization was shocking, and I would have dearly loved to tell Alex about it, but the second act started up and I had to concentrate on the music.

During rehearsal I made an effort to keep track of events that were happening around me. Aside from the orchestra's rehearsal, the Corps de Ballet was practicing on stage and the stage crew was crawling around in the flies. During a passage where I had nothing to do, I looked up and saw about half the stage crew balanced in the flies and the scaffolding, trying hard not to be noticed. Alex and Virgil were perched next to one of the large stage lights, in holding a discussion which included quite a lot of wild gesticulation. Alex was probably on about Nietzsche again.

Rehearsals came to a screeching halt when the stage manager wandered into the house, and found most of his crew slacking off. He let out a bellow like an enraged bull and leveled one of the most incredibly inventive streams of obscenity I ever heard in my life at the general direction of the ceiling. The stagehands scrambled to look as if they had just been taking a quick breather. Some jumped out of the flies with incredible dexterity and others quickly began fiddling with the first piece of equipment they could put their hands on.

The dancers giggled, scandalized and loving it, while the ballet master turned first red, then white with rage. Dr. Cocteau shouted at the stage manager, berating him for interrupting practice and probably using just as many obscenities to do it, although it was hard to tell because most of it was in French. Sam the violinist leaned over the back of his chair.

"Better than real opera, in'it?" He grinned.

" 'Tis." I agreed, wishing I could take notes. The stage manager was using words I never even heard of before.

The row was interrupted by a glass-shattering scream from stage left. Everyone fell silent as the echo bounced off the gilded walls and faded away. There was a shocked moment in which everyone looked at their neighbor, then scrambled for the wings. I was hampered by the skirt and reached the wings just in time to see two of the stagehands pick one of their coworkers up off the floor. Blood stained the back of his collar and there was a small pool on the floor.

A few of the ballerinas fainted at the sight, every one falling into the arms of a conveniently nearby male. I began to push my way through the milling crowd, before realizing that medical knowledge in my feminine hands would be considered unusual. The victim was awake and cursing, so he probably wasn't in any immediate danger.

A runner was sent for the doctor, and the ballerinas were herded away by their formidable dance master. Dr. Cocteau knew hopeless battle when he saw one, and dismissed the orchestra for lunch. The crowd began to break up as they realized the man wasn't badly hurt. The stage manager offered him a flask, and I winced as the man knocked back a good portion of it. For future reference, alcohol and head wounds rarely go well together.

"What 'appened Billy?" The manager asked. Alex appeared at my shoulder, having just managed to get down from his position in the flies.

"If someone says 'It was the Opera Ghost!' I swear I'm gonna scream." I murmured to him. He sniggered softly.

"I was just standing there-" Billy began hotly, then realized who he was talking to and edited his story. "I was just– checking on things backstage. And all of a sudden, bang! Somebody hits me over the head! Weren't doing nothing, either."

"I bet you weren't doing nothing." The manager growled. "How's a man supposed to do his job with strangers sabotaging his sets and knocking his crew unconscious?"

"Did you see who did it?" Virgil asked. Not many people had hung around to listen to Billy's story when they could be taking a long lunch. Besides me and Virgil, there was Alex, Sam the violinist and three of the stagehands.

"Nah. He hit me from behind. And why I'd like to know! S'not like I was doing nothin'." Billy subsided into angry mutterings. Alex caught my eye and nodded toward one of the many tool benches stored backstage. On top of the pile of abandoned tools and props was a wooden sword, dripping gently on the floor.

Alex casually sidled over for a closer look. Everyone else seemed more interested in Billy and the manager's duel of wits. I stepped back quietly as the doctor arrived, sparking a fresh wave of complaints from Billy.

"Blood?" I whispered to Alex.

"Looks like."

I glanced around. There didn't appear to be anything missing. The only access to the wings was from the stage or from the flies. The whole area was a web of ropes, securing the upper lights and sandbags. I ran my hand along one of the ropes securing the counterweight for the massive velvet curtains. There was a flaw in the fibers, just above where the rope was secured to the hitch.

"Check this out." I whispered over my shoulder.

"What?" Virgil answered. "Sorry." He added when I jumped and said a word a lady of the era shouldn't have known.

"The rope." I said weakly. "It's wearing through." Both Alex and Virgil peered over my shoulder. In the dim light backstage it was just possible to see a gash in the rope.

"It's not wear. That's a knife cut." Alex said.

"Are you sure?" Virgil asked.

"If it was just wear, it would be all the way around the rope. Look, the cut goes halfway through, then stops." As one, we glanced over at Billy and the newly arrived doctor who was bandaging his head wound.

"I'll find Mr. Barns and get this rope replaced." Virgil said with finality. "You two get some lunch."

Six hours, one lunch, one afternoon rehearsal, and one hissy fit on the part of Marguerite later, Alex and I met in Box Eight.

"We replaced the cut rope and checked all the other ones." Alex said, shaking a sizeable amount of dust out of his dark hair. "Since I'm the new guy, I got the honor of crawling across the ceiling to check the ropes and chains holding up the stage lights."

"Sabotage again?"

"Definitely. Billy must have walked in on someone cutting the ropes. The saboteur panicked and grabbed the first thing that came to hand."

"He's lucky it wasn't a hammer then." I sighed. "Billy said he didn't see anyone. If the saboteur had just stayed still, nobody would have noticed the rope."

"Uh, it's kinda a good thing that we noticed the rope."

"I noticed the rope."

"Oh pardon me."

"Credit where it's due," I teased. "Do you think that he meant to cut all the way through, or leave it and let the tension on the rope to the rest of the job? If that rope had snapped during a performance the curtains would have collapsed onto the stage. Bit of a show stopper."

"I would say the second one. Apparently Baron LaValle doesn't take kindly to competition."

"Right. Who?"

"Baron LaValle. One of the guys who's backing the Theatre Royal." Alex explained. "It's pretty common knowledge backstage that the Baron will stop at nothing to come out on top in this little war of the opera houses. Insults in the music columns, bribes to the more famous singers and musicians, minor sabotage. No secret really."

"Why don't they take it to the cops?" I asked. Alex gave me a look.

"And what are the cops going to do about it?"

"Ah ha. It's like that, is it?"

"Give a guy a title and he's damn near bulletproof." Alex nodded.

I stared out across the empty house. My operatic début was coming up, and the closer it got, the more worried I was. I had never played in front of a crowd bigger than a few hundred people, but the Opera easily sat a thousand. When I was offered the position, I took it mainly because I had nothing better to do. A job at the Opera was a lot better than wandering about the streets. I never thought I would actually have to follow through.

And of course it couldn't be as simple as all that. Never was when Alex was around.

"This always seems to happen to us." I said morosely. Alex stared, puzzled. "Crime." I elaborated. "Seems like you can't go for more than a month without somehow attracting a felony."

"Well, I don't do it on purpose." he said defensively.

"I know. But it's weird. Like the universe knows you'll solve the mystery and so it arranges things so that you can get involved."

"I don't believe in fate," Alex said firmly.

"Belief is not necessary if fate believes in you."

There was a moment of silence that, in a movie, would have to be filled with chirping crickets.

"You've been saving that one up for awhile, haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"Nice."

"Thanks."

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.•´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•.