11

"Next!"

A column of Lumafly light swept the shellwood stage. It spilled over a plump, young bug with a shock of curly hair. The bug shielded her eyes and consulted a scroll. "Uhm, Millibelle auditioning for the role of estate maid number two."

"Proceed when ready!"

She cleared her throat and after a pause said, "The estate! It's burning, come quickly, young Master!"

Out of the dark came a distant scribbling. "Thank you for your audition, next applicant, please!"

The bug did not vacate the stage. She craned her neck and squinted. "Did I get the part?"

"Further auditions are pending. Don't contact us, we shall contact you."

As though to nudge her on, the column of light drifted to a set of stairs across the stage. Chastened, the bug tucked the scroll in her shell and trundled off.

Lurien sat beside Belvedere in the shadowed auditorium and watched the bug's departure. A half-dozen other applicants seeking the same role had preceded her, and none struck him as any better nor worse. He glanced at Belvedere's notebook. 'Millibelle' had been crossed out with a quill.

"I did not recognize that young bug," Lurien said. "Is she not of the Spire?"

"From the arts district, I'd wager," Belvedere said. He flipped a page. "Next applicant, please!"

"Has word of the coming play spread beyond the Spire walls already? It's been but a day."

A reedy bug in a green garment—one of the kitchen staff—mounted the stage and delivered a line. Her name, too, fell to the quill.

"Fliers were distributed throughout the city this morning," Belvedere said. "The Spire librarians were kind enough to perform that task." He extracted a sheet of silk from his satchel and handed it to Lurien.

In Belvedere's own precise claw, the flier announced 'Soul Master: A Genesis in Three Parts.' Beneath the title was a rough but well-proportioned sketch of the nuisance in question, followed by tiny script detailing roles, audition times, and the like.

"You penned these yourself?" Lurien asked.

"Some dozens, last night."

"Dozens? Have you slept?"

"There will be time enough for that next week."

Lurien sighed.

Belvedere lifted his voice to address the long line of applicants that wormed up the aisle and through the theater doors. "Auditions for estate maid number two are now closed! Thank you for your cooperation!"

Grumbling ensued, with several bugs abandoning the line and trudging away.

"Next, please!" Belvedere said, unperturbed.

A certain bug girl in a red cloak strode into the column of light. Lurien startled, but only a bit. This sort of thing was becoming expected. Gram had agreed to watch the children this afternoon, allowing Lurien time for administrative matters. Had this one escaped him so soon? Hopefully the girl had though to bring the Vessel along. If they were to go unsupervised, they might as well remain a single mass of chaos, rather than two.

The girl stood very straight. Despite the glare and the intervening darkness, she seemed to spot them, for she gave a little wave. "Hor—Princess Flower auditioning for the role of Manor Fire."

"Manor Fire?" Lurien hissed. "That is a role?"

"Proceed when ready!" Belvedere shouted. He leaned over to Lurien and lowered his voice. "For lack of a more traditional adversary in the first act, I thought to personify the disaster itself. The Spire seamstress assured me she could create a suitably fiery garment with a few pleats of dyed silk."

Hornet took an enormous breath and lifted her claws overhead, stretching almost meditatively for a long moment. At some internal cue, she lunged forward, pouncing upon an invisible enemy and thrashing with a beast's fervor.

"Ruin! Ruin! I am your end! Naught but ashes in my wake! All are food before this maw! Predator, prey, lord, and pauper. I see kindling, nothing more!" She bounded in a circle upon the stage, sometimes falling to all fours and skittering about. "Cower in your homes, your castles, they will feel my bite the same! The very air is mine to spoil! Smoke and cinder will be your—" She stopped, voice gone small. "Cinder will… will be your…" She stood and glanced into the dark, all ferocity discarded. "I forgot the rest. Was that good, though?"

Lurien chuckled grimly. Could any bug alive claim to be a truer embodiment of fire? Of dancing destruction and blithe caprice? Lurien imagined not.

"She carries the role well," Belvedere whispered. "Save for the fumbled line, I've little complaint. Do you imagine she has the patience for long rehearsals? That is to say, if you approve of her taking the stage, of course."

Lurien thought back to his original plan for containing Hornet, of hiding her in the Spire's upper chambers for the full week. What an optimist he had once been… three days ago. And here they were now, the girl a mere word away from joining a stage play that would host hundreds of spectators.

But truth be told, the girl was not to blame. He had paved this road himself, one damning cobble at a time. During that bout with Soul Master in the Spire library, had he managed to devise a less grandiose lie, where would they be? Somewhere less perilous, he supposed.

"Watcher?" Belvedere asked.

"The role does suit her," Lurien said, despite himself.

What was this feeling? For all his effort, Lurien could not place it. Every rational element within him said that he should deny her the role. No matter her flimsy, flower alibi, the girl was far too conspicuous. And yet… Yet. He did not loathe the idea. Perhaps her avid spark had kindled in him as well, for he did wish to see her perform, to see that wild power transposed into art.

Belvedere's quill hovered an inch from the parchment. Even in his notes he'd had the prudence to label her 'Princess Flower'.

Lurien hesitated for just a beat. "Fine," he whispered. "King knows that girl would bedevil me to Pharloom and back if I said no."

Before Belvedere could raise his voice, Hornet hissed in triumph, claws clenched before her chest. Even across the theater she'd overheard them. Was it her beastly heritage that granted such keen senses, or her divine? If the latter, Lurien wondered how many of his private mutterings the King had overheard throughout the years. He let the troubling notion pass.

"An excellent turn," Belvedere chirped. "At our current pace, we shall conclude auditions by the evening." He cleared his throat and shouted to the crowd of hopefuls. "Auditions for Manor Fire are closed. Next applicant, please!"

Hornet skipped to the edge of the stage and sat, legs crossed, toy nail over her knees. She applauded modestly, and the next applicant emerged from the dark. It was the Vessel.

Where precisely was Gram at this moment? Attending to a dilemma of Spire security? Scouring the halls for his missing charges? No. Lurien was not a betting bug, but he would wager every mote of Geo in his coffers that Gram had nodded off in the Watcher Knights' barracks.

Again.

The Vessel reached center stage and came to a halt. In the spotlight, its horns cast a shadow like the mandibles of an enormous predator. Though difficult to see from this distance, it held something tight to its stomach.

"What does the young sir have there?" Belvedere whispered.

"The library's only copy of The Vision of the King, most likely. It-He has refused to part with it since last you read to him. Your oration made quite the impression, apparently."

Belvedere chuckled wanly. "A pleasure to hear he enjoyed it. Do you suppose he shall recite some of it for us? Perhaps the King's proposal to the Lady? I must confess, it is my most favorite scene."

Just the day prior, Lurien had made a denigrating assumption about a bug's ability to read. He'd suffered the ethical lash for it, fitting punishment, admittedly. But with that event still fresh in mind… surely the Vessel, at least, could not read. A supposedly hollow being would possess neither the inclination nor capacity, yes? In his baffling wisdom, the King had not seen fit to educate the Vessel in City-script, yes? Would that not be contrary to his aims? Utterly ludicrous, even?

Belvedere cocked his head, puzzled at the long pause.

Ever the tactician, Lurien hummed a monotone note and said nothing.

"Well, we shall soon find out," Belvedere said. He scribbled briefly, then raised his voice. "Proceed when ready!"

The Vessel flinched, as though jabbed in the chest. It lifted its arms and unrolled the scroll with exaggerated care. For a long moment, it seemed to be on the brink of a recitation, just as Belvedere had hoped, but, of course, no sound escaped it.

Had the Vessel drawn some dim connection between performative language and the scroll itself? Did it perceive that merely holding the scroll up was a sanction of some sort, a 'key' that might grant it entrance into the play?

Seemingly unsure, the Vessel glanced over at Hornet. The girl struck a pose, placing one claw to her chest and holding the other high, as though to accentuate an operatic note. The Vessel replicated this gesture, but it elicited no applause.

A needle of sympathy found Lurien's heart. Whatever the Vessel sought to do, it was clearly an effortful act—neverminding the numerous and troubling implications to that effort.

"Belvedere," Lurien said carefully, "as we are in the business of personifying fire, might we do the same to an object in the play? A pillar? A signpost? In that way, Spirit might find a chance to contribute."

"A reasonable idea, Watcher." Belvedere flipped through his tome of a script and laid another appraising eye on the Vessel. "The young master does bear a certain air of solemn endurance. Ah, I have it! He shall be the manor itself, gazing on in valiant acquiescence at its own destruction. We need only cut a face hole in the fungwood flat of the mansion. Brilliant! Thank you for the contribution, Watcher."

Lurien fumbled between a chuckle and a cough. "Certainly…"

With a word from Belvedere, Hornet and the Vessel descended the stage. Lurien twitched a claw at them, and they drew close to sit beside him.

"Oh, thank you Mr. Belbedere," Hornet said, craning around Lurien. "I'll be the best fire there ever was!"

"I imagine you shall," Belvedere said. "And the young master shall make a fine manor."

As though in reply, the Vessel stretched over Lurien's seat and handed The Vision of the King to Belvedere. It was a bit crinkled, but no worse for wear.

"Hmm, yes, thank you kindly," Belvedere said. He placed the scroll gently in a satchel.

Hornet bobbed from side to side in her seat, still basking in victory. She pulled a scrap of silk from underneath her cloak. It was covered in hastily scrawled lines. She whispered to herself, repeating one section again and again. A single word halted her like a stone in a river. With uncharacteristic hesitance, she tugged Lurien's robe and pointed. "What's this one?"

Lurien peered. "Largesse, meaning gift. It is… a touch florid to be appearing in a play meant for the common bug."

Belvedere huffed and made a firm mark in his notebook. "All lines are yet subject to change, Watcher." He closed the notebook and lifted his voice. "Next!"

As the next applicant ascended the stairs, Lurien leaned down to Hornet.

"I do not see the Watcher Captain. He was to be your keeper today. Did you evade him? Such behavior would be decidedly un-grown-up like."

Hornet shook her head as though dispersing raindrops. "No. I wouldn't do that."

"Where, then, might he be?"

"Right there."

Hornet aimed a claw at the stage just as Watcher Captain Gram stepped into the light.

Lurien made a mental note never to enter a gambling den. With his acumen, he'd be rendered destitute in a day.

"The prime attraction," Belvedere said as he clapped decorously. "We are promised quite a treat now that the Watcher Captain is upon the stage."

Was this some ploy? Some elaborate deceit of Belvedere's and the girl? Though Lurien racked his brain, he found not a single memory in which Gram expressed an interest in theater. It was common knowledge that Watcher Knights expended their leisure time in only three activities: sparring, eating, and sleeping. Had that changed? When?

In ponderous fashion, Gram strode to center stage. He scanned the room, as if searching for threats. "Gram, auditioning for the role of Soul Master."

"The lead," Belvedere hummed, "ambitious." He placed the notebook to one side and settled in his seat. "When it pleases you, Captain!"

Gram nodded and began. He paced a short circuit, left to right, and wrung his claws together in a show of disquiet. "What hateful fate befalls this house," he said, voice rising in mournful resonance. "A mark of spite, divine, no doubt. A bolt hurled down from outer heaven. To smite my father's old obsession."

Lurien stifled a gasp. Where had his Captain gone? Where was the monotone rasp? The curt economy of language? Even the posture seemed foreign on Gram's frame.

"It slinks to me, this foul inheritance. Shall I mimic his act of arrogance?" Gram slashed at the air with an arm and wheeled about. "Dare I claim the shroud of master? Yet to beckon more disaster?"

He sped up, stomping back and forth across the stage, each word more heated than the last. "Power wills and power schemes. Evil feeds upon our dreams. Inaction is no right of mine. This kingdom stands bereft of time. I will harness shell and Soul! I will pay the heavy toll!"

Gram fell to one knee and held his face in his claws. He remained there, body trembling with emotion.

Belvedere shot from his chair and applauded. Hornet was quick to join him, meaning so too was the Vessel. Lurien, however, remained seated with his thoughts.

"Bravo!" Belvedere cheered, "This critic needs no further convincing! The lead is yours, Captain, and you shall make a triumph of it, I do not doubt!" He turned to the crowd to render a more formal announcement, but several bugs were already filing out of the room. One of them, wearing a high-collared cape much like Soul Master's, seemed on the brink of tears.

Gram bowed and descended the stage. He made the laborious trek up the aisle and halted before Belvedere. Upon noticing Lurien, Gram cringed. "W-Watcher. You are here."

"So, I am," Lurien said. "That was a splendid audition, Watcher Captain. Forgive my apparent inattentiveness. I did not know of your enthusiasm for theater. You are quite adept. Have you studied for many years?"

Hornet stepped onto her chair so as to be at eye-level with Gram. "Oh, I'm sure he has, he's very good! He helped us practice this morning!"

"I see," Lurien said.

Gram grunted in a vague affirmative. His gaze drifted to the door. "Yes, well, we must go. More… practice."

"You are quite right, Captain," Belvedere said. "Now that you have your roles, we mustn't waste a moment. Here." he wormed through a large sack at his feet and emerged with a trio of scrolls which he handed to Gram, Hornet, and the Vessel. "Your lines. I expect them to be memorized by the morrow. We shall begin rehearsal after the morning repast. Do not be late."

Hornet suppressed a squeal of delight. She began to offer Belvedere further thanks, but Gram lifted her from the chair and tucked her under his arm like a fence post. He gave the Vessel a similar treatment, then hustled out of the room with little more than a nod to Lurien. Hornet's departing protests faded like a struck bell.

The next applicant was called, and the auditions resumed. Belvedere returned to his notebook, quill ablur as he eliminated one hopeful after another.

Lurien fell into a state of repose, and though he lingered on Gram's evasiveness, something else leapt out at him, something he couldn't help but voice.

"Why the rhyming?"

"Hmm?"

"The rhyming couplets," Lurien said, "in Gram's audition. Will the role of Soul Master speak exclusively in rhyme?"

"Not entirely, no, but as this production's aim is to pander, then a tawdry rhyme or two will serve us well."

Lurien turned to face Belvedere fully. "How are you so certain that Soul Master fancies rhymes?"

"Any playwright worth their quill performs ample research before composing."

"Surely," Lurien huffed. "First Gram the thespian, now Soul Master the poet. Need I be informed of any other covert artists hiding among us? And for that matter," Lurien jabbed a claw at Belvedere, "how is it that you are so versed in Soul Master's history? I have conversed with that one at length on several occasions and never learned that his father perished in a manor fire."

With a slight, placating bow, Belvedere returned to the sack at his feet and lifted out a tome—a prohibitively expensive form of the written word—bound in carved shellwood and brimming with pages of silk. However, the shellwood was cracked, as though from a bad fall, and soot stained its edges. "'Soul Master'," Belvedere said, reading the title, "'An Autobiography.'"

"How in the King's name did you acquire that? Why in the King's name did you acquire that?"

"I must admit," Belvedere said, "it is far from a gratifying read, but it has proven invaluable in this endeavor, at least."

A shudder ran through Lurien's shell. "Do not tell me the Spire keeps a copy of that thing."

Belvedere chuckled. "Certainly not, Watcher—not intentionally, at least." He flipped it open, which cast a faint cloud of soot. "Every month, for… oh, years now, one of these tomes makes an appearance on our library's shelves. Some come signed, others perfumed, some bear a silver clasp for a scrollmark. I imagine they are smuggled in by Soul Master's minions. To what end, who can say. Invariably, I find these tomes and make good use of them as fuel for the basement furnace. However, upon hearing of the play and its subject matter, I rushed down to the basement and rescued this one from the coals just as it was beginning to singe. From it, I learned much of Soul Master's… proclivities, including his fondness for garish poetry. He heads each chapter with one of his own pieces. Shall I read some to you?"

Lurien lifted a claw as though warding a blow. "No thank you. I must protect what remains of my sanity."

"Prudent," Belvedere said. He tossed the tome in the sack. "Instead then, shall we resume the auditions?"

Though he longed to say yes, to continue skulking in the dark and shirking his duties, Lurien shook his head. "You may proceed, but I must go. There is a matter of security that demands my attention."

"And what is that, if you do not mind the inquiry?"

Lurien stood and straightened his robes. "The Vault."

"I see. Please take care if you venture within. The King's contraptions can be… concerning."

"Wise counsel as always, Belvedere. We will speak soon."

And he set off into the Spire's depths.

Author's Note: I get the impression that we're nearing the end. Maybe four more chapters? Bear in mind that my predictions have a near total failure rate. Surely Silksong will release before this ends.

Surely...

Throw me some feedback if it pleases you. This was a tough one to write, hopefully it proved satisfying.