A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 8 (Part 2 of 2)

“My lords!” announced the actor in a brazen voice, “Welcome, welcome!  Good gentlemen, ladies and lords attendant, welcome to the Continent Theatre!”

A roar of approval met his words and Imlon found himself cheering and clapping along with everyone else.  The actor wore a flamboyant golden outfit, all threads and tassels, and a peaked cap sat above his hearty face with its bristling moustache and beard.  All around the galleries and yard people sang his name: “Kemkin!  Kemkin!”

“I am, of course, your humble clown, Gillum Kemkin!”  The actor hardly had to say his own name – the audience said it for him, and loudly.  “And it is my pleasure to preface out entertainments this glorious day!  The worthy players of the Lord Greenwick’s Men are behind me, donning their outfits as I speak.  The great Pettis Annarush! puts on the sword of our hero Thoster, third son of the Duke of Calhirin.  The worthy Mitty Jicks! will play his foil, Marcellus, Lord Regent of Pironas.  And as for the great, the worthy, the most great and...mostly worthy Shanly Runrose!  Well...” he picked out one of the groundlings in the yard, “He’s still abed with your wife, sir!”

The theatre erupted in laughter as Imlon stared down at the unfortunate husband.  To his astonishment the man was in raptures at being the chosen one and raised his arms aloft in victory as his fellows cheered him on, parading him on their shoulders.

“I have never understood this introduction,” said Pyros, who was looking all around the theatre through the spyglass.  Imlon had not for a moment expected him to.

“Our work shall begin, I assure you all, in but a moment,” said Kemkin on the stage, “But first we must address a few matters of civic importance.  And the first duty of all is to pay homage unto our most noble sovereign, Princess Beresso!”

As the groundlings guffawed, the clown performed the most ridiculous fawning bow, leaning so far forward that one leg hovered up in the air behind him, but with a dancer’s balance he hopping comically around the stage. 

“Yes!” he said, rising from his bow and addressing the heavens, “My lady, may your tresses ever be golden, your skin ever fair, and your maidenhood ever pure!  Especially...” he had to wait a moment, as the crowd’s laughter drowned him out, “Especially with what we hear of a new arrival in our city, a powerful foreign warlord of surpassing manliness!  For it is known that the Lord Isendrin Held is within the Ducal Wall!”

Imlon’s breath lodged in his throat as the crowd made the required noise of feigned surprise – but then it was free again.  It was only entertainment.  What did it matter?

“The exiled Lord General, yes!” said Kemkin, “And what’s more, it is thought that he has already paid a visit to the Summer Palace!  So let us pray that our fair lady will turn down his marriage bargain.”

Even Imlon laughed at that jest.  It was blissful – the gentleman beside him laughed, his wife blushed as Imlon caught her eye again, and the people behind him chorused in happiness.

“But now,” said Kemkin, raising a hand, “But now we must settle our hearts.  For our matter this day is not comedy, though there be mirth; nor tragedy, though there be grief.  Instead, our matter is greatness – and we pray, with all our hearts, that we please you in its telling.  So!  The Continent Theatre and the Lord Greenwick’s Men are pleased to play for you today Shanly Runrose’s new work – Thoster Aetherflow!”

Imlon applauded as fervently as anyone in the crowd as Kemkin left the stage.  Then the crowd were silenced – an older man in a long black cloak walked onto the stage.  He stood in the centre, raised his head, and began.

            “How to divine a chance?  What whirling force

            Makes beggars rich, and richness beg for death,