The Nature of Time

Chapter 17

Scores of faces crowded the obtuse arch of doors that veiled the illustrious and notorious event of world renown held inside the King's Opera House. Huge statues lined the carpeted walkway guiding said patrons through the majestically constructed extension of the front gardens made specifically for the event. Young and old debutantes alike mingled among the gardens having desired to display their best garments, and so they did, sticking out like star lit dots across a dark ocean of moss covered pillars. Display lights roved brightly against the cloudy sky attracting invited and uninvited attention alike. The grand opera house loomed above all, wide with towers tiered upwards from the incredulously detailed sides of the building. A draped banner hung elegantly from the tops of the third-floor reading, "Symphonie du Naucht."

Charles eased through the ranks of bodies nodding and tipping his hat politely as he maneuvered to get inside. He wouldn't have gone out to a spectacle such as this, usually, but the tickets had been delivered to his office by one of the mail carriers, plus they were premier seats.

A welcomed break from all the investigations, he said to himself.

Charles strolled to the front doorway waiving his tickets above his head. The ticket persons waived him through as some of the guards created a path for him though the bustling rows of people eager to get inside. The doorways curved high above his head inlaid with vibrant tubes of light pulsating to the melodic scratch of violins warming up.

The entry way was grand; an affair strewn with vast tapestries displaying the loyal coats of those families who had helped make this event possible, here in London. A multitude of subdued colors sparkled, taking over where the carpet through the garden had ended. Purveyors of all sorts tussled for attention all around him whispering their wears created in honor of the magnificent Symphony. Handmade puppets danced on a man with no visible strings creating their movements and one patted Charles on the shoulder. Another woman doused oils into a metallic pan which bubbled and fizzed, producing aromas of cherries and blueberries. One man and woman walked away from her stand delightedly chewing while perplexed expressions riddled their face.

Charles kept walking to one of the ground floor doorways adorned with more tickets persons. He approached gladly to be out of the commotion, handing his tickets to the person at the doorway.

"Sir, you seem to have premier tickets," stated the rather large man squeezed into a suit to tight for his stature. "Please, you may head up the stairs to the third floor reserved for our premier ticket holders."

"Thank you, sir," replied Charles. The man motioned to some guards stationed before the grandiose, marbled stairwell that snaked upwards. They nodded and waived over Charles who hurriedly moved past the increasing commotion he had just come from. The two guards, same in size and stature, parted the embroidered rope that protected the stairwell from non-premier ticket holders itching to soar upwards.

Charles tipped his hat, nodding to the two and he began his clack filled ascension to the third floor. It wasn't that far as he had imagined it would be, but he still relished the view the tickets had afforded him, thanking the Mr. Calindash who had sent said tickets to him. His attention turned before him to a resonating adjustment of sound due to the various levels. Up here only harp players plucked sweet, honeyed notes that swirled the air with light, little wings. None of the jarring madness of the first floor sprayed to these heights. Though he was relieved, Charles peered down to the first level to look at the chaos adorned with bright smiles, wishing he still had some bits of his youth to get tangled in the mess.

He checked his small pocket watch noting the time when a worker cried, "To your seats, if you please." Charles proceeded to one of the doorways then noting that each one had a different letter adorned above it. He pulled out his clipped tickets and noted that his had the letter 'A' on them; he was at 'F'. He went leftwards making his way past the others who already found their noted doorways. Strangely the already small crowds dwindled even more when he came to the doorway marked with 'A'. He opened the doors, revealing a small nestled viewing point with only two inviting chairs centered at a curled balcony. The view was spectacular and almost directly above the many instruments sounding their warm ups. Huge curtains concealed a large portion of the stage allowing only a small slit to peak out before it.

He entered and closed the door behind him draping his coat on a standing rack to his left. Trays of pristine cheeses, delicate meats and fruits were presented on a small tabled to his right. A bottle of fine French wine rested, unopened, next to the elegant platter and a small glass sparkled waiting to be sipped. Charles sat in one of his chairs and placed his hand on the seat next to him.

You would have loved this, he said.

Cries and gasps broke out amongst the lower levels. Others who were on the premier floor peered over looking for the cause of the abrupt commotion. Guards were chasing a man in a long coat which trailed behind him like a broken wing. He hurdled the chairs, landing on the slit of stage that protruded while guards raced to grab him, narrowly missing him. The man withdrew a revolver from his coat, one that glinted in the light from its polished body. Bangs echoed across the auditorium and Charles sunk behind the cover of his balcony. Screams flooded the floors making their way up to the higher areas and then the shots began striking the ceiling above him.

"Fools, the lot of you," screamed the man on stage. Musicians and spectators alike slammed against the walls, scrambling for an exit from the madness. "You sit here in your high castles oblivious to what your actions do to us. You toy with technology and act like gods in our presence."

He emptied another cartridge into the crowds splicing anyone his anger could grasp.

"The revolution is coming," he continued. "You'll no longer be in power, you vile elite. You bane upon life itself."

He dropped his gun exposing the contents of what his jacket had hid up to that point; a large mechanism clicking away with only a brightly burned '10' into the side of it. Cogs and sprockets ticked away the precious few moments of the remaining life these people had.

A guard flew in from the one of the first floor doors aiming a revolver at the man on stage. Someone shouted no, yet the guard's trembling finger clicked the trigger of his gun. The man on stage fell to the ground clasping his hands on his chest. He fell still and guards rushed to him, prodding, and fingering the mechanism attached to him.

"Everybody ou....." he screamed, but he was too late to warn. The mechanism jumped to '00' and exploded. Charles slammed against the wall of the balcony overview as fire singed his skin.