Casket of Souls

like to see the Gannet Lane theater,” Atre said, steering the conversation back to that. “You must come with him, my lords.”
    “I’m heading home early tomorrow,” Micum told him. “I have hay and oats to cut.”
    “Well, I’d like to see the place,” said Alec.
    “So would I.” Seregil stood in the dining room doorway in his shirtsleeves. “Though I suspect it’s going to be an expensive visit.”
    Atre laughed. “I fear you may be right, my lord, if fate chooses to smile on me in my venture. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
    “Very well.”
    “Thank you, my lords! May your Lightbringer smile on you in all things. And you must see the new play. The money you gave us on the occasion of our first meeting has been most helpful. You will see a great improvement in our costuming.”
    “I was very impressed with how you made do, especially the cosmetics. Charcoal and chalk, wasn’t it?” Seregil asked.
    Atre looked pleasantly surprised at that. “Why, yes, and some candle tallow.”
    “What was it you used in place of carmine?”
    “A distillation of some red flowers we found growing in the ditches outside the city. You’re most observant, my lord. Few of our patrons pay any attention to such details.”
    “Well, as you guessed, I have a few amateur theatricals in my past.”
    Alec tried not to smile as he exchanged a quick, knowing look with Micum. They’d both seen him play roles ranging from crippled beggars and old men to the lovely, if somewhat disconcerting, Lady Gwethelyn.
    “I’d like to discuss this theater of yours further, Master Atre,” said Seregil. “Will you stay for dinner?”
    “I’m most honored, my lord, but sadly, I must decline, as we have a performance tonight and I must be there to manage things, as well as play the central role.”
    “Ah, of course. Another time, then. I won’t keep you.”
    Atre bowed and took his leave.
    Seregil sat down and poured himself a cup of cider. “Charming, isn’t he?”
    “And persistent,” Micum said with a chuckle. “He didn’t waste any time coming back.”
    “Hardly surprising. According to him, they’re having to turn people away at the door at their current location. I’d say he’s going to be a very rich man before long.”
    “And you like him,” Alec observed. “So do I. I bet he’d make a good nightrunner.”
    “No doubt he would. Actors often make good spies. We’ll have to keep an eye on that one.”
    Atre met them in Gannet Lane at the appointed time. Lady Kylith was there as well, fanning herself in her open carriage.
    “I’m so glad you two have decided to invest,” she said as Alec helped her down.
    “I didn’t know it was a foregone conclusion,” Seregil replied.
    She laughed and rapped him with her fan.
    “I wouldn’t presume!” Atre exclaimed.
    “You might as well.” Seregil sighed dramatically. “Mylady here seems to have made up her mind on the matter. Come on, then. Let’s have a look.”
    This theater was a far cry from the one in Basket Street. The huge polished wood doors were carved with the Eye of Illior, patron Immortal of creativity and actors, as well as wizards, nightrunners, and the mad. Inside there were banks of proper benches and a dozen fine boxes large enough for couches and wine tables. The stage was twice the size of the one at Basket Street, and flanked by tall wooden columns carved in the shapes of trees whose branches, laden with gilt leaves and fruit, spread across the theater ceiling. Atre led them around it, pointing out the finer details of the stage area, then took them back through the warren of little dressing and storage rooms behind it.
    “It’s perfect, and worthy of your fine company,” Kylith said at last. “Seregil, you and Alec will be generous, won’t you?”
    Seregil looked around approvingly. “It makes a nice change from my usual investments.”
    “And once the army comes home, business should be even brisker,” added Alec.
    “It will be before then, I assure you,” Atre told him. “Our Mycenian patrons tripled their money in a year. I expect we’ll do at least as well here.”
    “Illior’s Light, it’s not about money!” Kylith exclaimed, scandalized. “I’m not in trade, Master Atre. No offense to you, dear Seregil.”
    “None taken, dear lady.”
    “No, I only wish to bring the beauty of your artistry to its proper standing in Rhíminee,” Kylith said, patting Atre’s arm.
    Atre gave Kylith a warm look that made even the seasoned