of the dining room and down the corridor, away from the entry hall. They dashed through the rambling house and out a back door opening onto an alleyway. It was dark already, and they were able to get to the street without being detected. But just barely. Armed men in the blue uniforms of King Darrow’s castle guard seemed to be everywhere.
Following Sadie’s example, Aidan and Dobro didn’t run but walked as calmly as they could manage. Any second, though, one of these guards was going to realize who they were. Or perhaps the guards would just start arresting everybody on the street.
When they turned another corner, they saw a great crowd of people congregated on the sidewalk. Aidan’s first impulse was to run, to seek seclusion. But Sadie, the city girl, knew there was no better place to hide than in a crowd. She led Aidan and Dobro straight into the throng. Then Aidan realized what had drawn the crowd. They were standing outside the Swan Theater where, according to the sign above, The Ferry Keeper’s Daughter was playing.
Sadie walked boldly up to the ticket seller’s booth and bought three tickets for the balcony.
It was dark in the theater. There was little chance of anyone recognizing them here. Aidan could see from Sadie’s silhouette that her hair had given up all efforts at respectability. Some of it hung in limp curls, and some jutted out at odd angles, like the hair of a she-feechie. Dobro thought she was beautiful.
When they were settled in their seats, thirty feet above the stage, Sadie lost all composure and folded herself over in her seat. Her face was covered in cupped hands, and her shoulders were shaking.
Aidan and Dobro, seated on either side of her, stared at one another. They had handled plenty of sticky situations together, but neither of them knew what to do about a crying woman. Sadie had reason enough to cry, poor thing. Her whole family no doubt was in the clutches of King Darrow’s men. What’s more, her father was guilty as charged. Dobro raised a hand to pat her on the back, but when she raised herself up, they realized it was giggling, not sobbing, that shook her frame.
“Have you… ever had… this much fun?” she whispered between fits of laughter. “Supper with a feechie… escape from the castle guard… now a play!” A nearby patron of the theater shushed her, but Sadie couldn’t help herself.
“But what about your family?” Aidan whispered. “Aren’t you worried about them?”
“Not at all,” she whispered back. “Not at all. Papa’s been ready for this for years. He dug a tunnel. Everybody pops down the tunnel. They pop back up in one of our other houses. Perfect escape. No, don’t worry about them.”
When the orchestra struck up, Dobro jumped a foot off his seat and clutched his ears. He liked music well enough, but he had never seen more than a pipe and drum at a feechiesing, or the occasional fiddle by the campfire at Sinking Canyons. The sound of a whole orchestra in an enclosed place was overwhelming. “Where is that racket comin’ from?” he demanded.
“Down there.” Aidan pointed to a spot in front of the stage. “In the pit.”
Dobro peered over the balcony railing and saw, just below the dimmed foot lanterns, the violinists sawing away, the trumpeters blowing for all they were worth, a xylophonist running up for the high notes and down for the low notes, and a drummer pounding at a big bass drum.
“Whoever flung them folks in the pit had the right idea,” Dobro judged, “but it don’t seem to have slowed them down none.”
A woman in a neighboring seat shushed him, but Dobro, who had never been shushed before, thought she had sneezed and kept talking at the same volume. “What is all these folks setting here in the dark for?” he asked. “Who they hiding from, you reckon?”
“They’re not hiding,” Aidan whispered. “This is an entertainment.”
“Like a feechiesing?”
“Sort of. But not exactly. It’s a play.”
“Play?” Dobro looked around the darkened theater. “I don’t see what game this many folks could play. If they all took turns at a gator grabble, the poor gator’d be slap wore out before they got halfway through. And these folks ain’t dressed for fistfights.”
“No, they’re not here to play,” Aidan whispered back. “They’re here to see a play.” He couldn’t figure out how to explain a play to Dobro. The feechies did a lot of storytelling, but they didn’t do drama or playacting. As it turned out, however, he didn’t have a chance to explain. The foot lanterns were brightened, the curtain rose, and the play explained itself.
The scene was a ferry landing, complete with cutout trees standing in front of a painted backdrop of a muddy river. Dobro was spellbound. “How they get trees to grow inside a building?” he wondered aloud.
The lead character, the ferry keeper’s daughter, was played by a fresh-faced girl in a peasant dress. She paced up and down the front of the stage and fetched a long sigh before launching into a soliloquy.
“That’s gal’s a loud talker!” Dobro observed. “I can hear her all the way up here!”
“Not half as loud as you!” hissed a theatergoer behind him.
The ferry keeper’s daughter poured out her troubles in that opening speech. Her father had been too sick to operate the ferry, so he had missed two months of payments to the moneylender. Now the moneylender wanted a bag of gold before midnight, or he would take away the ferry keeper’s house, leaving the old man and his faithful daughter with nowhere to go.
Dobro was struck to the heart. He leaned across Sadie to whisper in Aidan’s ear. “Did you hear that gal? We got to help her.” He snatched Aidan’s side pouch and started digging around in it. “You still got that bag of gold you had when you bought them horses?”
Aidan grabbed his side pouch back. “Dobro, it’s just a play. She’s just acting. She’s not really in trouble.”
The actress was stretched out on the floor, convulsed with sobs. Dobro started crying too. “Look at her!” he said through his tears. “You gonna sit there and tell me that gal’s troubles ain’t real?” The look he gave Aidan dripped with disappointment and reproach. “Your heart is as cold as a cottonmouth, Aidan Errolson, and as black as a squirrel’s eye.”
The theater erupted with boos and hisses when the villain strode across the stage. The moneylender was a tall man in a black cape and a black hat, with black, curling mustaches. He stood over the crumpled, shuddering form of the ferry keeper’s daughter, his hands on his hips, his feet spread wide. He told the beautiful girl he would cancel her father’s debt if only she would marry him. She spat on the ground where he stood. Dobro loved her for it.
The ferry keeper’s daughter turned to run, but the villain caught her by the shoulders and turned her roughly around to face him.
For Dobro, that was the last straw. “I’ve seen enough of this!” he shrieked as he jumped onto the back of his chair. “Come on, boys, let’s get him!”
“Dobro, sit down,” Aidan ordered in a loud whisper.
“I ain’t settin’ down until after that moneylender’s whupped,” Dobro declared. “I don’t aim to watch that feller insult and abuse a sufferin’ innocent another minute.” He raised a fist in the air. “Who’s with me?”
To Dobro’s astonishment, nobody was with him. Everybody in the whole place seemed content to sit and watch the moneylender insult and abuse the poor ferry keeper’s daughter.
The play had come to a halt by now. The actors had stopped acting and were staring up into the darkness, trying to see what the commotion was. The musicians in the pit had stood up, too, and were peering toward the nasally voice shrilling thirty feet above their heads.
When Aidan realized what Dobro was about to do, he lunged to stop him. But he was a split second too late. Dobro jumped from the balcony and made a high, beautiful arc out over the patrons in the lower-level seats. At the top of his leap, he grabbed a thick curtain rope that looped down from the ceiling. He hurtled down toward the stage in a great swoop. “Haaa-wwwweeeeee!” he yodeled, as he let go of the rope and landed on all fours in front of the moneylender. The black-clad blackguard tried to run, but Dobro caught him by the cape and flung him to the floor. Then he rolled him, wrapping the cape around him like a black cocoon, and threw him into the orchestra pit. The xylophone shattered under him. Plink! Thunk! Crash!
Dobro turned to say something chivalrous to the ferry keeper’s daughter and was surprised to find her staring daggers at him. “How could you!” she snarled through her teeth. “You ruined my show.”
Dobro was even more surprised to see a dozen stagehands closing in from all sides. A cabbage, thrown from the audience, whizzed over his head, and an overripe tomato splatted against his shoulder blade.
