dilettante hiring our troupe to satisfy his own vanity. Presbart agrees with me. Don't you?'
Presbart made a study of his fingernails, but as it became increasingly clear that the others would not look away from him, he sighed and said, 'It would be far easier to take your part, dear boy, if I had dined somewhere more elegant than a street cart this month.'
'If we wanted a life of security,' said Talbot, 'we'd all be coin-counters, wouldn't we? The player's life is full of adventure, and sometimes that means a few lean months. Listen, even after buying these supplies, there's still a little left from my shares. Maybe it's time for a summer bonus all around.'
'It's not about the shares, Talbot,' said Sivana. 'You and Ennis spend more time repairing the playhouse than rehearsing with the rest of us. It's beginning to tell in the shows-even the fight scenes.'
'That's true,' said Ennis.
Talbot thought immediately of a once-thrilling fight that had degenerated into unfunny slapstick in their last performance of Azoun.
'Shut up,' he told Ennis.
He winced to hear himself snap. There was no point taking out his irritation on Ennis, of all people.
'She said she chose us because she liked you as Azoun,' said Mallion.
'She said that? Exactly who is this worn-?' Talbot smelled a rat. 'Say, if you think a little flattery will change-'
'That's what she said,' said Sivana.' 'He is the very image of a king,' I think were her words. Believe me, we were as surprised as you are.'
'She did not even appear to be drunk,' offered Mallion.
'Maybe she fancies him,' suggested Ennis, grinning.
'Well,' said Talbot, 'I suppose it couldn't hurt to hear her out before explaining to her that we do not accept commissions.'
'That's the spirit,' said Sivana.
Mallion clapped Talbot on the arm and said, 'You won't regret this.'
Act II
She arrived just after dawn, when Talbot was the only one left awake in the playhouse. Talbot had spent the night finishing the thrones intended not for the actors but for guests willing to pay a premium price for a seat directly on the stage, where everyone could see them. It was a custom that had lapsed since the days of Mistress Quickly's management, and he hoped to parlay a few days of his labor-and the vanity of his fellow nobles-into enough hard currency to pay for the next production's costumes.
Lommy had wrangled his brood back up into their nest after they had spent the wee hours leaping from rafter to rafter, practicing by instinct the locomotion they would have needed had they been born in the jungles from which their parents had been stolen. While Lommy served as one of the troupe's favorite clowns, his mate, Otter, and their offspring were the only permanent residents of the Wide Realms playhouse. And as long as Talbot had a stake in it, they would be welcome there. All night long, the nocturnal creatures had kept him company with their chatter as they bounded through the playhouse. They were already more facile with human language than their pidgin-speaking sire, but with their mother they communicated only in the clicks and shrieks of their kind.
After they had quieted, Talbot set aside his hammer lest he keep the youngsters awake. He was debating between scoring the leather upholstery and staining the wood when he felt the hair on his nape rise. He had learned to trust that feeling since the Black Wolf awoke within him, and he tensed as he turned to face the main entrances.
He smelled her before he saw her. The scent of her body was dry, warm, and spicy, with a hint of some foreign incense, but he realized instinctively that she wore no perfume but her own natural musk.
When he saw no one at either of the ground floor entrances, Talbot looked up to see her standing on the mezzanine. The woman stood so still that at first she appeared like a statue over which someone had thrown a dark crimson cloak. Even from thirty feet away, he could feel the warmth of her body, and the morning gloom did nothing to diminish the luster of her hair. It might have been a wig of gold wire as the ladies of the Old Chauncel fancied, but its strands were far too fine and light where they floated above her shoulders like wheat chaff soft-lifted by a summer breeze.
Talbot realized he was sweating, and some invisible force broke over him like warm air in the cool, damp morning. Whatever the nature of the woman's aura, it made his body yearn toward her even as his most primal intuition tickled at his brain to flee. She was powerful.
'Mnomene,' she said.
Talbot gaped, realized he was gaping, and shut his mouth.
'My name is Mnomene,' she clarified. 'You are Talbot Uskevren, the playwright?'
No one had ever called him a playwright before, at least not outside of a joke. He had never written a complete work by himself, for the Wide Realms typically purchased its plays before adapting them to their particular strengths: sword fights and broad humor. It had given the troupe an unfortunate reputation: 'As actors, they are excellent fighters,' was the common jibe. While the other players winced at the backhanded compliment, Talbot was secretly pleased that his fellows had become, under his tutelage, nearly as famed as Master Ferrick's students of the blade.
'Yes,' he said. 'I am he.'
Mnomene stepped closer to the railing, and Talbot saw that she was smiling. He blushed, thinking her smile aimed at his self-consciously correct grammar, but he could not look away from her golden skin, smooth and flawless as a fresh-minted coin.
'You are the man I need,' she said, and his next heartbeat was a prayer to Sune that it was true. Mnomene, however, turned immediately to business. 'Craft me a tragedy to break a miser's heart, perform it each night for three rides, and I will match your receipts for the duration.'
It was a good offer. Even with poor attendance, a guaranteed match of receipts would do much to recoup the year's losses. His previous protests all but forgotten, Talbot almost agreed at once, but years of his father's unwelcome lessons had left an indelible impression on his brain. No matter how hard he had striven to avoid the fate, his parentage demanded that he would always be, in part, a coin-counter.
'Match the receipts for a full house,' he said. 'Plus expenses for all costumes, sets, and props. And we will discuss the details.'
It was Mnomene's turn to gape. She recovered smoothly, smiling down at Talbot with an expression of dawning respect. He noticed then that she was very tall, and her neck was as long and as elegant as a swan's.
'I will guarantee half the house,' she countered. 'And I must approve all of the costumes, sets, and props if I am to cover their cost. Also, you must always reserve the finest seat in the house for my guest.'
Talbot nodded as he walked toward the base of the gallery. The edge of the mezzanine rail was twelve feet from the floor, but he leaped straight up and over it to land on the wooden floor. One of the advantages of being the Black Wolf was that he enjoyed all the beast's strength even in human form, but he was disappointed to see neither surprise nor particular admiration for his stunt in Mnomene's expression.
'You will be wanting plenty of fight scenes,' he said hopefully.
'If you think that will draw a bigger audience, then by all means,' she said. 'I want the largest possible audience, and for word of the play to travel far and wide. The details I leave to you, so long as you craft the drama around this scheme.' She handed a roll of vellum pages sealed with gold-flecked red wax.
Talbot accepted the scroll and broke the seal. His fingers tingled as he unrolled the pages and scanned the outline. As he read, Mnomene perched upon the mezzanine rail, graceful as a bird upon a branch. Each time Talbot glanced up to see her watching him, he felt a warm flush upon his face. Nonetheless, he could not resist continued glimpses.
'This has… potential,' he said at last.
'It needs an artist's touch,' said Mnomene. She slipped down from the rail and put a hand on his arm.
'This King Krion,' he said. 'He could make quite a tragic hero.'
