The Stage is Set

The Grand Opera & Theater

Outside

THE SMOOTH, wide roads of Partyn’s business district gradually narrowed into cobblestone streets as Zosia walked. The entertainment district was no older than the business district, but while the latter had been put through numerous rounds of construction to accommodate more carriages and trade deliveries, the former maintained its historic bones.

Despite being only mid-afternoon, the skies were darkening by the minute. A horde of heavy-looking clouds had claimed most of the heavens and were making short work of what little pale blue remained. Zosia watched the clouds with a scowl as she hurried her pace. The weather had been nice enough earlier that she hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella.

Her boots clicked quickly over the rough stone as she turned the corner to the main thoroughfare of the district. All at once, the spreading darkness was chased back by the vibrant glow of Partyn’s most colorful and busiest part of town.

She didn’t have time to stop and marvel—the street was packed with carriages and people in elaborate clothes bustling about. It had also started to rain, thick drops falling heavily onto Zosia’s clothes. Along with others who had forgotten their umbrellas, Zosia hurried to walk along the street’s edge, taking advantage of whatever overhangs she could find. She hurried from one dry spot to the next. As she moved, she noticed that the sidewalks, wet with rain, had been inlaid with a complex design of stone, glass, and what appeared to be defunct crystals. No longer viable for light magic, they still made a pretty, albeit superfluous, decoration. No wonder this was the wealthiest part of Partyn.

Zosia was forced to step aside as a pair of ladies pushed up the sidewalk, twittering in their fur coats. Two people who appeared to be servants stumbled after them, their arms extended and clutching poles with crystals on top. From the crystals’ lack of light and the odd bubble of air pulsing around the women, Zosia guessed that these were some type of star crystal. In their small, overlapping bubbles of dryness, the ladies hustled down the sidewalk, keeping their voluptuous furs out of the rain.

Zosia followed after them, slightly envious of their crystals and lamenting her lack of an umbrella.

Ahead, the stone stairs leading to the Grand Opera and Theater were slick with rain. Zosia’s boots disturbed reflections of dazzling lights and large signs punctured with moon crystals in the thin layer of water clinging to the stone steps. The lights shone above and on all sides, propped onto the sides of multi-story buildings or hanging from rafters. The entire district was on display, calling out to passersby with the promise of fun and excitement.

Several arrows directed Zosia upward. They pointed to where the Grand Theater stood lording over it all, the undisputed king of the entertainment district. It defended its spot with pride at the end of the thoroughfare, boasting a domed roof that arched into the sky. Each of of the spherical building’s hundreds of windows beamed light into the darkness like a multifaceted lighthouse.

After waiting in a short line, Zosia approached the window box. The red paint decorating the frame glowed, lined with fragments of moon crystals that flickered enticingly.

“Good evening,” the woman behind the window said without looking up. “Picking up tickets?”

“No, actually,” Zosia replied, “I was wondering if I might buy a ticket? For tonight’s showing of ‘The Lady’s Gain’.”

“I’m afraid it’s sold out, dear,” the woman said, blinking up at Zosia through the glass. “It’s quite a popular one. Every showing for the rest of the week has been booked. I’m sorry.”

Zosia pressed her hands together. “Perhaps there were cancellations? Any unclaimed tickets?”

The woman reached for something beneath the window that Zosia couldn’t see. After a second, she shook her head. “Not this early, I’m afraid, but you could try again ten minutes after curtain opens.”

Zosia hesitated. It hadn’t been her first choice, but she needed to get into the theater.

She lifted the flap of her jacket, revealing her police badge. “I didn’t want to alarm you, but I’m actually here on police business.” At the woman’s startled look, Zosia quickly added, “There’s no need to fear, though. It’s just a very loose lead that needs to be checked. We do like to be thorough.”

“Is that so?” The woman didn’t look convinced. To be fair, Zosia couldn’t blame her. Although she hadn’t been here long and the truth about the missing crystals wasn’t known publicly, it was clear that the current Partyn Police Department did not have a reputation for being all that dependable.

“Well,” the woman said, standing up off her stool to lean against the glass, eyeing Zosia’s badge. “I wasn’t sure when I saw your uniform, and I didn’t want to assume… but yes. In that case, let me see if any of the staff seats are still available.”

“Thank you,” Zosia said.

After shuffling through several large envelopes, the woman turned back to the window holding a small ticket. She slid it through the open space at the bottom of the window. “Here you are. Not the best seat in the house, but a seat all the same.”

“How much will that be?” Zosia asked, already pulling out her wallet to get the coins.

The woman flapped her hand in a warm dismissal. “No charge for you, dear. I hope you get whatever you came for.” She smiled. “Enjoy the show.”

After thanking the woman several more times, Zosia followed the gesture of a door attendant inside. Copies of the same poster she had seen at the cafe were posted edge to edge along the walls leading into the theater lobby.

The lights of the entertainment district outside were nothing compared to the vibrance within. The Grand Opera and Theater had been designed to impress, and it did its job glamorously. Yellow, orange, and red light shone from painted moon crystals embedded into the walls. They had been carved to resemble flames—a safer, purely aesthetic depiction of fire crystals. Overhead, a chandelier larger than any Zosia had seen dripped countless white and yellow crystal shards that twinkled like a sky full of falling stars.

Other theater-goers meandered about the space, standing in clusters around posters depicting future shows or sipping drinks in small flute glasses. Across the floor was a small annexed room lined with thin beams, some partially full of colorful coats. Across from the coats was a small bar and refreshment stand, as well as a sign for the restrooms.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you like assistance finding your seat?”

Zosia turned to see a young man in a crisp black uniform. The insignia of the theater was pinned to his chest pocket. Several others like him waited at attention around the lobby, ready to help guests with their coats, drinks, or whatever they needed.

“Yes, please.” Zosia glanced down at her ticket. “Could you point me to Section F, Row 13?”

He nodded. “It’s on the third floor. Would you care to take the lift, or…?”

“The stairs are fine,” Zosia replied.

“Right this way, then.” He held out a white-gloved hand towards the wide staircase on the far side of the lobby.

Following the directions from the attendant, Zosia climbed several flights of stairs and entered the theater hall. It was massive, with three tiers of seating perched one over the over like basins in a fountain. Small, private boxes lined the sweeping sides of the auditorium, most of them already bustling with activity. There was still plenty of time before the show began, but far below, the entire first floor was already packed with patrons. About half of the second floor was also occupied. It seemed that only the third floor, with its cheapest seats, waited for last-minute stragglers.

Zosia counted the rows and quickly found the spot that matched her ticket. She took the paper lying on the seat cushion—a small pamphlet had been placed on every seat in the hall. She flipped through it while she waited.

It hadn’t been mentioned on the poster, but the troupe performing ‘The Lady’s Gain’ was apparently all female. Zosia had seen the play once before in Lythenor, on a school trip long ago. She vaguely recalled the plot being about a noblewoman who refused her arranged marriage only to fall for her childhood nemesis, a dashing but mysterious prince.

Zosia tried not to roll her eyes. Completely unrealistic.

Still, the subject of the play wasn’t important. Zosia wasn’t here for entertainment.

She flipped the pages leisurely, scanning a list of names that meant nothing to her. On every other page was a message or advertisement from one of the show’s sponsors. She noticed a section for the mayor, followed by a larger advertisement for tickets to the Partyn Museum. The watercolor paintings of the Crown Jewels on display caused a small twist in her gut.

The trill of a trumpet echoed throughout the hall, heralding a shush across the crowd. Anyone who had been dawdling in the aisles scurried to their seats as the first few notes of the opening song began to play.

The moon crystals throughout the theater were simultaneously covered with cloth by attendants, plunging the hall into a dark anticipation. The red curtains hiding the stage, hooked with thickly woven golden ropes, were swept to the sides by unseen hands.

A woman stood in center stage by herself. Sun crystal beacons similar to those used by the police force swiveled to frame her in their light, causing the marvelous ball gown she wore to sparkle. The details on her tight bodice were indiscernible to Zosia on the third floor, but it was intriguing how her skirts puffed out almost explosively in every direction as she moved across the stage. Her hair was an elaborate nest of golden curls—marking her as the play’s leading heroine, the Lady Kasandra.

The music shifted, and the woman began to sing. Her voice was sweet, following along dutifully with song lyrics that Zosia vaguely remembered. She’s not a bad singer.

Zosia shifted in her seat. Although the cushion had looked comfortable, it was actually quite stiff beneath her.

The music waned and the scene began to change—painted boards depicting the lady’s bedchambers and a few wheeled props were whizzed on stage by stagehands dressed in all black.

The next few scenes had Zosia’s attention waxing and waning along with the music that wove in and out of each musical number. She studied the stage and the comings and goings of the various cast and crew members, but couldn’t see any contraptions or wires from where she sat in the audience. On stage, a robust woman in a golden frolic playing the role of King Eddin showed Lady Kasandra her engagement ring before waltzing off stage. The Lady was left to bemoan her unwanted marriage, also through song, and Zosia’s mind drifted back to the exhibit at the museum. She would have to meet the chief in a few hours to prep for tonight’s stakeout. What should she suggest for ways to better protect the space?

She was wording and re-wording what to say to the chief when the violins that had been warbling along mournfully skittered—the notes suddenly sharp and elusive. The melody cut in and out, a distinct and alluring difference from the softer tunes of the previous numbers.

A palatable tension fell over the stage and, through it, the entire auditorium hall.

As the Lady Kasandra leaned dramatically over a piece of railing meant to symbolize an entire staircase, Zosia also found herself perking up. If she remembered correctly, this must be the scene where the prince arrived.

The violins lifted in a crescendo, and in their midst emerged the deeper, more sensual notes of a viola.

The lights flickered on stage. Out around the audience, attendants switched the heavy cloth covering the moon crystals with a colored fabric that drenched the auditorium in an indigo blue as deep as the night sky.

The stage lights, in contrast, brightened. The swarms of characters that had been mulling about on stage in their ball finery parted, stepping aside to reveal a figure in their midst.

Even from afar, Prince Alexandre was stunning. The actress playing him was dressed in a golden coat that flared into a swallowtail, with dark leggings clinging to her thighs. She turned in a sweeping movement, lifting her head to reveal the golden mask hiding the top half of her face.

Zosia felt her breath catch in her throat. Even from three levels up, leaning forward in her seat, Zosia was struck by a sense of familiarity.

The prince moved across the ballroom as if nothing could stand in his way. On stage, the actress’s footfalls were simultaneously nonchalant and deathly precise. The prince swept a rose from within his jacket, holding it out—to Lady Kasandra in the scene, but also out towards the audience.

Their hands met, intertwined, and then the prince swept Lady Kasandra around the stage with ease. A long, pink ponytail swirled behind them as they waltzed with all the grace of royalty.

Zosia was perched on the edge of her seat; if she leaned forward any more, she would probably fall onto the lady sitting in front of her.

The scene changed and the story progressed, but Zosia was no longer following the details—she had eyes only for the sweeping form of Prince Alexandre, who moved with the sleek elegance of a cat and whose brilliant smile made her hands clench against the armrests.

As the prince fought against the antagonistic duke for Lady Kasandra’s hand in marriage, the actress drew a thin rapier as if from nowhere, drawing gasps of admiration and excitement from the audience. The prince dashed and parried with the ease of someone who not only knew the steps by heart, but had the talent and skill to enact them with death-defying precision.

Though far away, Zosia could vividly imagine the sparkle in those masked eyes. It made the detective’s stomach drop as if she were spiraling down to the first floor far below.

She sucked in a quiet breath through her teeth. It was undeniable—anyone who had seen what Zosia had seen the night before would be able to figure it out. The similarities were flaunted in the open, beneath the beaming sun crystals and on display for hundreds, if not thousands, of people to see.

The thought made Zosia’s stomach squeeze tighter.

In the climax of Act II, the prince clutched his lady’s hand while looking out into the audience. The music was tense and romantic, instilling a doomed type of hope. Pressing an exaggerated kiss against the dark skin of Lady Kasandra’s hand, the prince looked past her, out into the audience.

For one heart-stopping moment, Zosia felt as if those eyes locked onto her own.

“My Lady,” the prince cried, voice carrying throughout the vast theater with ease. “I am yours, I swear it true. No duke shall keep you from me. Your only role is to be mine. So, I beseech you— come to me .”

This was the cue for Lady Kasandra to begin another song, something about the unpredictability of love, but Zosia tuned it out entirely; She was fixated on the prince’s smiling face.

Zosia’s collar was suddenly too hot—did the theater not have windows to open or fans of some sort? It felt like the prince was staring straight into her soul, even though she knew it was just a trick of the stage. With those glaring sun crystal lights, there was no way they would be able to see beyond the edge of the stage—was there?

The scene changed, granting a reprieve from the two leads to focus on the plotting of the nefarious duke. Things were left tense, the music tight and promising as the curtain began to close. Audience members clapped and whistled, already buzzing with thoughts on the performance so far and anticipation for the next act.

The curtain fell shut and the attendants quickly removed the coverings from the crystals within the theater. As light returned, Zosia glanced down. Her knuckles were white against the faded wood of her chair’s armrests.

She stood up quickly. She had to get backstage.