Like a Wisp of Steam, Thomas Roche [list of e readers txt] 📗

Then one of the Rakes screamed and fell down, cradling his injured arm. The music shifted, insistent drum beats. His comrades stopped, confused, and then astonished as the woman stood up, slowly, until she was taller than them, her powerful body seeming to burst through her torn clothing.

The leader of the Rakes rallied them, and they fell upon her, but she defended herself almost effortlessly, throwing them around the stage, grappling a Rake with one arm while beating a second with her other arm. Ricar marveled at the choreography, which made everything at the Razor Lotus look tired. If Davis would just come out and see what players were doing at the smaller houses, he'd see how popular new scenarios could be.

Ricar kept one eye on the stage, and the other on Miss Alwyx. She watched the performance dutifully, mouth in a half-frown.

Her attackers vanquished, the Virago tore the purse from the lead Rake's belt, dropped it into her basket, and swaggered off the stage.

The curtain fell, and the audience rose in applause. Ricar joined them. Miss Alwyx applauded, but stayed in her chair.

When the applause died down and the lights came up for the intermission he asked her, "What did you think?"

Miss Alwyx looked up from the soap advertisements on the back of her playbill. "Well ... The Virago is basically the same as the Fatale."

"No, the Fatale rules through the desires of others. The Virago rules through her own strength and the desires of others."

"Oh, I see."

"Didn't that impress you at all?"

"The music was too dissonant, the choreography had no grace at all, and the scenario wasn't involving. As for the lead ... Well, I'm sure some people appreciate that kind of look."

"Have you paid attention to anything I've shown you tonight?" Ricar realized he had leaned forward until she had to lean back to get away from him. He leaned back and took a breath to steady himself.

"I'd best be getting home." Miss Alwyx got up and left the box.

"Wait, wait, please, Miss—" He followed her out of the box into the connecting corridor, struggling to catch up to her in the mass of people heading for the lobby. "I wanted to talk about your future at the Razor Lotus."

She stopped for a moment, then faced him squarely.

"What is this about exactly, sir?"

Ricar decided to come clean. "I'd like to see a Virago at the Razor Lotus. It would take a lot of training, but I think you could do very well in that role. I see such strength and bravery in you ... You're wasted in other roles."

Miss Alwyx rolled her handbill up into a thin, stiff rod. "I don't want to get bigger than this and look like some half-man-half-woman and do fake fights. That's not the Commedia. That's not art."

"And art requires the Innocent, like Miss Dyr?"

"Yes, that's what I've always wanted to do."

He shook his head. "Miss Dyr does two shows a night, plus assignations, six days of the week. It takes a toll. Her performance is already slipping. She's been the star for four years, and she might have another year. I've seen it a dozen times before."

"Perhaps I'm foolish, but I thought maybe, just maybe, you were going to let me replace Miss Dyr. Or at least understudy for her."

"I'm sorry, but I am not going to have you play the Innocent."

She dropped her handbill, which unfurled as it fell. "I'll ... I can lose weight. I can—"

The thought of Miss Alwyx trying to starve herself down to nothing made him speak bluntly. "Can you make yourself younger, and shorter? I'm sorry, but it's my considered opinion, after twenty-one years in the Commedia, that no one is going to pay to see you as the Innocent."

She said nothing, staring down, her bangs over her eyes.

"However," he continued, trying to make amends, "you could do very well as a Beast, a Harlot, even a Virago or a Fatale. You could have a good career, and a longer career, if you just accept that."

Ricar waited for a reaction. Would she burst into tears?

Slap his face? Punch him (perhaps she could do the Virago after all)?

She looked at him, eyes gleaming with suppressed tears.

"I don't want to play the Outlaw or the Virago or anything else. Everybody keeps telling me how strong and tough I am and ... And I'm not. That time Miss Dyr yelled at me, I went home and cried all night. Then I pulled myself together and came to the theatre and did it all again."

If she were younger, and smaller, and had big expressive eyes and a small delicate mouth—if she looked like Miss Dyr—

her tears would have brought down the house. Instead, Ricar was the only audience.

"It's like ... You think of all the things that have happened in your life, all the stupid decisions and the disappointments and the people who let you down and the things that just don't make any sense. All of those things leave a mark on you. But you want to think there's something inside you that's still the way you should be, that feels like that. That's what people come to see. That's why I want to play the Innocent.

That's the way I want people to see me."

"Miss Alwyx, I'm sorry, but nobody's going to let you do that on stage."

The hurt in her eyes made him feel like he was the worst person in the world.

An usher walked by, announcing, "One minute to curtain.

Your assignations, please—"

"You know, you aren't the first man to tell me what I can't do." She turned away, heading for the lobby.

Feebly, he said, "The intermission's over."

The last thing he saw was her disappearing down the stairs.

He caught the attention of one of the ushers. "I'll have a card, please."

* * * *

The Blood Blossom's assignation rooms were smaller and less well appointed than the Razor Lotus's. Ricar frowned and began fluffing the pillows and straightening the crooked bedspread. Why didn't this House's staff take better