Abracadaver by Peter Lovesey

Author:Peter Lovesey [Lovesey, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Fiction, General, Mystery, Traditional British
ISBN: 9780396066279
Google: 8OU8ot2npQAC
Publisher: Dodd, Mead
Published: 1971-12-31T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER

10

THERE WERE NO DIFFICULTIES over Thackeray’s entry to the ranks of the scene-removers. ‘You’re a sturdy-looking cove,’ said the man in charge. ‘You can join the heavy contingent.’ Nor was there any problem in identifying who the heavy contingent were: three burly figures, a little apart from the others, standing like bears hungry for buns on Mappin Terrace. He joined them.

‘It’s money for old rope,’ one confided in him, when the teams were being dispersed to their duties. ‘Just a bit of scene-shiftin’ and some hoistin’, that’s all. There’s only one bugger and that’s the transformation scene. We never get that right, but what do they expect if they ask four men to move half a dozen of them flats across the stage and back and keep the bloomin’ car swingin’ in the air at the same time?’

‘The car?’ repeated Thackeray.

His informant rolled his eyes upwards. High above them in the flies, suspended from two pulley-blocks attached to the gridiron, was a huge basket. ‘This is a handworked house, not counterweight, so it’s all controlled by us. There’s a couple of blokes up there on the fly-floor with lines, but all the muscle-work’s done from down here. Harry!’

A voice answered from the fly-gallery above their heads.

‘Loosen your guys will you, Harry, and we’ll have the car down.’ He moved to a winch in the wings and commenced turning the handle vigorously. The basket slowly descended, to rest on the boards.

‘I see now,’ said Thackeray. ‘A balloon car!’

‘That’s right, mate. It don’t look much from here, of course, but when the lights are on and the old scene-drop’s glowin’ blue you can sit out front there in the hall and believe you’re watchin’ the aeronauts above the Crystal Palace gardens. There you are! Down now, and ready for her ladyship to step into.’

‘Does a lady go in there?’

‘Any time now, friend. Then it’s our job to winch her up again and there she stays in the flies until we bring her down for the transformation scene. When you see the one we’ve got tonight you’ll understand why we told Mr Plunkett we weren’t havin’ no sandbags on the side of the car. “Realism demands sandbags,” he says. “You can have your sandbags,” we told him, “or you can have the lady, but the ropes won’t stand both and neither will we.” That’s realism, ain’t it?’

‘Indubitably,’ said Thackeray. ‘How should I employ myself this evening?’

‘You’d best help me with the winchin’ first, and then we’ll put you on props—movin’ the heavy stuff into the middle when it’s wanted. You can’t go wrong there.’

‘That’s good,’ said Thackeray, not really convinced, but the possibility of further explanation was cut short by the arrival, from the opposite side, of the lady balloonist. He saw at once why sandbags were out of the question: she was of sufficient size to warrant an immediate overhaul of the lifting mechanism. Dressed as she was, in a brown poult-de-soie taffeta jacket and skirt and a large floral hat secured

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