Angels of Music by Kim Newman

Author:Kim Newman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

III

THE SHOW LET out after eleven o’clock. Kate kept her head down and made for the Sortie.

To escape the theatre, she had to run a gauntlet of minions in Guignol masks hawking souvenirs: Toby jugs with Guignol features; phials of authentic Théâtre des Horreurs blood; postcards of the stars in sealed packets so you didn’t know what you were getting (how many leering Morphos did a collector have to buy to secure that elusive bare-breasted Berma?); tin swazzles seemingly designed to drive parents to acts of infanticide suitable for dramatising next season; and enamel pins with Guignol faces or bloody pulled-out eyes.

Succumbing, she purchased a profusely illustrated pamphlet featuring photographed scenes, with diagrams showing how effects were done. It might come in handy in the investigation. She was convinced a connection existed between the crimes in the streets and the crimes on the stage. It was as if the real horrors extended the argument of the Ballade de Bertrand Caillet. Doubtless, victims didn’t care much whether they were killed to make a philosophical point or just plain ordinarily murdered.

Leaving by a side door, she saw a cluster of devotees around the artists’ entrance. Some wore amateur horror make-up as if hoping to audition: dangling eyeballs, running sores, vampire fangs. A mec in a short-sleeved sailor shirt showed off a raw tattoo of Guignol’s grin. Others wore cheap masks and competed – despite their lack of swazzle – to imitate Guignol’s voice. A tipsy toff in evening dress struggled with a huge bouquet of black roses. Kate suspected Stage Door Jeannot was an admirer of the much-abused Berma. He looked more like the recipient than the disher-out of consensual floggings.

Back on Rue Saint-Vincent, she clocked Yuki’s headdress bobbing in the distance. She paused a moment to consider her options. They were supposed to make their separate ways back to the pied-à-terre the Persian had rented for the purposes of the investigation. Kate had memorised a few routes.

Ideally, she’d have liked a stroll by the Seine to clear her head.

The Théâtre des Horreurs was overwhelming. An evening with the smell of offal, that funny smoke and packed-in patrons would make anyone light-headed, even without the parade of tortures.

She passed gay cafés and cabarets, but horrors had soured her outlook. Her glasses weren’t rose-coloured, but blood-smeared. Music and laughter sounded shrill and cruel. Pretty faces seemed cracked and duplicitous.

Guignol peeped from posters. She thought she saw him in the crowd. It wasn’t unlikely. Many cardboard masks were sold in Impasse Chaplet.

She took precautions against being followed, as much for practice as genuine caution. In the front door of a restaurant and out through the kitchens – even a glimpse was enough to dissuade her from going back for a meal – and a quick change on the hoof. She reversed her distinctive check jacket to show anonymous green.

She found a table in the corner of a busy courtyard and ordered anisette.

No one tried to pick her up, which was obscurely depressing. If she could sit by herself in a French café and not be bothered, she must be a fright indeed.

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