Shadowplay (Strange Chemistry) (ARC) by Laura Lam

Author:Laura Lam
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Micah Grey, magic, Kymri Theatre, the White Clown, YA fiction, Fantasy
ISBN: 9781908844415
Publisher: Strange Chemistry
Published: 2013-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

17

DUST MOTES

“With each life, they learn more, they become the truer essence of themselves. With each passing generation, our children are growing into what we hoped they would be. Of course, there is always the threat that they will learn too much.”

Translated fragment of Alder script.

The next day, we threw open every window of the Kymri Theatre, despite the thin layer of snow on the ground and the bite in the wind.

The work warmed us. We swept dust from the stage, and then sanded, stained, and varnished it until it shone. We scrubbed the aged velvet of the seats, mending the tears. We mopped the mosaics and glued the loose tiles back into place. We washed the stained glass windows. I climbed to the roof and made it possible for light to shine through the grimy skylights again.

Lily Verre, true to her earlier promise, helped us during two afternoons. Maske said nothing of their date, but I knew that they planned to meet again. Lily kept meeting his eyes and smiling as she chattered and dusted vaguely. She brought bouquets of roses “to freshen the air,” even though it was rather pointless. No members of the public would enter the Kymri Theatre during the remaining life of the dying roses.

At the end of the week, the theatre was in a semblance of order. Decades of grease and grime no longer coated everything. We discovered the original pinkish beige of the walls before we coated them with warm yellow paint.

When the paint had dried, we surveyed our handiwork. My back ached from the dull, repetitive motion of scrubbing. I was weary to the bone, and my palms were wrinkled and chapped from filthy soap suds.

In that moment it did not matter. The Kymri Theatre sparkled. It looked like a place for magic shows and wonder. I could imagine audience members in the seats. The rustle of skirts, the waving of fans and the crinkle of paper as men and women consulted their programs. Before, the dusty seats only seemed like they could be filled with ghosts.

“Tomorrow is the meeting with Aspall and Taliesin,” Maske said, breaking the silence of the theatre. “You three still want to participate?”

We did.

“Then we’ll see this through to the end.”

With that, he twisted the controls, and the chandelier of gas lights above us shimmered to life, bathing the empty theatre in a warm yellow glow to match the walls. I breathed in the smell of the varnish, lemon-soaped water, and roses.

It was not a circus ring, but it was our new stage.

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