The Falcon Always Wings Twice by Donna Andrews

Author:Donna Andrews
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Chapter 23

Michael winced, and we turned to see Neil O’Malley looming into our field of vision, filling most of it. He was wearing a spectacularly ornate costume made of cloth of gold and brown velvet that Mother had designed, based on Hans Holbein’s famous portrait of Henry VIII. I happened to know this painting was the source because I’d seen the copy of it hanging in the costume shop while Mother and the seamstresses sketched and played with their fabric scraps.

We’d intended for Terence to use the outfit—either to play a Falstaff-like character in some future edition of the Game, or maybe even to play Henry VIII if we took a break from Albion one day and did straight English history, with Jacks as Catherine of Aragon and Dianne as Anne Boleyn. I’d told the costume crew to comp O’Malley one of the fancier nobleman’s outfits, not crown him king. He’d have had to wheedle this costume out of Mother, and I couldn’t imagine how such an annoying man could have managed that. And what was he planning to do while wearing the Henry outfit?

I suspected from Michael’s expression that he was having similar thoughts.

“Hello, Neil.” His tone was surprisingly neutral. “Long time no see.”

Maybe it was only because I knew him so well that I heard the subtext: “Not long enough.”

“I heard you were short one player, so I got your costume folks to kit me out so I could pitch in to help.” He twirled so we could admire the costume. If I were O’Malley, stocky to begin with and in the early stages of battling middle-aged spread, I’d have chosen a different costume—one not intended to pad out a normal-sized person to resemble the enormous bulk of the mature Henry VIII. But maybe he assumed everyone would think it was the costume that made him look stout.

Or maybe Mother, like me, had taken an immediate dislike to him, and had deliberately talked him into donning the unflattering costume.

“Very thoughtful of you,” Michael said. “Did—”

“And may I say this is a fabulous idea!” O’Malley thundered. “Simply fabulous! You know how I love improv. This is going to be a blast!”

Michael’s smile might have fooled O’Malley, but not me.

“Did anyone brief you on the Game’s overall storyline?” he asked.

“I gather we all dance attendance on the queen,” O’Malley said. “Scary old bat! Puts me in mind of working with Maggie Smith. So what’s my part?”

“If you want to take over from Terence—” Michael began.

“Of course! Of course! Damn, but that’s a shame, isn’t it? Did you know I’d cast him as Polonius in my Hamlet? Terrible loss to the theater. No idea how I’m going to replace him. So am I one of the contenders to inherit when She of the Steely Gaze pops off?”

“George and I are the leading contenders,” Michael said. “George Sims—do you know him?”

“Of course! Fabulous performer!” O’Malley exclaimed, though I thought his face had worn, just for a moment, the sort of puzzled expression

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