a traveller called Happenchance, played by Theobold. But everything she does to show her love for him goes tragically wrong. All the words that come from her mouth are in a bizarre language he can’t understand. A rose she offers him is covered in thorns that prick his fingers and make him bleed. She gives him the finest horse in her stables as a gift, and it immediately kicks him in the head (the horse was played by an actual horsewun actor, who Morrigan thought pulled off the stunt very convincingly). But somehow against all odds, he falls in love with her too.
Dame Chanda’s grief and frustration as Euphoriana was palpable, and even though Morrigan couldn’t understand a word that came out of the soprano’s mouth, there were moments when she found herself almost moved to tears.
‘I am but a lonely traveller,’ sang Theobold as the wayfaring Happenchance. ‘And my weary heart is lost. But in you I find a love that I must win at any cost.’
‘Shludenverdis groll flambolicus, menk plim dooliandoo blub blub blub,’ responded Dame Chanda’s Euphoriana. (Morrigan thought the last bit more closely resembled the sound a fish makes underwater than actual words.)
It was their final duet before intermission, and the audience was enraptured. Morrigan could hear actual sobs coming from the front row. The combined voices of Dame Chanda and Theobold the moosewun rose dramatically, as did the orchestra, building to the Act One finale.
Meanwhile, there was something of a kerfuffle happening behind the curtain, on the opposite side of the stage to where Morrigan was standing. She peered around the costumed players and painted scenery to see the horsewun actor whinnying madly, rearing back onto his hind legs and stomping his hooves on the ground. A good half-dozen stagehands were trying to calm him down.
‘To you I pledge my life, and to you I give my heart,’ warbled Theobold from downstage, completely oblivious to what was happening behind the curtains.
‘Floonk merk-begerk crindinglis, wimbly ploodful humben pppfffflllfflflllt,’ Dame Chanda sang in heartfelt response. (The last bit was just one long raspberry.)
The horsewun shook his head wildly and let out a piercing bray, but it was drowned by the music from the orchestra swelling to a crescendo. Morrigan felt her pulse quicken. Some of the ensemble had gathered behind her in the wings and were talking in hushed, worried voices.
‘What’s Victor playing at?’ whispered a voice from behind her. ‘Is he trying to go back on?’
‘He’s not meant to be in this scene!’
‘That’s what they get for hiring a horsewun,’ muttered an actor dressed as one of Euphoriana’s guards. ‘Amateur. I could have played that part.’
The man playing the troubadour gave a derisive snort. ‘You need hooves to play that part, Stephen, you pillock— Oh, I say! What the devil’s got into him?!’
It happened so quickly that nobody could do anything to stop it. Morrigan watched in silent horror as the horsewun galloped furiously onto the stage, ploughed right through the painted scenery, and ran Dame Chanda down.
Queen Euphoriana’s onyx crown tumbled from her head as she fell to the floor with a sickening thud. There seemed to be some confusion about whether this was part of the performance, until the orchestra abruptly stopped playing and Theobold shouted, ‘Victor! What are you doing?’ at his horsewun colleague now galloping madly in circles. Dame Chanda remained lifeless and still.
Morrigan felt like her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat, but she squeezed her fists together and forced herself to call Wunder. This wouldn’t be like Christmas Eve on the train, when she stood frozen with Hawthorne and Baby Dave. It wouldn’t be like Golders Night, when she was again too slow to act and ended up simply running for her life. She wouldn’t stand by and do nothing this time, too shocked and too frightened to use whatever meagre skills she possessed. There was no time to worry about being seen.
‘Morningtide’s child is merry and mild …’
Wunder swarmed to her in an instant, the quickest it ever had. It gathered and gathered and gatheredgatheredgathered, as furiously fast as her own gathering panic. She took hold of the curtain, trying to steady herself somehow. It felt like she was standing in an ocean while waves of Wundrous energy crashed over her.
‘Victor – please, stop!’ shouted the stage manager, rushing onto the stage with her arms outstretched. Victor let out a frightening, screeching sound.
Morrigan swayed on the spot. ‘Eventide’s child is— NO!’
The horsewun reared up on his hind legs,