wetness. She unlatched the metal gate and stepped out. Overhead, the sky was going dark, with the first stars twinkling.
Hamen followed her into the theater. Diverus, seated at the long table where they’d eaten earlier, leapt up at her appearance. “Lea!” he cried, which brought Soter and the others. By then Diverus had wrapped his arms around her with such obvious relief that she blushed.
Soter pulled Diverus back and said to her sternly, “You age me every single day, child, you don’t know how much.”
So nonplussed was she by their reaction that she didn’t try to explain. Instead she turned and introduced Hamen. Orinda said, “I believe I recognize you, good sir.”
“And you, madam,” he replied. “You’re of my district. It’s my services you call on from time to time when you want something brought up from the cellar, you know?”
Her expression brightened. “Coo-ee? That’s you? You will stay and sup with us then, before the theater opens for business?”
“I should be most happy to attend your company. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” she said. “You’ve returned to us our savior, it’s the least we can do.”
Leodora blushed again at being called their savior. As the others turned about, she grabbed Glaise by the sleeve. “I’ve had an idea for the performance tonight,” she told him. “I want to know what you and Bois think of it, because it involves you both.”
Bois came over, and the three of them walked off toward the stage, leaving Hamen in the company of the other three.
The kitsune watched as the long-snouted tanuki took a black stone between his middle and index fingers and snapped it onto the g board. “Atari,” said the tanuki, and its black eyes gazed meaningfully at the cadaverous figure on the opposite side of the gban. Two others, nearly identical to the seated player, stood motionlessly behind him as they had throughout the game. Torches burned on either side of them. They stood as still as moonlight.
The player of white stones pursed his thin lips and then raised his hands in a gesture of capitulation. The tanuki nodded respectfully that his opponent had recognized defeat. His whiskers twitched.
The seated figure arose, tall and gaunt. One of its companions said with dismay, “You lost.”
The white stone player ignored the observation, but turned to the kitsune and said, “Now I’ve played your game and it’s time you told me about these storytellers.”
“You lost?” the second figure repeated.
The player turned coldly about. “Yes. I lost. The stars still burn in the sky, last I checked.”
The kitsune looked overhead. “They do,” he agreed. “As to the storytellers, what can I say? They came, they watched a game unfold, we told them a story—a very good one I might add—and then they joined us for the parade. Would you like to join us for the parade?”
The bald player’s lips drew back over his long teeth. His sunken eyes smoldered, as if he thought he was being toyed with. “What I want to know—was one of them called Bardsham?”
“Well,” said the kitsune. “What would your Bardsham look like? I have never seen him, and I had always fancied that he died long ago, for surely he hasn’t performed anywhere I’ve heard of, and our kind do hear things.”
“Unusual things,” the tanuki chimed in. “It’s past sunset,” he told the fox.
“Yes, I know,” replied the kitsune. “Gentlemen, you’ve indulged us, and we appreciate it, but we know nothing of whether your Bardsham dwelled among the storytellers. But then we only encountered two of the troupe, and as I understand these things, most troupes of players contain four or more. How many were in your Bardsham’s troupe?”
“Three,” the player stated.
“Four,” his companion corrected. Their eyes locked. “There was the dwarf. Grumyfin or some such name.”
“Four, then,” said the player to the kitsune. “It doesn’t matter. Whoever they are, we must find them all. It’s most urgent that we do.”
The kitsune adjusted his kimono. “I am sorry, but there you have it. We met two, and who can say if they were, either of them, the one you seek. And anyway they haven’t come again.”
“I dislike being taken advantage of,” the player said, and his words dripped with threat.
“We did not swear to have your answers, only to have some answers, of which none seems to belong to you.”
“You—”
“We. Must be leaving now,” explained the kitsune. “The parade does not wait. If you care to return to the park tomorrow, I’m certain you can learn more, though not more certain