all around the theatre there was a buzz of approval.
The actor playing the Emperor did not falter, but rather held so still that I found myself a captive of his presence, unable to look away. There was no trace of remorse on his face. Indeed, there was no trace of anything at all. Rather, his expression was blank, devoid of any recognizably human emotion. It was like a palace mask, and yet unlike it, since the lines painted on his face made him look more demon than man.
Was that how the people of Xi’an viewed their new Emperor? It was a troubling thought.
“See if you ever track down your brother!” called another member of the audience, one less muzzy with drink.
Alcibiades sucked in his breath. Sitting as close as I was, I could feel it when he went tense, as though the play had suddenly turned all too real.
“What would his father have said? Turning against your own flesh and blood,” a nearby woman muttered disapproval to her companion, shouting the last to the rest of the theatre.
“Perhaps he’s gone mad, like his great-grandfather.”
“Perhaps we need Prince Mamoru back here to overthrow him!”
It was then, with a tremendous crash, that the doors broke open.
Men in deep shades of imperial blue—robes just as fine as the costumes upon the stage—stormed in through the splintered wood and torn paper. They had helmets on, to shield their faces, and each man carried a sword. Not the wooden practice swords I’d grown accustomed to seeing, either. These were live blades, and they glimmered wickedly in the lamplight as the guards marched in.
One of them stepped up onto the stage, obscuring the actor completely.
“By decree of Our Lord, Emperor Iseul,” he began.
Someone to our left booed loudly. They had clearly become carried away with themselves. The noise cut itself off suddenly, as though he or she had received an elbow to the stomach or a hand over the mouth.
“This play is over!” the guard shouted, driven to the edge of his patience. I felt Alcibiades beginning to stir next to me, and felt a familiar rush of excitement mixed with apprehension. Such interesting things always happened when I was with the general. It was a good thing I’d thought to bring my fan, which I unfurled to obscure my face.
“What’s more,” the guard went on, unsheathing his sword as his fellow soldiers strode up the aisles in organized lines. “The lot of you are under arrest, pending the apprehension of those responsible for this piece of filth.”
A shout of dismay went up from the audience. Alcibiades surged to his feet, dragging me up with him.
There was a moment when I felt suspended in time, like an actor onstage myself. I saw the other patrons—our audience—as though frozen, anticipating the moves of the guards, our villains, dressed in blue.
The costumes were all wrong. “The heroes are supposed to be in blue,” I told Alcibiades in an excited whisper.
There was a flurry of crimson movement onstage; and, as though it had all been a part of the script, the pretend-Emperor brought his wooden sword down hilt first on top of the guard’s head. We in the audience had time for a roar of approval, putting all our praise for the play into one primal cry of appreciation.
Then the guards were on us.
Alcibiades pulled me forward, choosing to travel down toward the stage and against the flow of the crowd, which was surging back toward the far wall. I had no choice but to follow, since he was a dreadfully strong brute when he had a mind to be. And besides, I was no battle strategist.
“I shouldn’t think it would look very good for two of Volstov’s diplomats to land in jail,” I remarked, cheerfully tripping a guard who’d grabbed a young lady by the arm. She smiled at me before she wheeled around into the crowd, disappearing from view.
“We’re not going to,” Alcibiades grunted, pausing a minute to look around.
I took that opportunity, brief and breathless as it was, to examine the room myself. There were many patrons who appeared to be running for the nearest exit, like ourselves, but to my shock I saw more than one who’d stayed to land a punch or two against the guards. Onstage, the pretend-Emperor’s fellow actors had joined him, with the larger Benkei standing as a defensive wall against the surge of increasingly angry enforcers. I had looked up just in time