Krasnov loved every member of his theater’s troupe, but sometimes …
“Mister Krasnov, I implore you!”
He gave up checking the trapdoor rigging under the stage and started down the ladder.
“Dimitri, for the last time, I tell you no.” He faced the actor. “I see you perform every day, and I know your ambition. Should the time come when I feel you are ready for a leading role, you shall have it. But not one. Day. Sooner. Do you understand?”
Dimitri’s expression played to the back row. “Of course, I understand. I understand you trample my dreams, crush my soul.”
“Look, my friend. You are a beloved member of The Heavens company. You’re an ever-reliable supporting actor, and you are masterful when it comes to portraying the villain in a comedy. You have a gift, and that gift is exaggeration, but what you need for a leading role is nuance. That, dear Dimitri, you lack.”
The anguish of the world crossed Dimitri’s face, causing Krasnov to roll his eyes. Dimitri looked up with wide-spread hands. “Behold. Traps. I am in a trap room. My career is trapped under-stage. Could it be a metaphor? I think, yes. Could it be a metaphor for hell?”
“Are you trying to prove my point?”
“I tell you, sir, I am in hell!”
As if to punctuate his claim, the floor opened under both men.
• • •
Krasnov sat up in the dark, coughing from dust. Several lanterns flickered to life, revealing old trunks, rotted rigging, and faded backdrops. He recognized it as a trap room, but not the trap room in The Heavens. It was larger, and the ceiling too high. More importantly, there were no stairs leading up.
Dimitri moaned beside him.
“Dimitri! Are you all right?”
“It matters not,” he said, his voice drowned in sorrow.
“It looks like we’ve fallen into another trap room.”
Dimitri’s anguish appeared to vanish as he sat up. “We are under under-stage?”
Krasnov gave him a disgusted look. “Yes, Dimitri, we are under under-stage. Come, man, this is serious.”
Both men got to their feet. The older of the two, Krasnov’s body protested, but Dimitri seemed none the worse for the fall.
“Curious,” Dimitri said. “I wonder where we are?”
Maniacal laughter pealed through the room like thunder. A chill ran down Krasnov’s spine, and Dimitri quailed beside him.
“Where you are?” The disembodied voice sounded like iron grating on stone. “You are exactly where you said you are. Welcome to Hell!” Again laughter rang out.
Krasnov’s nerve faltered, but only for a moment. “W-w-well played. I give you full marks for dramatic presentation. Now, then, if you could show us the way back to my theater …”
A low growl rumbled through the room. Krasnov felt it reverberate through the floor.
“Critique me, will you? For years I’ve been forced to listen to the tripe sifting down from above. Allow me to offer a few critiques of my own.”
Four shadows rose around the room, black-clad players armed with swords, empty hoods where their faces should have been. Dimitri whimpered and hid his face. Panic tugged at Krasnov’s heart, but he had not earned his reputation as a great thespian by being slow on his feet. He sprang to the nearest trunk and threw it open. Within were stage props, including two swords.
“Dimitri, here!” Krasnov tossed a sword to the cowering actor. It hit his arm and clattered to the floor. As the shadow men crept closer, Krasnov grabbed Dimitri by the vest and shook him.
“Now is not the time for amazement, my friend. Now is the time to act!” Krasnov picked up the sword and put it into Dimitri’s hand. “Come, they are upon us!” He stepped clear of Dimitri and blocked a thrust from the first shadow man to arrive.
“I am undone by fear,” Dimitri said, his voice faint.
Their crossguards locked, Krasnov shoved his opponent back, sending him tumbling over a trunk and into a rack of props with a crash. “Then you must find your courage, and quickly. Remember that old soldier you played in Requiem for a King? You must be like him.”
Krasnov engaged another shadow man and could say no more. He fervently hoped Dimitri would protect his back, or this would be a short fight. Relief flooded over Krasnov when he heard the ring of steel behind him. He turned his full attention to his opponent. Opponents. The first shadow man rose and moved to join his comrade. Krasnov had confidence in his sword work, but he knew he could not hold long against two.
Something heavy hit the floor behind him. Unable to spare a moment to look, he tensed, expecting a fatal thrust to his back at any moment.
With a cry of exultation, Dimitri hurtled past Krasnov and skewered one of the shadow men. “I’ve got him, sire,” Dimitri said, his voice calm as he engaged Krasnov’s other opponent. “Mind the fourth, if you would.”
Krasnov turned to see one shadow man step over the body of another. As Krasnov engaged him, he noted the man had a wound on his right arm. It did not bleed, nor did he appear to be pained by it as he pressed his attack.
After holding his opponent at bay for some time, Krasnov realized he could no longer hear swordplay behind him. “Dimitri, are you all right!”
“Certainly. I had thought to let you finish the matter on your own, but perhaps you would like some assistance?”
“Please!”
Dimitri strode past Krasnov and made short work of the shadow man. Relieved, Krasnov took deep breaths and looked around. All four shadow men were dead, or at least unmoving.
“That was well done, sire,” Dimitri said, his voice jubilant as he needlessly cleaned his blade; no blood had spilt from any of their opponents. “A lesser man wouldn’t have asked for help, thus letting pride be his downfall.”
“Dimitri?” Krasnov wondered at the change in the actor.
“At your service!” Dimitri raised his sword and swished it down with flair. “It does a soldier good to stand back-to-back with an old comrade-in-arms again, does it not, Your Majesty?” He spoke with gusto and clapped Krasnov on the shoulder.
“Your Maj—”
A rasping chuckle floated through the room. “Well done,” the voice hissed.
“Yes, well done,” Krasnov replied with bravado. “Now that you’ve had your sport, would you be so kind as to show us the way out.”
The voice gave a single, derisive laugh. “After the first act? I think not. The stage has been set, the characters introduced, and a conflict established. It is time to deepen the plot.” Laughter echoed off the walls, rose in pitch, and faded.
“He seems a touch exuberant.” Dimitri paused for a loud sniff. “Don’t you think?”
Krasnov stared at Dimitri, dumbfounded, unsure whether the actor or the disembodied voice warranted more of his attention. “You seem to have taken my advice … quite literally.”
“Aha!” Dimitri whirled and thrust out a finger. “A door! Come, Your Majesty, I shall lead the way.” Sword in hand and without further ado, he strode toward a door Krasnov had not seen before.
His mind awhirl, he followed his actor.
• • •
“A passageway,” Dimitri said in a conspiratorial tone. “Many doors. We must be wary of ambush.”
Krasnov thought it a more dramatic delivery than the empty corridor warranted, but given the timeliness of Dimitri’s metamorphosis, he kept his directorial comments to himself. Torches burned along the corridor, providing a bright but wavering light and filling the air with an oily-smelling haze. They revealed nothing threatening.
He nodded toward the door at the far end. “Straight through, I should think.”
Dimitri took a step forward. Something clicked underfoot and he leaped back, shielding Krasnov as a huge blade scythed down.
“That was a close shave.” Dimitri gave Krasnov a wink.
Krasnov did not have an opportunity to respond to the horrific pun. With a cacophony of whirring, ratchetting, and whooshes, the corridor filled with thrusting spikes and swinging blades gleaming in the torch light. They came from above, below, and both sides. Krasnov turned to flee but found a blank wall behind them. The doors along the corridor disappeared one by one, leaving only the door at the far end.
“There, by the door.” Krasnov pointed. “A lever in the floor.”
Dimitri considered the lever. “It’ll be tricky, but …” He hoisted his sword and threw it like a javelin. A pendulum with a heavy blade knocked it aside, and the sword clattered to the floor in two pieces. “No, Your Majesty, it is too far and there are too many obstacles.”
Something grated behind them and both men turned.
“Unbelievable,” Krasnov said as the wall inched closer to them.
“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” Dimitri replied. “I must confess I feel some distress myself. I regret not being of more service to you.”
“More service? Aha!” Krasnov took Dimitri by the shoulders. “The old soldier is no longer of service to me, but do you remember The Thief of Nightingale Lane?”
Dimitri looked confused for a moment, then brightened. With a laugh he set his hands on his hips and posed, back arched and chin thrust forward.
“The watch is coming. We must hurry,” Krasnov said, pointing down the corridor.
Grinning from ear to ear, Dimitri turned and hurled himself past the first blade, which snicked off a piece of his sleeve. Without a pause, he somersaulted under the second blade and leaped high over spikes thrusting up from the floor. He sprang between two more blades and came up short as a row of spears stabbed from ceiling to floor. He continued down the corridor, springing and rolling and cartwheeling. Sometimes a blade or lance forced him backward a few steps, but he progressed steadily toward the goal.
The wall reached Krasnov. He braced himself against it but failed to check its progress. As Dimitri neared the end of the corridor, Krasnov’s eyes were drawn to the closest blade. The whoosh filled his ears, and he could feel the breath of its passing. He drew back as far as he could and turned his face to one side. “Dimitri!”
With a thunderous clunk, the entire works came to a halt. Krasnov exhaled, weak in the knees. He steadied himself and picked his way through the forest of points and edges toward a grinning, posing Dimitri, who laughed and waggled a finger at Krasnov. “I knew you’d follow me, you little urchin. Come now, the merchant’s treasure is this way.”
• • •
No mere faceless shadow stood before them. His elegant blouse and long, tied-back hair harkened back to a previous century, and his eyes looked as cold and unyielding as his sword. A wind Krasnov did not feel rippled the swordsman’s cloak.
“Uh-oh, it’s the watch,” Dimitri said in a stage whisper.
Krasnov laid a hand on the actor’s shoulder. “I need you to reprise your role as the villain in Duel at the Cathedral.”
Dimitri responded by tossing his head back and looking disdainfully over his shoulder at the swordsman.
“Second, my sword please.”
Krasnov presented his sword hilt first. Dimitri took it with his right while pulling at the tie of a nonexistent cloak with his left. With a flourish, he swept off the cloak and handed it to Krasnov, who mimed folding it and draping it over his arm.
“Try not to toy with him, sir. You have another appointment.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dimitri said with a sneer, “but you know how bored I get.”
After handing his cloak to a shadow man who appeared at his side, the swordsman approached Dimitri. Both men saluted and the duel began. They were cautious at first, testing one another. The pace quickened. The combatants advanced and retreated, swords flashing. A broad staircase appeared, and Dimitri backed his opponent up to a balcony. They locked blades. The swordsman threw Dimitri back. Before he could recover, his opponent untied the rope holding a materializing chandelier and jumped over the railing. The chandelier proved an effective counterweight, and he touched down lightly on the floor. There he stood, waiting, still holding the rope.
Dimitri jumped onto the railing and slid down the banister in a crouch, sword at the ready. At the bottom he sprang high into the air. His opponent let go of the rope. Dimitri landed and somersaulted out from under the chandelier an instant before it shattered on the floor. Without pausing, they crossed blades again.
Dimitri’s skill with a blade dazzled Krasnov, but he could see no end to the duel. He was certain they needed to move on if they were ever to get out of this phantasmagoria. Deciding it was up to him to conclude this act, he strolled over to the faceless shadow man watching the duel.
“Quite the epic struggle, wouldn’t you say?”
The shadow man ignored him.
“Tell me, are you familiar with this?” Krasnov tapped the shadow man on the shoulder. When he turned, Krasnov made a flourish with his right hand while his left snatched a dagger from the shadow man’s belt and plunged it up under his ribs. The black-clad figure collapsed without a sound. Krasnov flipped the dagger into the air, caught the bloodless point with his right hand, and threw.
He had rushed the throw, fearing something might materialize to block it, but it was true enough. The blade struck the swordsman’s hip and his guard faltered. Dimitri ran him through.
Letting his sword fall with his opponent, Dimitri strode to Krasnov and grabbed the front of his jacket. “What do you think you’re doing! I was enjoying that fight!”
“Yes, sir, I know, but … you have another appointment.”
Still glowering, Dimitri looked to the side as if searching his memory. After a moment, his eyebrows went up and he let go of Krasnov’s jacket.
“Right. Very well, off we go,” he said with no more concern than if he had been called away from tea. He turned and strolled toward double doors.
• • •
Krasnov darted into the room and slammed the door behind them. Leaning against it, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths to clear his mind.
“I did not need to see that. Down was up, and up was … sideways?”
He looked down at a crouching Dimitri, who giggled like the madman from Helga’s Lament he was portraying. Krasnov shook his head in wonder and looked around.
A lit candle sat on a heavy table in the center of the room, and other candles burned in sconces on the walls, but the room was dark. It felt dark. Wisps of shadow played between the points of light, choking them.
Krasnov knew they had little choice but to press on. He stepped forward cautiously. A wide-eyed Dimitri stayed close beside him.
The closer they came to the table, the thicker the darkness grew. Krasnov became aware of a rattling breath, which grew in volume until it pervaded the room. “I think we’ve come to the last act, Dimitri.”
A menacing chuckle drifted through the gloom. “You are correct.” Two red points of light, head high, approached out of the darkness. Fear clutched at Krasnov’s heart. His legs threatened to fail him. He put a hand on the table to steady himself, but when a skull appeared out of the darkness, orbs of hellfire burning in its eye sockets, Krasnov fell to his knees. Dimitri collapsed beside him.
The skull loomed over them and laughed. Darkness closed in as candlelight retreated closer to flame. Shadows hung on the wraith like a tattered cloak, and there appeared to be a darker essence within, impossibly thin, little more than lines to suggest limbs and a spine.
“Welcome to my theater,” the wraith hissed. Its fiery orbs flared brighter for a moment, and a carrion odor wafted from it.
Krasnov trembled with fear, but through titanic effort he managed to speak. “Th-this … is … my-my theater.”
The wraith gave an evil chuckle and shook its skull. “Your theater is above us, where the heavens belong. This is my theater, and it has been here far longer than yours.”
“I … I don’t … understand.”
“It sometimes happens when cities grow. Old things are forgotten, and new things are built on top of them.” The skull drew even closer to Krasnov. “I am an old thing.”
“Y-you are a … a thespian?”
“I am the thespian. In my day the greatest playwrights wrote for me and my theater. My legend was legion. All who have come after me are but shadows.”
“Shadows?” Krasnov said, his voice stronger.
“For years I have been in hell.” Anguish hung from the wraith’s voice, reminding Krasnov of Dimitri’s earlier performance. “The words and performances of lesser actors and playwrights have sifted down from above, tormenting me. But this night …”
The wraith said more — something about pain and blood vengeance — but Krasnov paid little heed.
“Lesser actors and playwrights?” he said, rising to his feet. “My good sir, I am Peter Krasnov. I not only own and act in the theater above, but I also write many of the plays you hear. And with all due humility, I am seen by many as one of the most gifted writers of our time.”
“Incompetent fools! They would not know talent if … if a burning skull stuffed it down their throats. I assure you, good sir, you … are … a … hack!” With each emphasized word the wraith’s fiery orbs had grown larger, and at the last they threatened to burst from its skull.
Krasnov stood eye to burning eye with the wraith. “A hack? How would you know, mister ‘my legend was legion’? You do not even know the meaning of the words you speak.”
The wraith’s hell-spawned eyes managed to portray scandalous shock. “I was the greatest thespian of my age.”
“If you think you were the greatest thespian of your age, then dust has rotted your memory.”
“I don’t need memory to judge your writing. You torture me nightly with your words.”
“Perhaps another demonstration is in order.”
“I’ve had years of your demonstrations!”
Krasnov stepped back, head held high. “Dimitri.” When the actor did not respond, Krasnov looked down. The poor man still cowered on the floor. “Dimitri, get a hold of yourself.” Krasnov pulled the actor to his feet. “Have you read my latest play?”
Dimitri nodded minutely. His terrified gaze never left the wraith.
“I would like you to audition for the lead role.”
Dimitri blinked and looked at Krasnov, but otherwise did not respond.
“I would like you to audition for the lead role,” the wraith mimicked in an unflattering voice. “You coddle your actors. No wonder they can’t deliver a line.”
“You, shut up,” Krasnov said, thrusting a finger at the skull. “Dimitri, do you hear me? The leading role. Audition now, please.”
Fear drained from Dimitri’s face. His eyes hardened and he straightened, his visage becoming like stone. “I do not waste my time with demonstrations,” he said in a cold voice.
“Then let us move on to something more practical,” Krasnov replied with practiced ease. “This … creature … has us trapped here. What do you suggest?”
Dimitri turned his gaze on the wraith, who started drifting backward. Its vaporous arms rose in a warding gesture. “Look, I was just playing a little …”
Dimitri pounced. Darkness fell on the room, but after a brief scuffle the wraith began to wail and plead. “Not the eyes! Not the eyes!”
“We appear to be in need of light,” Krasnov said.
Darkness retreated from the candles and revealed Dimitri standing over the kneeling wraith. The actor had a death grip on the skull, his fingers thrust into the eye sockets, squeezing aside the burning orbs, his jaw set in grim determination. The wraith’s jaw quivered.
“Well now, we seem to have suffered a reversal of fortune.” Krasnov bent low, putting his face close to the wraith’s skull.
“Your power is fear, isn’t it. The rest is simply illusion. Theatrics. If someone is too angry to be afraid, or if they’re fearless …” Krasnov stood and looked upon Dimitri with satisfaction.
“Tell me, thespian of old, what do you think of my latest character? He is a warrior who knows no fear, standing his ground against even the monsters of ancient legend, yet he is completely naive when it comes to love, and therein lie the seeds of tragedy. I had thought nuance would be needed to portray the role, but in the hands of an actor gifted in the art of extremes, I find it —”
“Gripping?” the wraith said through clenched teeth.
Krasnov sighed. “I’m a playwright, and even I find that pun appalling. Dimitri, what do you think?”
Dimitri shook the skull, causing the wraith’s shadowy vestments and thin body to whip back and forth like gauze.
“Thank you, Dimitri. I think that will do.”
“Do you have anything more to say to this thing?” Dimitri asked.
Krasnov considered before replying. “No, not really. I just want to get back to The Heavens.”
“That can be arranged!” The wraith seemed eager to please.
Dimitri grabbed the wraith below the skull, closing his fist around its essence. He lifted the skull with one hand while sliding his fist down the wraith’s body.
“Wha-what are you doing?” asked the wraith.
Dimitri’s grip tightened around the wraith’s lower legs. He let go of the skull and started whirling the wraith around his head. The skull spun faster and faster, its eyes tracing a red circle in the air.
“Nooooooooo!” the wraith cried.
With a final spin, Dimitri dropped low. The skull smashed into a leg of the table and shattered like a ceramic pot dropped on stone.
And that was it. The shadows dissipated. Krasnov and Dimitri found themselves in an old trap room lit by a single lantern. It was no larger than the trap room in The Heavens, and a spiral staircase led upward.
“Well done.” Krasnov put a hand on the actor’s shoulder. Dimitri turned and Krasnov again felt the stirrings of fear, this time under the actor’s cold gaze. He shuddered and, in a less-than-dignified rush, said, “The lead role is yours.”
Joy lit Dimitri’s face. “It is? Oh, thank you!” He threw his arms around Krasnov, who couldn’t help but smile and pat him on the back.
“Come, let’s go home.” Krasnov led the way to the stairs. “I’m considering a new play. It’s about a gambler who wins a king’s ransom every time he sits down at a gaming table. What do you think?”
“I’m sure it would be wonderful, Mister Krasnov,” Dimitri said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Would there be a role in it for me?”
Krasnov paused in his climb and looked Dimitri in the eye. “My dear friend, I would be honored to direct you in the leading role, and I’ll use my share of the winnings to expand The Heavens. Our current stage is much too small for you.”