4 The Republican Theatre

Coming face to face with Sheroda was not as unpleasant as Dashvara had feared. When they arrived at the entrance to her new home, the Supreme barely glanced at him and Yira before accepting Atasiag’s arm and setting off towards the theater with a queenly gait. It was disconcerting to think that in reality, this woman was not quite a sajit but a shixan who could transform into a monster with sharp blue teeth and monstrous eyes… Nervously, Dashvara tried to push this disturbing image from his mind and followed the couple, casting cautious glances around. As soon as they arrived in the Dragon District, the streets filled with people, and people were coming in and out of the noisy taverns in a continuous flow.

As Atasiag had explained, the Theatre was just in front of the Great Library and close to the Hospital. When they reached the front of the tall building, Dashvara could not suppress a worried grimace. Surely, if someone wanted to murder another person in the midst of the crowd that was gathering here, they had a rather easy task.

What are you afraid of, Dash? That Atasiag will die? Or are you more afraid of saying goodbye to your forty horses? He abruptly dismissed the question and forced himself to calm down. Either way, who the hell in Dazbon would want to kill Atasiag Peykat?

“Asmoan!” the Titiaka suddenly exclaimed, raising his commanding staff.

The great Agoskurian caitian stood by the door and greeted his friend with a wave of his hand. It took them a while to get to him.

“I didn’t know Republicans were so assiduous at the theater!” he grinned broadly, as he shook Atasiag’s hand. “I hope you’re going to introduce me to the beautiful lady you’re with.”

“Of course,” Atasiag laughed. “This is Sheroda. Sheroda, this is Asmoan of Gravia.”

Over the din, Dashvara failed to hear Sheroda’s whispered response. He arched an eyebrow at the admiring glint that lit up Asmoan’s eyes.

“Mawer, the pleasure is all mine!” he pronounced. “Just being with you, my friends, is worth the best show. But let’s go in; we’ll be more at ease in the balconies.”

Dashvara looked at him, stunned. Was he dreaming or had the Agoskurian fellow just uttered a curse in Oy’vat? He shook his head, shaking off his perplexity, and set about following Atasiag into the theater. A militiaman stopped them briefly, asking them to show the weapons license, but they soon ascended the stairs to a small interior balcony that overlooked a huge room with benches and a large stage at the back.

Atasiag, Sheroda, and Asmoan took their places in the dressing room, and the two friends began to chat animatedly. They jumped from one topic to another quickly. They talked about life in Agoskura and the Republic of Dazbon. Asmoan enthused about how well organized the Great Library was, and Dashvara learned that he had already been in Dazbon for two weeks, hosted by the Republican Library Archivist himself, and was planning to stay all winter until spring.

“And you, my friend!” the Agoskurian suddenly boomed. “So you say your house in Titiaka did not burn down?”

“No, it just scorched a little, but nothing irreparable,” Atasiag assured. “My foreman has already initiated the rehabilitation.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” the scientist smiled. “You don’t know how frightened I was when I heard about this Rebellion thing. And tell me, are you going back there?”

“As soon as one of my guests is healed. When we left Titiaka, a poor boy was injured. But he is already out of danger. And as soon as we return, Sheroda and I are to be married. The Yordarks have offered me an excellent position in Titiaka. If all goes well, I’ll be Administrator of the Council’s Treasury before the year is out,” he announced with obvious satisfaction.

Asmoan clapped his hands several times as if he was going to start dancing the dianka.

“Wonderful! So, I hope to see you often in the coming days. I spend hours, locked in the library. I trust you to get me out of my mountain of books.”

“I give you my word!” Atasiag proclaimed. “You will not leave Dazbon without knowing all its wonders. What do you say if you drop in tomorrow at The White Pearl at dinner time?”

“That would sound fantastic to me. If your bride doesn’t mind,” Asmoan observed.

“Not at all,” Sheroda smiled. “I’m not staying at The White Pearl. And, tomorrow, I shall be very busy with other business.”

Asmoan had suddenly adopted a fascinated expression.

“Of course. I understand it perfectly. I hope, however, to see you again soon. I didn’t know there were… such beautiful women in Dazbon.”

“Asmoan!” Atasiag warned, half-offended and half-satisfied.

“What?” the Agoskurian casually smiled. “Oh, I know you Titiakas go through terrible metaphors to praise beauties. Excuse my lack of finesse, my queen. By the way, Atasiag, I haven’t visited our family yet. Are you planning to go?”

Atasiag winced, as if the subject bothered him.

“It’s been a good three years since I’ve stopped by to see our relatives,” he confessed. “Our relationship is pretty… cold.”

“Really?” Asmoan gasped.

“Really.” And leaning back in his seat casually, he said in a low voice, “You know them. Conservative and not very open. And I’m more sajit than they’d like. I’m even Cilian. For them, that is already a serious sign of decadence. I assure you. Sarga once laughed out loud at me when she saw me coming out of a Cilian temple in Dazbon. As if they weren’t as much ridiculous with their praise of Life and the Sreda. We are demons and proud of it, they say. Ow, come on. They think they’re above the sajits when in reality, we demons are just like them…”

He frowned, hissed through his teeth, and turned suddenly to Dashvara. The latter had been listening to the conversation, increasingly perplexed. Whose relatives were they talking about? And what was this about demons? He met Atasiag’s eyes, and a glint in them sent a shiver down his spine.

“Philosopher,” he muttered. “You didn’t hear anything, did you?”

Dashvara saw Asmoan and Sheroda looking at him too, and his heart began to drum in his chest.

Careful, Dash. I think you listened to something you shouldn’t have. If you take what Atasiag said at face value, he and Asmoan are demons. Who knows what that means, but clearly, if Sheroda is a monster, why shouldn’t Atasiag be too, right? Oh, devils… And why should he be? Oh, devils. This must be a bad joke. Am I rambling or…

“Philosopher,” Atasiag repeated, rising from his seat. Dashvara turned to him an apprehensive look. “I ran my mouth off a bit too much. Please repeat only these words: I heard nothing, master. Repeat them.”

Dashvara glanced at Yira and saw her tense but not surprised. Feeling a sudden threat hanging over him, he nodded without further ado.

“I heard nothing, master. Nothing at all.”

“Good.” Atasiag sat back down and sighed. “I’m so used to saying anything in front of my workers that I blurt out nonsense when I less expect it. Unless it’s due to old age. Or to my natural stupidity. Sorry, Asmoan. This is the first time I’ve ever made such a blunder.”

Asmoan still looked at Dashvara with a slight flicker of suspicion, but he regained his smile and assured:

“He seems like a good kid. I think he’ll keep his mouth shut. Don’t worry, I trust you blindly, Atasiag. I won’t send anyone to kill him. Besides, I have a feeling that his companion already knew something about it… Come on, don’t worry! Anyone can make a mistake. Forget about it for now. Ah!” he exclaimed happily. “The show’s starting.”

Dashvara was livid. He felt Yira’s quiet hand on his arm, but it barely soothed him. He was tempted to ask her if what he had heard was true, but then he remembered that he had heard nothing and tried to clear his mind. He failed. Absurd, terrifying thoughts swirled in his head. That two such normal guys as Atasiag and Asmoan could not be sajits was sobering. Who knows, maybe Dazbon was full of demons and shixans wandering its streets… He smiled, sarcastically.

I have a feeling you’re going to have nightmares tonight, Dash.

Musicians near the stage began to play, and the theatre gradually fell silent. Dashvara barely watched the beginning of the show with the dancers, and then, he couldn’t concentrate on the words of the actors. People were laughing, but he didn’t know why. Asmoan, Sheroda, and Atasiag commented on the performance from time to time. Finally, Dashvara got tired of standing and sat down on the floor between the shadows of the dressing room.

“To hell with the Srad Andal troupe,” he growled low.

“Dash,” Yira whispered, leaning in. Her eyes shone with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Not quite.”

His head hurt, maybe from thinking he had three monsters sitting in their seats before him. And that Fayrah and Lessi had a demon father. And that he and his people served him and… and…

“Oh, naâsga,” he sighed, taking her hand. “I’m all right. I’m fine,” he repeated. “It’s only that—but what does it matter. Let’s just say that, as long as he gives me the forty horses, I might even serve a dragon, right? Or a milfid. Or… Bah.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m perfectly fine, naâsga. Perfectly fine.”

He kissed her on the forehead and stood up with her. He caught a glimpse of Sheroda’s intense gaze before she turned back to the actors. At that moment, echoing the audience, Asmoan let out a loud laugh. Dashvara sighed.

“And you… Have you known this for a long time?” he muttered.

Yira shrugged.

“For years. But it’s not important.”

“Nooo,” Dashvara conceded mockingly. “Of course it’s not important. It’s a detail. I don’t know why I got so upset. As the years go by, I get more and more sensitive…”

Yira gave him a light shake, stifling a laugh.

“Dash, I’m not kidding. For us, it doesn’t matter.”

Between the shadows of the box, Dashvara looked into her dark eyes and smiled. He suddenly felt almost peaceful. Almost.

“You are right. With you, naâsga, I could be surrounded by monsters and I wouldn’t care.”

“Because I’m the worst of them all, right?” Yira scoffed.

Dashvara huffed.

“I was trying to be romantic, Yira. Bah. This theater is getting dull. How long before the actors shut up?”

“How long before you shut up, Philosopher?” Atasiag retorted, shooting him a half-mocking, half-exasperated look from his seat.

Dashvara winced as he realized that they were no longer speaking so quietly and he wisely kept quiet. After a long time, the first act was over, and Asmoan and Atasiag began to comment on the art of the actors while Sheroda looked bored to death. Shortly afterwards, a theatre employee passed by with a cart full of bottles.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked them.

“Of course,” Atasiag nodded. “Have you ever tasted sigria liquor, Asmoan? No? Well, tonight you shall taste it: it is one of Dazbon’s wonders. My treat. What about you, Sheroda? Nothing? Nothing? Well… Well, that’ll be two liqueurs of sigria.”

“That makes one detta, sir,” the waiter said.

Atasiag handed the coin to Dashvara, and like the good slave he was, Dashvara handed it to the Republican, took the glasses, and handed them to the Titiaka and the Agoskurian. When Asmoan accepted his, Dashvara felt a sudden discharge and jumped back, his heart racing and his eyes widening. He had said he wasn’t going to kill him… Yeah, sure.

“Asmoan,” Atasiag growled. “What the hell are you doing?”

An amused and guilty glint shone in the scientist’s eyes.

“Tell me, have you never experimented?” he inquired.

Atasiag frowned.

“No.”

“Really? Never, ever? I thought not. Still, having them around like that, the temptation must be strong—”

“It would be, for you, perhaps. But, I’m not a scientist, and I don’t feel any temptation,” Atasiag assured in a sharp voice.

Asmoan shrugged; he didn’t press the issue and concentrated on the second act that had just begun. Dashvara stepped back onto the balcony as much as he could.

“What did he do to you?” Yira asked in a whisper. She sounded worried.

“I don’t know,” Dashvara admitted. “It was like… a discharge. They’re celmists, aren’t they?”

Yira shook her head.

“I have no idea what they are. I just know that—”

“That it is not important,” Dashvara completed wryly.

“No. I meant I’ve only seen his true appearance once,” she whispered so low that Dashvara barely heard her.

He felt a chill run through him.

“So, they do transform.”

Yira did not answer. When Dashvara followed the direction of her gaze and saw Atasiag glaring at them, he silently cleared his throat and decided to keep quiet for the rest of the evening. All in all, he felt he had already learned too much that day. Far too much.

The vigil seemed interminable. When he finally heard the audience applaud the third act, he yawned and wished he had taken a nap like Atasiag in the afternoon. The audience rose from their seats, and Dashvara emerged from his immobility feeling as if he had been crushed by a brizzia.

“Philosopher, are you listening to me?”

Dashvara gasped and realized that the three creatures had risen and approached the exit of the box. Atasiag watched him patiently.

“I asked you how you found the show.”

Dashvara huffed.

“Long.”

Atasiag arched an eyebrow and waited a few more seconds before saying, looking disappointed:

“Is that all?”

Dashvara grimaced.

“Yes. Well… it’s just that I wasn’t paying attention. Something about a kingdom, two ugly princesses, and an idiot who wants to get married to inherit.” He shrugged and observed, “I did enjoy the music during the breaks.”

Atasiag rolled his eyes, Asmoan laughed, and Sheroda’s lips curled.

“I hope,” Atasiag smiled, “that whoever is going to write in the Dazbon Gazette about this show has a little more favorable opinion. Come on, let’s get out of here. Sheroda,” he added as they headed for the stairs, “you’ve been very quiet tonight. Didn’t you enjoy the theatre?”

“In a way, I think my opinion is a little like the steppian’s, Atasiag,” the Supreme admitted. “But I agree that the actors were very good. And if I’m a little quiet, it’s simply because I’m tired.”

“Then I’ll walk you straight home. Do you want me to send for a carriage?”

Sheroda laughed quietly.

“My house is barely a ten-minute walk away, darling. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Yes… I understand. By the way, do you really not want me to leave Wassag and Yorlen to take care of you? They are very helpful boys and—”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, Atasiag,” Sheroda cut him off gently. “And I don’t need slaves. When in the world are you going to get that through your head.”

The Titiaka flushed slightly.

“Of course. I’m sorry if I insulted you, dear.”

“Don’t worry, I’m getting used to your fixations,” Sheroda laughed. “But please get used to mines too.”

Dashvara caught Asmoan of Gravia’s very amused smile as they walked out. Outside, a cold wind blew away his fatigue and brightened him up at once.

“Well, my friends,” the Agoskurian said. “From here, I go straight to the Great Library to sleep between my books. It has been a pleasure—no, even a joy—to spend this evening with you. Let’s meet tomorrow, Atasiag.”

As his friend answered, Dashvara looked around. It was already very late, and almost all the taverns in the square were closed. Most of the spectators were already leaving, scattering through the streets in a cold, dense mist. The light of the Hospital could barely be seen.

As the tall figure of Asmoan walked away towards the Great Library, Atasiag and Sheroda made their way back.

“Ha. Have you seen old Naskag Nelkantas, my dear?” the federate said in a light tone. “He’s aged: perhaps you didn’t recognize him. He was sitting a few boxes away. He tried to greet me. That treacherous dog.” He laughed softly. “He must be desperate in his exile. Everyone knows he hates Republicans. Well, if he thinks I’m going to do him any favors, he can cool his heels.”

Dashvara remembered that the Legitimate Nelkantas had been exiled for helping the Unitarians rise up. As Atasiag continued to speak, he stopped listening: he wasn’t interested in his intrigues one bit.

They were reaching the Temple of the Eye when, without warning, Yira stopped and staggered. Stunned, Dashvara reached out a hand… and barely recovered her as she was about to slump. Terror swept over him like a petrifying wave.

“Yira? Yira!”