Chương 48: Chapter 43 ~ The Thoranyn Theater and Conservatory

15/11/1111 EotTS 20: 42 Wyohla and Gysel headed southward along the curving stone sidewalk until they came to Her'Khehbwu, at which point the two crossed and stepped between the wrought-iron pylons into a foot-traffic-only district. The fog was thinning as the night went on; now it lingered just above the roof-tops of the buildings of grey stone and red brick that lined the paved street, floating around the empty clothing wires, and grasping at shadows around the windows.

The moons were out, but none were full, and only their silhouettes could be seen in the sky.

"I really hate walking on this street," said Wyohla.

"Why?" Gysel looked around at the darkened storefronts.

"Well, I always feel like that road is just going to fall out from under me."

"Why would it do that?"

asked Gysel; one year, perhaps a decade and a half ago, after heavy rains throughout the twilight of Waedhinyn's reign, and the dawn of Hahmehlyn's, a dam a few kilometers upriver of Wihrakolm broke, and the water came rushing, flooding down the north river, breaching dykes and uprooting trees along its twisting path, and by the time the flood had arrived at the section of the river, marking the northern border of Wihrakolm (of the district, not just the town proper), it carried boats, shattered docks, and unlucky, bloated livestock within its murky waters, which travelled at such speeds that it toppled a nearly four-hundred-year-old bridge, and killed five boys, who had decided it was a lovely day for fishing: perhaps, wherever in the North, or South, or someplace betwixt, Wyohla had encountered something similar—but there are no rivers in Thoranyn-City-Proper, just high, high cliffs, high above cragged rocks below, which seems like a far worse, and gorier fate than drowning—.

"Right below us is the tunnel that leads down to the wharf. The one across the bridge over Mihlae's Strait." She pointed with a gloved hand to an alley, where a small, outhouse-like hut, stood shrouded, locked within chains.

"Those are all about the city, and they contain ladders that lead down to different points in the tunnel, just in case it ever caves in, and people need to be evacuated."

"How do you know that?"

"Ardhy told me."

"How does he know?"

"Well, good question..." Wyohla knuckled her forehead.

"I'm not actually sure. I never thought to ask."

"Maybe he is claustrophobic." Wyohla shook her head.

"No. He certainly isn't. I just chalked it up to men liking their trivia, or perhaps, he just likes to be prepared in case something happens. Anyways, that's where we are going." She pointed to the foggy facade of a building in the distance, about five-hundred meters away. Weaving between more pylons, Wyohla led the way across a wider street, sparsely populated by slow-moving, distant carriages, whose faint clicking of iron-bound wheels and clopping of hooves echoed against the buildings, and into the night.

"We can cut through the park." Stepping up from the street and onto the flagstone path, Wyohla picked up her pace, and Gysel hurried behind her, fallen leaves crunching beneath their boots. The susurrus of the night winds through the leaves of the oak and maple trees grew louder the deeper the two got into the park, and slowly, the Theater emerged from the fog. The Thoranyn Theater and Conservatory was a grand, towering building, built upon the grounds of the tree-covered park with duck-filled ponds.

It was comprised of three main sections: a three-story entrance hall with a large set of brown oak doors in the shade of a balcony and floor to ceiling windows upon the facade; a four-story cylindrical building (likely the seating area) with a wing of matching height on both the left and right side; a tall rectangular building sat at the back, as wide as the middle building without the wings, and seven-stories tall, with a semi-circle window as wide as the entrance hall sat perfectly centered in its facade, glowing in the night; and of all these sections, the walls of the first story were all of a beige sandstone, and the rest were made of a mix of red bricks and oaken supports placed in a 'X' pattern.

The shadows of Wyohla and Gysel were thrown in every direction by the iron lamps as they crossed from the park's flagstone path onto the paved brick of the Theater grounds, and ascended the sandstone steps, crossing past the propped doors and men in gaudy red, white, and black suits, into the lobby.

Wyohla hurriedly made her way over to the service desk in long strides; Gysel followed behind, slowly, in short, stuttered steps, as all the possible width had been sent to her mouth, which hung agape, as she stared at the chandeliers of glistening gold and pathways of red carpets.

"Too expensive... I'll show you too expensive," Wyohla muttered as she walked along the carpets; she likely thought that from the din of the crowded foyer that her alchemist could not hear her words: this happened to be a false idea, but there was no harm as the seats would be free, so the spending would likely come from Wyohla's wine habits. Despite the grandeur of the foyer, it was shockingly small; there was only a coat-check on the right, and a gold-barred ticket counter on the left.

The carpets forked: the center leading under an arch and into a hallway which went both left and right; the other prongs of the fork led up to, then ascended a softly spiraling staircases working their way up past the ceiling. Shutting her jaw with a hand, Gysel walked over to Wyohla, joining her in line; there were only two people ahead, an elderly couple, both very well dressed, and the woman was wearing a bear fur coat.

They were done at the counter shortly, and walked off to the left, up the steps, the woman's coat swishing and dragging as she went.

"Next," said the clerk. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Turning back, Gysel followed Wyohla to the counter. Wyohla leaned on the counter, nearly resting her nose against the golden bars.

"I would like two tickets for 'Tsininokha.' Do you have any box seats left?"

"You said we were going to sit in the free seating," said Gysel.

"I do not want you paying for those seats. This is not what you said." The clerk looked around Wyohla and to her protesting companion.

"I'm afraid that I cannot let either of you into the floor seating. Specifically you," he paused, and pointed to Wyohla, "We have had too many occurrences of someone sitting there in a fine gown, and have it get damaged, then request a settlement from both the theater and whoever was seated next to them. I am afraid you will be forced to have the better seats. Now the box, private or semi-private."

"Private. The one with the best view as well." The clerk began to flip through a book hidden behind the counter, and following the tip-tip-tap of the end of a pen on paper, he answered: "We have one on the far right side, first floor. How does that sound? The seats are—""That will be fine," Wyohla said, waving her hand as she interrupted the clerk.

"I would like a box attendant as well, exclusive to my box." The clerk nodded, and his pen scratched along on the paper.

"Can you send someone to the Metlakolm Wine Garden, and get me two bottles of their red wine, 'Artisan's Vintage: Sweet Eleven and One' specifically, as well?"

"I'm not sure that we will be able to have those in time for the start of the first act. We have a cellar you can look at if you would like. I'm sure it will be cheaper as well."

"No, just send someone. I will cover whatever the fees are. Just try to have them at my box at a reasonable time." With a pinched face, the clerk tapped the pen.

"Sure... Is there anything else you want us to get you?"

"No."

"Let me just check the price on the wine." Drawers opened one by one until the clerk found the menu he was searching for, then all the drawers closed with a bang. He flipped through the pages and confirmed the year and bottle, then put the menu away.

"Then, for the seats it will be—""Just tell me the total."

"Seven and a half full kings, including the fee to send someone to get the wine."

"Thank you." Wyohla produced the coins, and handed them to the clerk; they jingled in his white-gloved hand as he inspected the edges.

"May I have your name?"

"If you think any of the edges are clipped, I can show you ten that aren't."

"No, no. Just for the box."

"Wyohla Syrlwaer." The clerk raised an eyebrow and set the coins down.

"Syrlwaer? with an 'S' or a 'Ts'?"

"With an 'S'." He wrote down Wyohla's name.

"Your box is up the stairs on the right, and at the end of the hall. Enjoy the play."

"Thank you." Wyohla motioned over her shoulder and started for the stairs.

"Come on, Gysel." Gysel looked to the clerk.

"How much were the seats?"

"Not as much as you might seem to think."

"That is not a quantity."

"By the Gods, Gysel," said Wyohla, "if it is that much of an issue, just pay me back, or stop looking a gift horse in the mouth."

"I..." Gysel sighed—Wyohla has certainly done this intentionally, chosen that gown intentionally, just so she would be forced to spend the money on the box seats, even if they did not cost more than the wine, it did not matter, for she will be the only one drinking the wine—.

"Please go to your box and discuss this there," said the clerk, "you are holding up the line." Leaving the counter, Gysel followed Wyohla up the stairs and down the carpeted hall with its papered walls depicting what were likely the most iconic scenes in the performing arts, until the two arrived at a sign hanging from the ceiling reading: 'Box 1-1'.

Curtains of a heavy red velvet with looping tassels of gold wrapping the hems, separated the box from the hallway, but Wyohla pushed them apart, ushered Gysel inside, then followed herself, letting the curtains fall back into place with a rustle.

It looked like the palace of a king, the Theater, with everything that could be gilded, gilded in a gold-leaf, that glittered in the light of the single, grand, crystal chandelier that hung from the frescoed ceiling upon chains of brass, like an orange sun beneath the painted summer sky.

All along the walls, reaching up all four stories, were viewing boxes, just like the one Wyohla had purchased, but along the visible north side, most contained anywhere from four to six people, with only two having three occupants, and none having fewer.

The two balconies, far to the right, were already beginning to fill with people, as were the rows, upon rows, of seats on the floor; and the noise of the people below, in their more casual, modestly silhouetted attire, drifted upwards, providing an excellent argument against the emphasis placed upon proper acoustics in theaters.

Box 1-1 only had two chairs (but there was enough room for more, with even placements marked upon the red carpeted floor in brass rivets), and each was upholstered in a burgundy velvet that wrapped around the arms; and between the chairs, there sat a single table of bronze and walnut, and the feet of its four legs had been carved like that of a large cat, claws extended, anchoring it.

Sitting upon the table were two, small, hand-sized books, bound in a green-blue linen, with 'Tsininokha, Live at the Thoranyn Theater, Fifteenth of Mourna, 1111 EotTS' on the cover. Gysel sat, as did Wyohla; the chairs were very comfortable, but they suffered from a single flaw: there was far too much cushioning in the seat, and this caused the seated to sink, and sink, into the burgundy sea.

Luckily, the stage was still fully visible from the first story, but this would likely not be the case at higher floors; unluckily, if 'Tsininokha' was boring, the chair would allow for one to swiftly succumb to slumber. Turning to Wyohla, Gysel opened her mouth to speak, to continue to dig for the price of the box; but there was certainly no point in such an endeavor, as Wyohla certainly never had any inkling of an intention of ever sitting in the free seating, with the 'hylics'.

"What is this play about?" asked Gysel.

"You don't know Tsininokha?"

"No. Was it a drama from the Grand Northern Forest?"

"No, it is a play from the east, on the coast of the inland sea." Wyohla lifted one of the programs from the table and passed it to Gysel.

"You can just read the introduction in this if you want. It will do a better job than I." Gysel opened the book to the introduction; the pages were of a nice quality, certainly not the Rhikyn Brothers', and the book itself felt brand new.

"Do they not see that it is wasteful to have new books printed for each performance?"

"It's not wasteful; these are our books now. The people who get in for free get a simple program that has the cast, the introduction, and a whole lot of advertisements. But since I knew you liked books, I paid for good seats, so we get these to keep and take home."

"Oh. Thank you then."

"You're welcome," said Wyohla, "you should put a little more trust in me. I do have a reason for why I do things."

"All right," Gysel muttered, as she looked down at the book, down and away from the woman who believed that trust to be earned through gifts alone.

The introduction, like most, provided little value to the actual play of Tsininokha aside from the year it was written (that being 671 Era of the Two Scholars) and the possible inspiration (that being the author, Gwynox Wahlstski, third daughter leaving home to be a priestess); instead, it preferred to talk about the playwright's entire life, and his three wives, fourteen children with ten different women, and his already obvious habits of infidelity, before succumbing to syphilis at the age of fifty-two.

The lights in the seating area dimmed, starting from the balcony, then descending downwards until the only light remaining came from the halls behind the box, and from the directed stage lights doing swirls on the curtains. Gysel checked her watch: the play was starting twenty minutes late.