‘Of course,’ Florian replied. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Um… Very well, my lord. Break a leg.’

‘Yes, well let’s hope not.’

‘No, of course.’

From the side of the stage, Amelia and Philmon watched Fontagu make his entrance. He walked up to the boy playing Robar’s wife Sarad, who was in the middle of a long speech about how much she was missing her dead friend the hunter.

As Robar, Fontagu stood there, listening to his wife weep. Then, as she paused, he stepped towards her, taking her hand in his. ‘Why harken thee to the early morn and list to hear the voice of lovers?’ he recited, his voice bold and clear.

‘O Robar, deride me not this never-fine day, for my heart grows sullen-headed with worrisome affront,’ Sarad replied, pulling her hand from Fontagu’s and turning away to gaze offstage.

Fontagu stepped towards her again, speaking to her back. ‘Even with birdsong I heard our casement squeak, and coming hither I spied thee, your face with torment razed, while I had erstwhile slumbered within our wedding casket.’

‘But lo, who from afar approaches?’ Sarad said.

‘That’s my cue,’ Florian said, and clearing his throat, he stepped into the glow of the footlights.

Even from backstage, Amelia heard the crowd gasp as they recognised Florian. Then came the tittering. He’d come in on the wrong side of the stage, and Robar and Sarad were facing in the opposite direction.

Florian waited until they’d noticed and had turned to face him. He hesitated, then began his lines, but without much confidence. ‘Greetings. I am Calran, a wandering hawker, out to do great harm and no good. I have seen your fine animals and this, your lovely wife, and wish to take them all for myself, O lame and blind carpenter.’

‘You insult me with your devilish handsomeness and your working legs and eyes,’ Robar replied. Judging from the way he winced, Amelia could tell that Fontagu was hating these clumsy lines he’d been forced to say, but he pressed on regardless. ‘Lame and half blind I might be, good sir, but I will not stand idle by while you take all my fine animals and this wife to whom I’m married.’

‘Then shall I fight you for them, and her?’ Florian asked.

‘If you wish,’ Fontagu retorted, drawing his sword. ‘Have at you!’

The swordfight was in full swing when Amelia remembered. As she watched Fontagu and Florian move about the stage with clumsy stage-fighting, she glanced across at the royal box. Janus and Rendana had remained there, Janus sitting, the red-headed man standing, and as she looked at Rendana, what she’d seen through Fargus’ eyes returned. Could it be? No, of course not. She must have made a mistake.

‘You fight ever so well for a humble hawker,’ Fontagu was saying.

‘Thank you. And you are quite good for a blind, lame carpenter, but it would still take a stroke of very good fortune for you to defeat me.’

At that moment, Florian ‘tripped’ over a stool in the middle of the stage and fell onto his backside.

‘A stroke of good fortune like that?’ Fontagu said, standing over Florian and raising his sword, ready to run the hawker through. ‘Now you die!’

‘Stop!’ Amelia screamed, leaping forward onto the stage. ‘Fontagu, don’t!’

The crowd gasped at the interruption. So did the actors. Florian looked up with an expression of horror and fury, but Fontagu simply stared in surprise.

‘Amelia! What are you doing?’

‘Get off!’ Florian hissed. ‘He was about to kill me!’

‘Yes, he was,’ Amelia said, reaching up and taking the sword from Fontagu’s hand. ‘With this.’

‘It’s a stage sword, you silly girl,’ Fontagu said. Then he groaned. ‘Oh, now you’ve gone and ruined everything!’

‘A stage sword? Are you sure?’ With a sharp downward thrust, Amelia jammed the tip of the sword into the stage. It quivered there for a moment, its point buried deep in the boards.

‘What? I don’t…’ Fontagu fumbled. ‘It was meant to be a stage sword. It was always meant to be a stage sword, my lord, I swear it!’

His face pale, Florian had climbed to his feet. He shrugged the costume from his shoulders and stepped closer to the trembling Fontagu. ‘What treachery is this, Actor?’

Fontagu fell to his knees. ‘My lord, I wish I could explain, but… but I can’t. I truly believed that to be a stage sword, not… not a real one.’

‘Of all the people I might have expected to attempt an assassination, I would have hoped it to be someone a little more dignified than… than you. Get up, you disgusting wretch. You’ll be swinging from the nearest yardarm before the sun rises again.’

‘How about Janus – are you going to hang him as well?’ Amelia asked in a clear, strong voice.

There was absolute silence in the playhouse as Florian turned slowly towards Amelia. ‘I beg your pardon? You would dare to insult my dearest friend?’

‘Your dearest “friend” tried to have you killed. The only thing is, he was too cowardly to do it himself.’

‘That’s a very serious accusation,’ Florian said with a scowl. ‘What proof do you have?’

‘Ask him,’ Amelia said, nodding towards the royal box.

All attention turned to Janus, but he simply laughed. ‘What? The girl’s mad! She’s making up fairytales!’

‘If I’m making up stories, why will the guards find your servant carrying a stage sword instead of a real one? I’ll tell you why – because he substituted a real sword for the fake one. You wanted Florian dead, but you would rather have seen a Simesian actor commit the crime and pay the price.’

‘Dead? Why would Janus want me dead?’ Florian asked. ‘He’s my friend!’

‘He’s not your friend. He wants your throne. Why else would he have brought Kalip Rendana and his men aboard from Unja Ballis? Why else would he have arranged a part for you in this play, where you could be stabbed, in public, by someone who could then be executed? You’re the last in the line. It was the Archon, then you, then… no one. So who would have been the next ruler of Quentaris? Verris? Not when he hasn’t been seen for months. So it would have been him – Janus! Janus the Cowardly.’

‘This is preposterous,’ Janus said, laughing again. But this time there was a lot less conviction in the laugh. ‘It’s all completely fanciful nonsense!’

‘Let’s find out,’ said Florian. ‘Guards, seize them, and bring them down here. Bring both of them – Janus and the Unja.’

Half a dozen soldiers overpowered Janus and Rendana and brought them down to the stage. They were held firmly by the arms while Florian strutted along in front of them, enjoying his extended time on the stage. ‘Well then, let’s see this sword,’ he said.

One of the guards drew the sword from Rendana’s belt and handed it to Florian, who frowned at it, turned it over a couple of times, then spun to face Janus. ‘Traitor,’ he said, and with a sudden lunge he stabbed a surprised Janus through the heart.

The crowd gasped, and Janus looked as though he might faint, but when Florian withdrew the sword, there was no mark, no blood, no wound in Janus’ chest. ‘It’s a stage sword, just like the girl said,’ Florian announced, dropping the weapon on the boards. ‘Take them away!’

The audience broke into applause as Janus and Rendana were led to the side of the stage, down the wooden steps and into the crowd. They parted to let the prisoners through, and as they passed the applause changed to hissing and booing.

Meanwhile, Florian stood in the centre of the stage and raised his arms, waiting for silence. ‘There is no place in Quentaris for treachery such as this,’ he began. ‘And as you have seen, under Our rule justice is meted out swiftly and fairly. These traitors will pay with their lives.’

‘I do trust you’re going to judge yourself by those same standards, O great emperor,’ boomed a voice from the wings.

Everyone looked. Then a ripple of amazement went through the audience as Verris stepped forward, with Tab at his side. Verris, who most Quentarans believed to be dead.