“Now that takes all eight on the windlass, bringing it down slow and safe–and putting it up at the start of the play, too.”

Eslingen nodded, tracing the pattern of ropes and levers that was quickly lost in the shadows.

“How long does it take to switch machines?” Siredy asked, and Eslingen blinked, realizing what he was seeing. The windlass could drive either machine; it was the way the ropes were attached that decided where the power went.

“Less than ten minutes,” Basa answered, and Eslingen could hear the pride in his voice–justifiable pride, too, if Siredy’s expression was any indication. “Now, up here is the other engine.”

He led the way past a cat’s cradle of ropes, sliding down through slits in the stage overhead to wind around an array of cleats and pins. Everything was as neatly coiled as on a sailing ship, and Eslingen wondered if all the scenerymen had been sailors.

“That’s for the midstage,” Basa said, over his shoulder, and Siredy spoke at Eslingen’s ear.

“That’s where most effects are staged.”

Eslingen jumped in spite of himself, glanced up again to see the pattern of light obscured as someone passed along the line of ropes. He’d been standing there himself, he realized, when he’d first tripped over the cable.

“This is where the waves are done,” Basa said. The light from the lantern strengthened and focused again as he adjusted the shutters, and Eslingen found himself looking at a second, smaller windlass, with a second set of gears and thick leather bands to transfer the motion to another web of ropes. There seemed to be even more of them than he’d seen before, stretching to dozens of oddly shaped pieces of wood that hung from between the beams–the waves, Eslingen realized suddenly, strips of wood carved and painted to look like breaking waves, and the other strips were the white‑painted boards of the breaking ice.

“We pull the stage floor up,” Basa said. “You can see the channels, above there. The ice goes up for most of the play, and then, when the ice breaks, they turn down and the waves come up. Some of them are on rockers, and some of them are on spinners, and– well, it’s a hell of an effect.”

“Indeed it is,” Aubine said. Eslingen nodded, but couldn’t help looking up at the stage. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the faint lines of light where the boards could be slipped aside, and he wondered just how strong the supports were. Basa laughed as if he’d read the thought.

“Oh, don’t worry, Lieutenant, they’ll hold you. You and your regiment, come to that, unless and until someone releases them.”

It was, he supposed, reassuring. Siredy’s suppressed grin didn’t help, either. “The big waves at the end,” he said aloud. “They’re not here.”

“They’re in the wings, just back of the trap.” Basa grinned. “Now if you want something to worry about, Lieutenant, that would be it. They’re counterweighted, with a rope release–so don’t go pulling anything you don’t recognize.”

“I don’t intend to,” Eslingen said, more sharply than he’d meant, and Aubine frowned.

“I hope someone has made that announcement to the chorus.”

“Tyrseis,” Siredy said, not quite under his breath.

“We’d better see that someone does,” Eslingen said, and the other master nodded.

“That would be all we need, to drop those on a handful of landames–begging your pardon, my lord.”

“I take your point,” Aubine agreed. “Master Basa, I thank you for this tour of your domain. I won’t think of any play quite the same way again.”

Basa ducked his head, looking at once embarrassed and pleased. “If you’ll come with me, my lord, I’ll show you another way back.”

They came out from under the stage on the opposite side of the stagehouse, behind the wings where the noble chorus had stood. Most of them had moved on, were still clustering around the almost emptied tables, and Siredy touched Eslingen’s shoulder.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have a quick word with Mathiee.”

Eslingen nodded, the image that Basa had raised all too clear in his mind, and Aubine smiled understandingly at him.

“A wise precaution, I think. Tell me, Lieutenant, what’s your family?”

From one noble to another, it was an innocuous question, but from a noble to a commoner with pretensions, it was definitely to be avoided. “No one you’d know, I think, my lord. We’re from Esling.” Eslingen smiled, letting his eyes sweep beyond the older man. “And if you’ll forgive me, I think Siredy needs me.”

He made his bow without waiting for an answer and swept away into the crowd, not pausing until he’d put a knot of half a dozen landames between himself and Aubine, then looked around for Siredy. The other master waved to him, and Eslingen moved quickly to join him, newly aware of the boards beneath his feet.

“Mathiee says they’ve been warned, and she’ll warn them again when the rehearsals start. We don’t need that kind of accident.”

“Gods, no,” Eslingen agreed. There was enough that could go wrong without inviting that trouble.

It was well past midnight by the time Eslingen, weary and yet still keenly awake, returned to Rathe’s lodgings, but Rathe was up, sitting at the table, his hands fisted in his hair, staring at some papers and his tablets. He looked up sharply as the latch lifted, but relaxed and smiled when Eslingen entered, quickly shutting the door behind him against the cold.

“You’re working late,” Eslingen observed, holding his hands out over the stove, banked for the night, but still radiating a welcome heat. There were the remains of what looked to have been a home‑cooked dinner pushed to one side, and Eslingen restrained a sigh of regret. The evening had been far more fraught than he had expected it to be, and meeting Aconin had been a nasty surprise–or not a surprise, he corrected himself; he knew he would have to encounter him sometime, but balancing Aconin’s malice and Aubine’s curiosity had been exhausting.

“Yeah, well, the masque makes work for all of us,” Rathe said, but pushed his tablets and some papers aside. “There’s wine, and yes, I would welcome a cup right now. How did it go at the theatre?”

Eslingen groaned as he sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. “Fascinating, as you can imagine,” he drawled, drawing a quick grin from Rathe. “We were introduced to every blessed member of the chorus, I swear, by name and quarterings…”

“Seriously?” Rathe asked quickly, and Eslingen stopped in the act of setting the boots neatly by the foot of the bed, looked at him, curious.

“Well, no, it wasn’t that bad, but from what Siredy tells me, your friend Leussi would never have done it that way, Seidos’s Horse, it must have taken close to an hour.”

“And hungry actors waiting to get to the food,” Rathe interjected.

“I was impressed by their ladyships’ ability to secure as much food as possible without seeming to do so.”

“You never went hungry?”

“I may be an officer and a gentleman, Nico, but I started in the ranks, and I can assure you, no landame or castellan can match me for seizing the main chance. I had half a pie, thank you, and what I imagine was some decent wine.”

He brought the wine jug and two cups to the table, set them down before pulling out the chair opposite Rathe. “And some very interesting gossip,” he added, and Rathe groaned.

“As if I don’t get enough of that from Gavi, now you’re going to be regaling me.”

“Well, I thought it was interesting,” Eslingen said mildly. “Seems our patron once contracted a mesalliance that was rather brutally put an end to by his grandmother, who sounds like something to frighten the children with. And the points wrote it off as a tavern brawl?”

Rathe bit back his annoyance, had to appreciate the way Eslingen delicately cast doubt on the story, but it rang faint bells in his mind. “When was this?” he asked, and Eslingen shrugged.