the other the smile of Thalia. Kaspian found the smooth white porcelain of their masks eerie. He shuddered as he passed, just as if one of them had breathed a cold, deathlike breath onto the back of his neck.
Once on the ‘other side’, it was difficult to orientate yourself. Everything about the room told you it was a theatre, but it was unlike any theatre Kaspian had ever visited. Low-lit lamps caused the scarlet interior to throb with light and the gold gilding to shimmer with distorted stars. He scanned the perimeter of the room, taking in the spectacle he’d entered. The best he could deduce was that the room was hexagonal and each of the seven remaining walls appeared to have its own curtain-concealed window, or maybe a stage.
In the centre of the chamber, three rows of theatre chairs were arranged in an arc. Most of the twenty or so seats were already filled but two on the front row had been reserved for Hugh and his companion. The unexpected sound of metal beneath his feet caused Kaspian to look at the floor and note that the chairs were attached to a large circular plate, as if it might revolve and send the spectators on a merry-go-round journey. An idea that took more substance when he saw that a large lever was set into the plate. The pull-handle was nestled in between two chairs in the front row.
Goosebumps broke out over Kaspian’s skin. He looked around with the same wonderment a child shows in a toyshop, and as his eyes fell on the ceiling, he could conceal it no longer,
“It’s totally sublime,” he whispered to no one in particular.
Hugh followed Kaspian’s gaze towards the ceiling. “It’s delicious isn’t it?”
The whole ceiling was painted with the image of one single rose bloom, as scarlet as the walls. It was an endless whorl of petals, of dark inviting crevices and smooth flat petals. The artist had painted drops of dew so lifelike that Kaspian imagined them getting heavy with gravity and falling onto the audience below. Kaspian blushed at the thoughts that the image brought to his mind, and he felt as if he were being initiated into some great secret of manhood.
A dispute at the door pulled his attention away from the ceiling. A gentleman, clearly worse for drink, was demanding entrance to the theatre but it was already full. Within seconds, the manageress arrived, ordering the curtains to be pulled and the door to be closed. Even though the glimpse of her had been br ief, Kaspian recognised her immediately. With her black dress, auburn ringlets, and monocle hanging from her neck , there could be no doubt. His heart pounded and a hundred questions hit him all at once.
Who is she? What was she doing here? Why is she haunting me?
Hugh sat low in his chair, with one leg slouched o ut into the aisle. With a smile he lit a cigarette and offered it over. Kaspian declined it with a shake of the head and a small wave of the hand. He could hardly breathe already.
“Enjoy the show, my friend! ” Hugh whispered as the curtain pulled back to reveal a glass-fronted chamber .
Inside, a white swirling mist obscured the contents . Where it hit the glass, ice crystals laced to form the letters of a name – ALICIA. Almost as quick as it formed, it faded. The eddies of fog cleared to reveal a mountain scene. Not the usual theatre flats, but a set that looked as if it were made from real rock and snow. In the foreground, a tree framed the scene. Stripped of its leaves and laced with frost, its branches hung with long delicate, but deadly, icicles. Kaspian guessed they must be made of glass – but they looked so real he could almost see the blue-coldness radiate off of them and several of the larger ones appeared to drip melt-water.
If all of this was not spectacular enough, centre stage laid a woman on a grey, velvet chaise longue. She was dressed in wisps of fabric that looked as unsubstantial as cobwebs held together by frost, and h er hair was so blonde as to be almost white. P earls and
Once on the ‘other side’, it was difficult to orientate yourself. Everything about the room told you it was a theatre, but it was unlike any theatre Kaspian had ever visited. Low-lit lamps caused the scarlet interior to throb with light and the gold gilding to shimmer with distorted stars. He scanned the perimeter of the room, taking in the spectacle he’d entered. The best he could deduce was that the room was hexagonal and each of the seven remaining walls appeared to have its own curtain-concealed window, or maybe a stage.
In the centre of the chamber, three rows of theatre chairs were arranged in an arc. Most of the twenty or so seats were already filled but two on the front row had been reserved for Hugh and his companion. The unexpected sound of metal beneath his feet caused Kaspian to look at the floor and note that the chairs were attached to a large circular plate, as if it might revolve and send the spectators on a merry-go-round journey. An idea that took more substance when he saw that a large lever was set into the plate. The pull-handle was nestled in between two chairs in the front row.
Goosebumps broke out over Kaspian’s skin. He looked around with the same wonderment a child shows in a toyshop, and as his eyes fell on the ceiling, he could conceal it no longer,
“It’s totally sublime,” he whispered to no one in particular.
Hugh followed Kaspian’s gaze towards the ceiling. “It’s delicious isn’t it?”
The whole ceiling was painted with the image of one single rose bloom, as scarlet as the walls. It was an endless whorl of petals, of dark inviting crevices and smooth flat petals. The artist had painted drops of dew so lifelike that Kaspian imagined them getting heavy with gravity and falling onto the audience below. Kaspian blushed at the thoughts that the image brought to his mind, and he felt as if he were being initiated into some great secret of manhood.
A dispute at the door pulled his attention away from the ceiling. A gentleman, clearly worse for drink, was demanding entrance to the theatre but it was already full. Within seconds, the manageress arrived, ordering the curtains to be pulled and the door to be closed. Even though the glimpse of her had been br ief, Kaspian recognised her immediately. With her black dress, auburn ringlets, and monocle hanging from her neck , there could be no doubt. His heart pounded and a hundred questions hit him all at once.
Who is she? What was she doing here? Why is she haunting me?
Hugh sat low in his chair, with one leg slouched o ut into the aisle. With a smile he lit a cigarette and offered it over. Kaspian declined it with a shake of the head and a small wave of the hand. He could hardly breathe already.
“Enjoy the show, my friend! ” Hugh whispered as the curtain pulled back to reveal a glass-fronted chamber .
Inside, a white swirling mist obscured the contents . Where it hit the glass, ice crystals laced to form the letters of a name – ALICIA. Almost as quick as it formed, it faded. The eddies of fog cleared to reveal a mountain scene. Not the usual theatre flats, but a set that looked as if it were made from real rock and snow. In the foreground, a tree framed the scene. Stripped of its leaves and laced with frost, its branches hung with long delicate, but deadly, icicles. Kaspian guessed they must be made of glass – but they looked so real he could almost see the blue-coldness radiate off of them and several of the larger ones appeared to drip melt-water.
If all of this was not spectacular enough, centre stage laid a woman on a grey, velvet chaise longue. She was dressed in wisps of fabric that looked as unsubstantial as cobwebs held together by frost, and h er hair was so blonde as to be almost white. P earls and
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