5th of Fructidor, 1535

Whitegarden, Northern Morrigan

Dozens of people poured into the Grand Terrace Theater. It was the opening night of King Alistair by playwright and director Lionel Wulf. A mural was painted along the right entryway depicting one of the backdrops made for the performance. The crowd was abuzz with excitement about seeing one of the oldest human folktales be brought to life. If only the backstage environment could’ve shared that excitement.

With less than twenty minutes to go until showtime, Lionel Wulf and his assistant stage manager, Doris, were close to losing their minds. They were closely followed by the costume designer. All three of them barged into the women’s changing room. The ladies were in various stages of undress. A small grouping of actresses was huddled right next to the washroom.

“Josephine!? Has anyone seen our leading lady?” Lionel asked.

One of the actresses spoke up, “Josie’s been in there for a while. It doesn’t sound good.”

The playwright held his head in his hands. Doris knocked on the door, “Josephine. Showtime is in less than twenty minutes, can you make the performance?”

“Yes! I can! I swear I can—” Her response was cut off by a series of unflattering noises.

“Lord Aurelian not tonight,” the assistant manager muttered to herself.

“It cannot be helped,” Lionel remarked. “Who is next in line for the role?” He snapped his fingers trying to recall the names of all the female understudies.

“There’s Olga, Pauline, and Elizabeth,” Doris answered.

“No! I don’t want to miss opening night!” Josephine yelled.

“You will have every other night!” Lionel snapped. “I will not have my leading actress galavanting across the stage with a white and brown dress.”

His outburst was punctuated by the sound of Josephine’s muffled sobbing. Lionel wiped his brow as Doris and the costume designer measured the dress against Olga and Pauline, who were already in the room.

The costume designer sighed, “They’re both too short and will step on the dress, or trip. I can hem the dress, but I won’t be able to do any of the other alterations that I needed to do while Josephine was wearing the dress.”

“If that’s the case, then where the hell is Elizabeth?” The assistant manager asked aloud to everyone that could hear her.

The door to the women’s changing room opened. In walked a woman in a faded blue dress. Her normally long and wavy brown hair was tied in a bun. A cigarette was pressed between her cherry red lips. She froze in her tracks as everyone stared at her.

“Are we not allowed to smoke in the dressing rooms anymore?”

Lionel, Doris, and the costume designer ran straight up to Elizabeth. Doris began to speak, “Josephine is, unfortunately, unable to perform tonight—”

Lionel interrupted, “—How well do you know your lines, the opening song, stage choreography?”

Elizabeth quickly replied, “Uhm, I know them like I know my name.”

“Excellent!” Henrietta, how quickly can you get miss Elizabeth fitted into Josephine’s dress?” Doris said to the costume designer.

Henrietta held the dress up to Elizabeth, “It’ll be tight on the bosom, but we’ll be ready for showtime.” Henrietta took Elizabeth by the hand and they raced out of the women’s changing room and towards Henrietta’s work station.

*****

Chaos brewed as several stagehands quickly and painstakingly fixed the numerous problems with the prop dragon. It was supposedly designed after the dragon tyrant, Gthraxis. A series of pulleys were used to control the dragon's movements; several of these pulleys reached up to the catwalks above. Victor, the prop designer had jerry-rigged a way for the dragon to breathe flames. It was a marvel of engineering—and a pain in the ass to maintain. For the better part of three days, the pulleys were constantly jamming or at their worst breaking entirely.

Tensions between Victor and the stagehands had been brewing over the past week with calls to scale back the dragon prop. With the prop designer slowly making his readiness walkthrough, Linus, one of the many stagehands, grew impatient. He was more frustrated with his meager role in the production as a whole. He’d bottled up most of his frustration for weeks, but some of it slipped out as he slammed his foot into one of the pulleys on the floor. Not only did he injure himself, but he accidentally released the rope. Two people dove for the rope and caught it—getting rope burns in the process. These two stagehands managed to stop the dragon’s head from swinging towards the curtain and prematurely exposing itself.

“Lucas!”

“It-it’s Li—” Linus began to speak before getting cut off.

“Are you crazy? What do you think you’re doing?” It was a rhetorical question. The prop designer didn’t care about Linus’s response.

“I-I swear! It’ll never happen again!”

“You’re right, it never will. Get out of here. I don’t need this carelessness on the set.”

“Carelessness!” Linus thought, “That’s rich coming from a drunkard who’d put the miserable street urchins to shame. His first pacifier was certainly a wine cork given his disposition and consistent smell. What a pathetic person, how dare you speak to me this way.”

Linus responded, “Y-yes sir.” He sulkily walked away.

“Bemerog shit, that’s how lowly some of you are,” Linus thought as he passed by several of the actors and actresses doing last-minute rehearsals of stage choreography. He tried out for every single male role. He memorized lines. He spent what little money he had left on swordplay, singing, and dancing lessons. His hard work. His money. All for naught. Not even a courtesy understudy position.

Linus passed behind the leading man of the show, Benedict. He played the coveted role of King Alistair. His name was on the marquee and it sickened Linus. “My name was meant to be up there. I’m the most talented star in the room, but Lionel can’t—or won’t—see it.”

Benedict caught Linus’s lingering gaze.

“Careful the limelight doesn’t blind you, Lucas,” Benedict remarked in his signature baritone voice.

“It’s Linus! Li-nus! I'm the brightest star here. When Lionel realizes his grave mistake, he’ll put me in your role and you’ll be left collecting tickets during the rainy season.”

“I-I didn’t mean to interrupt your rehearsing Benedict.”

“See that it doesn’t happen again, Lucas.”

Linus balled up his fists and stormed away. “I’ll brand my name on your tongue so you’ll never forget how my name is said.”

As Linus left the stage and down the hallways towards the dressing rooms, one of his longtime friends, Elizabeth, flew past him while being led by Henrietta the costume designer.

“Be-Betsy? What’s the rush?”

“They’re putting me in the show!” She yelled back before disappearing backstage.

For the first time today, a smile crept on his face. “That’s good. That’s great,” he thought, “All according to plan.”

Spiking Josephine’s drink proved to be the easiest part of his whole day so far. Linus sighed. Now what? He wasn’t wanted backstage anymore. He could probably nonchalantly sneak into one of the balcony seats and watch the show, at least Betsy would elevate the show, somewhat at the very least. As he quietly strode down the hallway, he saw Lionel speaking with several other managers and ushers. The word “money” tipped him off. Linus ducked into a small indention in the wall and pretended to light a cigarette as the troop of businessmen approached.

“—Record business—” one manager remarked.

“—We haven’t sold out the theater in at least ten years. This is amazing Mr. Wulf—”

“—We might be able to sell out shows for the rest of the week if this excitement holds—”

Linus grinned. “Record business, ay?” He thought for a moment before being struck with a flash of brilliance, “I’m afraid by the end of the night, you’ll all be reporting record losses.” He headed backstage and avoided the eyesight of Victor the prop manager. If he wanted his plan to be successful, he’d have to avoid that simpleton’s wandering eye. He swiftly made his way to a storage closet that housed all the other outfits and props for different performances. He grabbed only the essentials: A black suit, black trousers, a dark-colored tie, a top hat, and a pair of round sunglasses. Though dressed for success, his right hand felt empty.

He snuck from the storage closet to another room that housed all the gas tanks and piping that went to the system that heated the calcium lights. Wedged into the corner, hidden in a mass of pipes was a cane of twisted iron; the top of the cane had a small crystal that began to glow softly as Linus glided his hand across it. On the floor was his revolver. He opened the chamber—three shots left.

“It’s time for Lumen to make his encore.”

The crystal on his staff flashed briefly and Lumen’s shadow became visible on the wall. It darkened until it was pitch black. Spots for eyes and a mouth opened.

“Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget,” the shadow spoke.

Just before Lumen was ready to leave, he heard speaking from the next room.

“—that’s the first dress. Now let’s see about the other one—”

Henrietta’s work area was on the other end. Lumen found a small opening in the wall where he could peek through. Henrietta unlaced the back of Betsy’s dress. His eyes hugged her body as the cloth slid down. Lumen wanted nothing more than to grab her and pull her close.

“Oh, Betsy. My leading lady,” Lumen thought, “Oh the ways you’ll thank me after tonight. It’s the least you can do for making your dreams come true.”

It was hard for him to turn away, but he had business to attend to. He’d have her soon enough. He placed the revolver into his jacket’s interior pocket. He snuck out from the backstage area. As he entered the hallway that led to the general manager’s office, he noticed a group of people heading in the opposite direction. Thinking quickly he pressed himself against the wall and channeled energy into his cane. He focused his thoughts on the sconces that lined the hallway. Instead of generating light, all the ambient light in the hallway dimmed until the flames were snuffed out.

“What?”

“What happened?”

“Is the water leak back again?”

“Hold on, I’ll try to find one of the light technicians. He’s probably fiddling with the calcium lights up in the catwalks.”

Though this group of people was blind and reaching out for anything, Lumen slipped by unimpeded. Though it continued to give him sharp pains across his hand, he snuffed out every candle he saw on his way to the manager’s office. Before barging in, he placed his ear up to the door. How many people was dealing with?

“It’s starting,” a voice from inside said.

Lionel’s voice could be heard, “A pain until the very last moment. I just need the reviews to be kind at this point.”

“Considering we paid that journalist in Ursulaburg a fortune, I’m sure the critical response will be high, and the theater is going to be packed for weeks to come.”

Even though he was far from the stage, the opening song from the performance was going strong. He knew how long it was—he also knew what happened after it ended. He wanted more than anything to be on that stage showing all those wealthy though generally thoughtless upper-crusts how entertainment is done. Lionel’s cutting words to him came back to echo in his mind, “Not good enough. Too meek. Never a headliner.” The words played over and over in his mind.

His cane flashed with a small light; his shadow appeared on the wall. “What do you wish to do? Rush in and blind them?”

Lumen’s arms trembled slightly, his anger was getting the better of him. He reached for his revolver.

“Excellent choice.” The shadow smiled and then slowly slithered onto the floor before then passing underneath the doorway. Moments later it returned and spoke to Lumen, “Back left standing, center sitting, right standing.”

Lumen took a deep breath. His foot had been tapping to the beat of the opening number. The moment came. Musicians appeared in the box seats of the auditorium, some with contrabass saxophones and some with contrabass viols. When they played in unison, it sounded like the lowly gravelly roar of a monster. An interpretation of what Gthraxis’s roar would’ve sounded like.

As the dragon’s roar sounded and the audience reacted, Lumen burst into the room and fired his remaining three bullets into the general manager’s office. The man standing at the window, one of the ticket sellers, fell to the ground clutching his chest. Lionel fell out of his chair grabbing at his throat. The general manager fell forward on his desk unmoving—the last shot went through his head.

Lumen shut and locked the door behind him. He loomed over Lionel as he struggled to breathe. The injured director looked over his assailant before noticing that it was one of his crew members.

“Lu-Lucas—”

Incensed, Lumen reared back and slammed his cane against the side of Lionel’s head. Blood pooled in the director’s throat and a large gash opened across his right orbital bone; pleading for the pain to stop he looked up at his assailant.

“All you had to do was give me Benedict’s role, but no, you said I wasn’t good enough.” Lumen readied his cane, “You could’ve avoided this entirely, but no, you just weren’t smart enough.”

One more hit with his cane ended Lionel. Lumen shook as he stared down at the director’s limp body. Lumen’s bitterness left his body completely leaving a strange hollowness inside. A shifting cold feeling squirmed through his body. His mouth suddenly felt dry. He leaned against the desk, the central fixture of the room, and took a few moments to catch his breath. Something hot enveloped Lumen’s hand, he jumped back and readied his cane. It was only the general manager’s blood—most of the desk’s topside was covered in it.

“Focus.” His shadow elongated across the floor, “We have business to attend to, remember?”

“Ye-yeah, right.” Lumen took a deep breath. He looked over at the safe. It was nowhere near as reinforced as the bank’s vault was, but it still had a commendable lock on it. If he didn’t come into the room guns blazing, he might have threatened one of them to open the safe. “Dammit,” he thought. Plan B it is.

Lumen focused intensely on the shadow while holding his hand around the crystal atop his cane. The shadow darkened until it became pitch black. The hands rose off the floor and stretched towards the safe in the corner; their fingers traveled through the cracks of the safe and interlocked behind the door. As the shadow struggled, Lumen felt a wave of exhaustion overcome his head. He wished he’d had more practice with his blessing. Despite the pain, he could hear the bending of the metal hinges. Moments later the safe door flew open. Lumen ran over, dropped down, and stuffed his pockets with talon banknotes and whatever papers he could find.

The back door to the office opened. Lumen’s body froze up.

“Mr. Wulf, I told you springing for the extra musicians would—” Victor quickly noticed the three dead bodies strewn about. He slowly looked over to Lumen. They locked eyes.

“Lu-Lumen! How did…no! You?!”

“Surprise.” Thinking quickly Lumen pointed with his cane and generated a brief flash of light

The prop designer strumbled back out of the room. He tried running away but he kept bumping into the various storage containers that lined the back hallway. Lumen strode out, reared back, and slammed his cane against the flat of the prop designer’s back. He stumbled but didn’t fall to the ground.

Lumen readied for another strike, but he didn’t seem to remember that Victor was wearing a tool belt. Victor spun around and smacked his wrench, flat-side, against Lumen’s temple. His sunglasses shot off and shattered against the floor. Calculated strikes were out the window at this point as the two disoriented men swung wildly and brutally at one another. After Victor swatted Lumen’s thigh with his wrench, he stumbled his way up the nearby staircase that led to the catwalks above the stage. After a moment to regain his balance, Lumen raced after him.

The prop director stumbled across the catwalks. On the opposite end were two younger light technicians, he called for their help. They rushed over to him but were blinded by a burst of light. Victor looked back to see Lumen running up to him; he tried to flee, but the top of Lumen’s cane struck the back of his head. He fell against the side of the railing of the catwalk. Lumen smacked him again and then again. The last hit made him slump over the side, but he caught the railing with one hand.

“Kid! Kid! Please, don’t do this! I got kids to feed! If this is about what happened earlier then I’m sorry, alright, I’m sorry.”

His shadow began to coil around his right ear until it was enveloped. “He’s seen your face. He knows you are Lumen.”

Lumen sighed, “You’re right, you are sorry.” Lumen lifted his leg and kicked the prop director’s hand. He screamed as he fell—silenced when he landed head first onto the dragon prop. The impact and additional weight caused the pulley holding Gthraxis’s head in place to break. It was moving freely. The impact also broke the mechanism that shut off the oxygen and hydrogen pipes, so now the prop was constantly spewing flames. The stagehands tried to wrangle it as best they could, but the prop lit the curtains on fire. It quickly spread onto the stage and into the auditorium.

Lumen stood over everything watching as people screamed and rushed for the exits. They all scattered like little insects. He easily lost track of everyone during the panic. He couldn’t tell if Betsy had gotten out safely or not. The flames were crawling up to the catwalk now—Lumen put his cane mouth and scrambled up the nearby ladder to get up to the roof. While the blaze was not yet visible, all the smoke was. It had gathered a crowd—mostly of the wealthy socialites that had escaped the building—but others from the neighboring apartments came out to gawk. At this rate, the police and fire department would be on their way in no time.

“Up there!” Someone from below spotted Lumen.

Several concerned people yelled, “Don’t jump!”

“That’s that bank robber!”

“That’s that Lumen guy!” Lumen covered his face. His silhouette was unmistakable given the article written about his last outing. He wished he’d taken a face cover or a bandana when he had the chance.

The emotions of the crowd surprised the dapper gentleman; they jeered at him. Something within Lumen stirred. An ear-to-ear grin contorted across his face. The more the crowd reacted to him, the more this empty feeling within him started to warm.

His fun was spoiled by the sharp whistles of the police officers, some of whom had a bone to pick with him. Lumen raised his cane in the air and blinded the crowd with a massive flash of light. Of out of everyone in the crowd, only four were unaffected—the four officers Lumen encountered at the bank. Lumen couldn’t help but laugh as they opened fire on him. He leaped over to the next building and ran off into the night.