Dark Labyrinth 1 Read Free

thatched roof. Raw beams cast odd shadows. Cuthert Burbage is loading gunpowder into one of three cannons, props, which he is preparing as a stage effect for the afternoon’s first performance of “All is True.”

    Enter Thomas Radclyffe , moving tentatively, looking nervous, a little shaken.

    Burbage kept his eye on the stream of black powder, pouring slowly so as to spill none of it. He heard the young actor approach. “One moment, Thomas . . .” he said aloud, and thought he saw Radclyffe jump, startled, from the corner of his eye. Burbage inspected his work and looked at the other two cannons for a moment, then turned to face Thomas Radclyffe.
    The young actor fumbled with his words for a moment, and found it easiest to say, “What are those for?”
    “They are cannons, Thomas! Stage effects! You know, in the first act, when you, King Henry, and your party enter Cardinal Wolsey’s palace all cloaked and hidden? Well, when the King enters, we shall fire these cannons—armed with only paper wadding, of course—to let the audience know that the royal presence has just arrived—and also to give them a little start!”
    Burbage smiled, rubbing his hands together, then looked at Radclyffe, dissolving his expression into a frown. The young actor was pale and gaunt, obviously frightened. “And where is the bold, proud young actor who drives us all nearly mad with his outbursts of eagerness?”
    Radclyffe seemed to fumble for words; he found different ways for his fingers to interlock with each other. “Well, Mister Burbage, sir, it is difficult to—”
    “Speak!” Burbage snapped, not angrily, but with a tone of get-down-to-business that stopped all further stuttering from the young actor.
    “Down in the basement—this theatre—Mister Burbage, there are ghosts! ”
    “Hissst!” Burbage turned him away, then looked worriedly down to the stage where some of the other actors were rehearsing. None of them seemed to be paying any attention. “King’s deathbed, man! Hush when you speak of such things! Ghosts? If that rumor were to be unleashed, it would ruin us as surely as if we were to burn the place down ourselves!”
    Burbage shook his head, concerned, then looked hard at Radclyffe. “Now, these ghosts—you have seen them? Where?”
    “In the basement—I didn’t see them, but rather heard them.”
    Burbage let out an audible sigh of relief. “The basement! Thomas, any man can get the jitters when he’s alone down there among all the old props and shadows. The wood creaks a little, a few rats rustle about here and there. And your imagination makes the rest—”
    “No! It wasn’t like that, Mister Burbage! Not just odd sounds, but words ! I had a conversation with the ghosts!”
    “And what did these ghosts have to say?”
    “They tried to force me to say my lines in different ways, making me act in their manner, and not my own. They tried to twist my talent, taking the . . . the life out of my portrayal.”
    Burbage almost laughed, but contained himself. “Most ghosts try to murder people, Thomas—but your ghosts want to be your acting coaches!” He saw the expression on Radclyffe’s face, became serious. “Maybe it’s Havermont come back to help you?”
    “No!” Radclyffe looked angry, upset, downcast. “You don’t understand! They are evil! They try to twist my acting talent to their own ends! I cannot perform that way!”
    The young actor stopped and changed his emotions abruptly, saddened, almost accusing. “You can’t understand—you’re not an actor. You don’t know what it means to me.” He drew in a deep breath. “You don’t believe me.”
    Burbage didn’t. But he had enough tact to pause a moment, considering the best way to handle the young actor. He reached up to put a hand on Radclyffe’s shoulder. “I know you, Thomas. I know that your temper is a little short, and that you are inclined to act without thinking sometimes. But I have never known you to have a wild