Dark Labyrinth 1 Read Free Page B

which you inhabit. You will not harm me—I have chosen this time with care—for if you do, you will expose yourselves to all of London!”
    He waited for a reply, hearing only the crackle of his torch in the silence, until the voice spoke again.
    “ Ah, but you forget, young actor, that we ARE this theatre . . . and when we are filled with an audience—” Radclyffe’s torch was suddenly snuffed out, plunging him into darkness. “ We are strongest of all!”
    And he felt a cold, icy grip, not quite like hands, around his throat . . . .

    SCENE V.

    Will not a filthy play with a blast of trumpet sooner call thither a thousand than an hour’s tolling of the bell bring to a sermon a hundred?
    —A preacher, Stockton, in a sermon against The Theatre, 1578

    Setting—the ground level of the Globe Theatre; the yard is filled with people, trying to get a clear view of the stage, which is raised above the crowd. At the entrance stands a placard announcing the day’s play. Similar leaflets are scattered throughout London, tacked onto wooden posts, competing with many other announcements.

    As people file through the single, narrow entrance, a man stands with a small box in hand, collecting one penny from all who enter. Those who are content to stand continue into the yard; those who wish a seat or a private box are required to pay an extra sum.

    Cuthert Burbage sits among others in a Twelvepenny Room, one of the best seats in the playhouse, with his guest, Lady Dalton . She is older than he, dressed in gaudy finery, decked with jewels. Burbage looks at the activity around him; he is impatient.

    “If they don’t start soon, we won’t finish the play before sunset,” he muttered to himself. “Can’t have a performance without daylight, you know.”
    “Cuthbert, this is so exciting!” Lady Dalton peered excitedly into the crowd, as if to find out which of her social acquaintances had failed to attend the play, and how many had failed to get seats as exquisite as her own.
    Burbage looked at her, scowling slightly. The Lady Dalton was rather rich . . . and rather old, and rather dim. Damn his business sense.
    “Is Shakespeare himself here today, Cuthbert?”
    “Of course he is—” Burbage snapped, “You don’t think he’d miss the first performance of his new play?” He caught himself, placing some sweetness into his voice. “There he is, just across the yard from us . . . see, in one of the other Twelvepenny Rooms.”
    “Sooo!” she cooed.
    Burbage looked around uncomfortably: he wondered if Radclyffe had been found yet. The play had to start soon—he was afraid the young actor was going to ruin his first important role by chasing after ghosts in his imagination. Radclyffe—don’t be a fool!
    The noises of the audience waned like a dying fire after one of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men stepped out onto the stage, speaking the Prologue. People smothered their random sounds, focusing on the words being spoken, waiting to be taken away to another reality.
    And the play began.
    Burbage leaned back in his seat, relaxing slightly, or at least seeming to. They wouldn’t have started the play without Radclyffe, even though he didn’t make an appearance until the second scene.
    Lady Dalton seemed to be more interested in the audience than in the play. Burbage watched his brother Richard perform, strutting around as Cardinal Wolsey in all his evil glory—Richard enjoyed the villain parts at times, but then Burbage could never tell what his brother really enjoyed and what was just an act.
    (Wolsey accuses the innocent Buckingham, the martyr, of treason, and has him arrested, to be brought before the King’s court.)
    The first scene ended, and Burbage grew tense again. He sat up, waiting the unbearable few moments. Why was he uneasy? The performance was of prime importance—Radclyffe knew that—he imagined himself to be a devoted actor, and he would never miss his first important role.
    The audience background