The School of Night Read Free

vicuña coat. The coat hung loosely off a T-shirt that read, in large cherry lettering: I ♥ DC. It was frightening to think T-shirts came in that size.
    â€œHalldor, I fear, is the only one who thrives in this sort of miasma. Myself, I prefer your highly efficient American air-conditioning. Shall we, Mr. Cavendish?”
    Some of the heat came in with us, and for a second or two the air seemed to be ionizing around us. Halfway down the hall, I could see Lily Pentzler going head-to-head with the caterer. Pausing to reload, she flicked her eyes toward me—and then toward Styles. A crease bisected her forehead, and then she began muttering into her sleeve, like a madwoman.
    â€œPerhaps we might talk in the theater,” the old man said. “The upper gallery, I think. More private.” His step was sure and even as he climbed the carpeted steps, talking as he went.
    â€œSuch a nice little pastiche. Of course, a true Elizabethan theater wouldn’t have a roof, would it? Or such comfortable chairs. All the same, quite charming. I wonder what play they’re putting on now.”
    â€œOh, it’s … Love’s Labour’s Lost.”
    â€œWell, isn’t that apropos?”
    â€œIs it?”
    â€œI wonder if it’s modern-dress. No, I don’t wonder at all. On that particular question, I have been quite driven from the field. Everywhere one goes now it’s Uzis at Agincourt, Imogen in jeans, the Thane of Cawdor in a three-button suit. Next thing you know, Romeo and Juliet will simply text each other. Damn the balcony. OMG, Romeo. LOL. ILY 24–7. Oh, chacun à son goût, that’s what I hear you saying, but does it rise even to the level of goût ? I consider it, on the contrary, mere squeamishness. I have seen far more fearful things in my life than a doublet and hose. The sooner we inoculate our children against these terrors, the stronger we will make them.”
    Seating himself in the gallery’s front row, he raised his eyes to the ceiling, where a blue Elizabethan sky had been meticulously painted—far lovelier than the sky outside. A dusky silence fell over him. He laced his hands over the balcony rail.
    â€œYou’ve known Alonzo quite a long time,” he said at last.
    â€œ Knew him, yes.”
    â€œI believe you also have the honor of being his executor.”
    I looked at him.
    â€œApparently so,” I said.
    â€œIn that case, I think you might be of great use in resolving a little problem I have.”
    â€œThat would depend on the problem.”
    Wrinkles fanned out from his eyes and mouth as he began to polish the balcony rail.
    â€œA document,” he said, “recently left my possession.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that.”
    â€œIt’s a document I’m rather keen on recovering.”
    â€œAll right.”
    Silence grew around us until at last, in my politest tone, I asked:
    â€œAnd you’re coming to me because…?”
    â€œOh! Because Alonzo was the one who borrowed it, you see.”
    I stared at him. “Borrowed it?”
    â€œWell, generally speaking, I prefer to take charitable constructions of men’s acts. I’m sure that poor Alonzo, had he lived, would have returned the document to me in due time. Now, of course, he’s shuffled off this mortal coil.” He waved softly at the ceiling. “Such a loss.”
    â€œWas the document valuable?” I asked.
    â€œOnly to an old sentimentalist like me. Although it does have a certain historical piquancy. As you might appreciate better than most, Mr. Cavendish.” He leaned over and, in a conspiratorial tone, added, “You were a redoubtable Elizabethan scholar in your day, were you not?”
    The air grew significantly cooler in that moment, or maybe my face was just getting warmer.
    â€œI’m flattered you think so,” I said. “I’m flattered you even remember my