Reign (63 page)

"'Then,'" Dennis heard Wallace Drummond's voice proclaim, "`we shall give them one.'"

It was Dennis's cue, and he strode on stage, glanced up toward where
Kronstein
was supposed to be standing, but his energy level was so low that he could scarcely lift his head that high. Somehow he got out his line, "`What in God's name are you about?'"The delivery was pitiful.

Still, Marks gave his reply. "`About to announce your future, your majesty.'“

“You've returned . . . just in time, Frederick," said the voice of Wallace Drummond.

~ * ~

"'Just in time?' Oh
shit
," whispered Curt Wynn, high overhead in the control booth, to the electrician running the light board. "Now
Drummond's
going up on his fucking lines. This show ends without a major disaster, it'll be a miracle."

Dennis knew the line was wrong, but did not have the presence of mind to tailor his response to the error. "'And you've gone too far,
Kronstein
.'" The words came out automatically. "'Get away from that balcony.'"

Kronstein's
next line was
Stop him, Kruger. Don't harm him, but stop him
. But that was not what came out.

"Get through Kruger, my friend. And then I'll deal with you," said Wallace Drummond's voice.

"
Kronstein
mustn't like the show," whispered
Cissy
Morrison to Evan. "He's rewriting it."

Dan Marks had given his last line, and all that was on his mind now was how to get off the damned stage as quickly as possible. The way Dennis Hamilton was acting, Marks didn't trust him to do any of the moves that Quentin had choreographed, and the saber points and edges were sharp enough to hurt if someone made a wrong move.

Marks carried Dennis through the duel, and easily saw that he was in no condition to administer the final thrust. If Marks was to die, it would have to be offstage. To perish in agony from the kind of halfhearted swipes Dennis was making would bring forth nothing but hoots of laughter from the audience. And to lie supposedly dead on the stage, even if behind a divan, for the rest of the scene would be
true
agony.

So, thinking more of himself than of the intended impact of the duel's climax, he began to back up stage right, as if forced to do so by Dennis, who had no choice but to follow him, as if pressing him into the stage right wings. When he was out of the audience's sight lines, he said sharply to Dennis, "Now
lunge
!"

Dennis did as he was ordered, with more force than Marks had expected. Perhaps the surprise and spontaneity of Marks's moves and command had touched something within Dennis. At any rate, Marks thought the movement would read well from the audience, gave a strangled cry, turned, and walked back toward the backstage coffee machine, wishing that it was a whiskey machine instead. If there was actually a curtain call after this fiasco, he decided he would not join in.

Dennis Hamilton did not know what to do. He wanted nothing more than to leave the stage himself as Dan Marks had done, to go back and sit in his dressing room and forget about everything else, just go back and lie down and sleep a dreamless sleep.

But he remembered that there was still an audience out there, still a show that needed to be finished. He needed to duel with Wallace Drummond, he needed to give a final speech, sing a final song to end this dull nightmare. As he hung there, suspended on his doubts and responsibilities halfway between the stage and the wings, he heard a voice calling him from the stage.

"Come back, your
majesty
," it said. "You don't escape as easily as that."

He knew that the voice was not Wallace Drummond's, but it seemed chillingly familiar just the same. When he turned and looked at the man wearing Drummond's costume, a perfect match for his own, he knew why. He knew as soon as he saw the face with a real beard and not crepe hair, saw the eyes that he had seen before only in the mirror or in the mirror image face of . . .

The Emperor.

"What the hell . " Curt said, adjusting his headset. "Did
Dennis
give that line?" The electrician shrugged.

I'm here, Dennis. You knew I would be
.

I hear you, but you're not speaking
.

Now we speak as fast as thought, with no tongues nor lips to slow us. While those who watch us try to rise, we may speak volumes. And why not? Are not our minds one? Am I not the character, you the actor? Prove it, Dennis . . . give a line. Give a line
.

"'Move away from the balcony . . .
Now
!'"

The power of his delivery amazed Dennis, and he felt an unexpected surge run through him. The Emperor's face seemed to quiver for the slimmest part of a instant, and Dennis spoke again.

"`
I'm
giving the orders . . .
Kronstein
.'"

Call me
Kronstein
now with a sneer in your voice, Dennis. They'll all call me Emperor soon enough. I take you now. All of you. And then you die
.

Why not before? Why did you wait until now?

Because I needed the strength that came from one last performance — your strength and mine. Your strength become mine. Now you die — you, the imposter, the madman — and I become you. I become Dennis Hamilton. The actor became the character, and now the character becomes the actor. Artistic perfection. You should be very proud
.

"'You shall not let me make my announcement?'"

To the audience and Curt Wynn in his aerie,
Kronstein's
line came only a second upon the heels of Dennis's. "They're picking it up," Curt said. "Thank God they're actually picking it
up
."

"'If you were to make it looking like that,
I
should be the one bound to it.'“

“Enough talk." Curt thought he saw Wallace Drummond's mouth move, but it was Dennis's voice he heard. "We end it now."

"That's not the line," Curt moaned, his legendary calm at the breaking point. "And who the hell
said
it?" He pressed his face to the glass as he saw what
Kronstein
did next. "He's drawing his
saber
. His goddamned saber! And
so's
Dennis! They're going to start the duel early!" With a sigh of frustration, Curt dropped into his chair. "What about
Kronstein
and Kruger killing Maria? Where did the
plot
go?" He turned to the electrician. "Did we have a plot here somewhere?"

The electrician shrugged, and in another moment Curt was relieved to hear a close approximation of one of the original lines.

"'Pray to your God. From this day on,
I
am the Emperor.'"

"God damn," Curt whispered, finally beginning to be scared. "Which one of them
said
that?"

Dex
Colangelo
gave the downbeat to the orchestra when he saw the sabers cross. He didn't know what else to do. At least with the music under way he would be kept busy, and if Dennis and Wallace Drummond wanted to just keep improvising, Dex could have the orchestra play repeat after repeat. Hell, they could play all night if they had to, until somebody finally extemporized an exit line.

Cissy
Morrison had a grip of iron on Evan's arm. She was not the first to whisper, "That's not Dennis," but her surprise at that conclusion was as great as anyone's. "Evan,
that's
your dad! He's playing
Kronstein
! Is this a trick or
what
?"

Evan leaned forward, looked closely at the two men dueling with sabers on the stage. He had been paying such close attention to Dennis and his condition that he had glanced at
Kronstein
only once, and marveled at how close the resemblance was before he had turned his attention back to Dennis. Now, as he examined both men, he realized that they were identical, perfectly identical, and, with a shock, he knew who was playing
Kronstein
.

"The Emperor," he said, his eyes wide enough to still
Cissy
Morrison. "It's him."

What ran through Evan then was that he should push himself to his feet, run up onto the stage, and aid his father in any way he could, but when he thought of standing alone in front of all those thousands of people, a vicious jolt of fear shot through him. It weakened his legs, set him sweating, constricted the muscles of his throat, and he knew that even if the Emperor were to slice his father apart, he could do nothing but watch.

"The Emperor,"
Cissy
repeated, and looked back to the stage. "It is. Dennis is the Emperor. But that
Kronstein
. . . oh my God . . . how can they
both
be Dennis?"

The sabers were out now, and both Dennis and the Emperor went into an
en
garde
stance. The Emperor advanced first, a furious attack that drove Dennis up right to the back flat, so that he bumped against it, making the canvas ripple.

The thought struck Dennis that it was a revelation of artifice to the audience, and he was surprised to find that it angered him. To an audience, the theatre should be
real
.

At the Emperor's next attack, Dennis parried weakly but effectively, gaining his freedom so that he and the creature now stood parallel to the line of the proscenium. They stood there for only a moment.

You fight like an old woman. Is this the best that your dancing master could teach you?

It won't work. Your plot won't work
.

It will.

They see me, they see you. They know who I am now.

Now they do. Yes . . .

"Dan, I can hardly tell them apart, it's wonderful."

Patty Munro clutched her husband's arm, her attention glued to the duel on the stage. As far as she was concerned, the whole night had been wonderful. She had never expected to see so many celebrities in one place, and here she was sitting among them. Thank God she had gone out and bought a new dress for the occasion. At first she had felt like a housewife amidst the glitterati, but that feeling had been quickly replaced by awe, as she brushed shoulders with the famous, recognized faces she had seen before only on the television screen or in the movies.

The only stage shows Patty Munro had seen, short of her high school's productions of
Damn Yankees
and
Arsenic and Old Lace
, were a local dinner theatre's truncated version of
Sweeney Todd
and a touring company of
Cats
in Philadelphia, to which Dan had taken her for their fifteenth wedding anniversary. She had loved it, but it hadn't had all the dialogue that
A Private Empire
had.

Patty, to give her credit, had been very uncritical of Dennis Hamilton's performance. At intermission, when Dan had mentioned that the Emperor Frederick seemed far less imperial toward the end of the act, Patty said, "It's no wonder. After what you've told me, I'm sure he had a lot on his mind. I don't know how he can remember all those lines in the first place."

Now she watched the duel with intense interest. The seats, she thought, were wonderful — second row of the loge, so that the entire stage was visible, and Patty's view was further aided by the shortness of the woman in front of her, who Patty knew she had seen in a TV movie, but couldn't remember which.

"Now this is good," she whispered to Dan. "I mean, it seems so
real
right now. Oh!"

This last exclamation was produced by a savage move on the part of the actor playing
Kronstein's
part. He pressed Frederick back with a rapid series of feints and attacks which Frederick seemed scarcely to be able to parry . . .

So many dead because of what you have created, Dennis. And more now Good reasons for me, Dennis Hamilton, to kill you, the imposter . . .

More? More dead?