An incomplete story from 1998. Based on a dream I had. I woke up, wrote it down…and then was interrupted by a person from Porlock.
Once upon a time, there was a glittering city of jewels that shone and banners that waved gloriously in the breeze, a city of happy, content people who knew the secrets of magic and used it in their everyday lives.
The city spires arched gently towards the ground, as if embracing it, and the citizens of the city knew the value of the earth and tended their gardens and planted flowers by the thoroughfares of the city with care.
But then, slowly as the years passed, the pace of the city began to pick up. New methods of production superceded the old ways, and people began to regard the tools of magic as outdated and inefficient.
Men and women still walked the streets, but hurriedly, striding from one place to the other without stopping to talk or to smell the flowers. And slowly the flowers died out.
Those who built new spires did not bother with the gentle arches or harmony with the ground; they thrust the bottoms of the spires into the earth and built massive, ugly buildings that pleased no one but the builders. And slowly the fertile earth was replaced with barren soil.
And then one day the sun did not rise, and a pall hung over the city, and then the people did notice, but by that point it was too late. Word spread that some had heard that only a woman of royal descent who brought jewels of six colors to the main square of the city and who was kissed by a young man of royal descent could return the sun to the sky.
Explorers were dispatched to seek the jewels, and the city elders searched the birth records for a woman of royal descent. The elders found one, one Megan, who was a writer of plays but still kept her sense of breeding. But none of the explorers could find any more than five different colors of jewels. Gloom descended over the city like the wreaths of smoke which already hung there.
And so was the city cursed.
* * * *
Now, Megan was a delicate-featured woman with eyes of green who had surmounted many obstacles in her determination to be a writer. Her father had wanted her to be married, but she pouted and smiled at him just so, and tousled his hair and promised that she would be married just as soon as she became a successful playwright. Her friends said that they did not like her plays and that they did not think she would be successful. She found new friends. The owner of the largest theatre company in the city refused to put on a play based on her latest writing. Megan delicately reminded him of her royal heritage, which still carried some weight. Following a large donation to the theatre company (and more pouting to her father), the owner acquiesced. For Megan was a woman who was determined to rise above the difficulties that afflicted her life.
Megan had written a play about the city and the curse, which had been mostly an unspoken subject in recent times. Everyone knew about the curse, everyone felt it in their daily lives, but nobody wished to mention it, for fear of making it seem even more real to them. In Megan’s play, a dashing young woman of modest means named Margot (who was given to pouting on occasion) suffered plagues, ostracism, and many thunderstorms to retrieve the sixth colored jewel that would be needed to break the curse. Margot’s strength and determination naturally attracted a handsome fellow who so happened to be born of royalty (though he was unaware of this, having been kidnapped by gypsies as a baby), who upon gazing on Margot’s emerald eyes for the first time, found himself compelled to make several declarations of love, slay the dragon which terrorized the land, and kiss her full, red lips moments before she brought the sixth jewel to the city, broke the curse, and bowed before a standing ovation.
Andrew, the theatre owner, had wanted to put on a Greek tragedy originally, but Megan and her father convinced him that her play would be far more tragic. Andrew, after a moment of reflection, agreed.
Megan wanted to play the role of Margot herself, but one of her few faults was an inability to remember more than a few lines at a time. Despite her protestations, Andrew was unwilling to let her perform an entire play by improvisation, and she retreated to her writing rooms muttering that her next play would be about an under-appreciated playwright who became a success through hard work, plagues, thunderstorms, and having the leading woman break her leg shortly before the performance.
Vivian was Andrew’s favorite in the theatre ensemble, and he chose her to play Margot. While she did not have emerald eyes or blazing red hair, she was able to remember her lines and was generally pleasing to the eye, even if she sometimes flashed a look of suspicion or flinched when someone moved too close to her without warning. It was said that she was an orphan, but Vivian never discussed it and most members of the company were sensitive enough not to mention it.
For the male lead, Patrick, the handsome, dashing descendant of royalty, Andrew had more difficulty in choosing. His theatre company was well-known for putting on plays without heroes and heroines who saved the world without any visible effort; the company had in the past put on plays about the human condition and the small moments between men and women that added up to the joys and sorrows of everyday life.
There was one actor, though, that Andrew thought could fill the part. Roland was a quiet, unassuming man who had a twinkle in his eye and a ready quip, but Andrew had seen him declaim speeches from some of the old plays with great fervor and thunder. Megan watched as Roland read from her script, and even with the lines that he had to read, he was able to imbue them with a grandeur and majesty that surprised both Andrew and Megan. “Although”, she later confided to the owner, “I must say I would have preferred someone taller.”
With the decision of actors having been made, Andrew commenced rehearsals and ordered the construction of the stage and sets. Megan hovered at his side, being the kind who wishes to oversee everything, not because she lacked faith in others to carry out her wishes, but because she lacked faith in herself to instruct the others properly.
Word of the play spread throughout the city, and though the city elders were not pleased at the thought of their city’s predicament being made into a play, they said nothing. Diversions were few and far between in these perilous times, and anything that would divert attention from the increasingly foul water and bitter vegetables was to be welcomed.
One man, a traveler passing through the city, saw the banns for the play, however, was beset with a mixture of admiration and amusement. After a brief battle within his mind, Charles set out to attend the next rehearsal and to make his presence known.
* * * *
Charles had been an explorer for many years, but his varied experiences did not prepare him for the disorderly bustle that filled the theatre. Men and women dashed to and fro with fabrics, props, and costumes. Charles approached what he thought was an office, only to step back in surprise when the wall of the office revealed itself to be a canvas, lifted swiftly out of the way and replaced by a painting of a windswept heath. Trickery, Charles thought. Some men spend a lifetime trying to peer behind the illusions of life, while others spend a lifetime trying to create them.
He looked around, trying to discern which among the group was the leader. There were those dressed as kings and courtiers, but whose bearings marked them as mere pretenders. One woman, with a beautiful face, long red hair and a confident demeanor, stood giving orders to a man who may as well have been cringing. She is the one, Charles thought.
The woman broke off her speech as he approached, and fixed him with a determined gaze Charles was unused to seeing from women. “Are you here for an audition or to work as a stagehand?” she asked. After a moment he saw her eyes sweep across his body appraisingly. Charles was not unaware of the effects his appearance had on the fairer sex, and indeed that they could be used to his advantage, but it never failed to amuse him.
Her eyes returned to his with a quizzical smile. “Perhaps he can play a mage”, she said to the cowed man beside her. “For the moment, let us run through the last scene again, Andrew.”
Andrew nodded and followed her to the front of the proscenium. Charles watched a young man in regal garb and a young woman in plain clothes cross to the center of the stage and assume dramatic positions, the woman with the back of her hand on her forehead, and the man with one hand outstretched in a fist. The man gave him a quick wink as if to acknowledge the absurdity of the situation, and Charles acknowledged him with a quiet smile.
The beautiful red-haired woman clapped her hands, and the theatre was silent. “Would you do such a thing?” the young man asked, “forsake your true love for the sake of the city and its people?”
The young woman sighed dramatically. “One kiss from you, sire, and the curse shall be broken! One kiss and I will be yours, for now and for eternity!”
The false prince shook his head violently. “If I were certain you wanted the kiss for yourself, and not for the city, then I should consent. But until that time, I shall only believe that you have used me for your own nefarious purposes, and my royal lips shall remain my own!”
Charles blinked. As it appeared that the actors had paused for breath before continuing, he stepped in. “I do not wish to meddle”, he said quietly, but in a voice that cut through the momentary silence and caused everyone to look at him, “but I do not believe that true royalty would behave in such a manner.”
The red-haired woman simply stared at him. “Are you familiar with who I am?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, but I would suspect you are someone important with the production of this play.”
“I am Megan, daughter of Richard, descendant of royalty, and author of this play”, she announced.
“Indeed, I do not doubt that is so, but that speech the young man made is still not the way that true royalty would speak.”
She was clearly a woman not used to being contradicted, he realized. “Perhaps you wish to venture a line of royal speech yourself?” Megan asked him.
Charles shrugged, then vaulted himself up onto the proscenium and stepped between the young man and the young woman. “Surely you can do no worse”, the young man said in a whisper, then added, “Sire.”
Charles cleared his throat, then dropped to his knee. “Madam, if my kiss is the only thing that stands between you and the return of your fair city to prosperity and health, then I say take the kiss from my lips. But should there be any feeling within you for me, then know that you have taken not only the kiss, but my heart as well.”
The young woman gave him his hand, but instead of letting him kiss it, she pulled him to his feet. “Very good”, she said with a smile. “My name is Vivian, and this young man you have displaced is Roland.”
Charles inclined his head. “Thank you for the demonstration”, Megan said swiftly. “I believe that a return to my original script would be advised at this point.”
“Megan”, Roland said, “this man is royalty.”
Megan looked from Charles to Roland and back again, and when Charles opened his cloak to reveal the chain of purple jewels beneath, her face shifted from surprise to shock, and then quickly through embarrassment to admiration. “Sire”, she said, “I am sorry.”
He shook his head. “On the contrary, I am the one who should apologize. It was a cruel trick to play, but I am unused to being cast in the same role I have been avoiding all of my life.”
Charles hopped down from the proscenium and extended his hand to Megan. “I am Charles, better known as a traveler from a distant land.”
“Have you come to help break the curse on our city?” she asked, performing a slight curtsy that Charles felt was foreign to her nature.
“I have come to find out more about this play, but should I be able to be of some assistance, I would be pleased to help.”
Megan smiled. “Do you not find it ironic that this play is the story of a man and woman descended of royalty, who save the city together?”
To Charles’ eyes, she was truly quite beautiful. He had always had a weakness for headstrong women, when he thought of women. “Perhaps we should discuss this further over a drink”, he suggested.
Linking her arms in his, Megan said, “Perhaps.” With a curt nod to the rest of the theatre company, she drew him towards the theatre exit.
“And what about the rehearsal?” Andrew called after her.
“I leave that to your trustworthy nature”, Megan said, then swept out of the theatre with Charles.
* * * *
Vivian and Roland usually took the same paths through the city towards their homes after the close of the rehearsal. Roland was attired in his usual simple blue cloak and eye-catching brocaded vest, while Vivian’s clothes were even more threadbare and patched than what she had worn on stage. “You could have taken home your costume”, Roland said as they passed a street vendor and Vivian looked wistfully at the bracelets for sale. “Nobody would have noticed.”
She shook her head, turning away from the vendor. “But I would have noticed, and there lies the problem.”
Roland was silent for a time, and they walked past more vendors, as the crowds became thicker on the way to the city’s main square. “Does it do you so much good to be so proud?” he asked.
Vivian pointed to his finely-brocaded vest. “How many days’ pay did that cost you?”
Roland smiled a bit bashfully. “A week’s pay, but I saved for it over time.” He ran his hands over the dragon design on the vest.
Notes
- I remember dreaming this, waking up and starting to write. I got to the last sentence and became distracted…and the rest of the dream evaporated at that point. Damn.
- As a friend told me at the time, the first page is all backstory, and pretty creaky ordinary backstory at that. Reminds me a bit of the Phantom Tollbooth.
- Emerald eyes…oh dear. Red hair, too. I can excuse the emerald eyes because of the jewel theme of the story, but that wouldn’t fly today.
- Recurring themes: the false front (the stage play), the interplay between reality and fiction, sardonic dialog.