Reign, p.44
Reign, page 44
there. (He releases the button, then takes Wallace Drummond's saber from
the dressing table and draws it from its scabbard. He goes into the en garde
stance, and thrusts it into what is left of the mirror. The glass breaks and
rains down on the body of Wallace Drummond, as THE EMPEROR salutes.)
Scene 11
The last scene. The last time he would appear on stage.
The last chance.
Dennis Hamilton stood in the stage right wings, clutched the hilt of his saber, and waited for the music to end, for the darkness to come, that deep smothering darkness of a black stage, relieved only by the scantiest exit lights, that darkness in which the chorus would scurry off stage, Dan Marks would come past him and around onto the stage again, Wallace Drummond would ascend to the center stage balcony from which the disguised Kronstein would lie to the people . . .
Lie to the people.
It was, Dennis thought, all he had ever done, and now, when he wanted to show the truth, he was unable.
And he knew why. The Emperor. The Emperor was there somewhere, hiding, but able all the same to draw his strength, his emotions.
"Where are you?" he whispered into the darkness that suddenly surrounded him. "Where are you?" he said again, with as much bitterness as he could summon.
Bodies moved past him, brushed against his, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the human flood to ebb, for the lights to come up, waited for his final entrance.
Why did the Emperor not show himself? Was he scared?
Scared. That was absurd, wasn't it? Scared of Dennis? Scared of a man who could not even feel anger for having his soul stolen away?
The lights came up, the scene went on, Kruger telling Kronstein of his triumph with the mob. "`They're hungry for a wedding,'" Dan Marks said, "`absolutely starving for one!'"
"'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.
~ * ~
THE EMPEROR
I'm here, Dennis. You knew I would be.
DENNIS
I hear you, but you're not speaking.
THE EMPEROR
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.'"
~ * ~
THE EMPEROR
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.
DENNIS
Why not before? Why did you wait until now?
THE EMPEROR
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.
~ * ~
THE EMPEROR
You fight like an old woman. Is this the best that your dancing master could teach you?
DENNIS
It won't work. Your plot won't work.
THE EMPEROR
It will.
DENNIS
They see me, they see you. They know who I am now.
THE EMPEROR
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 . . .
~ * ~
THE EMPEROR
So many dead because of what you have created, Dennis. And more now Good reasons for me, Dennis Hamilton, to kill you, the imposter . . .
DENNIS
More? More dead?
THE EMPEROR
The servant — Kipp . . .
(He attacks, backing DENNIS toward the stage right wings.) Kronstein — your fellow player . . .
(He attacks again.)
And your dancing master — the one who liked men . . .
~ * ~
Patty Munro gasped as Kronstein closed with Frederick, grasping his sword arm, throwing them both off balance so that they toppled together out of sight behind one of the side flats that, Patty remembered, were called legs, from when she was in the Damn Yankees stage crew.
"Oh God," she whispered to her husband. "Now I'll never be able to tell them apart . . .”
~ * ~
(DENNIS and THE EMPEROR struggle offstage, unseen by all, then move toward the stage again. When they reappear, the attitudes and expressions of both are identical — weary, wary, and determined. They circle each other slowly.)
THE EMPEROR
Now they don't know who we are. You could be me. I could be you. And I will be, because I have all your memories too. It will be all mine now, as soon as I kill you. All mine — your life, your Ann . . .
(DENNIS attacks, driving THE EMPEROR back. THE EMPEROR parries, and evades him.)
THE EMPEROR
Still some emotion left. All the better. The savage attacker. The maniac. And me, Dennis Hamilton, killing him out of self-defense.
(THE EMPEROR advances.)
~ * ~
"What the hell is going on down there?" John Steinberg roared, pushing open the door of the control booth.
"I don't know, John," Curt said softly. "I've just about given up all hope. The ship is sinking, and it's up to those two on the stage to bail it out. I don't know who's going to quit first — them or Dex."
"Have they stuck to any of the original moves?"
"Not a one. I don't know what the hell Drummond thinks he's doing — you see that bit where he took Dennis offstage? Even I don't know who's who anymore."
"Who's who . . .” Steinberg went pale. "My dear God."
"What?" said Curt, then realized the possibilities himself, far worse than two actors going up on their lines and moves.
Steinberg took a cased pair of opera glasses from his jacket pocket, snapped them open, and peered down at the stage. After a moment he handed them to Curt. "That's not Wallace Drummond," Steinberg said dully. "It's Dennis. Both of them are Dennis."
Curt lowered the glasses. "What shall I do, John? Lower the curtain?"
Steinberg shook his head. It was the first time that Curt had seen him totally at a loss. "No, I . . . I don't know . . . If it's real, it could distract Dennis . . . We should contact security, have them stop it . . . I'll . . . I'll go downstairs, get help." He left the booth as if in a daze, and Curt watched the duel continue, listened to the music rage on.
~ * ~
In the loge, Dan Munro watched too, watched as the two men fought, saw one of them lunge at the other, saw a sleeve rip and blood flow, too real to be artifice, and slowly began to understand.
"It's him," he said to himself, even though others heard. "One of them is him."
He stood up then, pushed his way past the legs and knees of the others in the row. But he had a long way to go, up the loge stairs, down a ramp, through the mezzanine lobby, down the curving staircase, through the inner lobby, and all the way to the stage.
By the time he would arrive there, it would all be over.
~ * ~
THE EMPEROR
Does it hurt, Dennis? The cut? I feel your pain, your anger. I adore them. They feed me. But don't feel too much, Dennis. Let me take you slowly. . .
(THE EMPEROR lowers his guard. It is a subtly disdainful move, but enough of a breach for DENNIS to thrust his saber, wounding THE EMPEROR in his left arm.)
