Tracked by Terror Read Online Free PDF Page A

and believe in your parts. You must never show that you think the play is funny. Leave that to the audience.”
    Two younger voices said in chorus, “Yes, Father.”
    Jarvey crawled out from where he had dozed, beneath a row of seats halfway back from the stage, and risked a peek. The Roman street had vanished, and in its place was a set that looked like the deck of a sailing ship. At this distance the illusion struck Jarvey as uncannily real: The masts reared up, the ropes and shrouds ran up to the yardarms, and the sails billowed and fluttered in what seemed like a salty ocean breeze.
    More than a dozen people stood on the deck. The leader seemed to be a tall, strongly built man in the uniform of a sea captain. He was talking to the others: a woman who looked as if she were about the man’s age, forty or so, a young man of about eighteen and a girl who might have been a year or so younger, and a semicircle of men and women who seemed strangely quiet and motionless, like a row of department-store dummies. The man said, “Very well. Let us begin with the first scene of Act Two. Floriel and Yolanda have taken passage upon my ship, not realizing that I am the father of Isidor. Isidor has disguised his sweetheart Mariane as a young sailor, and no one knows this except for the countess. Places, please.”
    The semicircle of immobile actors came to life then, moving across the stage, some going into the wings, others taking their places at the ship’s wheel or on the deck. A couple climbed up into the rigging. Peering through the crack between two seats, Jarvey watched the rehearsal with a growing sense of puzzlement. The actors seemed to anticipate laughter from their audience because they often paused in their lines or in their actions, but as far as Jarvey was concerned, nothing was terribly funny.
    Finally, the captain said, “And then curtain, the interval, and we’re into Act Three. Very good. It is time for lunch, and after lunch we shall finish Acts Three and Four. Thank you, all.” He put his arm around the waist of the woman who had played the part of the countess. “A grand performance, as usual, my dear,” he said.
    She giggled. “And you were wonderful as well. Your gifts truly shine, Mr. Midion.”
    Jarvey gasped at the name and felt like drawing his head back, like a turtle retreating into its shell. If the actor was a Midion, then this strange theater must be his creation, from his part of the book. As the cast all trooped offstage, Jarvey slipped out of his hiding place and hurried down to the front. The last thing he wanted was to follow the actors, but that was exactly what he had to do.
    He dropped into the orchestra pit as quietly as he could manage, then climbed the metal ladder onto the stage. The actors had gone off in the direction of the dressing rooms. He stepped into the dark wings of the theater and heard a loud laugh coming from the last dressing room, the one down on the far end of the row.
    Jarvey ducked sideways through another open doorway just in time. The young man who had played the role of Floriel came out of and walked away from the last dressing room and disappeared down a hallway. Jarvey sighed in relief at not having been noticed.
    And then he turned around and almost yelped in surprise. Six women sat rigidly in six chairs at the makeup table, all of them staring silently at their reflections. “I’m sorry,” Jarvey said in a hoarse voice. “I didn’t know—” he broke off. Not one of the actresses had turned to look at him, had even seemed to notice him. The one nearest him had played the role of Yolanda. She sat like a statue, as did the others. Jarvey couldn’t even see them breathe.
    He cautiously approached Yolanda. She didn’t stir, didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even turn toward him when he stood at her shoulder. “Hello?” he said. He waved his hand in front of her face. She did