Penny #41
Title: “Melponeme & Thalia”
Author/Artist: Scriptator
Fandom: Concarnadine (original)
Rating: Probably PG
Warnings:
Disclaimer: Everyone in here is an Original Character. Please ask before borrowing.
Penny had been keen to avoid any further enquiries by ‘Tumult’’s own staff, and had made her farewells and gone back to Shoreditch, fed Tiger, done some work online from home, and had a late-afternoon snack to keep her going through the evening.
Then, at about six, Tiger having been settled with one saucer of food and another of water, Penny left the flat, allowing plenty of time to get to the theatre. She was most of the way to the station when something caught her eye: a shadow shifting in the mouth of a narrow alleyway on the far side of the street - a shifting which might have been someone - or something - moving back into the darkness so that it could not so easily be seen.
Penny didn’t hesitate or break stride, but she changed her plan on the instant and steered herself to the bus-stop and caught a number 67 to the Aldgate, and from there, she switched to the Underground Circle Line, and rode it to Farringdon, which wasn’t far from the Durbar.
She walked through Clerkenwell to the theatre - of course, coming from that direction meant that she approached the Durbar from the “public” side, as opposed to the side with the stage door before you got to the foyer entrance. And coming that way put into her mind the idea of crossing the road to see if Concarnadine and his crew happened to be having an early dinner in the Chop House. But their usual corner was empty, and Penny was about to cross back across the street and see if Don Concannon was at his post at the stage door, when she saw, silhouetted against the light of a suddenly opened door a gangly figure that might have been one of the witch-girls. It might not have been, but Penny didn’t feel inclined to test the theory, so she swung round again, crossed by the zebra crossing, and went straight in the front doors of the theatre, next to invisible among the other patrons gathering for the early performance.
Concarnadine believed in giving chances - almost as long as he’d held the tenancy of the Durbar, he’d scheduled early and late shows once and twice a week, and gave over two-thirds of the early shows to visiting practitioners from the provinces or abroad, or to the students at Barton Elbue’s School of Magic. Tonight he was using the smaller theatre in the building, and Penny had the pleasure of seeing two card-manipulators, a young Chinese or Japanese girl-contortionist, and a young man who was clearly trying to master the art of fire-eating.
Then, for the last twenty minutes, Concarnadine shared the stage with a young Ulsterman who performed a series of baffling illusions with “flags of all nations” and immense lengths of bunting. And Penny could tell that his tricks were pure legerdemain - there was no sign of Concarnadine’s conjurations nor of other unworldly artifice, and she was, by now, certain that, had there been, she would have seen some tell-tale sign of it.
The show having ended, and there being no sign of witch-girls among the small audience, Penny decided to go with the flow, as it were, and walked down towards the stage and, once her fellow audience had gone, vaulting up onto the proscenium and approaching the curtain. Behind it, as she had expected, there a couple of stage-hands tidying up, and she asked them for directions to the main backstage.
“Concarnadine’s expecting me,” she said: “He sent a message.”
The elder looked to the younger: “You’d better show her, Paul. Take her to Mr.C.”
Given that neither of them would have known her from Eve (apart from the absence of obvious fig-leaves or serpents), Penny was unsurprised when the “Mr.C” proved to be Don Concannon.
“Mr. Concannon - nice to see you again !”
“That’s all right, Paul - she’s expected. Come on, Miss Mortenson: I’ll tell them you’re here. I expected you at the door - ” His thumb indicated the stage door, and Penny explained about her concerns about being watched.
The conversation was still going on when they reached the dressing rooms where Concarnadine and Elizabeth were circulating among their young co-stars, bestowing advice and congratulations.
“Look what was at your first show !”
“Penny !”
“We hadn’t thought you’d pay to come in !”
“We’ve the main show still to do - “
“Unless you fancy being in it .... ?”
Penny watched the show from one of the theatre’s two boxes, concealed behind a darkness illusion cast by Elizabeth (which, of course, did not impede her view). This way, as Borin said, even if someone had got into the theatre and could get back-stage, they couldn’t get to her.
Afterwards, she joined the others in the attic flat.
“You’re all right, anyway ?” Elizabeth said.
Penny nodded.
“That’s good,” Borin said.
“The Paradmant,” Concarnadine interjected, without preamble, “is here without his own realm’s authority. They were going to ask Rayner for permission to send more through to hunt him down, but since that was the excuse that was used last time, and since no-one there will admit to knowing what it is that he is after here, Rayner and Canon Foreizer agreed that the less disruption the better. The Canon has authorised Rayner, and through him, us, to take such steps as are necessary to return him to his own world.”
Penny nodded again, although more to indicate that she had heard the words, than that they had made substantive sense to her.
“And we think we’ve almost got some new … I suppose you’d call them ‘tricks’ … for you,” Elizabeth added.
“What do you mean ?”
“The devices Borin made for you - and one or two of mine and C’s,” she replied. “We think we can combine and refine them - like a decorative collar you can wear that will combine one of Borin’s communication gadgets, the pearl we found enhanced your memory, and another gem, enchanted to protect you from being magically tracked.”
It all sounded very complicated.
“I’ve asked round,” Borin said, bluntly. “Them girls are still out there, but I ’aven’t seen any sign - “
“One was outside the theatre tonight, I’m sure,” Penny interrupted the dwarf, and Borin stopped.
“Didn’ know that,” he said; “I’ll go and -- “
A knock came at the door. Borin went to see who it was and came back with one of the backstage crew.
“Mr Concannon sent me - he didn’t want to use the telephone because she’s there now: a girl, asking questions, and demanding to see Miss Mortenson.”
“This is for me to deal with,” Penny said, getting up. “You needn’t be involved.”
Concarnadine also scrambled to his feet, but something - perhaps a look in Elizabeth’s eyes, Penny couldn’t tell - made him pause and relax.
“You can’t go alone, girl,” Borin said. “I’ll come with - you talk, I’ll stand there.”
They walked down the stair, past the two upper storeys where the back-scene drop and lighting gallery were, and so down to the stage level, and the corridor to the stage door.
Penny was tense, on edge, waiting to protect, somehow, the Durbar and the people there from whatever the witch-sisterhood had in mind.
So it was quiet a shock to find that the “girl, asking questions” was Dee Rosenorth, dressed in a trench-coat and shout shoes, and carrying a big shoulder-bag, one big enough (Penny registers) for a plasma-screen, let alone a lap-top computer.
Their eyes lock: “Penny ! What are you - I mean, I know you know - Are you part of -- ?”
“Dee ? How did -- ? Sorry: what did you say ?”
“You need to leave,” Borin said flatly.
“You’re real !!” Dee’s voice rose almost a full octave.
“Keep your voice down !!” Penny took Dee by the wrist and drew her closer to the doorway and the world outside. “What are you doing here ?”
“I’m working on a story - about Concarnadine and how he’s got links with the police - does consulting for them - but they don’t admit it.”
“And you were going to tell people ??!!”
A telephone rang, and Penny heard Borin’s gruff voice.
“Look,” she said, fixing Dee’s gaze with her own, and going for emphasis in her voice, “I don’t know what you are thinking of writing this time, but you are really treading on dangerous ground.” She glanced round and saw that Borin was still on the telephone. “If you come with me now, I will try my best to sort thing out, and,” Penny added, with desperate fervour,” I will do what I can to get you a really good story to write and sell.”
Dee’s gaze dropped and Penny sensed that, for the instant, she had won.
Her top-coat was still upstairs, but there was no way now that she was going back for it. She could come back and get it another day - she had other coats at home, after all. Instead, she turned Dee round, and walked with her to the door, to the outside world, to Clerkenwell, hopefully to some stability and peace and quiet.
Author/Artist: Scriptator
Fandom: Concarnadine (original)
Rating: Probably PG
Warnings:
Disclaimer: Everyone in here is an Original Character. Please ask before borrowing.
Penny had been keen to avoid any further enquiries by ‘Tumult’’s own staff, and had made her farewells and gone back to Shoreditch, fed Tiger, done some work online from home, and had a late-afternoon snack to keep her going through the evening.
Then, at about six, Tiger having been settled with one saucer of food and another of water, Penny left the flat, allowing plenty of time to get to the theatre. She was most of the way to the station when something caught her eye: a shadow shifting in the mouth of a narrow alleyway on the far side of the street - a shifting which might have been someone - or something - moving back into the darkness so that it could not so easily be seen.
Penny didn’t hesitate or break stride, but she changed her plan on the instant and steered herself to the bus-stop and caught a number 67 to the Aldgate, and from there, she switched to the Underground Circle Line, and rode it to Farringdon, which wasn’t far from the Durbar.
She walked through Clerkenwell to the theatre - of course, coming from that direction meant that she approached the Durbar from the “public” side, as opposed to the side with the stage door before you got to the foyer entrance. And coming that way put into her mind the idea of crossing the road to see if Concarnadine and his crew happened to be having an early dinner in the Chop House. But their usual corner was empty, and Penny was about to cross back across the street and see if Don Concannon was at his post at the stage door, when she saw, silhouetted against the light of a suddenly opened door a gangly figure that might have been one of the witch-girls. It might not have been, but Penny didn’t feel inclined to test the theory, so she swung round again, crossed by the zebra crossing, and went straight in the front doors of the theatre, next to invisible among the other patrons gathering for the early performance.
Concarnadine believed in giving chances - almost as long as he’d held the tenancy of the Durbar, he’d scheduled early and late shows once and twice a week, and gave over two-thirds of the early shows to visiting practitioners from the provinces or abroad, or to the students at Barton Elbue’s School of Magic. Tonight he was using the smaller theatre in the building, and Penny had the pleasure of seeing two card-manipulators, a young Chinese or Japanese girl-contortionist, and a young man who was clearly trying to master the art of fire-eating.
Then, for the last twenty minutes, Concarnadine shared the stage with a young Ulsterman who performed a series of baffling illusions with “flags of all nations” and immense lengths of bunting. And Penny could tell that his tricks were pure legerdemain - there was no sign of Concarnadine’s conjurations nor of other unworldly artifice, and she was, by now, certain that, had there been, she would have seen some tell-tale sign of it.
The show having ended, and there being no sign of witch-girls among the small audience, Penny decided to go with the flow, as it were, and walked down towards the stage and, once her fellow audience had gone, vaulting up onto the proscenium and approaching the curtain. Behind it, as she had expected, there a couple of stage-hands tidying up, and she asked them for directions to the main backstage.
“Concarnadine’s expecting me,” she said: “He sent a message.”
The elder looked to the younger: “You’d better show her, Paul. Take her to Mr.C.”
Given that neither of them would have known her from Eve (apart from the absence of obvious fig-leaves or serpents), Penny was unsurprised when the “Mr.C” proved to be Don Concannon.
“Mr. Concannon - nice to see you again !”
“That’s all right, Paul - she’s expected. Come on, Miss Mortenson: I’ll tell them you’re here. I expected you at the door - ” His thumb indicated the stage door, and Penny explained about her concerns about being watched.
The conversation was still going on when they reached the dressing rooms where Concarnadine and Elizabeth were circulating among their young co-stars, bestowing advice and congratulations.
“Look what was at your first show !”
“Penny !”
“We hadn’t thought you’d pay to come in !”
“We’ve the main show still to do - “
“Unless you fancy being in it .... ?”
Penny watched the show from one of the theatre’s two boxes, concealed behind a darkness illusion cast by Elizabeth (which, of course, did not impede her view). This way, as Borin said, even if someone had got into the theatre and could get back-stage, they couldn’t get to her.
Afterwards, she joined the others in the attic flat.
“You’re all right, anyway ?” Elizabeth said.
Penny nodded.
“That’s good,” Borin said.
“The Paradmant,” Concarnadine interjected, without preamble, “is here without his own realm’s authority. They were going to ask Rayner for permission to send more through to hunt him down, but since that was the excuse that was used last time, and since no-one there will admit to knowing what it is that he is after here, Rayner and Canon Foreizer agreed that the less disruption the better. The Canon has authorised Rayner, and through him, us, to take such steps as are necessary to return him to his own world.”
Penny nodded again, although more to indicate that she had heard the words, than that they had made substantive sense to her.
“And we think we’ve almost got some new … I suppose you’d call them ‘tricks’ … for you,” Elizabeth added.
“What do you mean ?”
“The devices Borin made for you - and one or two of mine and C’s,” she replied. “We think we can combine and refine them - like a decorative collar you can wear that will combine one of Borin’s communication gadgets, the pearl we found enhanced your memory, and another gem, enchanted to protect you from being magically tracked.”
It all sounded very complicated.
“I’ve asked round,” Borin said, bluntly. “Them girls are still out there, but I ’aven’t seen any sign - “
“One was outside the theatre tonight, I’m sure,” Penny interrupted the dwarf, and Borin stopped.
“Didn’ know that,” he said; “I’ll go and -- “
A knock came at the door. Borin went to see who it was and came back with one of the backstage crew.
“Mr Concannon sent me - he didn’t want to use the telephone because she’s there now: a girl, asking questions, and demanding to see Miss Mortenson.”
“This is for me to deal with,” Penny said, getting up. “You needn’t be involved.”
Concarnadine also scrambled to his feet, but something - perhaps a look in Elizabeth’s eyes, Penny couldn’t tell - made him pause and relax.
“You can’t go alone, girl,” Borin said. “I’ll come with - you talk, I’ll stand there.”
They walked down the stair, past the two upper storeys where the back-scene drop and lighting gallery were, and so down to the stage level, and the corridor to the stage door.
Penny was tense, on edge, waiting to protect, somehow, the Durbar and the people there from whatever the witch-sisterhood had in mind.
So it was quiet a shock to find that the “girl, asking questions” was Dee Rosenorth, dressed in a trench-coat and shout shoes, and carrying a big shoulder-bag, one big enough (Penny registers) for a plasma-screen, let alone a lap-top computer.
Their eyes lock: “Penny ! What are you - I mean, I know you know - Are you part of -- ?”
“Dee ? How did -- ? Sorry: what did you say ?”
“You need to leave,” Borin said flatly.
“You’re real !!” Dee’s voice rose almost a full octave.
“Keep your voice down !!” Penny took Dee by the wrist and drew her closer to the doorway and the world outside. “What are you doing here ?”
“I’m working on a story - about Concarnadine and how he’s got links with the police - does consulting for them - but they don’t admit it.”
“And you were going to tell people ??!!”
A telephone rang, and Penny heard Borin’s gruff voice.
“Look,” she said, fixing Dee’s gaze with her own, and going for emphasis in her voice, “I don’t know what you are thinking of writing this time, but you are really treading on dangerous ground.” She glanced round and saw that Borin was still on the telephone. “If you come with me now, I will try my best to sort thing out, and,” Penny added, with desperate fervour,” I will do what I can to get you a really good story to write and sell.”
Dee’s gaze dropped and Penny sensed that, for the instant, she had won.
Her top-coat was still upstairs, but there was no way now that she was going back for it. She could come back and get it another day - she had other coats at home, after all. Instead, she turned Dee round, and walked with her to the door, to the outside world, to Clerkenwell, hopefully to some stability and peace and quiet.