Chapter six: Tonya and Melanie

Trigger warnings for those who need them

No trigger warnings.

It’s late. I’ve refilled the oil in my lantern twice by now and yet the flame is getting dimmer by the minute.
I should go to bed but my brain will not stop talking. It keeps on churning the day over and over in my head.
My pen is rushing over the page trying desperately to push the thoughts out onto the paper.
Quickly.
Before I forget.
Before a vital clue to this mystery leaks away into the annals of sleep and the subconscious and I cannot reach it anymore.
The woman’s name was Donna, the man in the dressing room is called Darren Johnasson..
Donna was stabbed on stage, Darren was choked to death.
But when?
Before the show?
In the interval?.
Did mister Johnasson’s feet touch the stage yesterday or was it the murderer all along?

I underline the word ‘when’. The line looks a bit rubbish. I squint my eyes.
The flame is nothing but a small red speck by now.
I reach for the oil to replenish it but then I change my mind, decide it’s probably best to call it a night.
My brain is tired, my eyes keep falling shut.
And I wouldn’t want to buy a new bottle of lamp oil every day.
I close my notebook. Take the oil lamp with me as he world’s most inefficient walking light and escape into my bed.
Mind still swirling and tumbling.

Until I wake up the next morning, ready-ish to tackle another day.
I get washed up, dressed, push my hair into place, while wondering once more why I haven’t chopped it off yet like I said I would when leaving Choumuri.
It’s because I’m a coward when it comes to cutting my hair.
I’ve never cut my hair before and I don’t know if I could explain what I want to a hairdresser and what I’d do if they mess up? Or I explained wrong or what I envision in my head just looks bad?
Give me a murder any day but keep the scissors away from my face.
I think I meant that as a joke, but the moment the thought enters my brain so does the image of blood on my hands and that poor woman dying in the middle of the stage.
I shudder as a sense of guilt sinks into my stomach.
These aren’t the sorts of things I should joke about.
I push a pin through the bundle of hair to keep it in place. The pin is steel and bare.
I bought it here so people wouldn’t be able to tell my wealth by my accessories and because I’d much rather find a seller for the gems and mother of pearl encrusted jewels that I’ve been gifted over the years by my parents.
I’ve looked for a Jigani seller because I doubt anyone else could recognize the craftsmanship.
Unfortunately, my investigations have come up short.
Now I’ll just have to learn the Charan language as well as possible so that I can convince the other party to not just pay for the materials, but for the story of the jewel. Its history and cultural relevance are as that’s as much part of the piece’s value, if not more.
But that’s not a problem for today.
Today I must try and solve a murder instead.
I nod to myself in the mirror and turn to the door.

I walk straight to the parlour and find Xuiyo already sitting at the table with a pot of tea and an absent look on his face.
“Morning.” I call out to him.
His eyes lose that glassy quality as he focuses his gaze on me, “Morning.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Nightmare?”
He shrugs, which knowing him, means ‘yes’.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He shrugs again, then wipes some hair behind his ears and says “I dreamt I stabbed that woman on stage. It was unnerving because I knew exactly how it felt as the knife sunk into her body.” He shudders.
Ah, yes.
I guess you would.
“Want a hug?” I offer.
“Sure.”
I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tightly. “You know, what happened between your brother and you back in Choumuri, and what happened last night were not remotely the same thing right?”
His hand wraps around my arm but he doesn’t speak.
“You know I’m right, right?”
“I know I killed someone.”
“You killed a monster, one you would have left alone if he didn’t keep coming after you.”
He shrugs noncommittally.
“You want me to go get Hamala so she can tell you what she thinks?”
Xuiyo lets out an unexpected chuckle “I’m good. Let her sleep, she had to deal with me tossing and turning all night.”
We stay like that for a moment or two. Beyond the glass I can hear people waking up and starting their days.
A lot of people are living in the parking space. It’s like a whole extra neighbourhood in a way. When the city is full and you came from elsewhere you might as well. Most airships have the basic amenities after all.
I feel my friend’s hand slip away and I look down at him, his face is tilted towards me “You want some tea?”
“Sure, I’ll grab a cup.”.
“Nah, sit down, I’ll get it, I need to make new tea anyway, that pot is long empty.”
“You’ve been in here for a while then I take it?”
He shrugs, says “I’ll be right back.” and walks out to the kitchen.
I pick up my notebook from the coffee table are start leafing through it. Some of these passages sound like the ravings of a madwoman…
I grab my pencil and start adding footnotes to clarify.

A cup of tea later I make my way back into the city with my fake identification card and mentally prepare myself for my first ever detective interview.
I climb the terrace and look around for a way to get to the back of the place.
The main entrance is closed, the space beyond the windows dark and dead-looking.
But surely at least Pilkee is in right?
Since the theater is flanked by shops on both sides I have to walk around the block.
I count the doors, that’s the jewelers, and the tailor and-
I find a small group of young children gathered around an imposingly large doubt door with paint peeling off the front.
That’s odd.
Shouldn’t they be going to school or learning a trade elsewhere? “What are you all doing out here?” I ask the children with genuine curiosity.
“We’re listening to the show.” a girl with pale hair and grey eyes tells me while beckoning me closer.
I don’t really know what to say to that. I’m pretty sure there’s no show on at the moment but I approach, ready to be proven wrong. Upon laying my ear against the door find a deep, heavy dirge coming from the other side of the door. Fingers crashing down on the keys as if they were made from lead and listening to it makes me feel hopeless.
Tired.
I wonder if the one playing it is Donna’s brother as I can feel a profound sense of loss coming through the music.
The piece sounds heartrendingly sad to me, I look down at the kids sitting on the pavement and wonder if they’re hearing the same things as me.
“Do you like the music?” I ask carefully.
The girl who beckoned me nods “Yes.”
“What does it sound like to you?”
The girls frowns “It sounds like fancy people music. The kind that people like to dance in with big poofy dresses and tailcoats”
I crack a smile at that “I see.” That’s all right then. I nod and pull myself away from the door. “Enjoy the music. I need to move on again.””Okay, bye lady.” says a boy with freckles on his face.
“I think your cap looks really pretty.” a girl with braid on the sides of her head tells me.
“Really? That’s so sweet thank you.” I bow to the kids.
Then resume my course to the proper door.

The artist entrance isn’t nearly as big or imposing than the door I just passed.
In fact, if I wasn’t told how to get here I wouldn’t even have realised it’s still part of the theater, since I had to pass other buildings to get here.
I knock on the door. It opens almost instantaneously and the blonde woman I met yesterday beckons me inside.
“Detective, please come in.”
“Thank you.” I enter the corridor beyond and find myself looking at that same row of doors I found yesterday on the way to Darren’s dressing room. It’s…weird. Like it’s both been ages and no time at all since I was here last.
I expect the lady to start walking out to towards the doors so I can follow her but instead she passes me and locks the door behind me, slipping the key back into her pocket.
“Is it always locked?” I ask her a tad befuddled.
“Yes, it’s a security thing to make sure no one comes in to harass the stars.”
“Is this a problem you had before?”
“As long as I’ve worked here the doors have been locked, so I couldn’t really tell you.”
“And you all have keys?”
“Gotta get into work somehow.”
“Is there a spare key? Suppose I work here and I forgot mine.”
“Then you’d have to piggy back off mine.” she smiles.
“But people tend to leave together anyway after a show since we like to go to the Steampowered Envelope after the show.”
“A bar?”.
“A cafe, it’s a good place to unwind.”.
“Really? I’d imagine you’d go to bed after the show.”
“Some do, but for me and plenty others the adrenaline needs receding first and a cup of tea is just the thing to do it.”.
“Interesting.””We shouldn’t be discussing all this out in the corridor, Tonya’s waiting for us in my dressing room. Please follow me.”
“Right, of course.”

The woman doesn’t take us far, just a couple doors.
She opens it to reveal a dressing room similar to the one I found Darren in yesterday, same vanity table, same chest for clothes and whatnot. But where his room was sparsely decorated Miss Pilkee’s walls are covered from side to side in watercolour pictures, framed pieces of embroidery and other knickknacks with no apparent theme between them.
Melanie’s friend gets up from her seat the moments she spots us come in. She’s wearing a pale cotton day-dress and the heavy theater make-up of yesterday’s performance is washed away. “Good morning detective.” She greets me, hand outstretched.
“Good morning, I’m Alice Castella, feel free to just call me Alice.”
“Tonya Sillast, just Tonya will do.” she then heads back into the room, pulls two large luggage cases off the wall and then gestures me to sit on the chair.
“Oh, thank you.” I open up my little notebook at a fresh page and hold my pencil at the ready.
From the corner of my eye I spot Melanie take a towel from the chest and hang it around the doorknob.
“Can I ask what’s with the towels? I noticed one on mister Johnasson’s room as well.”
“Oh, none of these doors can lock, so if you want privacy in this place this tells everyone else to knock before barging in.”
“I see.” Does that mean that by having the towel on mister Johnasson’s room he wanted privacy and the murderer broke that social rule? Or did the murderer put it there so no he could do his murdering in private?
Tonya sits down on the chest across from me, quickly followed by Melanie as well.
“Now, how can we help?” Melanie asks.
“What can you tell me about Mister Johnasson?”
“Well, his first name is Darren, he’s, uh was, 36 years old and he’d been with the troupe for about four years-”
“Six years, he joined two years after Selina.” Tonya corrects her.
“Oh right…has it been that long already?”
“Yup.”
“I feel old now, thanks Tonya.”
“You’re welcome darling.” the woman blows a kiss at the other rolling her eyes.
An involuntary smile creeps onto my lips. I try to push it away and look more professional as I write things down.
“Anyway, he got promoted to liadro a couple months ago so he was pretty new to the whole diea-thing. He’s a good dancer of course, but playing the snake was challenging for him.”
“I’m sorry, getting used to the Charalian language still so exactly what’s a diyeha?”
She pulls up an eyebrow in surprise “You’re not Charan?” she gestures to my pale hair.
I push a lock behind my ear “Oh, uh, my mother’s Charan but my father’s Cygnian and I was born and raised there. I’d never even seen Charalia until I moved here.”
Melanie hums “Odd combination. Usually Charans and Cygnians can’t stand one another.”
Thinking back to my parents I’m sure that adage still rings true. “My parents are…quite odd.”
She huffs “Tell me about it.”
“I’d rather not.”
She chuckles at that “Oh, that’s just a turn of phrase, I’m sorry.” She turns to her vanity and opens up a drawer. “Your accent is really good considering you’re not a native. Have you been to the mainland yet?”
“Thank you, I’ve visited Callahaggy on my way here but only for a couple hours. I’ll go and stay a little longer in a few days.”
“Good. You know you haven’t really seen Charalia unless you’ve been to the mainland. This mess of a city hardly compares.”
“Are you from there?”
She chuckles “Nope. Born and raised here in the mess. But I’ve been up and down for work and holiday.” She springs up, steps to a set of drawers and pulls out a small golden foil box “Bonbon?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t offer if I minded.”
“Thank you, I haven’t had these in so long.” I pick out one of the little powder dusted chocolate balls and pop it in my mouth. For all the sweets I’ve tried, my heart will always flutter the most for chocolate.
“You’re welcome, Unfortunately I don’t know Cygnian but Tonya does, so feel free to ask translations from her.” She adds while stepping up to the other woman and offering her a bonbon as well.
“Diea means solo, dancing on your own rather than as part of a larger group.” Tonya explains.
“Oh! I see. Thank you.” I switch back to Charan as to not exclude our kind host “And sorry for asking again but Tonya, you and Darren, were the two of you romantically involved?”
Tonya looks to me, then to Melanie for a moment and back again before saying “Yup.”
“Thank you. Did he have any enemies inside the theater?”
Tonya huffs at the question “Only any male dancer underneath him who thinks they can usurp him.”
“You would consider the competition fierce enough for murder?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but there are definitely dancers who believe he wasn’t up to the task. People who thought they’d do a better job”
“And who would they be?”
“Timothy Blanque, he’s Harald’s little protege but his abilities to dance are inverse to his manners.” Tonya rolls her eyes.
“Well yes, but he was on the stage playing a snake child when the murder happened.” Melanie adds helpfully.
“Maybe he put some other fellow student in his costume? They all wear masks for the scene after all.”
“Maybe?”
“Otto would actually have a better shot at the role, he occasionally works for the corps de ballet but despite coming up and down here for five years now he never goes out with us after the show and rarely shows his face outside of work.”
“And where was he during the show?”
“I think he’s either at Tripsie theater or dancing at Barlymoore at the moment. He wasn’t cast for this one and capable dancers can usually find some other place to be.”
I nod my head as I write down the names “Do you know where I could find those places so I can ask the man some questions?”
“Tripsie’s at the southern banks. As for Barlymoore, there’s a tunnel connecting the north and south passage, the entryway is right in the middle of that passage.”
“Thank you. Oh, does this Otto have a last name as well?”
Melanie blinks perplexedly “I don’t know, I mean I assume he does, but I just realised I have no idea what it is.”
“Then I’ll just use his first name for now.” I turn my page and write up a new header “What about Donna, can you tell me more about her?”
“She used to live in the theater with her brother George. He’s the guy who started yelling when Donna got stabbed.”
Well, that’s interesting. “Do any of the other performers live in the theater?”
“Nope they’re the only ones. They and Barnaby had some sort of arrangement though I don’t know the details. I didn’t talk to the singers much, Melanie?” Tonya looks to the singer for help.
“Donna was a sweetheart, she was shy, kept to herself most times but when you caught her in private she was a very good conversationalist and overall nice gal. I can’t imagine anyone wanting her to die.”
“I see.” if no one has reason to kill her then perhaps Donna is the collateral damage. But I don’t know why there needed to be any if mister Johnasson was already dead… Maybe it was all about sending a message? Or she knew something she wasn’t supposed to, witnessed the murder and had to be silenced?
Well in that case the murderer has a big task on his hands…the entire theater saw them do it this time around.
I shudder.
“You okay?” Melanie asks.
“Yes, thank you. Do you think I could talk to George?”
“Right now? Probably not. He kind of… broke after he was let on the stage and I’m not sure if he’s okay enough to talk to anybody right now. Barnaby gave him time off to process things and as far as I know he’s been spending that time playing dour piano ever since. I hope he at least slept tonight but he was playing when I left yesterday and he’s been playing ever since I came in.”
So that means the door I passed before reaching the artist entrance did indeed have Donna’s brother behind it.
“I see.” That’s unfortunate, I’m really curious how he knew Donna was in danger before anyone else did. But it cannot be helped.
“This might sound like an odd question but where do the performers go during the interval?”
“During the interval? We just sorta hang out in the communal dressing room and drink water.”
“Was Darren there during the interval yesterday?”
“Well…uh.” And then without warning Melanie burst into tears.
Oh! Uh-
I look at Tonya for help.
The woman calmly pulls the handkerchief from the other woman’s breast pocket and hands it off, “The two of them had an argument.” She clarifies. “For some reason he was ignoring her.”
“Ignoring her?”
Melanie waves her hands “No, no it’s not about that. We both know he doesn’t talk much on a good day it’s just that in the dressing room he didn’t come over to say hi. And then at the start of the interval he rushes straight for his dressing room and I followed him but then he wouldn’t talk to me and he wouldn’t even let me in and- I don’t know what I did wrong? Or why he was suddenly acting that way and I hate the idea the last thing I said to him was that he was acting like a child.”
Tonya hugs her friend while I wonder whether I’m supposed to do something. Or say something.
What could I possibly say to make her feel better about that?
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.” Melanie calls out.
“Melanie, are you okay?” The woman opening the door has short brown hair and a kind looking face.
“Yeah, uh, I’ll be fine, thank you Selina.” She dries her eyes and asks, “Do you need something or…?”
“The boss wants to see us in the house. He’s about to announce what’ll happen next”
“Got it, we’ll be right there.”
The young woman nods, then closes the door again.
Melanie gets up, signalling me to do the same “I apologize for the interruption.”
“It’s okay, thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“Of course.”
“And if there’s anything else you think might be useful to the investigation please don’t hesitate to reach out. You can find me on number 108.”
“You live on the parking lot?” Melanie asks suprised.
“We haven’t been here for very long.”
“Will do.” Melanie tells me, Tonya nods.
She walks me back to the door.
as it closes I find the time is only eleven in the morning.
Guess I still have time to check out those other theaters.
My stomach growls in protest.
I check my watch.
All right fine, lunch first, then more investigation.