Chapter seven: Barlymoore’s

Trigger warnings for those who need them

No trigger warnings.

I wonder whether Melanie knew Tripsie theater is closed for renovations or not.
Probably not.
But it does leave me with only one theater left to check for mister Otto.
I look at the door in the middle of the tunnel and wonder how it even came to be there.
Did someone really just see a blank wall somewhere and think “Oh free real estate.”?
Or did the theater come first and the door just so happened to end up in the middle of a pedestrian tunnel?
Would it be weird to ask?
The wall isn’t blank anymore, posters of theater performances frame the door on either side and to my surprise, it seems like most of these performances are still running.
All at the same time.
I knock on the door.
A hatch that I didn’t notice before slides open, giving me a startle.
“Ticket.” the woman looking down at me has pretty eyes but a cold and harsh voice filled with the scratch of cigarette smoke.
“Oh right I don’t have one yet-“
She rolls her eyes in response “Please buy a ticket at a ticket machine on either side of the tunnel thank you.” the hatch slides shut again in my face.
Oh…
I didn’t even notice a ticket machine on the other side of the tunnel.
I double back and indeed, there’s a tin box with a sign saying ‘Barlymoore tickets: 1 copper’ and a long handle to pull.
I do as the machine instructs and send a copper down the slit.
Maybe I also need to pull the lever?
Ah, right, ticket acquired.
I wonder why these machines aren’t just next to the door but then I reconsider.
Judging from the size they’d probably take up half the tunnel’s breadth.
That’d make them a permanent obstruction.
But that’s enough pondering.
I have a suspect to find.
I knock on the door again.
Show my ticket.
Another slit opens, lower in the door. A pale hand with blotchy skin yet impeccably manicured nails opens up before me.
I hand off the ticket.
The hatches close with a bang.
Did…
Did I just get scammed?
Then the door opens.
“Welcome to Barlymoore’s little girl.” the woman croons cheerfully.
I step in.
I follow a long tunnel down into a very strange place.
The music swells as I walk towards the light.
The air gets thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol.
Then, at the end of the tunnel, I find myself in the middle of a cross.
Three stages are set up at the ends of the long arms around a central hollow with tables and people serving food and drinks around.
This is a theater?
It’s a very odd one if so…
I walk towards the first stage and find a woman performing tricks of sleight of hand. Making flowers appear and disappear all around the stage and pulling tricks with cards and strips of fabric.
Her performance is frantic, energetic and upbeat.
It’s impressive.
Unfortunately, she’s not the one I’m looking for.
The second stage features a duo, a man playing the violin accompanied by a woman on the cello. They play calm and pretty music that clashes entirely with the magician’s act, but it does sound very lovely.
I notice a little tin jar standing by the stage and occasionally people drop some extra money down the slit.
Oh that’s nice.
A little bonus.
But lovely as this is, I don’t think either of these people are the man I’m looking for.
I sure hope he’s on that final stage.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I find a ballet dancer on the final stage, moving gracefully to the violin and cello music of the other stage and attracting quite the crowd doing so. He bends and twirls to the music as if he were a flower played with by the wind and while I know in my head this man is just as heavy as any other human being I can’t help but feel like his entire being should be lighter than a feather in order to move like that.
I watch as the man dances until the end of the song.
Then people clap, toss some money in the box and move on to the next stage. I stay, walk up to him.
But then the next song starts to play, an upbeat folk song and he starts to dance again this time inhabiting a character with the jumpiness of a cricket.
People come up to the stage and watch him jump from one end of the stage to the other or jumping and twirling at the same time and it looks impressive, it looks big.
It looks like I’ll be here for a while until he’s done.
Maybe he gets a break somewhere halfway through?
There’s no way he can keep dancing like that for hours on end, right?
Right?

I’ve gone round the room twice by now.
There’s a couple things I learned.
The stages are divided in fifteen minute time blocks. So in between those four moments there’s no reason to expect anyone to stop doing what they’re doing.
The magician got swapped out with a storyteller whose stories sound very exciting if only I spoke the language.
The string duo got replaced with an accordionist.
I suspect that center stage is always used for playing music, but I can’t be certain of that yet.
Meanwhile Otto just keeps dancing.
It’s been over two hours since I came in, I’d be absolutely crushed doing what he does for that long.
Yet he doesn’t take breaks or stop, he just drinks a gulp of water in between song changes and keeps going.
He’s quite popular with the amorphous blob that is the crowd as well.
I suspect for a lot of them this is the only opportunity they get to see ballet in action.
This theater is as much less a theater and more like a bar with live entertainment but I can see how for these people that’s a trip to be cherished.
A lot of the patrons are drunk.
Some are kids who saved up their wages.
The longer I’m out here the more their conversations turn into indiscernible mush.
The dancer bows to the audience.
Then steps off the stage.
Seeing my chance, I rush towards him “Mister Otto?”
He looks up, “huh?”
“I’m Alice Castella, I have some questions about-“
The man waves away my enthusiasm “I’m done here, going home now.”
“But it’s about the double murder that happened at Magnolia theater.”
“I’m not at Magnolia theater now, am I?” his voice is soft and lyrical but edged with annoyance. Like he’s putting in a lot of effort to stay polite.
“I…I think we got off on the wrong foot there. Can I offer you a drink? Or some food? Aren’t you hungry after dancing for so long?”
The man raises his dark eyebrows at me “Are you paying?”
“I’m paying.”
He picks up his tin “All right. I’ll have a cup of tea and a bowl of viyere.”
They serve viyere in this place? I haven’t had that since I was a little girl. “Of course, and let’s have a seat as well.”

I order two bowls of viyere and two cups of tea.
The man sits down across from me and looks at me with blank eyes.
“I really enjoyed your performance.”
“Thanks.” His mood seems to have tempered a bit now that he’s sitting down.
“I heard from the people at Magnolia theater you work for their corp de ballet?”
“Occasionally, when I get a part.”
“Did you get a part for Mariella kon enk?”
“If I did I would not be here.”
“But you did audition?”
“Yes.”
“Did you audition for the snake?”
The man scoffs “Of course I did, not that I stood a chance but I can always try, right?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“There’s this guy, Valentine Garcia, he’s played the snake for as long as I can remember. That and the gardener are the only male primary roles so I auditioned for both of them.”
I write down the name “Do you know whether mister Garcia got the part of snake?”
“I assume so, I just heard I didn’t make snake and I didn’t make gardener either. I couldn’t even get a role as guard so I just left for Tripsie and played there till the end of their season, but they’re closed now for renovations and so this place is it until Magnolia starts auditions for their next production.”
“You mentioned you applied for both snake and gardener. Does that mean you know the choreography for both of those roles?”
“I know the steps yes. But it’s difficult to say whether I know the role until mister Kiepel gives his pointers. Knowing the steps and knowing a role are different things in the world of ballet.”
That sounds strangely poetic “I see, and where were you yesterday evening?”
“I was right here, working like I’ve been every night this last month. You can ask Carola if you don’t believe me, she manages all the stars in here.”
“She’s the woman at the door?”
“Uhu.”
“And you do this every night?”
“It’s the only way to survive.” He screws off the top of the tin and starts shaking the money into his coin purse.
“How much does the theater pay you to be here?”
He scoffs at that “Nothing, I pay them for the spot.”
“Two cups of tea and two bowls of viyere” the waitress announces herself as she sets the food and drinks on the table.
“Thank you.” I inspect the gelatinous mass with my fork. Back home the pudding would be clear so you can see all the berries and bits of fruit inside. But it seems that out here the done thing is to mix the pudding with cream making the bits of fruit look like multicolored blotches. It looks odd, like the pudding is bruised somehow.
The waitress smiles to Otto “It’s rare to see you here after work.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
The woman’s smile doesn’t waver at his rudeness. “Then I’ll tell you now that I really like your dancing.”
“Thank you.”
The woman nods and continues on with her job.
“You’re popular.” I remark.
He doesn’t address it. pushing his fork through the gelatinous mess and picking out a strawberry to eat instead.
We eat in silence for a moment.
My eyes go over my notes in the meantime. There are still so many things I need to know.
But I feel like I need to tread carefully if I’m to get any answers without insulting this man.
“Otto?”
“Hmm?” he asks me with his mouth full.
“Do you have the key to artist entrance of the Magnolia theater?”
He shakes his head, then swallows and elaborates “Barnaby demands the key back whenever you’re not in his employ.”
“Even when you’ll be back a couple months later?”
“He’s really strict about it.”
“Do you know why?”
“Would you leave keys to your house with people you can’t be sure to return to you?”
“That’s a fair point.” I note down his answer in the margins then flip back to his page “The people killed were called Darren and Donna, did you know them?”
“Donna’s a singer and a liadro, she’s worked there as long as I can remember, even though I think she’s younger than me.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty two.”
I write down the number and hum attentively. “What about Darren?”
“Darren jumps in and out like me but mister Craig likes him better than me so he nearly always gets a part despite not always deserving it.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs, “That came out wrong. He’s not a bad dancer it’s just that his range is kind of limited and the rest of the cast will sometimes get built around his deficiencies rather than the other way around.”
“Do you resent him for that?”
“Resentment doesn’t do much good in this business. Besides it’s not like I put a lot effort into being liked like him. So I do understand why things are the way they are.”
“The way I heard it they don’t even know your last name.”
He pulls up an eyebrow. Then takes a sip from his tea and says “It’s Zelious.”
I jot it down “I take it you didn’t stick around to go to the Steampowered Envelope after work?”
He shakes his head “I have seven brothers and sisters who all need to eat. Every drink I pay for there I could have used for food and the time could be spent better as well, helping them with their homework, cooking or cleaning the house.”
“What about your parents?”
“My father lost both his legs on the job because his foreman ordered him to do something dangerous. Then they fired him and there was nothing we could do to fight back. Mother cleans other people’s houses to get by, but because that doesn’t pay a lot we all pitch in where we can.”
“That’s horrible.”
He shrugs, then sets down his fork and tosses back is last bit of tea. “Is there anything else you needed to know?”
“I think I know enough, thank you.”
He nods, gets up.
“Oh, one moment.” I dig up my father’s wallet and pick out two coppers “I spent hours looking at your performance but didn’t realize you didn’t get paid by the establishment so I never put a coin in your box.” I hold it out for him. “Again, this is for the dancing, not the information.”
He nods “Thanks.”
He leaves.
I make some more notes as I finish my pudding and decide that while the cream adds a richness that’s quite welcome the way it looks still puts me off somewhat. The desert tastes best when my eyes are focused elsewhere.
Then I drain my cup of tea, pay the bill and walk to the door.
The woman who I’ve learned to be Carola is lounging on a thin bench in the corridor wearing a long red dress and a dead mink around her neck.
The smoke coming from her cigarette smells sweet, it reminds me of the opium dens back home.
“Have a good evening.” she waves at me but I’m not entirely done here.
“Actually, I have a question.”
She blinks at me, “In Cygnian no less?”
“Otto Zelious told me you manage the stars around here, is that correct?”
She waves away the remark “Applications are done Monday morning by eight.”
“Oh, I don’t want to apply, I just need to know who was on the stage yesterday.”
At my question her eyes narrow, she tosses her cigarette into a copper cigarette bowl and says, “why do you need to know?”
“Well you see I’m a detective and-“
The woman wafts a cloud of foul smelling cigarette smoke in my face as she scoffs “Really? A little girl like you?”
“Yes.” I cross my arms “I’m not going to force you to show me yesterday’s roster. I don’t have a warrant and I’m not here to make trouble. It’s just that if you refuse, I have to infer my own conclusions from that.”
Her eyes narrow “Look kid. Everything we do out here is above board. I have contracts for all performers, they all have identification and they decide how long they’re on stage for. There’s no exploitation or trafficking and as much as the police may dislike the place because they hate poor people in general, they cannot find a single blemish on this place to force it to close down. Got it?”
“Then I take it you have the papers to prove it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Come with me little girl.” she rights herself in a single fluid motion and slides to a small office space hidden behind a lavish curtain.
She picks up a heavy leather bound-book, flips to the relevant page and lays it down on the desk. “Yesterday’s roster.” Her impeccably manicured nail points to the date.
My eyes trail down the list of names and all the way at the bottom I find ‘Zelios’ with more crosses inside the time table than anyone else in the company.
He was here from six in the evening all the way till ten.
There’s no way he was involved.“Thank you very much madam. Then I can be on my way.”
“Don’t forget to be back soon and bring all your friends.” the woman croons as she closes the book again.
“Of course.”
By the time I make it out it’s dark beyond the tunnel.
I missed dinner.
I probably should have told the others I’d be out here.
I hope they didn’t want for me.
Although maybe Xuiyo has some left food for me.
That’d be nice.
Can’t live on desserts alone.