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By Root 697 0

Daughter, Sitwell had positioned the Doctor with the Loogaroo, which was practically unheard of. The Doctor was traditionally a doctor of theology, not a medical doctor, and so his relationship with the Loogaroo, the King of the Bogeymen, would have been heresy. Certainly, Sitwell would have been hanged already if his play had premiered in Canth, where the Convocus ruled the Goetic Church. But the Trowthi Church Royal was a little more relaxed about fictional heresy. Still, the play was shocking and scandalous. It would provoke reviews in every broadsheet in the city, ranging from the vitriolic: “…repetitive, inane tripe…” to the luminous “…spectacular, a work of genius!” The Bone-Collector’s Daughter would briefly turn Bertram Sitwell into the most popular playwright of the era, before it became apparent that, if this one was a masterpiece, poor Mr. Sitwell didn’t seem to have any left in him.

All in all, Beckett would one day regret not paying attention for more than the first fifteen minutes. Still, after hearing, “What are you saying? Let me approach, so I can hear more clearly,” three times in the first scene, Beckett found his attention wandering.

“These are terrible seats,” he whispered to Skinner. She didn’t respond, and Beckett realized that she was using her Knocker talent to project her hearing right onto the stage. As far as she was concerned, they might as well have been front row center.

Beckett sighed, and let his eyes meander around the theatre, while he sipped from his veneine-brandy. The Theatra Popula was richly appointed; its walls and ceilings were covered with ornate plaster sculptures of leaves or fruit or something; Beckett had a hard time seeing them in the dark. Along the walls were small box seats; little alcoves that could fit four or five people, and keep them well away from the riff-raff sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the floor seats. The boxes were angled towards the center of the theatre, not the stage; presumably, this was because having a box seat at the Theatra Popula was more about being seen than it was about seeing anything. Some of the boxes even had family crests emblazoned on them. There was the apple and feather of the Crabtree-Feathersmith, the three bees of Ennering-Vie…

The lantern and staff of the Wyndham-Vies. Edgar Wyndham-Vie’s box seats were directly across from Beckett’s, and Edgar himself was there, along with another man. It was hard to see from where he sat. He nudged Skinner.

“What?” She snapped at him.

“The box, straight across from it. It’s Edgar Wyndham-Vie and someone else. Can you tell who’s with him?”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Skinner sighed. She tilted her head and pursed her lips in the gestures that Beckett knew bespoke concentration. “No.”

“You don’t recognize him.”

“It’s not that…” she shook her head. “There’s a weird echo. I can’t get a bead on any of the voices.”

“All right.” Beckett stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Stretch my legs. I’ll be back.”

The coroner slipped out through the curtains in the back of the box, and down the great staircase to the lobby. In his defense, his legs did ache. It happened sometimes if he sat for too long. He took another sip of veneine, and found an usher.

“How do I get to the Family boxes?” He asked the man, who looked to be about ten thousand years old.

“Family boxes are…” the old man said, his voice a dry rattle that came between deep breaths. “…private…”

Beckett took out the brass shield that had the coroners’ crest on it. He held the double-eagle under the usher’s nose. The old man stared at it blankly for a few moments, then his eyes suddenly widened. “Official business,” Beckett said. “You understand.”

The old man avowed that he certainly did understand, and if Beckett wanted to get to the family boxes he need only take the stair all the way to his left, go to the very top, and turn right at the end of the hall.

The Family boxes all had little brass plaques with their names on them above the red curtains that served as doors. Beckett wandered down the hall until he found the one that said “Wyndham-Vie,