“Any idea what you’re looking for?” Luca asked. “I might be able to point you in the right direction. I used to play in here as a kid.”
“That must have been fun,” I said, thinking of the free rein of a child’s imagination loose in this place. “No, I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, actually. Just… inspiration, I guess.”
“Okay, well… feel free to just wander. I’ll be back in a few minutes—just going to grab my lunch,” Luca said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the playhouse.
“Of course. I’ll be fine. Thanks for letting me in,” I said.
He nodded and loped back out into the blazing sunshine. I felt a stab of pity, watching him go. It must be miserable, doing landscaping work in this kind of humidity. This building, on the other hand, felt almost like a walk-in freezer. Goosebumps were erupting on my arms as I started traversing the rows of costume racks. I supposed they had to keep the air conditioning blasting this time of year to keep the humidity from ruining all the fabrics. I’d never been in a theatre that wasn’t either uncomfortably warm or teeth-chatteringly cold—sometimes both at once, depending on whether you were under the stage lights or operating them.
I worried that I might have to dig costume by costume, but I quickly saw, to my relief, that the racks were organized by time period. I bypassed the entire 21st and 20th centuries, feeling the pull toward something older. Surely a pageant about a battle as old as time should have a more historical feel? I drifted past Victorian and Regency era garments, past petticoats and pantaloons, past French revolutionary uniforms and peasant garb, past Musketeer hats and Elizabethan frocks. We were definitely getting closer, I thought. I rounded a corner and found medieval robes and gowns, and several racks of white Greek togas. I dug into them eagerly, but still nothing seemed quite right.
“Wren? Are you in here?” Zale’s voice sounded from the direction of the door.
“Yeah, I’m over here!” I called.
We played a bit of Marco Polo until Zale finally found the right aisle.
“I brought reinforcements,” Zale said, and Eva appeared behind him.
“Hey, Eva. The more the merrier, because this place is huge,” I said. “I never imagined there’d be so much to look through.”
“Found anything good yet?”
“Not sure. I’m still hoping inspiration will strike.”
“These are definitely a lot better than what we have,” Eva volunteered, pulling out a red and gold velvet dress that looked like it belonged in a production of Romeo and Juliet, and holding it up to herself.
“Yeah, but I just keep thinking there must be something bigger and more epic we could do. I mean, we can find the fanciest costumes in here, but when it comes down to it, it’s still going to be Sergei and Ethan wearing them, swinging fake swords at each other like a pair of overgrown toddlers,” I said.
Eva’s face fell. “Good point. Maybe the costumes aren’t the biggest problem.”
“Let’s go check out some of the stuff along the walls,” I said. “Maybe we need to think beyond costumes.”
We split up and started opening bins and bags and boxes. I soon found that, though they were all labeled, extra things had been shoved into the boxes that didn’t necessarily belong there. I was just digging through a box labeled “medieval weaponry” that actually held a fair number of silver tea service pieces, when I heard a shriek and a thump.
“Everyone okay?” I called.
“Zale, you idiot! You scared the crap out of me!” came Eva’s grumbling voice.
“Sorry, I just wanted to show you these!”
I walked up the aisle and around the corner to see Zale towering over Eva on a pair of tall black stilts. Eva was angrily picking up handfuls of fake greenery that was spilling out of an overturned bin. Over their heads was a wall of masks and headpieces of all shapes and sizes. Two giant gold comedy and tragedy masks dominated the top row.
It was as though my brain took in each disparate element and synthesized them. My pulse began to race. I gasped out loud.
“Oh my God!”
“It’s okay, we’ll clean it up,” Zale said, still wobbling around on the stilts.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… puppets!”
Eva and Zale looked at each other. “Huh?” they both said.
“Look, why does the pageant feel so lame? Because it’s supposed to be representing an epic battle waged by mythical monarchs of the seasons, and all we’ve got is Sergei and Ethan slumping around in some beat up robes. But what if we create versions of the Oak King and the Holly King that are larger than life?”
Zale still looked dubious. “I don’t?—”
“Look!” I cried. I dragged a step ladder over from the corner and clambered up it until I could reach the gold comedy mask. With a grunt of effort, I managed to get it off the wall. It was big and awkward, but not heavy, as it was made of papier mâché. I climbed down and handed the mask to Eva.
