Madam raisedher arms and called the angry Cinematograph crowd to silence. Semblances and vestiges on the floor near the stage still glared up at me as I peered down from the projection window.
“You’ve disrupted this evening’s entertainment, Mr. Solomon,” said Madam. “So, how’s about you join us here onstage, hmm?”
Cassius was holding the muscular woman against the back wall of the projection room with his sword. “It is a trap, Jack. You would be putting that entire crowd between us and the street.”
“Yeah, but I need information only she can give us.” I turned from the window. “Besides, I think she cares more about showmanship than the win.”
We told the cigarette man and the woman to stay put—they seemed happy to oblige—and stepped out of the booth onto the mezzanine.
“Lot of people pissed at you, Jack.” Chuey pointed his macuahuitl toward the theater rabble. “And you haven’t even sung for them yet.”
“Yeah, definitely not my crowd,” I said. “Have you a plan, Jack?” asked Church.
“More of an instinct,” I said.
I led my friends down the winding staircase and into the theater. The throng closed ranks behind us, sealing us in.
We mounted the left-stage stairs and stood opposite Madam on the boards. Beside her, Paul Rutherford and his Swing Kings glared at us, while several hundred vestiges and semblances fell quiet, as if waiting for a show.
Madam raised a hand, and from backstage, four vestiges in motley uniforms trotted out and formed a staggered line in front of her. The two in the middle held cudgels, the two on the ends had nets. Behind them, next to Madam, stood her giant spearman, in a loincloth.
Cassius sidled close to me. “Remember, stay behind us. Be our eyes.
Bracing strokes if you can. Clip every binding you are able.” “Let’s see if we can appeal to her lesser nature first,” I said.
Cassius nodded, then took position with Church and Lady between me and Madam’s line of vestiges. Chuey stayed next to me.
“Such a treat to see you again, Mr. Solomon,” began Madam. “May I ask how you came by my whereabouts?”
“You of all people should know anything’s available for a price, Madam.”
She smiled. “And you know my name, too. You’ve been busy, Mr.
Solomon.”
“More than you know,” I said. “By the way, thanks for bailing me out the other night. With the wraith, I mean.”
“Think I did that for you, do you?” “Who else?”
Madam laughed, right up from her gut. “You’re not here for a spot of retaliation, then, for that business with the nets. All’s forgiven, you’d say?” “That depends,” I replied. “I’m told this is Iron Horse ground. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, it most assuredlywas, Mr. Solomon. But you see, like it or not, a spirit may choose for herself, which is to say, when presented with a better option, she may shift her allegiance.”
I was counting on it. “Without the least bit of encouragement from you, I suppose.”
Madam ignored the accusation and stepped up between her two cudgel-wielding vestiges. “These old cinemas, which you leave to decay in your world, are still vibrant here in the Strata.”
I recalled the chaotic song the Swing Kings had just been playing. “With new music.”
“Among other things,” said Madam. “These grand old theaters can be movie houses, playhouses, music halls?—”
“But not all at once. That’d be the trick of your lantern, wouldn’t it?” “The point is,” said the bandleader, Rutherford, “they share the same purpose. The very thing absent from your world’s music.” His shadow swirled with countless occlusions in the light of Madam’s lantern. “And what is that?” I asked.
“A spark,” he said. “A spark from which a movement may grow. But instead, your world’s music is self-aggrandizing, exalting the performer; it isn’t meant to inspire people toward a common goal.”
“To refashion individual allegiance into something less . . . individual, you mean.”
“When I taught at the Guildhall,” said Rutherford, “my students were made to understand personal sacrifice.”
