I grabbed Madam’s hand, whirled her around, and shoved her through the rear-stage curtain. “Take her topside,” I shouted to Lakshmi. The raptorial dashed through the drapes after Madam. “Follow her!” I told my friends, who hurried after the raptorial.
“That’s a Precedent crime,” cried the projectionist down from the box. “Assaulting a thanatist.” My strata trial was going to suck.
Madam’s crew circled in on me fast; the crowd began storming the stage. I pulled my lantern, whipped my bow hard across a frame rod, and screamed as the light erupted from the stone. A blinding flash and deep note shivered through the theater, giving me and my friends a full three-second lead before the crowd had reached the steps and began chasing up after us.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
In every soul, reason coexists with irrationality.With targeted musical encouragement, people can, for the collective good, be made puppets of the latter.
—Alan Bush, composer,Song as Inducement
I stumbledout from the winding Strata staircase onto the gritty backstage floor of the topside Cinematograph. Dust plumed up around me. I sucked in a lungful and started to cough. Chuey, Lady, Cassius, and Church were all close by, chuffing, getting their bearings. I jumped up and turned, anticipating the Cinematograph crowd to emerge behind us. Nothing.
Lady patted my shoulder. “They can’t travel Strata steps without a thanatist.”
Lakshmi and Madam were nowhere to be seen. Then running footfalls echoed from the theater beyond the stage curtain.
I tore the curtains open to see Madam racing up the left aisle of the theater. Lakshmi close behind her. The raptorial closedthe distance fast, grabbed Madam, and tackled her to the dusty carpet.
“You’re under arrest,” she said, as I jogged to a stop beside them. “What in heaven’s name for?” said Madam.
Lakshmi walked Madam back to the stage and locked her to a water pipe on the rear wall with her black-iron handcuffs. “For the attempted abduction of Mr. Jack Solomon.”
“I’d call that a grey area,” Madam said, smiling. “We meant no harm to the boy. We just want to hold him until his trial, for his own safety, and on account of all the killings he’s accused of.”
Lakshmi studied the woman’s face. “If you’re involved in the assassination of Mr. Wilkinson and Mr. Solomon, we’ll find the truth of it.”
“Or you could help us,” I said. “Just tell us what you know about who Brach had do the hits, and anything you can about the wraith. Please. It could save lives.”
Madam rolled her eyes at me. “There’s a good heart down inside you, Mr. Solomon, and it’s going to get you killed someday.”
Chuey, Lady, and Church still stood doubled over, catching their breath, in a shaft of sunlight falling down from a hole in the roof. Lakshmi pulled me toward them. “I could take her in and question her,” she said. “But Precedent prevents me from using certain interrogation techniques. So, it’s really just a waste of time.”
I looked down into our shadows thrown by the sunlight, and it gave me an idea. “Can I have a minute alone with her?”
Lakshmi eyed me close. “Nothing physical.” “It’s not like that,” I assured her.
My friends moved into the lobby, leaving the theater in sudden silence. Thick layers of dust blanketed rows of old velvet seats. The paint on the walls peeled around posters and World War II newsreel broadsides that had browned with age. The aircarried the scent of stale popcorn and the sadness of disuse that abandoned theaters always seemed to have.
But the stage was laden with fresh pallets and crates bearing stencils that read qsc, ua, avid—pro audio companies from the current world.
“I get it now,” I said to Madam. “You’re going to bring that music to the surface, aren’t you?”
Madam smiled. “I might have thought you’d approve. Your famed Marquee venue, with its shrill guitar music, was located here for several years. In fact, that’s what prompted the whole affair—use it to present Iron Horse folk with an alternative. Got many of them to come along, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s not really an alternative, is it? Your music is more like brainwashing.”
“Rather ingenious, if you think about it. The first step toward change is to break one’s former allegiance.” She looked out at the Cinematograph. “And finding this abandoned theater led us to a good sixty derelict venues all across London.”
I remembered Maggie saying the Underworld had been sold, the Phoenix Theatre—where my flat was—sold, too. They’d even come after the Iron Horse. “And it’s not just derelict theaters, is it?”
Madam cocked her head but didn’t answer.
Then I recalled again the song the Swing Kings had played and the way it had started to get inside me. “That old music?—”
“Oh, it’s not the style that matters,” said Madam, “it’s the substance. And with it, we’re going to breathe life back into these old buildings. Of course, recruiting is easier at places like the Cinematograph, where the music touches the patrons’ latent need to join a cause.”
“They’re not mindless groupies,” I said.
