“My…son? Oh yes! Quite!”
Adele moved on to receive the remainder of Alexandrian society. She tried to hurry so the opera could begin. The Greyfriar was reputed to be an epic of more than four hours. It had been slated originally to premiere in the autumn, but the outbreak of war made it seem temporarily frivolous. So the season was put off until the empress gave permission for social life in the capital to begin again. The delay gave the creators of the show time to add an unprecedented fifth act in which Greyfriar leads Equatoria to victory in the vampire war.
At the end of the receiving line was the director of the Imperial Opera Company, who greeted Adele, then led her and Greyfriar to the door of the royal box. Soldiers were positioned outside along with Adele's social secretary with her agenda. The door opened, and she heard an expectant hush from the house. As she entered, the crowd rose, turned toward her expectantly, and applauded. Adele went to the curved rail of the box high above the sea of people and acknowledged the uproar.
“God save Your Majesty!” came a shout above the din.
There was an audible rush of surprise at the exclamation. Adele looked for the source, but it was lost in the shadows. That outburst would be in the papers tomorrow, she thought. A public expression of faith, even at so bland an event, was cause for comment. Add to that her reputation as a religious acolyte, and it would become a topic of pointless debate across the coffeehouses and tearooms of the city, as well as the cloakrooms at Commons.
Gratefully, for the moment, the crowd was instantly distracted by the appearance of Greyfriar at her side. Opera glasses snapped up to multitudes of faces as men and women sought a closer view of the mystery man.
Adele kept her expression neutral and settled into her seat. Greyfriar joined her, and the director handed them both hardcover copies of the evening's program with an unctuous, “We fervently hope you enjoy the production.”
“We're sure we will since the program is already a hit,” Adele replied as Greyfriar pored over the pages of the playbill, taking great care to turn the fragile paper with his gloved hands. “Well, shall we get started?”
“Indeed. I should hate for the war to conclude before the opera.” The director laughed but noticed the deadpan look on the empress's face. He sobered instantly and straightened with a look of terror at his faux pas. “We shall begin momentarily.” He withdrew, bowing until the door was shut by soldiers, leaving Adele and Greyfriar alone with only several thousand of Equatoria's elite looking on.
The Grand Macedon was a lush and magnificent venue, larger than Algier's La Premiere, but considered a second to it still. Two levels of ornate private boxes along the sides and two balconies in the rear overlooked the floor that sloped toward the orchestra, where the conductor was mounting the step behind his podium. An audible hush swept the hall as the maestro tapped his baton, then raised it. Held it. And down it came with a thunderous percussion beginning the prelude. House lights began to drop. Conversations in the private boxes wound down with handshakes and waves and promises to speak later.
Adele saw Greyfriar scanning the theater, but not out of concern for security. He was clearly fascinated by the melee around him, the movement and the sound. He rose from his seat for a clearer view of the orchestra as rows of arms pistoned in unison over violins and many fingers played piccolos and oboes.
“Look at that,” he said in wonder. “Look at their hands. They're all moving in harmony.”
“Shh.” Adele gently guided him back to his velvet chair. She took his hand and squeezed. With his other hand, he was mimicking the fretwork of the violinists. She couldn't draw her gaze away from him, caught up in his excitement and wonder.
The prelude thundered on with dramatic crescendos, achingly beautiful passages, and hints of darkness. After a few minutes, the music calmed, the footlights brightened, the grand drapes parted, and the curtain scalloped up to reveal characters spread about the stage on a stylized set resembling the deck of an airship. A rosy spotlight hit a young woman in a regal gown and cloak.
Greyfriar sat forward. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Adele replied, and then suppressed a delighted squeal as a man wearing a martinet's uniform and turban came downstage toward the beatific princess. “It's General Anhalt!”
The music rose and the actor portraying Anhalt extended his arm and sang in Italian, “Your Highness would be safer below. It's getting dark. Vampires are very unpredictable.”
Greyfriar laughed a bit too loud as Act II began with Cesare alone onstage. The villain was a massive figure, broad chested, swathed in black and, like all the vampires in the production, brandishing long yellowish claws from his fingertips. He also sported a long black beard. He said, “Looks a bit like Senator Clark.”