Like a Wisp of Steam by Thomas Roche (best reads of all time txt) 📕

"Aah!" Miss Alwyx sprang forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "Aah! Oh thank you thank you thank you!" She wrapped her arms around Ricar, bouncing so hard that she lifted him off the ground. Her body was massive compared to Ricar's slim frame, and for a moment he thought of being alone with her, sitting on her lap. "Oh, that's wonderful, you're wonderful, thank you so much, you won't regret this!"

She let go of him, started to leave the room, rushed back to grab her handbag and ran out again. "Oh, I'm so happy, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me!" She shoved open the door that led backstage and shouted, "Hey, everybody, they said, 'Yes!' Isn't that amazing?"

* * * *

This was the moment, after weeks of rehearsals and costume design and set building. Backstage, Ricar could hear the orchestra tuning up, the murmur of the audience in the pit and the boxes and the galleries, Davis doing his warm-up patter. Around him, the players adjusted costumes, stretched, did vocal warm-ups that sounded like the calls of exotic birds.

After more than twenty years in the Commedia, opening night still gave him a thrill.

Ricar leaned over to look around Chel's elaborate headdress and check on Miss Alwyx. She stood with the other Harlots, ready to go on stage for the second scene. Her costume looked good on her, exposing her powerful arms, and the boots made her taller than some of the other male players. She silently mouthed her lines and half-danced her steps, but her gaze was elsewhere, on Miss Dyr.

Miss Dyr stood before the makeup mirror, surrounded by dressers and stylists, making sure the simple blue and white dress of the Innocent hung just right and her face looked suitably un-made-up, heightening her large, liquid brown eyes, plump cheeks and shy, slightly embarrassed smile. It took a lot of art to look that artless, as the old saying went.

Ricar looked back at Miss Alwyx, wishing she'd concentrate on her role. She'd get to see Miss Dyr's performance soon enough.

Miss Alwyx turned around and caught him watching her.

Ricar gave her an encouraging nod and flashed her the

"Everything's good" hand sign. She smiled and even blushed, shyly dropping her eyes, a maneuver worthy of the Innocent, despite her Harlot role.

A shy, demure Harlot, Ricar thought. Perhaps there'ssomeone who will be moved by that.

"Pay attention," murmured Chel, in her Matron's costume to match his Patron's.

"I always pay attention," he told her coolly. Chel should know he was too experienced (or perhaps just too jaded) to be distracted by some eager young player.

On stage, Davis announced, "For your edification and pleasure, the House of the Razor Lotus gives you ... TheInnocent's Progress!"

Davis bowed off stage as the audience applauded. The curtain rose, the music began and Miss Dyr made her entrance, accompanied by a trio of Beasts. The Beasts on all fours strained on their leashes, driven by their animal drives of lust and dominance. The Innocent struggled in vain to keep the Beasts in check, but they quickly tangled her up in their reins.

The Rakes and their Harlots came next, surrounding the helpless Innocent and mocking her chastity and charity. Their efforts to free the Innocent rapidly became an assault on her virtue.

Backstage, Ricar watched carefully, counting the timing under his breath. He, Chel, and Davis chose The Innocent'sProgress, a classic written by the Bawd herself centuries ago, to showcase the new talent, while still giving the audience a lot of the star attractions, particularly Miss Dyr.

Miss Alwyx was doing well, speaking with conviction and projecting. He expected her to be strong, but she was surprisingly agile too, enough to make some impressive moves. She yanked the Innocent off the ground by her bodice, seemingly with one hand (helped by Miss Dyr's active cooperation), then spun her around, the dress twirling out, then held her with one strong arm around her waist while she struggled and protested and wept.

Not for the first time, Ricar noted that the most subtle and difficult aspects of the performance went unnoticed by the audience, while the crude, simple things like Miss Dyr's ability to cry on cue got the applause.

A passing Prince provided the Innocent's rescue, fighting off the Rakes and Harlots with a bit of swordplay. He helped her to her feet and escorted her offstage to his manor. The Innocent thanked him profusely, not noticing that the Prince passed coins to the Rakes.

Two flat scenes slid together, indicating the inside of the manor. Porters quickly wheeled in a bed and a washbasin.

The Prince brought in the Innocent and left her in the care of a pair of Servants, who took exceptional liberties as they cleaned her up. The Prince returned, saving her for the moment, but he had his own demands of her.

Enter Ricar and Chel as the Patron and the Matron. While the Patron sent his son away, the Matron comforted the Innocent. Her gentle touches soon turned sensual, then cruel as she forced the Innocent to bare herself to the Patron. She became a pawn in the power struggles of the older couple, a conduit for their mutual contempt and jealousy.

As she had done hundreds of times before, the Innocent sobbed, wept, and proclaimed her purity and chastity to the merciless, uncaring world, as indignity after cruelty was heaped upon her. Every rescue swiftly turned into another torment.

The Patron and Matron slept, exhausted after debauching the Innocent. Clutching the tattered remnants of her dress around her, the Innocent stole the Patron's key and crept away.

Another backdrop came down, a forest at night. A storm came—an illusion created by porters with fans, flickering house lights, and clever drum work in the orchestra pit. The Innocent, winds plucking at her tousled hair and tattered clothes, raised her arms to the uncaring heavens and wept, begging for, if not justice, then mercy. The winds roared, the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, and at last, a (gilt paper) bolt of lightning reached down from