Act one proceeded with nearly effortless speed and ease. James found his lines coming easily to his tongue, and he pronounced them loudly and carefully, always being aware to face the audience and keep his chin up. During Donovan's famous address to the troops, James allowed his eye to wander out over the crowd. He could barely see through the glare of the spotlights, but he could just make out the delighted smile and straight posture of his mum, the grim concentration of Lily as she tried to follow the story, and the crooked half-frown of Zane.
During the scene change for act two, James was hastily stripped of his waistcoat and given a sailor's kerchief. As he moved onstage, preparing to give his rousing—and very well-known—rallying speech, he saw Graham and Jason Smith manning the treadles of the wind machine. He launched into the speech, trying to summon the same anger and determination he'd felt when auditioning for the part early in the term.
"Wizards and men, forth draw ye wands and wits," he cried, unbuckling his scabbard and letting it fall to the floor. He produced the oversized prop wand and raised it. "To fight the violent seas this night, that by the morn we'll hold our win, or lie in beds of ocean sand: our beaten glory's shrine!"
Just offstage, Graham and Jason treadled furiously as the crowd burst into applause and even a few hoots and whistles. The prop sail flapped in the increasing mechanical wind as if in the teeth of an oncoming storm, and the enormous painted backdrop trundled aside, revealing an angry cloudscape painted with blues and purples.
The presentation marched on with its own strange inertia, bowling over the myriad little bumbles, forgotten lines, and missed cues that Professor Curry had promised would happen—and assured them the audience would barely notice. Graham appeared onstage for his scene, his face beet red and his eyes as round as plates. He'd been so worried about missing the cue for his only line that he interrupted the line before it, answering the question that hadn't even been asked yet. Tom Squallus sputtered, trying to make sense of his own scripted response, as Graham grinned in relief, looking out at the audience and struggling not to wave at his parents. A bit later, Ashley Doone performed such an enthusiastic presentation of the Marsh Hag that James heard children crying in the audience. And then, during the magical sword fight between Treus and Donovan, which was performed in midair while suspended from a complicated system of ropes and pulleys, James' sword was accidentally knocked from his hand during a particularly enthusiastic parry. It clanked to the floor and both James and Noah stared down at it dumbly for a moment. Then James, in a fit of inspiration, furiously unbuckled his scabbard and waved it triumphantly over his head. Noah grinned and they finished the swordfight clanging sword to scabbard as the crowd laughed and cheered.
Finally, the climactic finale of act three was upon them. The king was dead, Donovan was defeated, and Treus, mortally wounded but clinging to life, had rescued Astra from the vengeful sleeping potion of the Marsh Hag. The castle had been struck by lightning and was crumbling into flames as a magical storm beat upon it, and James felt pretty sure that he knew now why this story was known as a tragedy. He limped across the stage, leading Petra toward the huge prop gate. The gate shook back and forth as Ralph and Sabrina stood behind it, rocking it with all their strength. Jason and Graham had once again manned the wind machine, billowing the castle's banners with a good imitation of a magical gale; swinging orange spotlights mimed the effect of raging flames and lightning. James stumbled dramatically as he led his beloved Astra toward the gate.
"Advance! We're nearly free," Petra cried, dropping to one knee next to James, as if imploring him. "The castle's doomed, but hope prevails! O Treus, curse it not!"
James was sweating under his costume, and it gave his face a fittingly dramatic sheen in the flashing lights. He smiled weakly at Petra and reached for her face. "I curse not hope," he said, and then coughed. "I've braved the tempest's watery wrath and fell that sorc'rer's might. I've cursed them all to gaze upon your loving face, but hope? What life I've left, I live in barricades of hope. Though God Himself may shake this world to fall upon itself, my love and hope remain. Depart my dear and leave me now: I walk to death in peace!"
"Pray no, beloved!" Petra cried, and even James was impressed by the mixture of anger and desperation she put into those three words. "For months and years I've longed for thee alone: my dreams, the home of thy desperate love! I'll not depart my place at body's side, lest unrequited dreams shall crush my soul!"
"Then give me now a testament to love," James said firmly, struggling to his feet and pulling Petra with him. "A kiss to cure the pains of death, this one to stand for all!"
Petra hesitated, her eyes shining with emotion, and James was impressed with her acting. For a fleeting moment, he was quite glad that they had never rehearsed this scene together, for he felt sure that the spontaneous chemistry of this moment could only happen once. Petra leaned toward him, still holding his right hand. She closed her eyes as the lights began to dim and the wind machine cranked up to full power, streaming through her long hair. And then, as James closed his eyes, not even remembering to miss Petra's lips, a bolt of blinding pain sank into his forehead. It burned through his phantom scar worse than anything he'd felt so far, and he stumbled, yanking his hand from Petra's to clap it to his forehead. The lights blinked off and the stage fell into pitch darkness.
The wind machine hadn't stopped however. In fact, it seemed to be far stronger than James had ever felt it. It pushed him as he reeled, and he fell to the floor in the darkness, his right hand still clamped to his forehead. There was a long, ominous creak and then a resounding crash. Dimly, James understood that the wind machine had blown over the gate prop and that it had just missed him.
"Petra!" he shouted, struggling to get up. There was movement all over the stage, and even now, the wind machine hadn't stopped running. Something was very wrong. Wands were lit on the stage, and James had a sense of stage-hands rushing about, struggling to keep the rest of the set from blowing over. He scrambled to his knees, trying to make sense of what was happening.
"Shut it down!" someone rasped desperately.
"I can't! It's running by itself!"
"It's shaking apart! Look out!"
Suddenly, spotlights illuminated the stage again, blinding James. At that same moment, the wind machine produced a loud screech and rattle. One of the fan blades wrenched free and spun through the air, slamming into the turret backdrop. Off balance, the machine shook violently and tilted over. Stage-hands scattered as it loomed slowly and crashed to the stage floor where it finally clanked to a halt.
Amazingly, no one seemed to have been hurt. James spun on the spot, looking for Petra. As he'd suspected, the enormous prop gate had fallen at his feet. For a moment, James was sure that Petra was beneath it. He dropped to his knees but could find no sign of her. She must have fallen safely on the other side.