Dennis knew the line was wrong, but did not have the presence of mind to tailor his response to the error. "'And you've gone too far, Kronstein.'" The words came out automatically. "'Get away from that balcony.'"
Kronstein's next line was Stop him, Kruger. Don't harm him, but stop him. But that was not what came out.
"Get through Kruger, my friend. And then I'll deal with you," said Wallace Drummond's voice.
"Kronstein mustn't like the show," whispered Cissy Morrison to Evan. "He's rewriting it."
Dan Marks had given his last line, and all that was on his mind now was how to get off the damned stage as quickly as possible. The way Dennis Hamilton was acting, Marks didn't trust him to do any of the moves that Quentin had choreographed, and the saber points and edges were sharp enough to hurt if someone made a wrong move.
Marks carried Dennis through the duel, and easily saw that he was in no condition to administer the final thrust. If Marks was to die, it would have to be offstage. To perish in agony from the kind of halfhearted swipes Dennis was making would bring forth nothing but hoots of laughter from the audience. And to lie supposedly dead on the stage, even if behind a divan, for the rest of the scene would be true agony.
So, thinking more of himself than of the intended impact of the duel's climax, he began to back up stage right, as if forced to do so by Dennis, who had no choice but to follow him, as if pressing him into the stage right wings. When he was out of the audience's sight lines, he said sharply to Dennis, "Now lunge!"
Dennis did as he was ordered, with more force than Marks had expected. Perhaps the surprise and spontaneity of Marks's moves and command had touched something within Dennis. At any rate, Marks thought the movement would read well from the audience, gave a strangled cry, turned, and walked back toward the backstage coffee machine, wishing that it was a whiskey machine instead. If there was actually a curtain call after this fiasco, he decided he would not join in.
Dennis Hamilton did not know what to do. He wanted nothing more than to leave the stage himself as Dan Marks had done, to go back and sit in his dressing room and forget about everything else, just go back and lie down and sleep a dreamless sleep.
But he remembered that there was still an audience out there, still a show that needed to be finished. He needed to duel with Wallace Drummond, he needed to give a final speech, sing a final song to end this dull nightmare. As he hung there, suspended on his doubts and responsibilities halfway between the stage and the wings, he heard a voice calling him from the stage.
"Come back, your majesty," it said. "You don't escape as easily as that."
He knew that the voice was not Wallace Drummond's, but it seemed chillingly familiar just the same. When he turned and looked at the man wearing Drummond's costume, a perfect match for his own, he knew why. He knew as soon as he saw the face with a real beard and not crepe hair, saw the eyes that he had seen before only in the mirror or in the mirror image face of…
The Emperor.
"What the hell. " Curt said, adjusting his headset. "Did Dennis give that line?" The electrician shrugged.
THE EMPEROR
I'm here, Dennis. You knew I would be.
DENNIS
I hear you, but you're not speaking.
THE EMPEROR
Now we speak as fast as thought, with no tongues nor lips to slow us. While those who watch us try to rise, we may speak volumes. And why not? Are not our minds one? Am I not the character, you the actor? Prove it, Dennis… give a line. Give a line.
"'Move away from the balcony… Now!'"
The power of his delivery amazed Dennis, and he felt an unexpected surge run through him. The Emperor's face seemed to quiver for the slimmest part of a instant, and Dennis spoke again.
"` I'm giving the orders… Kronstein.'"
THE EMPEROR
Call me Kronstein now with a sneer in your voice, Dennis. They'll all call me Emperor soon enough. I take you now. All of you. And then you die.
DENNIS
Why not before? Why did you wait until now?
THE EMPEROR
Because I needed the strength that came from one last performance – your strength and mine. Your strength become mine. Now you die – you, the imposter, the madman – and I become you. I become Dennis Hamilton. The actor became the character, and now the character becomes the actor. Artistic perfection. You should be very proud.
"'You shall not let me make my announcement?'"
To the audience and Curt Wynn in his aerie, Kronstein's line came only a second upon the heels of Dennis's. "They're picking it up," Curt said. "Thank God they're actually picking it up."
"'If you were to make it looking like that, I should be the one bound to it.'“
“Enough talk." Curt thought he saw Wallace Drummond's mouth move, but it was Dennis's voice he heard. "We end it now."
"That's not the line," Curt moaned, his legendary calm at the breaking point. "And who the hell said it?" He pressed his face to the glass as he saw what Kronstein did next. "He's drawing his saber. His goddamned saber! And so's Dennis! They're going to start the duel early!" With a sigh of frustration, Curt dropped into his chair. "What about Kronstein and Kruger killing Maria? Where did the plot go?" He turned to the electrician. "Did we have a plot here somewhere?"
The electrician shrugged, and in another moment Curt was relieved to hear a close approximation of one of the original lines.
"'Pray to your God. From this day on, I am the Emperor.'"
"God damn," Curt whispered, finally beginning to be scared. "Which one of them said that?"
~* ~
Dex Colangelo gave the downbeat to the orchestra when he saw the sabers cross. He didn't know what else to do. At least with the music under way he would be kept busy, and if Dennis and Wallace Drummond wanted to just keep improvising, Dex could have the orchestra play repeat after repeat. Hell, they could play all night if they had to, until somebody finally extemporized an exit line.
~* ~
Cissy Morrison had a grip of iron on Evan's arm. She was not the first to whisper, "That's not Dennis," but her surprise at that conclusion was as great as anyone's. "Evan, that's your dad! He's playing Kronstein! Is this a trick or what?"
Evan leaned forward, looked closely at the two men dueling with sabers on the stage. He had been paying such close attention to Dennis and his condition that he had glanced at Kronstein only once, and marveled at how close the resemblance was before he had turned his attention back to Dennis. Now, as he examined both men, he realized that they were identical, perfectly identical, and, with a shock, he knew who was playing Kronstein.
"The Emperor," he said, his eyes wide enough to still Cissy Morrison. "It's him."
What ran through Evan then was that he should push himself to his feet, run up onto the stage, and aid his father in any way he could, but when he thought of standing alone in front of all those thousands of people, a vicious jolt of fear shot through him. It weakened his legs, set him sweating, constricted the muscles of his throat, and he knew that even if the Emperor were to slice his father apart, he could do nothing but watch.
"The Emperor," Cissy repeated, and looked back to the stage. "It is. Dennis is the Emperor. But that Kronstein… oh my God… how can they both be Dennis?"
~* ~
The sabers were out now, and both Dennis and the Emperor went into an en garde stance. The Emperor advanced first, a furious attack that drove Dennis up right to the back flat, so that he bumped against it, making the canvas ripple.
The thought struck Dennis that it was a revelation of artifice to the audience, and he was surprised to find that it angered him. To an audience, the theatre should be real.