I didn't return to my dressing room for the beginning of the fifth act. Cordelia and I waited in the wings, not speaking, not wanting to chance anything wrecking the mood. Soon we were onstage again, captured by our enemies, reconciled. It's my favorite scene in the play. The foolish old King at the end of his folly, granted one moment of happiness before the end. We were led away to what we thought would be our imprisonment, not knowing the plans of the evil Edmund.
I was going to my dressing room when Polly appeared and took my arm. She looked up at me, and I saw concern in her eyes.
"Bear up, old friend," she said.
"How am I doing?" I asked her.
"I think you know how the performance is going. But I'm a little worried about you. Is something wrong?"
"Wrong? What are you talking about?"
"I'm not sure. I sense something. I don't think anyone else would notice. God knows you're giving it your all. Is there anything I should know?"
Anything she should know. The mind reeled. I knew what she was talking about, Polly being the only one who knew who was after me. And I wouldn't get her involved in it.
Anything she should know. Yes, Polly, my dear. After the final curtain I'm going to vanish, one way or another. Either under my own steam, or in the custody of a man from your worst nightmares. There will be only one performance of this Lear, one perfect moment on the stage. You close tomorrow.
Oddly, I knew she wouldn't mind that part. I felt sorry for the rest of the cast, who had a right to expect a long run from such a night as this, but for Polly, the work was done, in the heavenly books. She had created a masterpiece that would last for the ages. As for the cast, well, that's show business.
So I lied. It wasn't my best work, I could tell, and even my best might not have entirely fooled her. But there were distractions. The final duel between Edmund and Edgar was getting under way on stage, and she had made quite a production out of it. "Edgar" and "Edmund" were the two finest stage swordsmen on Luna at the time and they were pulling out all the stops, giving the audience an exhibition of derring-do that would leave them breathless for my entrance. So she didn't question me, and I managed to slip away.
And immediately ran into the head of makeup, in a hissy panic.
"Where is Cordelia!" he said. "We have to get the rope burns on her neck!"
I shrugged helplessly, and as soon as his back was turned I ran to my dressing room.
As soon as I slammed the door behind me I saw Isambard on one knee beside Cordelia, who was lying on the floor.
"My God! What have you done to her? You've killed her."
He stood up. Toby was still cradled in his left hand.
"Contrary to what you might think, I don't kill unless it's necessary. She's unconscious."
"But you said—"
"She came in here and was asking too many questions. She was about to leave to get security, so I had no choice."
I lifted her and put her down on my cot. A bruise was forming on her temple. And damn her, anyway! She had decided to sneak in here at the last moment. There would have been no time for sex, but Jennipher was a cuddler. She wanted to hug and kiss before our last scene, in preparation for a memorable night of celebration.
Well, Cordelia was "dead" in our last scene. All was not lost.
"And I'm afraid we'll have to go now," Comfort said.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes. Things have gotten too dangerous. I have a safe route plotted to the rear entrance; no one will see us." He smiled. "Did you really think I was going to give you a chance to escape during the curtain calls?"
I stared at him, stunned at this treachery.
"I thought we had a deal," I said.
"Deal?" He laughed. "I made no deal, and I made no promise."
"It was implied."
"You've never really grown up, have you, Sparky? Did you expect me to behave like a gentleman?"
"No, but I... yes, I guess I did. I thought we had an understanding. I thought you were liking my performance." My voice was rising. Toby heard the tension, and began to bark.
"I did. But I've seen the end of this play. Perhaps you can finish it for me when we get back to Charon. Before we get to work on you."
Someone was pounding on the door now. The stage manager, the makeup man; it hardly mattered. I had only minutes before I was needed onstage. Which meant he had only minutes to take care of me. Toby was still barking. I looked around helplessly, ran my hand through my hair, and decided to plead.
"It's just five minutes," I said, holding my hand with the fingers apart. "That's all I need. Just give me the five minutes to finish here. Then I'll die a happy man."
"Why should I want you to die happy?"
Toby bit him on the hand.
He looked down as the tiny warrior sank his teeth into the meat between his thumb and forefinger and worried with sharp shakes of his head, looked at it as if it were happening to someone else.
Then he took Toby's head in his free hand and twisted. There was a sharp, gristly pop, a crunch, and Toby went limp. Comfort tossed the flaccid corpse aside.
"Now," Comfort said, calmly. "Do you want to get in the box, or should I put you... or should I... it's time..." His eyes lost focus, found me again, and his hand started to come up. From somewhere in his clothing the handgun sprang free and was propelled toward his hand—but the hand wasn't there to meet it. His arms fell to his side, his knees buckled, and he hit the floor as bonelessly as Toby.
No time, no time, no time at all. They were pounding harder on my door now. I grabbed a makeup towel and carefully lifted Toby. I saw the broken tooth and the golden fluid oozing from it. I was careful not to get any on my skin, as the stuff doesn't really need a puncture to work. The poison is harmless to dogs. Comfort's voluntary nervous system was completely destroyed by now. He still breathed, his heart still pumped, but that was all. I couldn't obtain the instantly lethal stuff, and besides, it left no room for error if I had somehow forgotten and shown Toby my five spread fingers by accident. Comfort's condition was reversible, but not easily, and not quickly.
And I still feared him. All along my worst fear was that the Charonese had some built-in antidote to the nerve poison; you never could tell with these people—but first things first. I crammed Toby into his hibernation chamber and closed the lid. All the lights on the cover flashed red. Then one turned green, then another. A third. I didn't have time to watch it all. I turned to Cordelia.
My god, what if she woke up while I was bemoaning her death? I needed another Cordelia. Luckily, one was at hand.
I tore the costume from Jennipher. These were warrior clothes. Cordelia had just been defeated on the field of battle, taken prisoner, then hanged by the treachery of Edmund. I draped the coat around Comfort, rolled him over, and got to work on the buttons. The pants were close enough, and would just have to do.
More pounding on the door.
"Mr. Dyle, Mr. Dyle! We need you on the stage, now!"
"I'll be ready!" I shouted back. "Tell them to slow down!"
Certainly some of the more frightening words to hear coming from the star's dressing room. I could imagine the panic building, the stage manager racing to find Polly, frantic signals to the principals on stage. I could see the flop sweat breaking out on foreheads as those poor folks realized every actor's nightmare: they were stranded out there, no safety net, no rewrites, no retakes. It had driven many an actor and director back to the cinema, where you could always shout Cut!
I glanced at Toby's module. Only two red lights now.
I had not expected Comfort to do what he did. My fear had been that he would understand the signal, somehow, drop the dog, stun me, and make his escape. But it didn't matter. Toby was doomed from the moment Comfort got his hands on him. He was to be used as one more method of torturing me. I would get to watch as the poor little ball of fluff was made to suffer until they got ready to work on me.