Good King Norman.

Last Argrave saw of him, Norman hadn’t face enough to be recognizable. He had made sure the man perished—crushed his skull with the most powerful spell he could muster as Traugott tried to spirit him away into the Shadowlands. Now Norman struck a rather eye-catching image, being the only one of the actors in the play largely unadorned with the makeup the other actors bore, perhaps to display that his ethnicity differed from the audience’s. He was also a fair bit taller than most, but then the people of the Great Chu seemed to be shorter on average.

What was this? A message? A setup? It simply didn’t make sense for Norman to be here, alive and well, and acting in a high-class opera in the heart of the Great Chu. Did things run deeper than he ever could have imagined—was Sataistador in cahoots with not only Governor Zen, but Traugott? The former Magister of the Order certainly fit the god of war’s criteria for an ally—he had no trouble destroying things, even entire cities, in his pursuit of his objectives.

If that was the case, several things needed to happen. Wedding be damned—they couldn’t stay here. This was dangerous. If Traugott had infiltrated this area, the whole of it could be unsafe. But not only here—everywhere. They had taken ample measures to protect Blackgard, and Vasilisa had been assigned as Sophia’s guardian—that woman had blocked Traugott from acting once before in defense of Elenore… but with so much happening, Zen, Sataistador, and Traugott… it was a whirlwind that Argrave wasn’t willing to tolerate.

“Argrave? Argrave!” Anneliese shook Argrave’s arm, finally drawing him out of his rapid-fire thoughts.

He looked at her, only now realizing he clenched the armrest of the chair tight enough to crush the wood into splinters. He relaxed his grip. “You see it, don’t you?” He asked her in a low whisper.

Anneliese looked over, then back at Argrave. “Yes. But he… he lacks what Norman possessed. That abyss within, that power.”

“That makes a difference?” He whispered tersely, prepared to move. He watched Orion walk to the edge of the booth, gripping it in preparation to move and do something.

“Is something the matter?” Governor Zen asked, in a tone that suggested he was truly ignorant and confused about the way they were acting. “Does something about the performance disturb you?”

Argrave looked at him, scrutinizing his features intently as he judged what to do next. Sataistador was one thing, Zen another—but Traugott? The governor and the god were reasonable actors. They had unideal goals, but they could be counted on to act in certain ways. Traugott, however… he was an utterly irrational sociopath with unknown goals.

Zen must’ve interpreted something about the way Argrave was looking at him, because he stood up from his seat and backed away. He pulled back his robe slightly, saying, “Let’s be calm. I don’t think I said anything untoward.”

Argrave spotted a red dagger, well-concealed in the governor’s robes. Elenore’s voice cut into his head as he observed it, her voice asking insistently, “What’s wrong?”

“Good King Norman’s down on that stage. Playing me,” he informed her succinctly, recalling she had never before seen the Good King. “Traugott took Norman’s corpse, back then. Meaning Traugott must be involved, somehow. We’re isolated out here. We need to leave.”

“Let’s calm down,” Elenore consoled him. “We have half a thousand other powerful people in this opera house, right now. Anyone acts rashly—even if Traugott summons one of those creatures that graced the capital, or Sandelabara—we’re safest here.”

Argrave turned his head away from the governor, but kept him in his peripherals as he discussed with Elenore. “Could be trying to wipe us out in one fell swoop. Either way, I don’t like it.”

“We’ve had people watching us the whole time,” Elenore insisted. “Half a dozen users of druidic magic. Patriarch Dras’ own people are scouting; even the gods are trailing us. I understand your caution, but let’s slow the pace and try to learn what in the blazes is going on.”

Argrave tapped the side of the booth a few times, mulling her words in his head. After a few moments, he accepted that she was right. They needed to learn what, exactly, was going on. Offending Governor Zen, furthermore, wouldn’t be a good thing, especially not at this pivotal moment. When he looked deeper, too, he felt some of that primal fear that the Good King Norman invoked in him, even all this time after he’d been dead and gone. Rationally… he should stay.

“I apologize, Governor Zen. My thoughts went away from me when I saw someone from my homeland that I recognize.” He turned his head, where the governor relaxed his posture slightly at his non-threatening tone. “You’ve organized this entire wedding. And someone I’d call a nemesis is standing on that stage, playing me. I’d like you to tell me what’s happening. Now,” he said, amiably and politely… yet he certainly wasn’t asking.

The governor looked to the stage with some degree of shock, studying Norman briefly before looking back to Argrave. “You understand… I’m uninvolved with the show, the actors. I merely paid the Chou Opera House to put on this performance. Maestro Baobao operates the entire troupe.”

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Argrave looked at Anneliese, but she gave no indication Zen was lying. He looked back at the governor. “Where is this Baobao?”

“You want to speak to him now?” Zen said cautiously.

“I want to jam nails through his hands until he tells me why that man is here. But that’d be somewhat impolite for our first meeting, so talking will suffice.” Argrave straightened. “Considering you’re the one paying his bill, you can make that happen, I trust?”

Zen cautiously asked, “What about our conversation?”

Argrave looked at Elenore. “Anneliese and my sister can speak for me. Patriarch Dras can join you, later. But I want to see the Maestro, and I won’t be able to speak about anything else until I do.”

Zen looked between them, then slowly gave a nod. “I’ll have one of my people bring you to him. Considering we’re in the middle of a performance, it may be difficult to speak to him.”

“What about me, Argrave?” Orion asked in concern.

“Stay here. I’ll be fine on my own.” He tapped the Ravenstone dangling from his neck, then followed Zen as the man went to help Argrave in his task.

As he exited the booth, he spoke to the Alchemist. “Did you hear all of that?”

“You need to capture the actor alive—that’s the most paramount. If I have him, I can study him. If I can study him, I can help you,” the Alchemist responded at once.

“My thoughts exactly.”

#####

Soon enough, Argrave was brought before this Maestro Baobao in the back, where half a thousand props and stage setting items languished unused. The man, as befitted the troupe he ran, was extremely flamboyant. Garbed only in feathers, he was fat and bald and had a face that seemed exceptionally babyish. If Argrave didn’t know better, he’d suspect the man was a eunuch with a unique style—but Argrave wasn’t exceptionally interested in examining the man further.

Once Governor Zen’s person explained why the Maestro was being pulled away from his performance, the fat man fluttered and said sweetly, “Grand Commandant, if there’s any problem with the performance—any problem with the portrayal—I am willing to make amends. But please, the show…!”

Argrave cut past the babble and said firmly, “Where did you hire the man playing me? Where did you find him? Why is he here?”

“Xueyan?” The maestro rubbed his hands together. “I… I’m not entirely sure where he came from, Grand Commandant. He was a part of a travelling troupe of entertainers—he had joined it to be put on display as a passing oddity, but one of my people noticed he had a talent for performance—a flair for the dramatic, your lordship. His rhyming tongue astounds even our veteran performers, he has top notch improvisation, and his novel appearance draws sizable crowds on slower nights. It was never out intention to put one of your people on display, if that is the issue… indeed, you might say we were paying respects to—"

“How did this travelling troupe find him?” Argrave questioned without missing a beat.

“Apparently, they found him on the eastern beaches—I’m not familiar with the specifics, your lordship…” the man blubbered.

Argrave nodded and said firmly, “Tell me who among your performers recommended him. And tell me the travelling troupe he was with, before this. I’ll be waiting here for the performance to end, to speak to this Xue...” Argrave trailed off.

“Xueyan,” the maestro finished. “Your lordship… all due respect, but these are my performers. Even for a servant of the son of heaven…”

“You’ll be compensated,” Argrave promised. “Governor Zen will take care of it.”

“Even still… to give up one of my own…? My other performers, they’re close-knit. The damage this could cause to my reputation…”

Argrave touched the Ravenstone and released the Alchemist, and the towering abomination stood tall in the room, drawing the eyes of dozens of actors and helpers. As people panicked, Argrave gripped the maestro’s shoulder, tired of playing around.

“You can be compensated for giving me Xueyan, and you can go throughout your day happy and healthy. Or I can have the army seize Xueyan, and you can be markedly less so,” Argrave explained. “End result is the same either way. This is an imperial matter. And you wouldn’t want to interfere with the son of heaven, would you?”

Maestro Baobao shook his head. “Of course not. Never.”

“Then I’ll wait until the performance is over, alright? Now, in the meanwhile, those names I asked for earlier… you’ll tell me everyone who was involved in this.”

#####

After calming down from the frenzied drive forward he’d received after learning of Norman’s presence, Argrave did think to ask some prudent questions. He mentioned the name Norman to the Maestro, but it’d never been used—everyone called him by the name the troupe had given him, Xueyan, or more often just ‘red-eyes.’ From what Argrave heard, it had to be the same person—this Xueyan retained the same penchant for rhyming when he was just talking, the same as Good King Norman.

But at the same time… an actor? It was an ill-fitting career for someone who used to be a conqueror, someone who sold his children to dark forces. The odds that Norman, even if he had lost his memories or something similar, winded up here, tonight… no, it was too far-fetched to be a coincidence. This was a deliberate message—it had to be. What that message was, who knows… but Argrave intended to find out.

In time, waiting backstage, the performance ended. Argrave doubted he could’ve appreciated it, agitated as he was, but things had a mind of their own. Soon enough, the actors filtered out one-by-one. Argrave had long ago recalled the Alchemist so as not to frighten them. The maestro went out of his way to grab ‘Xueyan’ and shepherd him forward. Argrave laid eyes upon the man who, without a doubt, matched the Good King Norman of his memory.

“Remember me?” Argrave asked, stepping forward. “Or drawing a blank? It doesn’t matter, I suppose…”