Post by thia on Oct 17, 2011 13:28:31 GMT -1
Almost everyone had gone for the night, either home, to a local motel or the Truckers Association, or TA, for a quick shower and a hot meal. The final, frantic rehearsal of the principal players had been over for an hour already. Scott Friedman began his customary nightly rounds just to make sure everything was locked up tight for the night. Tomorrow was Opening Day and he wanted everything to be perfect when the season's first patrons walked through that front gate.
He patrolled the New Market area, stopping only to gaze up at the newly installed Dreadnought, the full scale recreation of an Elizabethan era naval vessel. He let himself have the luxury of imagining himself thrown back in time. He was a seasoned sailor ready to embark upon the high seas to defend the tiny island nation of England against the might of Spain; to fight for Queen and country the highest honour he could have.
Shaking his head, he brought himself out of his reverie and continued along, crossing the bridge into the thrill ride area, past the Royal Menagerie and onto the High Street area. He stood at the top of the hill and looked down both sides of the wide street, each shop closed up tight for the night. A couple of pale lights glimmered from second floor living quarters above a few shops. Passing Lord Mayor's Forum and into the Sun Garden, Scott saw that peace reigned supreme. He followed into the Faerie Bower and the Celtic encampment. He stopped at the Commons stage and made certain that the Fight Cast's things were all functioning properly and secured for the night. He turned and made for the Dirty Duck Inn and then through the meadow toward the joust field. He was just waving a good-night to a merchant closing the front of his newly constructed shop when he heard the sound of hoof beats on the soft sand of the joust field. He looked over; plumes of dust glowed in the swiftly fading light.
"What the-" Scott muttered as he trotted down the steep hill.
A form, mounted on one of the joust horses, rode the oval. The figure was clad in ill-fitting armour; the colours silver and green. The figure fired a crossbow at a stationary target.
"Hey! Hey Carl! It's getting too dark for this! Pack it in for the night, will you?" Scott hollered, dumbfounded why Carl would endanger himself and Bo for a couple of minutes extra practice when there wasn't enough light. "You know Dave will have kittens if he finds out. Practice in the morning."
The Knight wheeled his horse around, aimed the bow and fired, the bolt burying itself squarely in Scott's neck; a killing blow.
"His name is Robert Scott Friedman, 41, Artistic Director of SFRF," Seth’ryal said, rising from the victim and addressing his team. Dawn light had barely begun to pink the sky. "The security Chief found him during morning rounds 45 minutes ago. The murder weapon appears to be a bow of some kind." Although it was a tad too early to need them, he placed his sunglasses on his face anyway. "Looks like it's time to get Medieval."
"This is a murder investigation, ma'am. You can't open today. My team needs to process the entire scene," Seth’ryal said, hands on hips, pushing back his suit jacket, revealing his badge and firearm.
"Look, Lieutenant, I don't mean to be difficult, but I have no choice. The owners in Kansas City have instructed me to open those gates at ten o'clock, no matter what. If we don't open today, then we won't be able to open at all. Scott wouldn't have wanted that. The only reason that we can open this season is because we were open last season. Nobody opens a Renaissance Faire to get rich. It's just enough to stay even. We're season to season. I've instructed my security team to give you whatever help you need, but those gates have to open at ten," the woman said. She was Lisa Peters, the Fair’s general manager. "It's beyond comprehension why anyone would want to kill Scott, but my hands are tied. I'm sorry."
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we'll have to divide up to interview, get DNA samples and print," Seth’ryal told his team. They had briefly taken up residence in an onsite pub called the Pig 'n Whistle. "Thia, you have Kids' Kingdom, merchants that stayed on site last night and the Town Criers. Makvhug, you have the Maypole Mayhem, Street Troupe and the Fantastical sections; Sunny, the Fight Cast, Joust Troupe and Military; Rainak, Court, Guild of St. Lawrence, which is at the Dirty Duck Inn and Celtic Connections at the Croft. Mark and I are taking the management staff, grounds crew and security."
Rainak paged through his file. "I'm not complaining, but my list looks like the white page section of the Miami phone book. How am I supposed to get all these people swabbed, printed and interviewed before 10? That’s like three hours away."
"Just how many people work here?" Thia asked, her own list looking suspiciously phone book like.
Seth’ryal checked his numbers on the faire employed list. "Almost 1,000 people, Makvhug suggests that you start with the Court troupe, or Guild of St. George. They have a call time of 7:45 so you'll have a little time to start the process before the Faire opens. This goes for all of you; concentrate on the ones that are supposed to be here this weekend. We'll deal with the others later. Pop the laptops and get started. Someone decided to play William Tell. He's had his Overture, let's get him before he has a first act."
Sara Wisdom rubbed her eyes. "S'cuse me?"
"I said I'm Thia A’vron from the Dragos Miami Crime Lab. There was a homicide here last night. Robert Scott Friedman was killed. I understand that you and your husband stayed here last night. Did you see or hear anything that might help in the investigation?" Thia said pleasantly.
"Where are my manners? Please, come upstairs. Outside of going out to eat, Mike and I were here all night." Sara said, ushering Thia up a narrow stairway to the living quarters above the shop. To Thia's surprise, it was comfortable and welcoming. There was even furniture that was not your garden variety folding chairs. Sara indicated a plush bean bag chair. "Please have a seat." Sara raised her voice. "Mike, we have company. We'll need more coffee."
"Really, it's not necessary," Thia said, not wanting to put anyone out.
"It's no trouble at all. Mike and I want to help in any way we can, although it's hard to believe that someone would kill Scott." Sara said as Mike entered carrying three beautiful ceramic mugs. He handed one to Sara, one to Thia and kept one for himself.
Thia looked the man over. He was already dressed for the day in a natural colour linen chemise with beautiful Celtic embroidery running down both sleeves. Over this he wore a front lacing leather vest in medium brown. He also wore venetians and tights. On his feet were leather shoes that looked properly period for the 16th Century.
"I saw Scott last night as I was closing up the front of the shop. I waved to him. He seemed to be headed down to the joust field," Mike said sipping his own coffee.
"Did you see anything after that, Mr Wisdom?"
"No, I didn't. Sara and I went to dinner right after that. We took the high road right in back of the shop and it was already dark when we got back. I wish I could be of more help," Mike said, buttering some toast. "I wish I knew more. Scott was a pretty nice guy. He drove plenty of people nuts during rehearsals, but I don't think anyone in the cast killed him.
"Why is that?" Thia asked, accepting some toast and butter.
Sara shrugged. "Rennies may be a lot of things, but these people are not killers. Everyone is too much of a family."
"Would you care for breakfast, Mrs A’vron?" Mike offered cordially.
By 8:30 a.m. The Crime Lab team had assembled under the first aide tent behind the Globe Stage where the all cast morning meeting would take place in a half an hour.
"I've never met a more co-operative group of people in my life. The Military group offered up fingerprints and information on themselves without my asking for it. It seems that with the exception of the children, every one of them should be in AFIS. They own and operate 16th Century firearms and have to be registered and printed," Sunny said, sitting down.
Thia sat next to him. "Tell me about it. I've had to accept three breakfasts, four offers of tea or coffee and a couple of sweet rolls from the merchants I interviewed. They're falling over themselves to help."
Both Makvhug and Rainak nodded in agreement. They each had experienced the same thing. "It's not a put on, either. These people are genuinely upset" Rainak said.
Seth’ryal leaned against the first aide trailer, sunglasses covering his eyes. "So we have an eager and co-operative suspect pool that is killing us with kindness and generosity."
Thia stifled a small burp. "And hospitality; let's not forget that."
"You know, if I didn't need to look on every one of them as a potential killer, I'd believe them all." Makvhug offered.
"Well, we'll get to talk to them in mass at their morning meeting," Seth’ryal informed them. In truth, he had found the same attitude and willingness from everyone he interviewed. For a nearly 1,000 soul organization they lived and breathed as one organism; one soul, if only for the weekend.
"Good morning!”
"Good morning, Lisa!" the near 1,000 voice greeting died as surely as the Artistic Director had.
"Alright, by now all of you have heard that Scott was killed last night. Today isn't going to be easy and none of our hearts are in this, but we're going to have to do our best to give our patrons as good a show as we can." Lisa said. She gestured to Seth’ryal. "This is Lt. Seth’ryal A’vron from the Dragos Miami Crime Lab. He and his team will be investigating the murder. I know I don't have to ask this, but please give Lt. A’vron and his team all the co-operation you can. Thanks."
Lisa stepped back and Seth’ryal took a few steps forward. "Good morning everyone-"
"Good morning, Lt. A’vron...Nice hair!" they chorused. A few chuckles were heard.
Seth’ryal looked over at Lisa with a raised eyebrow.
She shrugged. "It's just their way of welcoming you. Go with it."
Seth’ryal cleared his throat. "Thank you. My team and I will be fingerprinting, getting DNA samples and interviewing each of you. This is for exclusionary purposes. We are mindful of your performance schedules and will try to disrupt things as little as possible. For now, we'll begin with those scheduled later and work from there. If there is anything that will camouflage us to the patrons, please let us know and we will do our best to comply."
There was silence for a long moment as the reality of what Seth’ryal said sank in to the cast. A lone voice started the chant. “Share it; dress them up!" Soon a dozen, then several dozen, then the entire cast took up the chant. "Share it; dress them up!"
Lisa shrugged. "The people have spoken."
"Vox populi."
Chapter 2
Thia looked at her wardrobe, scepticism plain on her face. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm not going to wear that, am I? That's never going to fit."
They were on the second floor of the wardrobe area, better known as the Costume Shop. Sewing machines and serge’s lined a few tables. Piles of fabric cluttered the corners. Thia fought a sneeze at all the fabric dust in the air.
A trim, fit man in his mid-thirties with a receding hairline looked her up and down, appraising her in the most professional of manners. "Trust me, I've been doing this longer than you think and I know what will fit you like a dream. Don't worry, I'll dress you. Time to get naked."
"Excuse me?"
He handed her a white open fronted chemise, knee high stockings in the same colour as the gown and a pair of white bloomers. "Change your clothes. Go behind the screen if you're shy, but it doesn't matter to me. I've seen more naked bodies than I ever care to admit; I've been doing this a long time."
Thia eyed him and then took the proffered clothes, stepping behind the screen, feeling extremely self-conscious and vulnerable. To cover her nervousness, she said, "You're a Southern boy, but not from around here."
Tom Hicks chuckled, realizing how uncomfortable the woman must be at the moment. This had to be an experience very much outside her realm of knowledge. "Raleigh, North Carolina. How about you, Scarlett? That's not a Florida accent."
"It's not Mississippi." Thia said, feeling a little better; the small talk giving her a chance to get to know the man that was going to be dressing her in the most outlandish outfit she had ever worn. She pulled on the stockings. "I went to school in New Orleans, though; Tulane."
"I went to the University of North Carolina. I got my Masters in Costume Design," he replied, smoothing out a small wrinkle in the emerald green velvet overskirt. He frowned at it when it refused to budge. "I minored in theatre, how about you?"
"I got my degree in Physics with a minor in Neurophysiology," Thia supplied, stepping from behind the screen. She clutched the chemise closed at the chest, feeling rather exposed.
Tom flicked his gaze over at her and sighed. It was always the same with the first-timers. "Drop the bra, sweetie. You won't need it. You have a corset."
Thia opened her mouth to protest, but she realized that she didn't really have the time to fuss and argue with the man, particularly since she had several hundred potential suspects to still interview. She ducked back behind the screen and complied. She stepped back out and approached him, feeling extremely shy again. "Alright, what do we do now?"
He held up her corset, sliding the straps up over her arms and helping her adjust the chemise so that it sat smoothly against her skin. "This goes on first. I'm going to lace you and then I'll tighten it down. This is not used to constrict your breathing or make your waist look smaller, but to give support to your frame so that you'll be able to bear the weight of the gown better. You're going to find it a little uncomfortable at first. Just breathe normally and trust me."
Thia gasped as he began to tighten the lacings. She fought panic as her manner of breathing gradually changed to adjust to the pressure of the garment. Finally, she was tied off. "You did that well. I've had ladies face that less bravely. Ok, now we put on the farthingale. This is going to help support the weight of your skirts and keep them from tangling up between your legs." He lifted the conical garment over her head and fastened it at her waist. "It's flexible so it's not going to go flying up in the air when you sit down like a Carol Burnett comedy sketch. Ask any of the Court Ladies to show you the best way to cope with a wide load. Next is the bumroll. This is also going to support the weight of your skirts. It'll take it off your waist and lower back and place it on the hips, which are sturdier."
As he tied the crescent shaped roll around her waist, she asked, "You keep referring to the weight of the skirts. Just how much am I going to be carrying around with me? Is this going to interfere with my job here in any way? If I have to chase a suspect down-"
"Lift your skirts by the farthingales’ boning and go. All in all, the entire thing is about 27 pounds. Trust me, honey, you won't notice the weight. It's far easier to wear than carry." Tom said, lifting the petticoat with a beautifully decorated triangle of honey gold fabric on it. It was richly embroidered with gold threads, facetted crystals and pearls. He lifted the skirt over her head and fastened it at her waist, the bumroll making the obvious weight almost nothing. He pushed down on the padding, making sure everything settled in right before swirling the emerald green overskirt around her, tying it off at the waist. It settled in rich, majestic folds around her, framing the forepart perfectly, the farthingale holding it away from her legs. He slid the matching emerald green and gold trimmed bodice up over her arms, lacing it shut up the back with a gossamer golden ribbon. He fussed with her appearance for a few moments before stepping back, apparently satisfied with his work. He had to admit, even though she struck him as a beautiful woman when she entered, she was simply stunning now, the emerald of the dress drawing out the emerald of her eyes and setting her red hair off like a sunset. "You're a vision."
"I feel like a sausage," Thia said, looking down at what she could see of herself. It was all very different and surreal. She could barely feel the weight of the gown at all. "Am I done now? I have a suspect pool and-"
"You still have your hair to deal with," A female voice said from behind her. Thia attempted to whip around and see who the voice belonged to, but the dress prevented her from doing so.
"Hi, I'm Kathryn. Tom asked me to do your hair. Just sit down. This won't take long. I'm in the Court so you can actually get my interview over with while I do your hair." Thia sighed, sat down and let the plump, pleasant looking woman brush out her hair. At least she'd get one interview done before she met with the rest of the team.
"I'm wearing what?" Makvhug asked incredulously, standing in the downstairs costume area of the Globe Theatre. He eyed the multi-coloured tights, fool's hat and particolored tunic with a great deal of suspicion.
Tom sighed. If Thia had been a little difficult, this guy was going to be a handful. "Look, you're part of Maypole Mayhem and the only costume I have left is the Hobby Horse. It's a really traditional part played in historical English folk traditions. Besides, Mitch took the weekend off for his daughter's wedding."
"Yeah, but..." Makvhug said, taking in the plush horse's body he would have to carry around on him all day. "How am I supposed to move with that thing on me?"
"I've already explained to Thia when I dressed her that she'd be able to move very naturally if the need arose. Makvhug, the only other costume I can have for you is that of the town privy cleaner. I can have Steve switch and be the Hobby Horse, but you'd be sitting inside of a large wooden toilet all day. I can't think of how you're supposed to interview anyone in that," Tom said, watching the mildly disgusted reaction Makvhug had when he heard the words 'wooden toilet'.
"You don't have any fools' costumes left?" Tom shook his head. "Just my own and you're not going to fit in it; you're too tall. Get dressed and I'll be back to help you put the horse's body on. I have to change clothes."
Seth’ryal leaned against the first aid trailer, sunglasses in hand, looking cool and comfortable in his Security tan and whites, his firearm and badge clearly visible. Rainak looked just as comfortable in his matching uniform. Seth’ryal watched as each of his team trickled in, costumed to fit in with their respective groups.
Sunny sat at the picnic table in his military work uniform. It consisted of a closed natural coloured chemise, dark brown front lacing leather jerkin, dark venetians, knee socks and soft leather shoes. He toyed with his navy flat cap.
"Where are Makvhug and Thia?" Eric asked. He was impatient to get back to work, but he knew that the meeting that they were about to have was just as important.
"Apparently, fitting into their respective groups is going to take a bit more work. Mr Hicks said that their costumes were more complicated," Seth’ryal said as Makvhug walked up, horse's body bobbing around him.
Sunny, unable to help himself, let out a snorting laugh. "Man, Mak’, I always knew you were a horse's-"
"Shut up Sunshine. It could be worse; I could be wearing a wooden toilet. Just give me a little dignity, here." Makvhug grouched. He sat on the edge of the bench and looked mildly miserable.
"You know, Makvhug, the hobby horse goes far back into Pagan England's history-" Seth’ryal began, but was cut off by a female voice.
"Oh, dear God, this thing has its own gravitational pull!" Thia exclaimed, sweeping up to the group after having had the gown hasten her descent from the upstairs costume shop.
"Wow!" Seth’ryal commented at her emerald and gold appearance. It was like nothing he had seen, nor had any of them seen before. She was simply gorgeous in a very different way and he was entirely unprepared for his own reaction to her appearance, Thia truly looked like she belonged to royalty more than she had ever since they met.
"You look like you just stepped out of a portrait," Seth’ryal commented.
"Thanks, but I feel like an idiot," Thia said, her cheeks flushing. She glanced at Makvhug. "But you look like one."
"Thanks Princess," he grumbled.
"Alright everyone, here's the plan. You spend the morning with your respective groups and interview, print and swab as many as possible. Thia, where's your firearm and pager?" Seth’ryal asked, fighting his earlier reaction.
Thia gestured to the basket slung over her left arm. "In here. It's not ideal, but I can't exactly strap it anywhere else without tipping off the fact that I'm not part of the cast."
"Right," Seth’ryal agreed, checking his watch. 9:53. "We'll meet back here at 12:30, right before the midday parade and see if there are any leads. In the meantime, let's get to work."
He patrolled the New Market area, stopping only to gaze up at the newly installed Dreadnought, the full scale recreation of an Elizabethan era naval vessel. He let himself have the luxury of imagining himself thrown back in time. He was a seasoned sailor ready to embark upon the high seas to defend the tiny island nation of England against the might of Spain; to fight for Queen and country the highest honour he could have.
Shaking his head, he brought himself out of his reverie and continued along, crossing the bridge into the thrill ride area, past the Royal Menagerie and onto the High Street area. He stood at the top of the hill and looked down both sides of the wide street, each shop closed up tight for the night. A couple of pale lights glimmered from second floor living quarters above a few shops. Passing Lord Mayor's Forum and into the Sun Garden, Scott saw that peace reigned supreme. He followed into the Faerie Bower and the Celtic encampment. He stopped at the Commons stage and made certain that the Fight Cast's things were all functioning properly and secured for the night. He turned and made for the Dirty Duck Inn and then through the meadow toward the joust field. He was just waving a good-night to a merchant closing the front of his newly constructed shop when he heard the sound of hoof beats on the soft sand of the joust field. He looked over; plumes of dust glowed in the swiftly fading light.
"What the-" Scott muttered as he trotted down the steep hill.
A form, mounted on one of the joust horses, rode the oval. The figure was clad in ill-fitting armour; the colours silver and green. The figure fired a crossbow at a stationary target.
"Hey! Hey Carl! It's getting too dark for this! Pack it in for the night, will you?" Scott hollered, dumbfounded why Carl would endanger himself and Bo for a couple of minutes extra practice when there wasn't enough light. "You know Dave will have kittens if he finds out. Practice in the morning."
The Knight wheeled his horse around, aimed the bow and fired, the bolt burying itself squarely in Scott's neck; a killing blow.
"His name is Robert Scott Friedman, 41, Artistic Director of SFRF," Seth’ryal said, rising from the victim and addressing his team. Dawn light had barely begun to pink the sky. "The security Chief found him during morning rounds 45 minutes ago. The murder weapon appears to be a bow of some kind." Although it was a tad too early to need them, he placed his sunglasses on his face anyway. "Looks like it's time to get Medieval."
"This is a murder investigation, ma'am. You can't open today. My team needs to process the entire scene," Seth’ryal said, hands on hips, pushing back his suit jacket, revealing his badge and firearm.
"Look, Lieutenant, I don't mean to be difficult, but I have no choice. The owners in Kansas City have instructed me to open those gates at ten o'clock, no matter what. If we don't open today, then we won't be able to open at all. Scott wouldn't have wanted that. The only reason that we can open this season is because we were open last season. Nobody opens a Renaissance Faire to get rich. It's just enough to stay even. We're season to season. I've instructed my security team to give you whatever help you need, but those gates have to open at ten," the woman said. She was Lisa Peters, the Fair’s general manager. "It's beyond comprehension why anyone would want to kill Scott, but my hands are tied. I'm sorry."
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we'll have to divide up to interview, get DNA samples and print," Seth’ryal told his team. They had briefly taken up residence in an onsite pub called the Pig 'n Whistle. "Thia, you have Kids' Kingdom, merchants that stayed on site last night and the Town Criers. Makvhug, you have the Maypole Mayhem, Street Troupe and the Fantastical sections; Sunny, the Fight Cast, Joust Troupe and Military; Rainak, Court, Guild of St. Lawrence, which is at the Dirty Duck Inn and Celtic Connections at the Croft. Mark and I are taking the management staff, grounds crew and security."
Rainak paged through his file. "I'm not complaining, but my list looks like the white page section of the Miami phone book. How am I supposed to get all these people swabbed, printed and interviewed before 10? That’s like three hours away."
"Just how many people work here?" Thia asked, her own list looking suspiciously phone book like.
Seth’ryal checked his numbers on the faire employed list. "Almost 1,000 people, Makvhug suggests that you start with the Court troupe, or Guild of St. George. They have a call time of 7:45 so you'll have a little time to start the process before the Faire opens. This goes for all of you; concentrate on the ones that are supposed to be here this weekend. We'll deal with the others later. Pop the laptops and get started. Someone decided to play William Tell. He's had his Overture, let's get him before he has a first act."
Sara Wisdom rubbed her eyes. "S'cuse me?"
"I said I'm Thia A’vron from the Dragos Miami Crime Lab. There was a homicide here last night. Robert Scott Friedman was killed. I understand that you and your husband stayed here last night. Did you see or hear anything that might help in the investigation?" Thia said pleasantly.
"Where are my manners? Please, come upstairs. Outside of going out to eat, Mike and I were here all night." Sara said, ushering Thia up a narrow stairway to the living quarters above the shop. To Thia's surprise, it was comfortable and welcoming. There was even furniture that was not your garden variety folding chairs. Sara indicated a plush bean bag chair. "Please have a seat." Sara raised her voice. "Mike, we have company. We'll need more coffee."
"Really, it's not necessary," Thia said, not wanting to put anyone out.
"It's no trouble at all. Mike and I want to help in any way we can, although it's hard to believe that someone would kill Scott." Sara said as Mike entered carrying three beautiful ceramic mugs. He handed one to Sara, one to Thia and kept one for himself.
Thia looked the man over. He was already dressed for the day in a natural colour linen chemise with beautiful Celtic embroidery running down both sleeves. Over this he wore a front lacing leather vest in medium brown. He also wore venetians and tights. On his feet were leather shoes that looked properly period for the 16th Century.
"I saw Scott last night as I was closing up the front of the shop. I waved to him. He seemed to be headed down to the joust field," Mike said sipping his own coffee.
"Did you see anything after that, Mr Wisdom?"
"No, I didn't. Sara and I went to dinner right after that. We took the high road right in back of the shop and it was already dark when we got back. I wish I could be of more help," Mike said, buttering some toast. "I wish I knew more. Scott was a pretty nice guy. He drove plenty of people nuts during rehearsals, but I don't think anyone in the cast killed him.
"Why is that?" Thia asked, accepting some toast and butter.
Sara shrugged. "Rennies may be a lot of things, but these people are not killers. Everyone is too much of a family."
"Would you care for breakfast, Mrs A’vron?" Mike offered cordially.
By 8:30 a.m. The Crime Lab team had assembled under the first aide tent behind the Globe Stage where the all cast morning meeting would take place in a half an hour.
"I've never met a more co-operative group of people in my life. The Military group offered up fingerprints and information on themselves without my asking for it. It seems that with the exception of the children, every one of them should be in AFIS. They own and operate 16th Century firearms and have to be registered and printed," Sunny said, sitting down.
Thia sat next to him. "Tell me about it. I've had to accept three breakfasts, four offers of tea or coffee and a couple of sweet rolls from the merchants I interviewed. They're falling over themselves to help."
Both Makvhug and Rainak nodded in agreement. They each had experienced the same thing. "It's not a put on, either. These people are genuinely upset" Rainak said.
Seth’ryal leaned against the first aide trailer, sunglasses covering his eyes. "So we have an eager and co-operative suspect pool that is killing us with kindness and generosity."
Thia stifled a small burp. "And hospitality; let's not forget that."
"You know, if I didn't need to look on every one of them as a potential killer, I'd believe them all." Makvhug offered.
"Well, we'll get to talk to them in mass at their morning meeting," Seth’ryal informed them. In truth, he had found the same attitude and willingness from everyone he interviewed. For a nearly 1,000 soul organization they lived and breathed as one organism; one soul, if only for the weekend.
"Good morning!”
"Good morning, Lisa!" the near 1,000 voice greeting died as surely as the Artistic Director had.
"Alright, by now all of you have heard that Scott was killed last night. Today isn't going to be easy and none of our hearts are in this, but we're going to have to do our best to give our patrons as good a show as we can." Lisa said. She gestured to Seth’ryal. "This is Lt. Seth’ryal A’vron from the Dragos Miami Crime Lab. He and his team will be investigating the murder. I know I don't have to ask this, but please give Lt. A’vron and his team all the co-operation you can. Thanks."
Lisa stepped back and Seth’ryal took a few steps forward. "Good morning everyone-"
"Good morning, Lt. A’vron...Nice hair!" they chorused. A few chuckles were heard.
Seth’ryal looked over at Lisa with a raised eyebrow.
She shrugged. "It's just their way of welcoming you. Go with it."
Seth’ryal cleared his throat. "Thank you. My team and I will be fingerprinting, getting DNA samples and interviewing each of you. This is for exclusionary purposes. We are mindful of your performance schedules and will try to disrupt things as little as possible. For now, we'll begin with those scheduled later and work from there. If there is anything that will camouflage us to the patrons, please let us know and we will do our best to comply."
There was silence for a long moment as the reality of what Seth’ryal said sank in to the cast. A lone voice started the chant. “Share it; dress them up!" Soon a dozen, then several dozen, then the entire cast took up the chant. "Share it; dress them up!"
Lisa shrugged. "The people have spoken."
"Vox populi."
Chapter 2
Thia looked at her wardrobe, scepticism plain on her face. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm not going to wear that, am I? That's never going to fit."
They were on the second floor of the wardrobe area, better known as the Costume Shop. Sewing machines and serge’s lined a few tables. Piles of fabric cluttered the corners. Thia fought a sneeze at all the fabric dust in the air.
A trim, fit man in his mid-thirties with a receding hairline looked her up and down, appraising her in the most professional of manners. "Trust me, I've been doing this longer than you think and I know what will fit you like a dream. Don't worry, I'll dress you. Time to get naked."
"Excuse me?"
He handed her a white open fronted chemise, knee high stockings in the same colour as the gown and a pair of white bloomers. "Change your clothes. Go behind the screen if you're shy, but it doesn't matter to me. I've seen more naked bodies than I ever care to admit; I've been doing this a long time."
Thia eyed him and then took the proffered clothes, stepping behind the screen, feeling extremely self-conscious and vulnerable. To cover her nervousness, she said, "You're a Southern boy, but not from around here."
Tom Hicks chuckled, realizing how uncomfortable the woman must be at the moment. This had to be an experience very much outside her realm of knowledge. "Raleigh, North Carolina. How about you, Scarlett? That's not a Florida accent."
"It's not Mississippi." Thia said, feeling a little better; the small talk giving her a chance to get to know the man that was going to be dressing her in the most outlandish outfit she had ever worn. She pulled on the stockings. "I went to school in New Orleans, though; Tulane."
"I went to the University of North Carolina. I got my Masters in Costume Design," he replied, smoothing out a small wrinkle in the emerald green velvet overskirt. He frowned at it when it refused to budge. "I minored in theatre, how about you?"
"I got my degree in Physics with a minor in Neurophysiology," Thia supplied, stepping from behind the screen. She clutched the chemise closed at the chest, feeling rather exposed.
Tom flicked his gaze over at her and sighed. It was always the same with the first-timers. "Drop the bra, sweetie. You won't need it. You have a corset."
Thia opened her mouth to protest, but she realized that she didn't really have the time to fuss and argue with the man, particularly since she had several hundred potential suspects to still interview. She ducked back behind the screen and complied. She stepped back out and approached him, feeling extremely shy again. "Alright, what do we do now?"
He held up her corset, sliding the straps up over her arms and helping her adjust the chemise so that it sat smoothly against her skin. "This goes on first. I'm going to lace you and then I'll tighten it down. This is not used to constrict your breathing or make your waist look smaller, but to give support to your frame so that you'll be able to bear the weight of the gown better. You're going to find it a little uncomfortable at first. Just breathe normally and trust me."
Thia gasped as he began to tighten the lacings. She fought panic as her manner of breathing gradually changed to adjust to the pressure of the garment. Finally, she was tied off. "You did that well. I've had ladies face that less bravely. Ok, now we put on the farthingale. This is going to help support the weight of your skirts and keep them from tangling up between your legs." He lifted the conical garment over her head and fastened it at her waist. "It's flexible so it's not going to go flying up in the air when you sit down like a Carol Burnett comedy sketch. Ask any of the Court Ladies to show you the best way to cope with a wide load. Next is the bumroll. This is also going to support the weight of your skirts. It'll take it off your waist and lower back and place it on the hips, which are sturdier."
As he tied the crescent shaped roll around her waist, she asked, "You keep referring to the weight of the skirts. Just how much am I going to be carrying around with me? Is this going to interfere with my job here in any way? If I have to chase a suspect down-"
"Lift your skirts by the farthingales’ boning and go. All in all, the entire thing is about 27 pounds. Trust me, honey, you won't notice the weight. It's far easier to wear than carry." Tom said, lifting the petticoat with a beautifully decorated triangle of honey gold fabric on it. It was richly embroidered with gold threads, facetted crystals and pearls. He lifted the skirt over her head and fastened it at her waist, the bumroll making the obvious weight almost nothing. He pushed down on the padding, making sure everything settled in right before swirling the emerald green overskirt around her, tying it off at the waist. It settled in rich, majestic folds around her, framing the forepart perfectly, the farthingale holding it away from her legs. He slid the matching emerald green and gold trimmed bodice up over her arms, lacing it shut up the back with a gossamer golden ribbon. He fussed with her appearance for a few moments before stepping back, apparently satisfied with his work. He had to admit, even though she struck him as a beautiful woman when she entered, she was simply stunning now, the emerald of the dress drawing out the emerald of her eyes and setting her red hair off like a sunset. "You're a vision."
"I feel like a sausage," Thia said, looking down at what she could see of herself. It was all very different and surreal. She could barely feel the weight of the gown at all. "Am I done now? I have a suspect pool and-"
"You still have your hair to deal with," A female voice said from behind her. Thia attempted to whip around and see who the voice belonged to, but the dress prevented her from doing so.
"Hi, I'm Kathryn. Tom asked me to do your hair. Just sit down. This won't take long. I'm in the Court so you can actually get my interview over with while I do your hair." Thia sighed, sat down and let the plump, pleasant looking woman brush out her hair. At least she'd get one interview done before she met with the rest of the team.
"I'm wearing what?" Makvhug asked incredulously, standing in the downstairs costume area of the Globe Theatre. He eyed the multi-coloured tights, fool's hat and particolored tunic with a great deal of suspicion.
Tom sighed. If Thia had been a little difficult, this guy was going to be a handful. "Look, you're part of Maypole Mayhem and the only costume I have left is the Hobby Horse. It's a really traditional part played in historical English folk traditions. Besides, Mitch took the weekend off for his daughter's wedding."
"Yeah, but..." Makvhug said, taking in the plush horse's body he would have to carry around on him all day. "How am I supposed to move with that thing on me?"
"I've already explained to Thia when I dressed her that she'd be able to move very naturally if the need arose. Makvhug, the only other costume I can have for you is that of the town privy cleaner. I can have Steve switch and be the Hobby Horse, but you'd be sitting inside of a large wooden toilet all day. I can't think of how you're supposed to interview anyone in that," Tom said, watching the mildly disgusted reaction Makvhug had when he heard the words 'wooden toilet'.
"You don't have any fools' costumes left?" Tom shook his head. "Just my own and you're not going to fit in it; you're too tall. Get dressed and I'll be back to help you put the horse's body on. I have to change clothes."
Seth’ryal leaned against the first aid trailer, sunglasses in hand, looking cool and comfortable in his Security tan and whites, his firearm and badge clearly visible. Rainak looked just as comfortable in his matching uniform. Seth’ryal watched as each of his team trickled in, costumed to fit in with their respective groups.
Sunny sat at the picnic table in his military work uniform. It consisted of a closed natural coloured chemise, dark brown front lacing leather jerkin, dark venetians, knee socks and soft leather shoes. He toyed with his navy flat cap.
"Where are Makvhug and Thia?" Eric asked. He was impatient to get back to work, but he knew that the meeting that they were about to have was just as important.
"Apparently, fitting into their respective groups is going to take a bit more work. Mr Hicks said that their costumes were more complicated," Seth’ryal said as Makvhug walked up, horse's body bobbing around him.
Sunny, unable to help himself, let out a snorting laugh. "Man, Mak’, I always knew you were a horse's-"
"Shut up Sunshine. It could be worse; I could be wearing a wooden toilet. Just give me a little dignity, here." Makvhug grouched. He sat on the edge of the bench and looked mildly miserable.
"You know, Makvhug, the hobby horse goes far back into Pagan England's history-" Seth’ryal began, but was cut off by a female voice.
"Oh, dear God, this thing has its own gravitational pull!" Thia exclaimed, sweeping up to the group after having had the gown hasten her descent from the upstairs costume shop.
"Wow!" Seth’ryal commented at her emerald and gold appearance. It was like nothing he had seen, nor had any of them seen before. She was simply gorgeous in a very different way and he was entirely unprepared for his own reaction to her appearance, Thia truly looked like she belonged to royalty more than she had ever since they met.
"You look like you just stepped out of a portrait," Seth’ryal commented.
"Thanks, but I feel like an idiot," Thia said, her cheeks flushing. She glanced at Makvhug. "But you look like one."
"Thanks Princess," he grumbled.
"Alright everyone, here's the plan. You spend the morning with your respective groups and interview, print and swab as many as possible. Thia, where's your firearm and pager?" Seth’ryal asked, fighting his earlier reaction.
Thia gestured to the basket slung over her left arm. "In here. It's not ideal, but I can't exactly strap it anywhere else without tipping off the fact that I'm not part of the cast."
"Right," Seth’ryal agreed, checking his watch. 9:53. "We'll meet back here at 12:30, right before the midday parade and see if there are any leads. In the meantime, let's get to work."