Part 11 (1/2)
”Sick to my stomach,” Bertie said with great irritation. ”Which way did the boys go?”
”Last I saw them, they were chasing His Royal Pain-in the-Hind-End down the stairs.”
Bertie kicked off her heels and went barefoot, wincing with each step. ”I need to get out of this.”
”The new play?”
”The corset.” Bertie snapped her fingers. ”Then we need to post a notice on the Call Board for the Players. Eight A.M.”
”Eight in the morning is pretty early for this crowd,” said Peaseblossom.
”The Theater Manager seemed to think we'd need an early start.” Bertie tried to remember the last time she had gotten up before ten of her own volition and failed. ”We're going to have to set my alarm clock.”
”You have an alarm clock?” the fairy asked.
”Amend that statement to say I need to 'borrow' an alarm clock from the Properties Department. The Managers need to know about the rush order, anyway, and I can start by telling Mr. Hastings.”
”They aren't going to be happy,” Peaseblossom said as Bertie took the stairs two at a time. ”Do you think you can convince them four days will be enough time?”
”I'm an alchemist; I'll make gold of it,” Bertie said.
CHAPTER NINE.
Divas and
Drama Queens
Bertie's first indication that she'd overslept was the troupe of cancan dancers that brushed past her bed and hit her in the head with their rustling crinolines. The second was their t.i.ttering giggles. But even that was easier to ignore than Nate's hand clamped down on her shoulder.
”La.s.s.” The nudging became more insistent as his other hand joined the first. ”There was a notice on th' Call Board, an' they're all gatherin'. Ahoy. Wake up.”
”Go 'way,” Bertie mumbled in denial. ”I set my alarm. It can't be time yet. Tell the Chorus Girls to b.u.g.g.e.r off.” She turned over and burrowed deeper into the bedclothes.
”Ye have t' get up afore th' rest arrive.”
Bertie cracked an eye at the clock, which told her in no uncertain terms that it hadn't gone off at seven as planned. She went from mostly comatose to completely awake in less than half a second, bolted upright, and leapt out of bed. Nate sidestepped her mad bounce into the land of the living, but Moth and Cobweb slept on with their little b.u.ms hiked in the air and faces buried under the pillows. Peaseblossom tumbled down Bertie's pajama top. Mustardseed landed on the floor with a thump and a sleepy ”bwaaah?”
”Ye know I'd rather hazard an ocean o' sirens than rouse ye from a slumber, right?” Nate asked.
”Yes, I know, and it's a good thing you did. Hairbrush, hairbrush, who moved my hairbrush?”
Bertie realized they were already in the middle of a scene change. Half her furniture and her clothes, carefully selected to look authoritative and directorial, were already gone. She raked her fingers through the brilliant blue rats' nest atop her head with a growing sense of futility and spoke down her pajama top. ”We overslept. Wake up!”
Peaseblossom flitted free, instantly alert. ”Get up get up get up get up!” She kicked Moth directly in the backside, which only nudged him three inches farther under the pillow.
Bertie shoved her feet into a pair of slippers, then grabbed for all four fairies and dropped them in the pocket of her plaid flannel sleeping pants mere seconds before her bed disappeared under the stage. ”Who authorized this?”
”That would be me.” The Stage Manager dispensed hot coffee and smiles to the early arrivals crowded together Stage Right.
”I don't suppose you know what happened to my alarm.” Bertie shoved her way through them to reach his table.
”No idea whatsoever,” the Stage Manager said.
Bertie surveyed the pastries, coffee cakes, and mammoth silver samovar. ”This is an impressive spread. Must have taken a while to set up.”
”A bit of time, yes.”
”You could have paused during your preparations to wake me up.”
”I could have.”
”But you didn't.”
”Obviously.” The Stage Manager held up an insulated cup. ”Coffee?”
Bertie rubbed her thumb over the scrimshaw as she peered at him. Another one wearing a mask, though it's as ugly as what lurks underneath. He smirked, sending nasty, oily serpents to pluck at her composure, to push, to goad, to tug at the reins of her temper while the Players looked on.
Bertie let go of the medallion along with her plans to unleash a blistering diatribe that would only make her look ridiculous. Instead, she turned on a smile so sweet the cinnamon rolls were jealous. ”Please.”
Clearly disappointed she'd left the bait dangling on his hook, the Stage Manager filled the cup to the brim and handed it to her. ”There you are.”
Nate joined them at the table as Bertie slurped enough coffee to make room in the cup for a healthy amount of cream and sugar. ”Is everythin' all right?” His hand twitched toward his cutla.s.s.
”Unspeakably fabulous. I was just getting some breakfast.” She turned out her pocket to dump the fairies on the table. ”Eat up, guys. You'll need your strength today.”
Mustardseed landed on a jelly-filled doughnut with such precision that raspberry jam shot across the tray and dripped over the edge. ”Oops! Did I do that?” Then he jumped on an eclair.
”Wait for us!” Moth and Cobweb hastened to skate in the mess.
”Make them stop,” snapped the Stage Manager. ”The food is for the Company.”
”We're part of the Company!” Peaseblossom said. ”We even have lines.”
”Not a lot of them, but they're there!” said Mustardseed, discovering the sugar cubes.
The Stage Manager fixed Bertie with a gimlet gaze. ”As the Director, you're going to need to maintain some semblance of authority.”
”Authority, yes, but I'm not the boss of them.” Bertie spoke around a mouthful of doughnut, old-fas.h.i.+oned cake with glaze, because she was a girl with simple tastes and because the cancan dancers had snaked all the ones with sprinkles, the hussies.
”Yeah, she's not the boss of us!” Moth and Cobweb stopped painting each other with jam war paint long enough to stick their tongues out at the Stage Manager.
”Yes, she most certainly is,” he said.