He deponed and I deponed, and then we gave Tomasaran a brief lesson in how to make a deposition. Her deposition was very short, but it would corroborate Ulzhavar’s and mine should the need arise. Then Ulzhavar took Tomasaran to show her the journeymen’s quarters, and I, thankfully, headed for the municipal baths in the Airmen’s Quarter so that I could stop smelling of the Marquise Ulzhavel’s death.

That night I was restless. Rather than use up my five-zashan coins to read, or lying in the darkness staring at nothing, I decided, recklessly, to go to the Vermilion Opera and find out if Mer Pel-Thenhior would welcome me.

I arrived in an intermission, and the lobby was full of elegant and bejeweled elves, talking in small groups and drinking champagne punch. The newspaper stories about the riot at the premiere of Zhelsu had made it sound like the Opera had been gutted, but I saw only a few places where the new vermilion paint did not quite match the rest of the wall.

The audience members didn’t notice me, and I made my way to the auditorium doors, where the two goblin boys on duty recognized me and waved me in. I took the curving hallway around the backs of the boxes to the box nearest the stage, where I opened the door and stepped inside.

At the front of the box Iäna Pel-Thenhior and his assistant were bent together over Pel-Thenhior’s notebook. They both turned to look at the door as it closed, and Pel-Thenhior said, “Celehar! What a pleasant surprise!”

My face heated a little, but I said, “You told me I could come.”

“Of course, of course!” said Pel-Thenhior. He was half goblin, with golden-yellow eyes and black hair in long Barizheise braids. “I was just beginning to doubt that you would. Come, sit up here. Thoramis has the information he needs.”

I looked doubtfully at Thoramis—elven, almost as tall as Pel-Thenhior but on a much skinnier frame, his hair pulled back with a clasp—who gave me a smile and said, “Everything else can wait.” He left the box through the second door, the one that led backstage, and I sat down by Pel-Thenhior.

I was being a fool and I knew it.

Pel-Thenhior said, “You’ve come in good time. The last act of General Olethazh is due to start in five minutes.”

“How is it faring?”

“Not too badly,” Pel-Thenhior said. “I’ve got reams of notes, though. We missed a performance while the Opera was being repaired, and the chorus has become very sloppy. And Nanavo’s not singing as well as she should, and I don’t know why. The way things are going, I fully expect Shulethis to develop the hiccups.”

The audience began reappearing in boxes and filing into the auditorium for the inexpensive seats—although even those inexpensive seats were beyond my budget. Without Pel-Thenhior’s kindness, I could not have attended anything performed on the Vermilion Opera’s stage.