He just needed to stay in the dark about this particular matter until such a time as a realistic offer to go together to unknown shores could be made. And so far, he had remained convinced that Jasper’s only aim was to run the new forwarding office here in Brighton, mostly because Jasper always caved in when Mal suggested leaving the rehearsals in favor of the pub. Though, in honesty, he felt Libba’s glare boring into his back every time he did so.
Today, the routine had unfolded predictably, and they entered the Odalisque to find a blocking exercise as the actorsread the lines. Lem was on the ground with that dandy blond Garret hovering over him, with a wooden sword and a feigned expression of utter horror at what he’d just done.
“Romeo killed Tybalt,” intoned a serious-looking chap from the velvet curtain to the right. “Romeo must die.”
“Oh, bad luck,” Rhys crowed, prancing forward to loom over Lem’s dead Tybalt. “Turnabout is fair play!”
Lem turned his head to squint up at Rhys’s hovering glee, shadowed by his brown curls falling down over his face as he peered down at Lem’s prone body. “Did you not read past your own death, little man?”
Rhys frowned, taking a step back. “Do I have lines after that?”
It seemed that the entire company sighed in unison in response.
“Good show, anyway,” he said to Garret with a shrug, turning and hopping off the stage. “Is there any cheese left?”
Mal sighed to Jasper’s right, shaking his head with a fond, exasperated chuckle.
“Oh,” he said, blinking and patting his pockets with sudden realization. “Ruby sent you a sample. I’ve got it here somewhere.”
“Oh, God,” said Jasper, wincing. “Have you smelled it?”
“Me? No,” he said. “But she did tell me to inform you not to taste it, no matter how appetizing you find it, as it is deadly poisonous. Oh, here it is.”
He proffered a small, glass vial, corked at the top, from his inner pocket and tossed it to Jasper. It had a crinkled roll of paper stuck to it with tacky wax, which Jasper unrolled with careful curiosity.
“Cherry, cherry blossom, almond,” he read, raising his eyebrows, “cinnamon, crushed amber, camphor, benzoin resin, and clove.”
“Oh,” said Malcolm, blinking. “Thatispoisonous. But only if you eat it. Don’t eat it.”
“I’d only have a taste. What the Devil isbenzoin?” Jasper asked, glancing up at him to receive a shrug.
“No idea,” he said. “But the almond paste is what Errol uses as rat poison and the camphor for insecticide. Can’t imagine chewing amber is good for you, either.”
“Why not?” Jasper demanded. “It’s just hard sap, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Mal with a wrinkle of his nose. “It isn’t.”
“Oh, God,” Jasper said again, ignoring his friend as he went about waving the uncorked vial under his nose. “It’s completely divine. Blast.”
Malcolm gave a sad nod. “That’s how she gets you.”
It was too late. Jasper was already dabbing it at his pulse points, his eyes rolling back at the collision of scent on his skin with the air. “I’ll pay her whatever she asks,” he said to no one in particular.
“Jasper! There you are!” came Libba’s voice, causing his head to snap up guiltily as she walked to the center of the stage. “You left a scarf here last week that’s been floating through my costume trunks and confusing the Devil out of everyone. Come and retrieve it. I shan’t have it appearing on Friar Lawrence and ruining the aesthetic.”
“Oh, now you’re in trouble,” Malcolm said with a chuckle. “Hurry back, I’m itching for a pint. Maybe we can steal Rhys.”
Jasper gave a nod and a distracted wave, corking the bottle and pocketing it as he made his way up to the stage to the cadence of Libba’s impatient, tapping foot. “A scarf, you say?”
“Back here,” she snapped, gesturing to be followed and leading him behind the stage as the players arranged to skewer Tybalt all over again. “It’s in one of the costume trunks.”
“It isn’t cold enough to wear a scarf,” he said, wrinkling his brow. “I don’t recall bringing one.”
She threw a door open and pushed him inside. “There is no bloody scarf, idiot,” she said, knocking the door shut behind her with a swing of her hip. “I needed to talk to you without my brother hovering in the air like a gnat. Where the hell have you been? I heard the Templeton-Rath ship was docking today.”
He paled immediately, a queasy lurch spiking in his gut. “What? No, not today. I haven’t heard anything.”
“Haven’t you? Is that because you have better sources or because you don’t listen?” she asked, crossing her arms and raising her brows. “And furthermore—” She paused, frowning for a moment and sniffing the air. “I say,” she said, taking a step closer. “What is that?”
