Dark Labyrinth 1 Read Online Free

noise rose up quickly for a few moments, but was dampened again as Scene II began. King Henry entered with pomp and glory—and Burbage finally felt at ease. After all, he should never have been worried. He knew Thomas Radclyffe—the young actor had been so proud of himself after receiving this part that he wouldn’t have forfeited this performance for anything.
    Yet Burbage squinted—and thought he saw something strange about Radclyffe’s face. Of course, the makeup would have changed it somewhat—but he thought he saw sharp edges, shadows, almost as if Radclyffe were wearing a very detailed mask . . . but no, he could see the mouth move.
    Still, he felt uneasy again. Lady Dalton probably couldn’t even see that far.
    “What’s happening, Cuthbert?” she whispered.
    Burbage almost imperceptibly rolled his eyes heavenward. “This is the trial of Buckingham at the King’s court. Queen Katherine has just entered to beg the King to withdraw an tax which takes one sixth of every man’s possessions—”
    Lady Dalton seemed to be barely listening. “Who’s Buckingham?”
    Burbage sighed.
    The scene progressed. Radclyffe’s voice was the same, but Burbage seemed to notice some special quality, a lilt, an intonation, which made the young actor’s voice stand out. Burbage had never considered himself a theatrical critic—he heard the lines, saw which ones were delivered more masterfully than others. And people paid to see the performances—he drew his livelihood from that. But he hadn’t felt any special drive, any special presence about acting. Until now, in Radclyffe’s voice, he felt the very embodiment of a performance, the life, the calling—yet he couldn’t pin it down. He couldn’t say why, but he was somehow aware that Radclyffe was giving the best performance he had ever seen.
    Richard, though, seemed to be acting strangely. There—he had just stumbled over a line. Richard had never stumbled over a line before, not in all Burbage’s recollection. Was it jealousy? No, it was almost as if he were . . . scared of something. But what would Richard ever be so afraid of that he couldn’t successfully cover it up?
    The scene continue; and Burbage felt a low buzz in the audience as the people remarked on how outstanding, how superb, the young actor was. What would have seemed an almost interminably long scene any other time, now held them enthralled.
    And at last the scene was over.
    He felt a tap on his shoulder. Burbage was startled and turned to find the man next to him pointing out into the corridor where stood a young boy, one of the apprentice actors of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. The boy looked agitated, pale and sweating. He seemed unable to speak, but gestured desperately for Burbage to come to him.
    “Excuse me, Lady Dalton,” he whispered in her ear. She smiled. “One of my actors wishes to speak with me.”
    “Oh, of course, Cuthbert—please hurry back.”
    Burbage went to the boy as the third scene began. They spoke in quiet voices. “What is it?”
    The boy was trembling. “I’ve found him, Mister Burbage!”
    “What? Who? ”
    “Come! Quickly!” The boy took his arm and drew him down the corridor through the curtains behind the tiring room, backstage, and to the narrow basement steps.
    “What could possibly be down here, boy?”
    “He is dead, sir! Murdered! ”
    “Thomas Radclyffe, sir! He’s hung up on the wall, by his neck—on one of the clothes hooks!”
    “You’re mad. boy! He’s just been—”
    They entered the dimness of the basement, surrounded by the muffled echoes of the performance overhead. Burbage didn’t need to look very closely to see a burned-out torch on the floor, and a shadowy figure hung on the wall with its feet dangling off the floor. And the face was that of Thomas Radclyffe.
    “King’s deathbed!” Burbage gaped a moment, realized what he was doing, then composed himself almost immediately, thinking fast. The boy stood next to him. Burbage made