.-----------------------.
| |
: A Twisted Skein :
: by Linaeve d'Murani :
| |
._______________________.

CAST:
=====
Hyssop
Iris
Viscount Eavan Nulyma
Viscountess Parthinia Nulyma
Erling

Scene 1: The Magnagoran Market
Scene 2: The Chamber of Looms
Scene 3: Hyssop's Bedchamber
Scene 4: The Weaver's Study
Scene 5: Hyssop's Bedchamber
Scene 6: The Viscountess's Office
Scene 7: Hyssop's Bedchamber

=====================================================================
Scene 1: (The Magnagoran Market): [The sun is diffuse in the hazy skies above
Magnagora, where blackened spires twist and hover imperiously. Churning black
clouds roil through the firmament, inscribing unlikely shadows through the
market at midday, as persons of wealth and depravity alike bustle amidst the
flocks.]

.....................................................................

[The sun is diffuse in the hazy skies above Magnagora. Churning black clouds
roil through the firmament, inscribing unlikely shadows through the market at
midday, as persons of wealth and depravity alike bustle amidst the flocks.]

[From the congestion appears a likely pair: a greying Viscount by the name of
Eavan Nulyma, and on his arm a young woman called Iris, with a voracious pair
of emerald eyes. Some eyes linger on them; for below the ordinary, fashionable
attire we see, Magnagora draws its secrets and its scandal. Indeed, the
Viscount's face is a familiar one, and some even pause to stare. But now he and
his companion remove themselves from the crowds, meandering unnoticed onto a
cobblestone road less populated, and strung together with humble, rundown
shops.]

Eavan and Iris: Enter (SILENT)

{Costume, Eavan: The greying hair of this Viscount is combed neatly but of a
sloppy length, brushing nearly to his shoulders. His spindly fingers, long and
worn, show the signs of his true age; whilst his face bears the chiseled beauty
of youth. Gentle crows' feet at the corners of his dark eyes are attractive
rather than off-putting. He wears a dark suit of midnight black with silver
detail, and a set of blood-red robes.}

{Costume, Iris: Voracious emerald green eyes and a mane of mahogany locks
offset this beauty's pale complexion exquisitely. Sensuality manifests itself
in her minute, bow-lipped mouth and soft, voluptuous curves. A fur-lined cloak
is clasped about her neck, while high-buttoned boots and a jewelled velvet gown
adorn the rest of her form.}

Eavan: (His brow frowning) Where are you taking me, Iris? I thought you said
this woman was reputable, not holed up in the scummiest corner of the city.

Iris: (Tucking her arm endearingly into Eavan's) Oh, hush. One's reputation for
artistry must not be suppressed by coin and riches. You of all people should
know this. Why, your most faithful buyers would be disappointed, Eavan.

Eavan: casts a sharp eye at a silken-clad woman who bustles by, and leans in
close to Iris.

Eavan: (In a hiss) Th-that is no way for a maid to speak to her keeper, you
fop! Would you have us found out?

Iris: (With dripping sweetness) Viscount. Pardon my horrendous manners, my
lord.

Iris: rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, and steers her companion beneath a rusted
awning that hangs awkwardly over a small, dull-wooded building. Despite its
overall condition, the steps are scrubbed and the glass window of the
storefront is meticulously polished, affording a view within.

Iris: (As she pauses, fingering the fur of her collar) Besides, you have me
dressed in the hides of the most coveted, precious creatures of all the Basin,
strung with gold and wallowing in exotic perfume. Am I really to be your maid
here? What do you want, Viscount - a housekeeper or a mistress?

Eavan: raises his fingers to Iris, dismissing her words as he gazes into the
glass storefront. His dark eyes are fixated on the young woman perched inside,
before a large loom, her fingers working quickly at the threads. Her hair is
long, golden, and her eyes strangely light, gazing straight ahead without
focus.

Eavan: This is her, then?

Iris: (Turning her eyes to follow his) Yes. This is the one.

Eavan: (With reluctance) And how do you know she will come-c-come... with us?
You expect that she will abandon this store, all she has, and simply follow the
lead of strangers at the first glimmer of a gold s-sovereign?

Iris: laughs lightly, stepping back into the road and opening her arms in a
poignant gesture.

Iris: (With a smirk) All she has, Viscount? This... dilapidated, worthless
series of nails and planks situated in the most filth-infested corner of the
entire city of Magnagora. Her entire family dead. You believe a woman with any
ambition or sense whatsoever would hesitate to leave this, all that she has?
And you, the most celebrated artisan in all of the Basin, whose tapestries are
well-loved and coveted by all, whose designs are envied by all Trademasters...
you fancy yourself a stranger to her?

Iris: shakes her head, her faceted earrings swaying.

Iris: Your face is known to all, despite the reluctance with which you show it.
You have walked into Magnagora all of twice within the last five years, and yet
everyone knows your name instantly. If she will not come with you, she is a
fool, and worthless to your pursuit.

Eavan: nods curtly, his eyes returning to the woman inside, who has now paused
and turned toward the window.

Eavan: This will not take very long, then.

Hyssop: Enter (SILENT)

{Costume, Hyssop: Uncanny, spectral eyes in hues of pale yellow are the most
marked trait of this woman. Delicate, porcelain hands preserved meticulously
with clean, trimmed nails claim the long and slender fingers of an artist. Her
golden hair is bound into a braid at the nape of her neck, twisted neatly. She
wears a simple dress of navy wool and a worn apron, with wooden clog shoes.}

[As the Viscount disappears into the store, Iris lingers, watching through the
glass window. Though she must curl the fur cloak tightly about herself to ward
off the wintry cold, she does not appear unpleased.]

[Within the shop, the girl, at first reluctant, softens to the gentle voice of
the Viscount. As he touches her shoulder gingerly, explaining his cause, her
blank eyes even seem to brighten, and with a clumsy eagerness she gathers up
only her most prized threads and yarns, tucking them into her apron and leaving
the rest behind.]

Eavan: places a hand on the girl's arm, slowing her down in her anxious
packing.

Eavan: I do not ask you this lightly, Hyssop. I have considered it for a
lengthy time, and have even been advised to do otherwise. But your reputation
as a weaver is significant, and you have nothing else, no reason to betray me.

Eavan: (Leaning toward her, licking his lips) My designs must remain secret,
and I have never allowed another to touch my loom. You shall resign your post
as Wyrmwood Trademistress and have no more hand in that inconsequential cartel.
Do you understand just how p-privileged, and how critical, your position with me
s-sh-shall be?

Hyssop: nods many times in succession, her golden hair gleaming.

Hyssop: (Twisting her hands together nervously) My lord, I... I cannot believe
you have come to me. I will not disappoint you!

Eavan: (Smiling thinly) Good. Good.

[Darkness descends suddenly into the shop and the wintry Urlachmar afternoon as
the candles mottled through the theatre wink out.]

===========================================
Scene 2: (The Chamber of Looms): [The dank, teeming scents of decay pervade the
theatre. All is stagnant but for a thick dripping sound, which erupts suddenly
into the noise of countless insects and creatures of the night chirping,
calling, and singing their midnight songs. Here, tucked within the Balach
Swamp, is the Estate Nulyma, home of Viscount Eavan Nulyma.]

.....................................................................

[All is dark. Slowly, the dank, teeming scents of decay pervade the theatre.
All is stagnant but for a thick dripping sound, which erupts suddenly into the
noise of countless insects and creatures of the night chirping, calling, and
singing their midnight songs. Here, tucked within the Balach Swamp, is the
Estate Nulyma, home of Viscount Eavan Nulyma.]

[A small, glimmering orb of light appears. Silently, it flares, lighting up a
dark hallway and the pearly face of Iris, who looks on through a slender
doorway into a vast room. There sits Hyssop, aside of the Viscount, her
spectral eyes intent upon the many-hued threads before her, suspended tensely
on the loom. This is the Chamber of Looms within the Estate Nulyma, where the
stirring whirs and precise clicks, delicate clacks, of the weaver's work never
rest.]

Eavan: appears through the doorway, carrying a tied bundle of aged sketches. He
grins at Iris, cornering her just shy of the door.

Eavan: (Looking back toward Hyssop) She is doing exceedingly well. I see it
will not be difficult to feign desire for her. You did not tell me she was
b-buh-beautiful. For being blind, she does not neglect herself.

Iris: scowls slightly at Eavan, turning away from him quickly to peer through
the doorway again.

Iris: (Whispering hastily) She is blind, not deaf, Eavan! Be careful what you
say.

Eavan: curls an arm around Iris's middle from behind, forcing her back against
him.

Eavan: (His mouth at her ear) Ah, but she -is- blind, to the sight of us here,
or to the very idea that I might lust after you over her.

Iris: (Hushed) And as for your wife?

Eavan: tightens his hold on her, brushing his lips to her jaw.

Eavan: (Whispering) Oh, she is well aware of Viscountess Nulyma's existence in
Magnagora, and in fact had dealings with her often. I assure you, she is
ex-exceedingly jealous... it will not take much convincing. Just a bit more
t-t-time.

Iris: (Smiling faintly) All according to plan, then... perfectly. Her love for
you shall fuel her motive for relieving us of your barren, useless wife, and
then, she will be done for. A murderer. And we shall be free to do as we wish.

Eavan: How your pulse quickens, Iris. You are very eager for it to be done. But
be patient.

Iris: breathes a quiet laugh.

Iris: And now, we retire to your chambers for the night, my lord?

Eavan: Mmm, my love. And in the morning, you must go to her. You are her
attendant, now, more than mine.

Iris: (Softly) In the morning, it is so. But not for tonight.

[As the two lovers turn to hurry down the hallway, their candle fades into the
distance. The only remaining light, dim and warm, burns late into the midnight
hour, illuminating the flicker of slender fingers across the silken threads of
the loom.]

Eavan: Exit (SILENT)

===========================================
Scene 3: (Hyssop's Bedchamber): [The last vestiges of Urlachmar are thrust away
as spring invades the Balach Swamp. Vines shudder and breathe, frost dissipates,
and the violet and mauve mouths of blossoms open for the first taste of dew. One
such a vine frames the window of Hyssop's bedchamber, high within the Estate
Nulyma.]

{Costume, Iris: Voracious emerald green eyes and a mane of mahogany locks
offset this beauty's pale complexion exquisitely. Sensuality manifests itself
in her minute, bow-lipped mouth and soft, voluptuous curves. She wears a
form-hugging dress of simple black satin and a crisp white apron tied behind
her neck. Sensible heels adorn her feet.}

[The last vestiges of Urlachmar are thrust away as spring invades the Balach
Swamp. Vines shudder and breathe, frost dissipates, and the violet and mauve
mouths of blossoms open for the first taste of dew.]

[One such a vine frames the window of Hyssop's bedchamber, high within the
Estate Nulyma, where she sits, having passed many a night after weaving the
Viscount's tapestries. She reclines on a velvet chaise lounge in a simple
dressing gown, rubbing a scented oil into her hands slowly and meticulously.]

Iris: taps lightly on the door and enters, balancing a silver tray with
croissants, lemon butter, and tea. Her apron is crisp and fresh, and as she
sets down the tray she touches Hyssop's hand warmly.

Iris: (Brightly) Good morning, my lady. I've brought your breakfast.

Hyssop: (Turning her head to follow Iris's movements) Oh, thank you, Iris. Is
there sun today?

Iris: throws open the lace curtains and shafts of pale light emerge across the
floor.

Hyssop: claps her hands together lightly, and then carefully picks up her
teacup, taking a sip.

Iris: quickly unlocks the chest at the foot of Hyssop's massive bed, and then
disappears briefly into the closet. She emerges with several dresses, of
various colour and material, draping them carefully across the bed. Swiftly,
she returns to Hyssop's tray and begins buttering her croissant.

Iris: (Quickly) We must dress you in something lovely today. The Viscount
wishes to call on you after his breakfast.

Hyssop: (Setting down her tea) I can butter the croissant myself, thank you. I
tell you this every day.

Iris: stops with the knife in her hand, smirking slightly and then setting both
side-by-side on the tray.

Iris: (Wiping her hands on her apron) Well then. As you wish. The... dresses.

Iris: One is grey iridescent silk with cream lace, belted with embroidery and
trained. The other is pale, celadon green, taffeta and satin, bustled and
with... an exquisite decollete. Metallic thread. This one might be most
appropriate. Mm?

Hyssop: (Stirring her tea slowly) Bring me the celadon.

Iris: fetches the gown, careful to keep its skirts away from the breakfast
tray.

Hyssop: fingers the satin of the dress between her fingers, and then nods
enthusiastically.

Hyssop: Yes, I will wear this one.

Iris: smiles delicately to herself, laying the dress out against the bed once
more, and then rummaging through the chest. She emerges with a pair of silvery
silk slippers. Humming quietly, she goes about putting together the outfit,
with the appropriate petticoat and stockings.

Hyssop: (Pushing away the untouched tray) Will you get the inkwell and quill
for me, please?

Iris: (Glancing to Hyssop) You haven't even eaten. The Viscount prefers a bit
of softness on a lady, I suspect, so you would do well to finish.

Hyssop: turns her face away, fiddling with the spoon on her tray.

Hyssop: I would like to write a letter. It's very important.

Iris: (Biting her lip thoughtfully) Well. I will fetch them for you, yes, but
you can't very well be writing a letter. I understand you are quite capable,
having adapted to your... impediment with your eyes, but we have your hands to
worry about. With all the oil he has you applying to keep them preserved,
smearing ink on your fingers will not do at all... especially if it were to
transfer to some of the thread. He would be...

Hyssop: (Folding her hands in her lap) Enraged, yes. Would you mind, then? If I
recite, and you wrote for me?

Iris: murmurs her agreement, slipping behind the writing desk and seating
herself. She quietly arranges the inkwell and parchment, tapping them together
neatly. Then she nods, and Hyssop seems to sense her readiness.

Hyssop: Dear Lourdnes.

Iris: dips her pen and begins to write, the point whispering against the thick
parchment.

Hyssop: I am sorry to be so curt with you, but I must call off our engagement.
I know that you and many others are wondering where I have disappeared to, but
rest assured that I am well and will not be returning.

Hyssop: takes a long pause, and Iris tilts her head expectantly.

Hyssop: (Hesitantly) I have met another man and I foresee our betrothal.
Happily for you, as now you can marry that wench Maleah.

Iris: snickers softly and shakes her head, writing diligently.

Hyssop: (Delicately) There is a lovely lady's attendant here, and I feel we are
kindred spirits.

Iris: (Looking up) Why, thank you, Hyssop.

Hyssop: (Laughing lowly) Quite true. Ah, don't write that. But it is true.

Iris: (Grinning) Continuing on.

Hyssop: No doubt Lady Minister Nulyma will, if she has not already, claim my
shop for the Ministry of Trade. You might wish to remove all of your items from
my stockroom before she takes those for her own as well, greedy strumpet.

Iris: bites back a laugh.

Hyssop: (Sucking her teeth thoughtfully) Hm. You can end the missive there. And
I will sign it by my own hand... carefully.

Iris: rises and presents the quill and letter for Hyssop, who signs quickly and
with a flourish.

Iris: (Laying the page out to dry) Now, then. We have wasted enough time; let's
get you dressed. The Viscount will be waiting.

[As Hyssop rises to remove her dressing gown, the curtains close heavily.]

Hyssop: Exit (SILENT)

===========================================
Scene 4: (The Weaver's Study): [The study is an archaic chamber with dark,
gleaming columns of mahogany and walls swelling with books. The desk is
disheveled, even slovenly, piled with high-stacked sketches and strewn with
various drawing and measuring instruments. A lantern burns low.]

.....................................................................

[The candles flicker fitfully, dimming dramatically as the curtains spread once
more. An archaic chamber is unveiled, with dark, gleaming columns of mahogany
and walls swelling with books. The desk is disheveled, even slovenly, piled
with high-stacked sketches and strewn with various drawing and measuring
instruments. A lantern burns low.]

Eavan: stands behind the desk, a single piece of parchment in hand, reading.
His shoulders are somewhat hunched, as ever.

Iris: (Leaning before him, against the desk) You see? Hyssop is convinced you
will marry her; she despises Viscountess Nulyma and she is calling off her
engagement to... whomever he is.

Eavan: (Looking up from the letter) Hm, it does s-s-seem obvious enough.

Iris: Yes. It is time.

Eavan: folds the letter once more and hands it back to Iris.

Iris: (Tucking it away, smiling slyly) Besides... I already told her you would
be waiting on her this morning. She is dressed and ready.

Eavan: (Glancing down longingly at a sketch) Bah. I suppose there can be no
delaying. But I had just this inspiration, and wanted to finish... a tapestry
portraying the F-f-fates as never before -

Iris: Eavan. No, you cannot delay! Keeping her waiting will have her
questioning, wondering. Do you want it done, or not?

Eavan: (Strongly) Yes!

Iris: Then we cannot afford to delay. Now go to her.

Eavan: nods once, reaching across the desk to touch the back of his hand to her
cheek. Then he turns to the door.

Iris: (Her expression softening) And Eavan! Do not dally with her. Touch her if
you must, if she needs it to be convinced. But not out of your own desires.

Eavan: She is but a child compared to you. Don't think for a moment that she
could inspire my desire.

Iris: watches as he closes the door hastily, and then her expression changes
once more. Bringing a hand to her mouth, she laughs, silently, her shoulders
shaking. And then she drapes herself across a divan, lighting a long, slender
pipe, and inhaling deeply. Waiting.

Iris: Exit (SILENT)

===========================================
Scene 5: (Hyssop's Bedchamber): [The last vestiges of Urlachmar are thrust away
as spring invades the Balach Swamp. Vines shudder and breathe, frost dissipates,
and the violet and mauve mouths of blossoms open for the first taste of dew. One
such a vine frames the window of Hyssop's bedchamber, high within the Estate
Nulyma.]

.....................................................................

[In Hyssop's bedchamber, a light tapping sounds on the door from the outside.
It is the Viscount by his rhythm of knocking.]

Hyssop: Enter (SILENT)

[And so, she stands from her place on the divan and smoothes the skirts of the
celadon dress, twisting her hair into its ordinary braid at the nape of her
neck, a style she knows is composed perfectly by the way it feels to her
fingertips. She has no need of a mirror, and yet...]

Eavan: (Quietly, upon entering) Stunning.

Hyssop: passes her hands, time and again, along the folds of the dress. She
does not speak.

Eavan: Good morning, my dove. If only you could see... see the way the morning
light cast on your fair skin makes you seem a ghost. It is l-l-lovely; a
s-sc...

Eavan: brings trembling fingers to his collar, clearing his throat vaguely.

Eavan: A scene... for a tapestry.

Hyssop: crosses the room to him, pausing as her fingertips locate the silk of
his robes, and thus she knows he is before her. The pale yellow, spectral orbs
of her eyes seem to gaze upward, though she cannot see him.

Hyssop: (Lowly) You say such kind things, but you need not even speak for me to
discern your feelings toward me.

Eavan: strokes her cheek with worn fingers.

Hyssop: Why do you tremble?

Eavan: (Letting his hand fall away) Ah... l-let us sit, Hyssop. Shall we?

Hyssop: nods faintly and crosses the room once more, spreading herself across
the divan. Eavan lowers upon its edge, by her legs.

Eavan: (Taking her hand in his) It troubles me that... I have brought you here
for business purposes alone. I admit I admired you from the start, yes, but it
was purely artistic. And now...

Eavan: lifts her hand to his lips gently.

Eavan: We are not even lovers... not lovers alone. More, far more, than mere
lovers would ever hope to be.

Hyssop: (Her breath quickened) Why should this trouble you? Go on; I admit...
I feel troubles of my own.

Eavan: (Nodding gently) I cannot go on allowing you to pose here as a mere
protege of mine, when what I want is m-much more. What w-we both wa-aant...

Hyssop: dips her chin slightly as he pauses.

Eavan: (With growing passion) What a lady deserves, Hyssop, is to be lavished
with everything, to be able to boast of her love and happiness in the most
exclusive of social circles, something I know even you desire. And yet you are
here, kept away... a secret... I do not want you for a secret, my love.

Hyssop: You are right, Eavan. And I have been premature.

Eavan: squeezes her hand slightly.

Eavan: Premature?

Hyssop: (Pressing her lips together) I... have called off the engagement to
Lourdnes. Forgive me, but you have said it yourself. I cannot bear to be a mere
secret of yours. I should have known better than to become involved with a
married man, and yet it seemed inevitable, here...

Eavan: leans forth, brushing his thumb across her lips.

Eavan: (Softly) And I cannot bear to have you as such. But there is no
solution, my love, I...

Hyssop: (Sitting up) Ah, but there is! There is!

Eavan: kisses her as though to silence her, abruptly and urgently.

Hyssop: (Murmuring) Eavan... we must be rid of her...

Eavan: laughs quietly against her lips, his embrace quite intent.

Hyssop: (Pulling away briefly) Listen, please. Your kisses distract, but we
must speak of this eventually. Let it be now.

Eavan: (Parting from her, solemnly) Very well, darling. Go on, then.

Hyssop: raises a trembling hand to brush a wisp of hair from her face.

Hyssop: (Whispering) Your wife is barren, and the entire city knows it. You
continue on for show; she in Magnagora, in her office, and you here, immersed
in your brilliant work. True, it is a show that everyone believes. You, the
adoring husband artiste, and she, the beloved and well-respected Minister of
Trade. And yet...you could indulge in the attention and awe of all who adore
you, and yet you hide away, because you find no inspiration in her, because you
want to be as far away from her as possible...

Eavan: inhales deeply, as though to speak.

Hyssop: (Cutting him off) You could have a child to pass along your trade to,
the envy of all the Basin... I can give you all of it. All of it, Eavan.

Eavan: hides a smirk, although she cannot see it. Instead, he sighs.

Hyssop: You don't love her. Why should you care if she finds a sudden death? No
one will suspect foul play.

Eavan: How do you propose to kill her so that no one suspects foul play?

Hyssop: (Smiling crookedly) It is simple. I was once an aide to the Ministry of
Trade; I have spent countless mornings in her office. She always takes her
important letters, the ones she prefers to read herself, over tea. Wormwood
blend tea.

Eavan: Go on...

Hyssop: All we need is a strong infusion of poison, soaked into a piece of your
stationery. And for you, of course, to write the letter... she would never have
an assistant read it. She would read it herself, as she does all of her more
personal letters.

Eavan: And yet even if you used crotamine, and the infusion were potent enough
to reach the bloodstream through her fingers, how do you expect this to be a
quick death? Through the skin, the poison would move slowly, and she would
simply fall ill over time... it would be suspicious, and perhaps even
discovered before it was done...

Hyssop: (Frowning deeply) Eavan, have you not -seen- her hands? Ah, perhaps you
have not, as you... rarely bother with her presence...

Eavan: Explain.

Hyssop: She is rather... unconcerned with her appearance, as it were. And a
woman of unrefined habits. The amount of paperwork she has, and yet she leaves
her paper cuts untended, and constantly... licks her fingers, you see, to sort
through it all. People mock her. It is well known, these habits, and a point of
laughter.

Hyssop: wrinkles her nose faintly.

Hyssop: One way or the other, it will affect her instantly. Be it through
the... licking or the seeping through her cuts.

Eavan: (Stroking her fingers fondly) Very unlike these porcelain hands of
yours... perfectly preserved...

Hyssop: smiles slightly.

Hyssop: Then you will do it? You will write the letter?

Eavan: Yes. I will write the most inconspicuous of letters, much like the
reports I send to her each month. So as not to inspire suspicion.

Hyssop: Oh no, no.

Eavan: remains quiet, tilting his head.

Hyssop: (Smirking slightly) You, Viscount, will be writing her suicide letter.

[The lights hush out at once, leaving wisps of smoke curling through the air.]

Eavan and Hyssop: Exit (SILENT)

===========================================
Scene 6: (The Viscountess's Office): [It is morning over the black spires of
Magnagora, grey and pale, and the soot suffocates the fiery hues of the
sunrise. Within the office of the Ministry of Trade, aides and officials swarm
with activity, bustling in and out and tapping the silver bell at the front
desk.]

.....................................................................

[Morning ascends over the black spires of Magnagora, grey and pale, suffocating
the fiery hues of the sunrise. Within the office of the Ministry of Trade, aides
and officials swarm with activity, bustling in and out and tapping the silver
bell at the front desk.]

[And yet, tucked calmly into her private quarters, behind a carved marble desk,
sits Minister of Trade, Viscountess Nulyma. The scents of hot, spicy tea suffuse
the chamber, as she pages through a large tome at the corner of her desk.]

Viscountess: Enter (SILENT)

{Costume, Viscountess: Sharp, misty blue-green eyes are set deeply into the
Viscountess's face, which is set with fragile features. Inky black hair is
caught neatly into a golden comb at the nape of her neck, and her high-necked,
grey silk robes frame a slight, but lovely figure.}

Viscountess Nulyma: flicks her tongue across her first and second fingers, and
then turns through several pages before tapping her finger on the book. She
studies its figures intently for a moment.

Erling: Enter

{Costume, Erling: Pudgy and red, this curly-topped attendant seems perpetually
out of breath. The knit robes he wears do little to disguise his belly,
especially with the colourful sash belt cut along his middle.}

Erling: hurries in, balancing a silver tray and a bundle of letters against his
pudgy middle.

Erling: (Panting) Morning, Viscountess Nulyma! Your tea!

Viscountess Nulyma: looks up after a moment, beckoning him forward.

Viscountess Nulyma: Hello, Erling. Thank you - and the letters?

Erling: sets down the tray and bundle, untying it and presenting it to the
Minister.

Viscountess Nulyma: sits down, pushing the tray aside and sorting through the
letters swiftly.

Viscountess Nulyma: (Rhythmically, as she sorts) Review this, and this... I
will read. From the Steward, review this and respond. This...

[Her lesioned fingers pause on a letter that is unsealed. Curious, for all the
others bear the imprints of their respective scribes or offices, with masques
and orchids and other such symbols. It is the way, though, that her husband
often sent her letters; and so she nods curtly.]

Viscountess Nulyma: (Setting it aside) This one I shall read, as well.

Erling: gathers up the letters he is to review, and leaves the rest as
indicated for her. He bows low.

Erling: Anything else, Minister?

Viscountess Nulyma: takes her steaming teacup from the tray, shaking her head.

Viscountess Nulyma: Close my doors and leave me in peace for my breakfast and
reading. That will be all.

Erling: hurries out, closing the heavy, wooden double doors behind him with a
resounding echo.

Erling: Exit

Viscountess Nulyma: lifts the spoon on her tray, sprinkling cinnamon into her
tea and stirring it gingerly. When she is finished, she unseals the first
letter, reading silently.

[Dear Parthinia...]

[I regret to inform you this way, but I am leaving you.]

[You cannot bear me a child, and all my artistic brilliance shall be wasted. I
am not young. I refuse to let the Nulyma name and legacy disappear with my
death, and your empty womb.]

[I can no longer provide you with the funds I previously did. All will be
invested into my trade; into the Nulyma name.]

[Regretfully...]

Viscountess Nulyma: (Lowly) Eavan...

Viscountess Nulyma: presses her lips together and clenches her jaw, swallowing
hard, and attempting to keep her composure. With trembling hands, she lifts her
teacup and sips, long and slowly.

Viscountess Nulyma: (Murmuring scornfully) Bloody Nil. Yes, well. I will deal
with you later.

[She sets her teacup down with a clatter, and then she licks her thumb and
reaches for another letter, the one that she received unsealed.]

[To whomever it reaches first...]

[So you have found me dead. The circumstances surrounding my death shall be
obvious if you will only sort through the letters on my desk.]

[That is all I wish to say.]

[I have died an elegant death, and I am not sorry.]

[Signed by my hand: Viscountess Parthinia Nulyma, Minister of Trade.]

Viscountess Nulyma: drops the letter at once, her hands shaking violently. Her
sharp, violet eyes dart toward the door, the windows, and behind her chair in
alarm. She licks her forefinger, hastily shuffling through the remaining
letters, and then pausing suddenly.

[She thrusts her chair backward, rising and murmuring the words to evoke a
shimmering blue pentagram before herself.]

Viscountess Nulyma: (Voice faltering) Who... whoever has written this...
whoever intends to kill me, show yourself!

[The room remains completely still. As no one appears, her face softens in
relief, slowly.]

[And just as slowly, a thin rivulet of blood begins trickling from her nose.
The magical shield about her falters and dissipates, and she attempts to cry
out.]

Viscountess Nulyma: (Choking desperately) Erli... Erling... s-s-some...

Viscountess Nulyma: retches and coughs, doubling over and slamming her hand
against the desk, gripping it until her knuckles are white. Vile black fluid
spurts from her lips, bubbling from her nose, viscous and floating with bits of
fleshy tissue.

[As she grabs helplessly at her throat, her mouth yawns open wide, and she
attempts to scream, but fails. Her flesh, ghastly pale, begins creeping with
yellow, and her legs tremble so violently that she falls to her knees.]

Viscountess Nulyma: crumbles entirely to the floor as her pores continue to
ooze and seep thin, red blood. With her final breath, her eyes are the black of
the lifeless.

[And still, no one comes. The curtains draw closed heavily.]

Viscountess: Exit (SILENT)

===========================================
Scene 7: (Hyssop's Bedchamber): [The last vestiges of Urlachmar are thrust away
as spring invades the Balach Swamp. Vines shudder and breathe, frost dissipates,
and the violet and mauve mouths of blossoms open for the first taste of dew. One
such a vine frames the window of Hyssop's bedchamber, high within the Estate
Nulyma.]

.....................................................................

[Later that evening, at the Estate Nulyma, the threat of rain closes in on the
sultry swamp. The creatures in the dark are strangely loud, wailing their
chorus of foreboding to heights that reach even Hyssop's tower bedchamber. Her
shutters are thrown open, and a heavy breeze meanders through.]

Hyssop and Eavan: Enter (SILENT)

[One single candelabra illuminates the forms of Eavan and Hyssop, entangled in
silken sheets and spread languidly across her bed.]

Eavan: (Kissing Hyssop's bare shoulder) It is wonderful news that we have
received. That the plan went through flawlessly, without question... ah, I
could not be more content, more relieved.

Hyssop: (Quietly, teasingly) Yes... you see? And you had so little faith in my
foresight.

Eavan: chuckles lightly, untangling himself from the sheets and reaching for
the table at the bedside. He checks the time on his pocket watch, and
discreetly retrieves the small dagger lain there aside of it.

Hyssop: shifts lightly, her back to him.

Hyssop: Where are you going?

Eavan: turns back to her, stroking a finger down her spine.

Eavan: I was checking the time, my love.

Hyssop: You have somewhere to be besides in my bed, at this hour?

Eavan: smirks and winds his arm around her. With a subtle flick of his wrist,
he presses the very tip of his dagger against her throat.

Eavan: Oh, no. No, of course not, darling. This is p-precisely...

[He twists the blade slightly.]

Eavan: (Whispering into her ear) Where I am meant to be.

Hyssop: stiffens, and grows completely still.

Hyssop: (Crying out) Eavan, don't do this. Why?

Eavan: breathes heavily, his lips at her neck as he presses the blade with
trembling fingers.

Eavan: I am f-f-finished with you. You... you are beautiful, and it has been a
pleasure. But now you've done what I needed you to do.

Hyssop: (Weakly) The tapestries...

Eavan: It was all a lie. A cover-up for what I really needed... someone to
r-rid me of my wife. Oh, but... but...

Eavan: (Snickering softly) Don't take it as an insult, Hyssop. Your talents for
weaving truly are m-magnificent.

Hyssop: (Tinged with sarcasm) Why, thank you, Viscount. But let me ask you,
before you go... why couldn't you have just killed her yourself? You honestly
thought you needed -me- to come up with that effortless plot to off her? Come,
you couldn't have soaked the parchment in crotamine yourself?

Eavan: furrows his brow, speechless for a moment.

Eavan: Before I go - ?

Iris: Enter (SILENT)

Eavan: is silenced mid-sentence, as a coil of rope cuts around his neck from
behind. At the other end of the rope stands Iris, no more than a shadow in the
darkened bedchamber.

Hyssop: sits up quickly, the sheet falling away. She laughs beneath her breath,
a dark and unearthly titter.

Iris: takes a step forward, a sweet smile illumined on her lips in the
candlelight as she looks at Hyssop.

Iris: (Gracefully) Good evening, Eavan. Oh, don't care for your noose, do you?

Eavan: sputters and flails, digging his fingers at the rope.

Iris: pulls it tighter, until he cannot even sputter. Writhing, he goes
completely and chillingly silent.

Iris: (Delicately) You see, Eavan... you were going to kill my dear sister. And
I adore - dare I say love - a man who obeys my orders, of course...

Iris: reaches across his struggling body to stroke Hyssop's hair
affectionately.

Iris: (to Eavan) And you did so well! Very convincing, making love to her and
then pulling the knife. It was precisely as I imagined it. But... this was just
not how the story was meant to end.

Hyssop: puts a hand to Eavan's cheek, which pales considerably as his eyes
bulge.

Iris: You, not Hyssop, are the pawn. Now you see. But you had probably figured
that out by now - you're an intelligent man.

Iris: (Twisting the rope) I placed myself to be hired, as your maid, long
before you ever dreamed we would be lovers. And I placed Hyssop here, as well,
as you know. You effectively killed your wife so that I would not dirty my
hands, and look! You've followed my plans perfectly, to the point where your
life falls entirely into my hands!

Iris: laughs maniacally, lifting a hand to cover her mouth.

Iris: Now you die, a hanging death. Suspended from the boughs of a tree,
outside your Estate. Back in your office, they will find... a letter. A letter
of suicide. In it, you are lamenting over your wife's death. True, you left
her, but... you never meant to cause her to kill herself. And now you cannot
bear to live knowing you are responsible. Besides, she was your inspiration...

Eavan: goes limp, and Iris strikes his face with her palm.

Iris: (Fiercely) One more thing, before you go!

Hyssop: giggles lightly.

Iris: Hyssop is the only one who can understand your patterns and weave your
tapestries! Incidentally, you have written a will leaving all of your designs
to me, your only surviving relative, your dear, beloved niece. They have seen
us together in Magnagora, remember... I, dressed as nobility, your companion,
your niece... and clearly we were close; they will not doubt it.

Hyssop: leans forward, her cheek against Eavan's neck, as she feels his last,
struggling heartbeat expend itself.

Iris: (Loosening the rope, and smiling gently) Don't worry, Eavan. Your legacy
shall live on. The loom shall persevere.

Hyssop: (A smile flickering across her features) As you wished it, Viscount. As
you wished it.

All: Exit (SILENT)