A Very Hallifaxian Fairy Tale

 

Cast list:

Hilatr Zhalee, a trill bureaucrat

Aiath Xai, a lucidian apprentice artist

Peedee Oh, a fairy godrobot

Clak, Minister for Citizen Happiness and Productivity

And a few other unimportant people

 

 

Act I, Scene I

 

In a drab, crystal-walled office filled with plain, functional furniture, a young trill sits disconsolately at a desk. The white, downy feathers which cover her head are arranged in a sober style, and she is wearing a grey uniform. She clutches a quill in one hand, but her chin is resting upon the other, and she stares into space. She sings in a low, strikingly beautiful voice, her gaze wistfully set upon some distant dream.

Hilatr Zhalee : Another day, another sigh

Hilatr Zhalee : Another pain, another lie

Hilatr Zhalee : Another dream I can't dismiss

Hilatr Zhalee : Was I not made for more than this?

Hilatr Zhalee : Numbers, numbers, how I hate

Hilatr Zhalee : The wretched cruelty of my fate

Hilatr Zhalee : I think upon another sigh

Hilatr Zhalee : Is it possible to die... of boredom?

Hilatr Zhalee : A singer I was made to be

Hilatr Zhalee : The opera or the stage for me

Hilatr Zhalee : If only I could change my lot!

Hilatr Zhalee : I wish and dream, but I cannot

Hilatr Zhalee : If only there was someone who --

 

A spark of light blossoms in the air near to Hilatr's head and flares into brilliance. She stops singing and stares at it in confusion.

The almost inaudible sound of a diminutive being clearing its throat splits the silence.

The light fades, and its place a tiny figurine appears, floating some four feet off the ground. The crystalline miniature takes the shape of a trill, its surprisingly delicate wings flapping furiously to keep it aloft.

Peedee Oh: Ahem ahem!

Hilatr Zhalee stares at the figure in blank astonishment.

Hilatr Zhalee: But who could you possibly be? WHAT could you possibly be?

Peedee Oh: (In a high, mechanical voice) My dear girl! Forgive me for startling you. I appear only at times of great trial, and I am here to transform your fortunes!

Hilatr Zhalee: You... you heard me singing?

Peedee Oh: I imagine the whole office heard you, my darling. You have a fine, powerful voice.

Hilatr Zhalee looks around guiltily and lowers her head.

Peedee Oh: Let us put those lungs to good use, hm? How would you like to be a great lady for a day? An artist? Perhaps a singer at the opera!

Hilatr Zhalee: I don't understand. How could you contrive such a thing? And why should you care about my unhappiness?

Peedee Oh: The happiness of the Collective is my business! I am the Personal Development Optimiser! Anything you wish for can be yours, for a limited time only!

Hilatr Zhalee: The Personal... oh! You mean...

Hilatr Zhalee looks around nervously and lowers her voice.

Hilatr Zhalee: You mean you're ... a fairy godmother?

Peedee Oh: (huffily) I was designed without maternal instincts and I am NOT a fairy.

Hilatr Zhalee: (hastily) My apologies. Oh, but I am most unhappy! These endless figures! No matter how I wrestle with them, they will not add up as they should. And I am wasted within these drab walls!

Peedee Oh: Then, what shall it be? The opera? The ballet? An art gallery!

Hilatr Zhalee: I... I would like to sing! If you please. If you can.

Peedee Oh: My dear girl, I can do anything! Now, just a moment.

The trill figurine hums a few notes to itself, nods in satisfaction and begins to spin furiously in the air, its light building once again to a piercing glow. Something like a mild explosion rocks the stage, and the scene turns black for a split second. When vision returns, it is wholly altered.

The office has become an elegant drawing-room, sumptuously decorated in jade velvets. Hilatr Zhalee now sits in a luxurious arm chair, her uniform gone in favour of a cream velvet-and-silk gown. She blinks down at herself in astonishment, and then gazes around the room as though in a dream.

Hilatr Zhalee: Th-thank you, Optimiser!

Peedee Oh: (modestly) It was nothing. You are to sing at seven, at the Opera House. Don't be late!

The trill figurine beams cheerily at the elated young trill, and spins about once more. Just before it disappears, it speaks once again.

Peedee Oh: I almost forgot! You have but three days!

The figurine vanishes in a flash of light, leaving Hilatr Zhalee sitting alone.

 

Act I, Scene II

In a sumptuous drawing room, a glum lucidian sits at an exquisite crystal desk in a window overlooking formal gardens. He holds a quill in his hands and sheaves of parchment lie before him, completely blank except for a desultory dribble of ink. He sighs deeply and proclaims a few lines of poetry in a colourless voice.

Aiath Xai: Ode... to Dullness

Aiath Xai: What care I for words when there are numbers

Aiath Xai: And figures, perfect in every curve...

Aiath Xai: Verse is hard...

Aiath Xai: And boring... oh, sod it.

The doleful lucidian abruptly stops speaking as a flash of light blossoms in the air near his left eye. He blinks, startled, as a tiny crystalline figurine of a lucidian appears in the air and makes Aiath Xai a very proper bow.

Peedee Oh: Good morning, citizen. I could not help but notice that you are not altogether satisfied with your place in the Collective.

Aiath Xai: (stiffly) I should not have expressed my dissatisfaction aloud. May I enquire as to whom I am addressing?

Peedee Oh: I am the Personal Development Optimiser and it is my appointed to task to see that every citizen finds their proper place within the society of our fair city.

Aiath Xai: I am the Scion of a Noble House and the son of two Master Artists. The life of an apprentice artist IS my proper place.

Peedee Oh: One's lineage does not necessarily dictate one's natural place in the Collective. An unhappy citizen is an unproductive citizen, and what a waste! I have come to offer you an alternative.

Aiath Xai: You have my attention.

Peedee Oh: What is it that your heart desires?

Aiath Xai: Well...

Aiath Xai looks around furtively, checking that there is nobody to overhear.

Aiath Xai: No matter how I try, words do not resolve into elegant verses for me. If I apply paint to a canvas I achieve only an indeterminate mess. I cannot set gems to any effect, and I sew my fingers more than the fabric if I attempt to create a garment. In short, I am no artist. And yet, I am to sing! Tonight, before a large audience at the Opera House! My family insists upon it. They will not understand what torture it is to me...

Peedee Oh: There is something you would prefer?

Aiath Xai: (wistfully) I... like numbers...

Aiath Xai trails off, looking thoroughly ashamed as his crystalline skin hazes to a dejected grey hue.

Peedee Oh: There is nothing shameful about numbers, Citizen! The Ministry of Finance would value your ability most highly, I am sure. I can arrange for you to be taken into the Ministry's employment roster immediately.

Aiath Xai brightens at once, the grey hue draining from his skin in favour of a tentative flicker of yellow.

Aiath Xai: But how can this be? My family --

Peedee Oh: Your family has nothing to say to it, Citizen! Alas, it is but temporary: I can give you only three days. But perhaps it will be enough.

Aiath Xai: Enough to prove my true path in life! I accept, Optimiser.

Peedee Oh: Oh, goodie!

The little lucidian figurine blazes fiercely, sunnily yellow, so brightly as to blot out the stage. When the image returns, Aiath Xai has shed his flowing, artistic attire in favour of the same neat uniform that Hilatr was wearing only a short time before. He sits at her vacated desk with an expression of delighted alacrity in sharp contrast to her dejection.

Aiath Xai: Thank you, Optimiser! I am in your debt!

Peedee Oh: My pleasure, Citizen. Enjoy yourself, but remember: all comes to an end in three days!

 

Act I, Scene III

 

The stage blurs and the figures and backdrop fade into a swirl of colour. A montage of scenes succeeds, beginning with a vision of Hilatr Zhalee excitedly twirling in a sumptuous emerald silk performance gown. She appears backstage at the Opera House, waiting to go on, her face expertly tinted with make-up and the snow-white plumage atop her head elegantly caught back in a jewelled band.

Hilatr Zhalee steps onto the stage at the Opera House, visibly nervous. But when she sings, her voice is strong and pure and the subsequent applause is tumultuous.

An opera after-party swarms with guests, all of whom seem determined to meet the new operatic prodigy. Hilatr Zhalee is flushed with success and exhilaration, soaking up the admiration with evident delight.

The sounds of applause and clamour die away into sudden silence as Hilatr Zhalee's triumph fades in favour of a vision of Aiath Xai. He sits quietly at his desk, a stack of ledgers before him. He is writing in the topmost with an elegant pen, happily intent upon his task.

The scene fades in favour of another, identical vision. Aiath's posture and contentment are equally unchanged; only the clock on the far wall has changed, indicating an hour considerably advanced of the previous scene. The happy bookkeeper appears oblivious to the passage of time and impervious to fatigue, as he tirelessly scribbles on.

The tiny figure of Peedee Oh winks into existence a foot above Aiath Xai's shoulder. So absorbed is he that he fails to notice, even when the Optimiser spins about and cackles with glee at the success of its venture. Peedee Oh disappears, and the scene fades to black.

The next morning, though, something is different. It appears likely that Aiath Xai has been working all night, for he is visibly growing weary at last. A particularly neat-looking lucidian in sober robes opens the door to Xai's office and blinks in surprise to find him at his desk. "Take a break, Mr. Xai,' he orders, and immediately withdraws.

Aiath Xai sits up, wincing as his back straightens from his hunched-over posture. He glances at the clock and does a visible double-take, then stands up from his desk with a sigh. With one final, regretful look at the ledger he is about to abandon, he leaves the office.

Outside, the sun is shining and the weather appears particularly fine. Aiath Xai wanders over an emerald crystalline bridge, munching upon a sandwich and blinking in the strong sunlight. He pauses at the door to a welcoming-looking shop, for a lady is blocking the doorway. She is clad in emerald velvet, her white feathers strewn with jewels. So intent is she upon admiring a new purchase that she almost walks into Aiath, and quickly stops.

Hilatr Zhalee: Oh! Dear me, I do beg your pardon. I was disgracefully inattentive.

Aiath Xai appears charmed by this vision of youthful, sumptuous loveliness and graciously waves the apology away.

The two young people study each other in silence for a moment, Hilatr clearly noting Aiath Xai's uniform and Aiath noticing her rich and beautiful attire. Their eyes returning to each other's faces, they speak at the same time.

Hilatr Zhalee: You are associated with the Ministry of Finance, I see?

Aiath Xai: I am in the presence of an artist, I believe?

Hilatr Zhalee: (blushing) I... well, yes, I am. But I used to be -- that is, I used to know somebody at the Ministry of Finance. What a coincidence.

Aiath Xai bows stiffly to Hilatr and, seemingly by afterthought, carries her hand to his lips.

Aiath Xai: I am not unconnected with artistic circles myself, but I do not know how I could have been so unfortunate as to fail to meet you.

Hilatr Zhalee looks Aiath Xai over with interest, a smile curving her pretty lips.

Hilatr Zhalee: If you are not otherwise occupied, sir, may I invite you to take tea with me?

Aiath Xai: I would be delighted.

 

Act II, Scene I

The stage darkens. All is silent and still, until a tiny, airborne robot zips into view, emitting its own light as it spins in circles. The robot is a featureless sphere, with no obvious means of making any sound, though it somehow contrives to do so.

Peedee Oh: Oh my, oh goodness, what am I to do? This is a DISASTER!

The stage lightens gradually, revealing a much larger, but otherwise identical, robot in the background.

Mother Optimiser: What has gone amiss, little son?

Peedee Oh: I swapped two citizens into each other's lives because they both wanted what the other had! The simplest procedure! But they weren't supposed to meet! And if they did meet, they weren't supposed to fall in love! And now they both want to go back in order to join the other in the proper social sphere! Which they will! In three days, because that's how long I gave them! But when they go back... THE OTHER WON'T BE THERE! They will be as divided as they are now!

Peedee Oh spins in ever tighter circles, emitting a screeching sound of pure frustration.

Mother Optimiser: Calm thyself, child, and explain to me clearly. What didst thou seek to accomplish with thine interference?

Peedee Oh stops spinning and bobs gently in the air, visibly growing calmer.

Peedee Oh: It is a matter of dreams, Mother. Dreams can make a person dissatisfied with their lot, and dissatisfied citizens are not productive citizens! But if given their dream, one of two possibilities can happen.

Peedee Oh: Either they are confirmed in their belief that they are better suited for the wished-for lifestyle, and motivated to pursue a more permanent change. Or, they discover that the dream is a lie, and are subsequently better pleased with their natural state.

Mother Optimiser: And which of these hath occurred?

Peedee Oh: I believe they were happy in their new lives, Mother. Hilatr Zhalee has a great deal to offer the cultural health of the Collective, and Aiath Xai's mathematical talents are remarkable.

Peedee Oh grows visibly upset again, and lets out a wail.

Peedee Oh: O, but now they will be unhappier than ever! And it is my fault! What a waste of my talents!

Mother Optimiser: Calm, little son. A solution will be found.

Peedee Oh: Yes, Mother.

Mother Optimiser: One of them must alter their state, and the other refrain. That would resolve the problem, would it not?

Peedee Oh: But, Mother! That would squander the gifts of one half of this unhappy couple! We must think of the Collective, as well as individual satisfaction.

Mother Optimiser: You speak truly, little son. Perhaps they may be permitted to wed in spite of the gulf in status?

Peedee Oh: I have considered that possibility, Mother, but it cannot be. The Xais are proud and the Zhalees scarcely less so. Neither family would wish to lose so promising a scion to another House, particularly one so far removed from their own social spheres.

Mother Optimiser falls silent, or nearly so. A faint ticking sound can be heard as she apparently engages in furious thought.

Mother Optimiser: This problem exceeds the skills of the Optimiser Clan. It is time for us to call in the Minister.

Peedee Oh: Oh, no, Mother! Not the Minister!

Mother Optimiser: There is nothing for it, little son. It shall be done.

Peedee Oh sighs deeply and wilts, sagging towards the ground.

Peedee Oh: (in a small voice) Very well.

 

Act II, Scene III

Some time later, the little Personal Development Optimiser is alone in a tiny, box-like office. It might be asleep, judging from its motionless state. When a knock sounds, PDO jumps and carols, "Come in!" in a voice that might be construed as a little bit scared.

A door opens at the back of the stage and a figure appears -- or part of one. The office is sized for the convenience of the little robot, and the creature on the threshold is far too big to fit even a part of itself through the door. All that can be discerned is a pale, featurelessly crystalline structure.

The new arrival extends an arm through the door of PDO's office and offers a thin, crystalline card.

An echo of the card appears in the air above PDO's head, enlarged for the convenience of the audience. It is plain and featureless, like its owner, save for a few words.

 

CLAK

Ministry for Citizen Happiness and Productivity

 

The tiny robot shivers and pipes a greeting.

Peedee Oh: Welcome, sir! We have a tricky problem for your attention. Mother's orders.

Minister Clak: I am at your disposal.

Peedee Oh: Very well. Citizen Hilatr Zhalee's vocal powers must be harnessed for the Collective's convenience. She is at present wasted at the Ministry of Finance.

Minister Clak: Noted.

Peedee Oh: Citizen Aiath Xai is wasted in the arts, in spite of his impressive pedigree. His mathematical talents must be put to use.

Minister Clak: Noted.

Peedee Oh: Further, these two citizens must be able to wed, but without violating the social integrity of the Collective's caste structure and without displeasing their respective families. Their happiness will, by this means, be optimised, and consequently their productivity also.

Minister Clak: Noted.

Silence reigns for a little while. Peedee Oh grows visibly nervous, its shaking intensifying.

Minister Clak: Hilatr Zhalee to be elevated. Aiath Xai to be reassigned, without demotion. Marriage to be arranged.

Peedee Oh: That is correct, Minister.

Minister Clak withdraws, leaving the Personal Development Optimiser to recover from its discomfort.

Peedee Oh: What is that expression? Something about omelettes and breaking eggs...

Peedee Oh frets and shivers and sighs deeply.

Peedee Oh: It's worth a few broken eggs.

 

Act II, Scene IV

 

Peedee Oh's office dissolves into darkness, and the little robot disappears. When the lights return, the scene has altered to an indeterminate location somewhere in Hallifax -- at least ostensibly. A poorly-lit room with stark crystalline walls contains a single occupant: a tall, crystalline robot with the pale, featureless flesh just seen outside of PDO's office. Minister Clak appears to be waiting.

The door opens, and a harried-looking human slips into the room. She is dressed in nondescript attire, her hair an equally nondescript shade of brown. One might be tempted to think that she is supposed to be overlooked.

Minister Clak: Do you have the materials?

Maple Valerie: Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, it took longer than I was hoping. Most of our best Time Agents were otherwise occupied and we had to send out a new recruit. He isn't experienced with forays into the Future and it--

Minister Clak: Never mind. Let me have it.

Maple Valerie hands a few sparse pieces of paper to Minister Clak.

Minister Clak reads rapidly through the papers, and then carelessly drops them upon the floor.

Minister Clak: It is as I suspected.

Maple Valerie: Yes, sir. It's my belief that this is the couple we have been waiting for.

Minister Clak: Well, that is inconvenient.

Maple Valerie collects up the papers and withdraws without another word, her manner apologetic. Her departure is ignored.

Minister Clak stands in silent thought for some moments, then pulls a stack of newspapers from nowhere and leafs through them.

Minister Clak: Right.

Minister Clak quietly puts the newspapers away.

 

Act II, Scene V

The crystalline room disappears in favour of a drab, crystal-walled office filled with plain, functional furniture. Hilatr Zhalee sits at a desk, clad once more in a plain grey uniform. Her expression is rather melancholy, though signs of restlessness imply that she is also excited about something. Her work lies before her, untouched.

Her reverie is interrupted by the arrival of a glowing sphere, which zips through the window and drops a letter into her lap. She opens it quickly, her expression brightening -- but then her face falls, and she throws the letter aside.

Hilatr Zhalee: It is as if Aiath Xai never existed! No such person registered at the Ministry! No word from him! Have I been taken in?

Hilatr Zhalee wilts over her desk, the picture of despair. But another sphere arrives moments later, delivering a letter which appears to be more to her satisfaction. She sits up quickly and reads, her eyes alight.

 

My dear Hilatr,

I had thought to return quietly to my proper sphere, expecting to find you waiting for me. I thought it would be easy to confess my duplicity to you, but I have not found it so. Will you despise me, when you learn that I met you under false pretences? I am not employed by the Ministry of Finance. I was given the opportunity to work there for but a brief span of days -- a period which is already ended. I am no bureaucrat. I am a scion of a noble house, son to a great artistic lineage. I have not the talent to justify it, but I cannot help my heritage.

I am now obliged to return to a life to which I am so wholly unsuited. This prospect would blight my soul indeed, were it not for the hope I dare to entertain of being free to court you openly as a result.

To my surprise, I find you must have departed the city. I have attended every tiresome ball to which I have been invited, and gone so many times to the Opera House that my friends begin to think me mad. I see nothing of you. Please tell me that you have not changed your mind, and let me see you.

- Aiath Xai

 

Hilatr Zhalee: What... no! This cannot be.

Hilatr Zhalee jumps up from her desk in a feverish hurry, but swiftly seems to realise that she has nowhere in particular to go.

Hilatr Zhalee: Peedee Oh! Peedee Oh, where are you?

The tiny Personal Development Optimiser fails to appear, but a familiarly featureless crystalline robot materialises instead and bows politely to Hilatr.

Minister Clak: Mr. Peedee Oh has been reassigned, Madam, but you will find me very much your servant.

Hilatr Zhalee stares, perplexed and a little afraid.

Hilatr Zhalee: Who are you?

Minister Clak: You may call me Clak, Madam. I am here to promote your happiness.

Hilatr Zhalee: (doubtfully) Oh. I... see.

Minister Clak: I encourage you to pursue your desires irrespective of your family's disapproval. They may dislike it at first, but they will soon come to see the advantage to the Collective.

Hilatr Zhalee quails at the very idea, her face draining of colour.

Hilatr Zhalee: Oh, no! I could not! My father would be furious, and my mother so disappointed! It cannot be!

Minister Clak: Courage, Madam! All will be well in the end, if you can only --

Hilatr Zhalee: No, no! Do not ask it of me!

Hilatr Zhalee: (sadly) Courage was never my strong point, I fear.

Minister Clak appears briefly nonplussed, but then bows once more to Hilatr.

Minister Clak: Then I seek your permission, Madam, to act as necessary in order to secure your future as an artist of the Collective, with the object of your affections at your side.

Hilatr Zhalee: Forgive me, Clak, but I do not see how that could ever be possible.

Minister Clak: Permit me to spare you the details, Madam.

Hilatr Zhalee gazes at Clak with a mixture of hope, wonder and suspicion, and hesitates.

Hilatr Zhalee: When you say, "as necessary", what do you have in mind?

Minister Clak: Permit me to spare you the details, Madam.

Hilatr Zhalee: You want my permission to act as you see fit, but without telling me what you expect to do? How could I possibly agree to that?

Minister Clak: Do you wish to be happy or not?

Hilatr Zhalee: (softly) Oh... who doesn't wish for happiness?

Minister Clak bows to Hilatr Zhalee with surprising fluidity, and vanishes.

Hilatr Zhalee: Wait... wait! Oh, dear. What have I done?

 

Moments later, Minister Clak reappears, this time in a sumptuous parlour occupied by Aiath Xai. The lucidian is seated at a small table, sipping a cup of tea and reading a newspaper. He looks up, startled, as Clak materialises before him, but offers no reaction save a slightly raised eyebrow.

Aiath Xai: Krrik let you in, did he? He's supposed to announce visitors.

Minister Clak bows.

Minister Clak: I am here to promote your happiness.

Aiath Xai: Are you indeed? My happiness can only be secured by one means, my good fellow, and I rather doubt it is within your power to have any effect upon that.

Minister Clak: I intend to unite you with the love of your life, while also securing your permanent transfer into the Ministry of Finance.

Aiath Xai: (sceptically) That will take a flurry of miracles, but if you think you can arrange it, be my guest.

Minister Clak bows once more, and vanishes.

Aiath Xai: As a matter of minor interest, may I enquire as to why you -- oh.

Aiath Xai looks around at his empty parlour, blinking.

Aiath Xai: I really must instruct Krrik that I am never at home to madmen.

 

Act II.V

 

The stage curtains close briefly and then swiftly reopen, signalling the beginning of the third act. The stage remains dark, but in the midst of the blackness a stack of newspapers unfurls, each one flashing a screaming headline.

 

LADY XAI'S LOW CONNECTIONS REVEALED

HOUSE ZHALEE: LEGITIMATE OR NOT?

LORD XAI IN TROUBLE AGAIN

IRMA ZHALEE'S LITTLE SECRET

 

The parade of headlines continues, each announcing a new disaster for House Xai or House Zhalee. Clearly the credit of both families is declining rapidly. The montage ends with brief visions of the leaders of both Houses in paroxysms of despair amid piles of torn-up newspapers.

The lights come up on Hilatr Zhalee and Aiath Xai, entwined together in a comforting embrace.

Hilatr Zhalee: The foulest lies!

Aiath Xai: The most disgraceful falsehoods!

Hilatr Zhalee: Oh, if I catch that Minister Clak again I will--

Minister Clak materialises from nowhere and bows politely to the couple.

Minister Clak: Good day, citizens.

Hilatr Zhalee starts violently and tears herself free of Aiath's arms, turning to face Minister Clak in a quivering rage.

Hilatr Zhalee: How could you print such lies about our families!

Minister Clak: My dear madam, you did give me permission to act as necessary in the matter of --

Hilatr Zhalee: I did not give you permission to make up terrible stories about my family!

Minister Clak makes a sound like a mechanical cough, and hesitates a moment.

Minister Clak: As a matter of fact, madam, they are not lies.

Hilatr Zhalee: What?

Minister Clak: The Secret Ministry for Citizen Happiness and Productivity is expert at three things, madam. Time travel, espionage and public relations.

Aiath Xai: Public relations! Quite the opposite!

Minister Clak: We own the media, sir. Its powers may be used for good or evil.

Hilatr Zhalee: Well, stop using it for evil in our case!

Minister Clak: But it is for your good, sir and madam, and for the good of the collective.

Aiath Xai: We disagree, Clak.

Hilatr Zhalee: What is the purpose of all this scandal?

Minister Clak flickers faintly yellow with glee.

Minister Clak: Blackmail, madam.

Hilatr Zhalee: (flatly) Blackmail.

Minister Clak: Yes. You see, if we put your respective families in a difficult enough position, they will be delighted to acquiesce to our demands. In exchange, we will issue full retractions on all stories and a formal apology.

Hilatr Zhalee: But this is intolerable! You cannot mean it!

Minister Clak glows a brighter yellow and affably produces a set of letters from nowhere.

Minister Clak: But I do. Here are the letters, if you would care to peruse them. I am on my way to dispatch them this moment.

Aiath Xai: No! On no account should those letters be dispatched! You must print a retraction instantly!

Hilatr Zhalee grabs the letters from Minister Clak and tears them to pieces.

Minister Clak: But to do so would waste all of our fine work, sir.

Hilatr Zhalee: You are fired, Minister Clak! We will manage this ourselves.

Minister Clak bows politely to Hilatr Zhalee.

Minister Clak: Very good, madam.

With a final flicker of cheery yellow, Minister Clak fades out of sight.

Hilatr Zhalee paces back and forth, a vision of wilting despair.

Hilatr Zhalee: This is terrible! It is all on account of our relationship. What have we done!

Aiath Xai: It is not our doing, my dearest. We did not intend to cause such trouble.

Hilatr Zhalee: No, but we can resolve this! Something must be done.

Hilatr Zhalee paces feverishly about the stage, wringing her shaking hands and biting her lip. She appears in the grip of a terribly difficult dilemma, and she is quite white with the effort of mustering her courage.

Hilatr Zhalee: We... we must remove ourselves from the equation, and take our problems with us. It is too late for care! Oh, too late!

Aiath Xai: What did you have in mind, my love?

A montage of scenes passes across the stage. Hilatr and Aiath sneak out of their respective houses in the depths of the night and meet at a remote junction upon the highway, each dressed in dark clothing ideal for stealthy business. Next, the two are seen exchanging vows in some featureless hall, officiated over by a bored-looking viscanti. Finally, the nervous-looking couple exchange an anxious kiss, standing before an imposing crystalline door which is firmly shut against them.

Hilatr Xai: My mother may disown me.

Aiath Xai: My father will be livid. He will see it as yet another scandal.

Hilatr Xai: We will weather it all together, my love!

Aiath Xai takes Hilatr's hands and kisses them tenderly.

Aiath Xai: How brave you are.

Hilatr sets her hand upon the doorknob, but before she can open the door, Minister Clak appears and makes his customary bow.

Hilatr Xai: Go! We have no further need of you and your schemes of "happiness".

Aiath Xai: Yes! As you can see, we have resolved the problem for ourselves. There is no further need to blackmail anybody.

Minister Clak: I congratulate you.

Hilatr Xai: Oh... but are you not displeased?

Minister Clak: Not in the least. Your marriage was among my goals.

Aiath Xai: And the rest?

Minister Clak: Your respective professions. It is still necessary to manoeuvre your gracious parents into accepting your change of occupation.

Hilatr Xai: No interference! We have called our parents here to meet us, and we will make them see sense... somehow.

Minister Clak: I applaud your resolve.

Aiath Xai: Then go, and leave us to it.

Minister Clak bows again, a faint, secretive smile visible upon his usually featureless face. But he does not go, he merely fades, and lingers in the background as Hilatr opens the door.

In a grand drawing-room beyond, two knots of people are gathered in distinct groups. A cluster of proud-looking lucidians most sumptuously dressed stands in the far left corner, talking among themselves with unusual animation. In the far right corner several trill are similarly occupied, their demeanour no less proud. Both groups fall silent as Hilatr and Aiath step into the room.

Hilatr Xai performs a shaky curtsey, clutching Aiath's hand.

Hilatr Xai: Mother, Father. Sister Beah and sister Tuli, good day.

Aiath Xai: Family. Greetings.

Lord Xai: What is the meaning of this, son?

Aiath Xai draws himself up, visibly cowed, though his voice is firm when he speaks.

Aiath Xai: Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Hilatr.

Lord Xai glances at Hilatr Zhalee with little apparent curiosity, though his gaze sharpens with recognition.

Lord Xai: Ah, the one who's been taking the Opera House by storm. I am pleased you have found a suitably artistic bride, Aiath, though I cannot think why you did not tell us. An elopement! Most improper.

Aiath Xai blinks in stupefied surprise.

Aiath Xai: You do not...disapprove?

Lord Xai: I have rather bigger problems at the moment, son.

Lady Xai shakes a newspaper in her husband's face, her crystalline skin shining mottled red.

Lady Xai: The Chateau d'Amour, Xicet! Honestly! What possessed you?

Lord Xai: Boredom, my dear Aica, boredom.

Lord Xai clears his throat and swiftly changes tack.

Lord Xai: I mean... all a filthy lie, my dear. Do not let it trouble you.

Lady Xai throws the newspaper on the floor and stamps on it, sparing a brief glance for her son and Hilatr.

Lady Xai: (absently) Welcome to the family, dear.

Hilatr Xai merely blinks at Lady Xai in surprise, and then looks to her own family.

Whifrey Zhalee: Oh, Hil! A son of the peerage! And an artist, at that! We are so proud.

Aiath Xai: Actually, I intend to join the Finance Ministry.

Whifrey Zhalee: Well, nobody's perfect.

Hilatr Xai looks thoroughly nonplussed and, perhaps, very faintly disappointed. But she raises a hand and clears her throat importantly, preparing for one final announcement.

Hilatr Xai: There is just one more thing...

 

~~Nine months later~~

 

In a modestly opulent parlour, the happy couple sit caring for a newborn lucidian child. The baby is well wrapped in blankets, perhaps to prevent him from breaking if his parents should happen to accidentally chuck him on the floor.

Hilatr Adom: Darling, I do believe Cririk has grown since yesterday.

Aiath Adom: And he is such a merry soul.

A close-up of the baby's face fills the stage backdrop, showing a strikingly severe-looking child with unimpaired composure, in spite of his mother's valiant attempts to tickle him under his tiny chin.

Hilatr Adom: Just look at that. He's going to be an artist, I can see it in his beautiful eyes.

Aiath Adom: No, my love. He is going to be Minister for Finance, after his father.

Aiath Adom pats the child complacently on the head.

Minister Clak clears his throat diffidently.

Minister Clak: Do I interrupt?

Hilatr Adom: Why, no, but I cannot think what you are doing here! We needed none of your help after all, did we, my love? We managed everything beautifully all by ourselves.

Minister Clak smiles complacently upon this scene of domestic happiness, his expression unmistakeably smug.

Minister Clak: Quite so.