"I don't know what he does or doesn't know, and it doesn't matter. Everett is incapacitated and won't be going on tonight," said Bunberry.
"Incapacitated? Is that a fancy way of saying he's drunk again?" said one of the other actors.
Effie answered them with a humph, and a look of disgust. There were tales that Everett had, over his twenty-five year career, given some of his best performances drunk.
"He's passed out and no one can rouse him. He's breathing, so I assume he is alive. I spoke to the gobashit earlier, not an hour ago," said Effie. "He seemed fine then. I certainly didn't smell any alcohol on him then."
"Could he be sick?" asked Liam.
"There's a doctor in the audience. I had him come back and look Everett over. He says nothing appears to be wrong with him; he is just asleep and no one can wake him up.
"The thing is, we are going to need a Pirate King and neither of the usual understudies is available," said Bunberry.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" said Liam.
"We can use Gene Yearson as Frederic, but not for the Pirate King. I want you to take the role," he said.
The words hung in the air. Liam felt the bottom fall out from his stomach. He glanced toward the big clock that hung near the door. It said 7 o'clock.
"And curtain is at half eight," he muttered. "The things is, I don't know half the songs or the dialogue. I'll try, but I'm afraid that I will end up making a fool out of myself and disgracing us in front of the Prince of Wales."
"That's a chance that we are just going to have to take. Effie, can you alter his costumes and fit him out as the Pirate King in time to go on?"
"A moment, Mr. Bunberry. Liam will do what he has to do; that is all any man can do. Understand that I do not doubt Liam's abilities, but I may have an alternate possibility that you should consider."
"Count, right now I can see no other answers, besides Liam, short of sending a man on with script in hand," said Bunberry. "But, I'm willing to entertain any ideas. Just make it quick."
"Very well, then I suggest you leave Liam in the role for which he is prepared and put me in the role of the Pirate King."
There was utter silence in the Green Room. Everyone of the actors had heard Dracula's words, none were more surprised than Liam.
"You, Count?" said Liam.
"Yes."
"You're an actor?" said Bunberry, a tone of disbelief in his voice. "In university, I suppose."
"There and in other places. I was in fact considered very good," said Dracula.
"You never mentioned that you were an actor," said Liam.
"It was a long time ago. Besides, you never asked," said the Count. His eyes locked with Bunberry's, as they had the previous night. The company manager didn't appear to breathe for several minutes.
"You know the libretto? The songs, the dialogue?" said Liam.
"Every word."
"Only two days ago you hadn't even heard of Gilbert & Sullivan, let alone the 'Pirates of Penzance'," said Liam.
"Meeting you and seeing this company made me curious. Shall we say I borrowed a copy of the libretto someone had left on a chair, read it over, and was amused by it. I even slipped in last night and watched the rehearsal."
"That would help with you knowing the blocking. But you say you read the libretto just once?" asked Liam.
"That's right. Anything I read I remember, every word of it."
"Your voice, sir?"
Liam, Burberry and the others looked toward the door. A man, dressed in evening clothes, with a neatly waxed mustache stood there.
"Mr. Gilbert!" said Effie.
"Your voice, sir? What do you sing?" said William Schwenchk Gilbert. The fifty-seven year old lyricist spoke with the manner of a Sergeant-Major demanding something from one of his troops.
"Baritone."
"And you say you know my words?"
"Indeed, " Dracula began to sing, "'Oh , better to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly. Then play a sanctimonious part, with a pirate head and a pirate heart.'"
Gilbert stood silent, his face unmoving and emotionless.
"Effie!" said Gilbert. "Can you alter Everett's costume quick enough to fit the Count? I can have them hold the curtain an extra ten minutes, but not a second longer."
"I'll have him looking like those clothes were made for him."
"Do it."
"Still nervous, Liam?" asked Dracula.
The two men stood in the wings, looking out at the back of the great gold curtain that covered the front of the stage. Effie was standing just behind them, tying off several threads in the Count's costume.
"A bit. But I should be asking you if you're nervous. After all, you came to see the play, now you're a part of it."
"I am a bit nervous," said Dracula.
"Then break a leg, Count."
"Thank you, Liam."
No one heard a shot. With the orchestra well into the act's final number it would have been impossible to hear anything short of a cannon going off. Liam would have never known that anything happened if he had not been looking straight toward the Royal Box.
Something struck the plaster wall edging just above the Prince and Princess of Wales, sending a shower of powder down across the duo. Their Royal Highnesses looked around as puzzled as everyone else. A moment later they began laughing as the elaborate dance on stage ended and the curtain rolled down.
As Dracula exited behind the waterfall curtain, Liam grabbed the Count and explained what he had seen.
"It was not your imagination, Liam, nor was it the manifestation of this ancient theater, exhibiting its aches and pains. I saw it as well. I suspect a rifle shot," he said.