Free Space Opera by Jack Vance Page B

arms through the sleeves of their capes, with the others hanging over their shoulders. Dame Isabel turned on her heel and departed.
    At quarter after three Roger came to tell her that Bernard Bickel had returned with the byzantaurs.
    “Excellent!” said Dame Isabel. “You will kindly assist with the seating, Roger. Remember, the longer the fringe of that little shawl, the more exalted the personage.”
    Roger nodded, hurried out to make himself useful. Bernard Bickel came in to report to Dame Isabel. “They were on their way, just coming in from some kind of walkabout, probably why they were late. I dragooned them along and here they are.”
    Dame Isabel looked through the peep-hole and saw that the auditorium indeed was full of byzantaurs. In large numbers they seemed even more strange and inhuman than before — even somewhat alarming. Dame Isabel hesitated, then stepped out before the curtain to make a welcoming address.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to our little performance. You are about to see the opera Fidelio , by Ludwig van Beethoven, one of our most accomplished composers. We bring you this program in the hope that some of you may wish to learn more about the great music of Earth. And now, since I am not sure just how much of what I say is comprehensible to you, I now will retire and let the music speak for itself. We bring you: Fidelio !”
    Sir Henry Rixon snapped down his baton: music filled the auditorium.
    Dame Isabel went down the off-ramp, stood by the entrance to the auditorium listening to the overture. How wonderful it sounded here on Sirius Planet! How moving to have this glorious essence, this seventh distillation of Earthly civilization permeating the Sirius air, entering into the soul of these pathetically ugly and unprivileged people! Would the experience ennoble them, lift them beyond their rock-grubbing existences, convey even so much as a tenth of the beauty and exaltation inherent in the music? A pity, thought Dame Isabel; she would never be sure.
    The curtain rose on the first act; Marcellina and Jacquino, in byzantaur pelts, sang of love and longing; and playing before the audience of byzantaurs, the costumes were not quite so insanely ludicrous as they had seemed before. But here came Dyrus Boltzen and his aide. Dame Isabel waved her hand; Dyrus Boltzen waved a weary hand in return. Dame Isabel stepped forth to meet him.
    “Dreadfully sorry about everything,” he said heavily. “I didn’t have time to tell you, but I knew they wouldn’t come today. They’d be too cautious.”
    Dame Isabel raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Who wouldn’t come? The byzantaurs? They’re here. We have a full house!”
    Dyrus Boltzen stared at her in surprise. “They’re here? I can’t believe it. They’d never leave their caves with the rogues coming over the mountains.”
    Dame Isabel smilingly disagreed. “But they did. They’re here and enjoying the music immensely.”
    Dyrus Boltzen went to the entrance, peered within. He backed slowly out. He turned to face Dame Isabel, his face twitching through a series of ashen expressions. “Your audience,” he said in a queer voice, “consists of the rogues — the psychotic outcasts of whom the Royal Giants are terrified.”
    “What? Are you sure?”
    “Yes. They’re wearing their yellow; can’t you see? And they’re carrying flints, which means they’re in an ugly mood!”
    Dame Isabel wrung her hands. “What shall I do? Stop the show?”
    “I don’t know,” said Boltzen. “The slightest stimulus will set them off.”
    “But what can we do?” whispered Dame Isabel.
    “Don’t irritate them in any way. Make no sudden noises. Also you’d better change your scoring back to the original; any reference to their condition sends them blind with rage.”
    Dame Isabel ran back-stage. “Change everything!” she cried. “Back to the original version; we’ve got a different audience!”
    Otto von Scheerup looked at her