|Maxwell Nobody of the Moonlit Theater
Author: Kallypso PM
Max has grown up peacefully in the Moonlit theater since he was old enough to remember. But when one day his friend Simon picks the pocket of a powerful magician, they are both wrangled into helping with an experiment to pay of Simon's debt. But when things go sour and demons get involved, Max must pull on his courage and his friends to save his friend and the city from its doom.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Fantasy/Adventure - Words: 1,927 - Published: 11-15-12 - id: 3074705
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I haven't been on here since I posted a story I wrote in 8th grade. As such, hopefully, you never look at that story. Ever. It is crap and copies right from Maximum Ride but I'm too lazy to take it down.
This on the other hand is an original idea. It's Middle grade Fantasy and I'm actually quite proud of it, but I'll let you readers decide what you like. Without further ado: Enjoy!
Chapter 1: The Final Performance
A building stood on the edge of the Capitol City; large and oval shaped, with two great towers jutting up at either end. When the building was lit up in all of its glory it seemed to glow like fire; a warm, golden fire. And against the black of the night sky it looked more like a brilliant sun.
Over the entrance to this great building was a metal sign that read "The Moonlight Theatre" and below that a smaller, newer sign: "Now completely dedicated to the conservation of magic. All operations are run on strictly non magic sources."
Of course one would never know that the Moonlight theatre was a magic free zone if they did not see the sign. For there were few feelings in the world more magical than the moment just before the curtain rose.
Maxwell thought fondly of this fact as the lights dimmed below him. The conversation in the audience faded with the lights and for a moment the performance hall was dark and silent. Max gripped the edge of the rafter on which her perched and leaned forward.
Beside his best friend Simon, laughed and whispered, "You can't see anything yet, dummy."
Max shushed him and waited.
The first note of the orchestra rang out below and light illuminated the stage. The show had begun.
Max had seen this performance many times. Eight to be precise and that didn't count all of the rehearsals he had observed. But it never lost its splendor.
It truly was a wonder that magic was not a factor in creating this marvel before him.
The chorus was in top shape tonight. After all it was the closing night of the show and they wanted to make it their best. Dancers whirled across the stage, skirts flying, hair whipping about their porcelain faces. Max could see every one of them from his perch high above the theatre.
But he only had eyes for one.
He'd watched Olive Sparks from the day she joined the theatre. She was an orphan, just like him, who had stumbled in looking for work. Who'd have thought that she'd be one of the most beautiful soloists the theatre had ever had. Her name suited her too. Olive for her dark skin and green eyes and Sparks for the feeling she alighted in boy's hearts.
It wasn't her real last name. But that didn't matter. Max didn't have a last name either. Or perhaps he did once. He just couldn't remember it. "Max Nobody the III", Simon often called him. It might have been seen as an insult but most jabs were all in good fun when they came from Simon.
Olive spun to the front of the chorus for her solo. All the lights dimmed again, save for a single glowing circle of white light, pooled around Olive like moonlight on a glassy lake.
Simon nudged Max. "There's your girlfriend Maxi."
"Shut up." Max wacked him on the arm, though not hard enough to make him sway. He didn't want Simon to lose his balance and tumble into the audience forty feet below. Simon was tough but certainly not that tough.
"You should talk to her you know."
"I said shut up."
Simon rolled his eyes. "Look Max, you've seen what happens after the shows. She gets swarmed by her adoring fans. Eventually one of those rich boys is going to win her heart." He pretended to swoon. "And Maxwell Nobody the III will be heart broken."
Max rolled his eyes, glad that darkness of the rafters hid his flushing face. "Quiet. I'm watching."
"You have that show memorized."
He couldn't blame boys, rich or poor, for liking Olive so much. No one could light up the stage like she did. Her legs were perfect, her face was perfect, her… everything was perfect in the white light. She leapt across the stage, higher than most of the girls could ever hope to.
Maxwell had a hard time believing she didn't use any magic.
Simon waved a hand in front of his face, grinning. "Come back Romeo." He said. "You lose your balance and you'll take a very painful plunge."
Maxwell nodded and sat back a little on the rafters.
When the performance ended two hours later it was like no time had passed at all.
"Come on! Hurry!" Max pulled Simon along through the theatre, making a beeline for the lobby. He always liked to hear what the critics and higher-ups of the Capitol City had to say about the performance.
"The audience isn't going anywhere Max! Slow down!" Simon said, trying to dig his heels in. But Max could not be deterred even though Simon was twice his size.
The theatre was full of back ways and hallways, ladders and stares and all sorts of trap doors. It was a long way down from the rafters to the lobby on the first floor. Max didn't want to miss any of the chatter. He found it nearly as intriguing as the performance itself.
He burst through the golden oak doors and into the buzzing lobby where many of the audience still lingered in their high collared, black and white suits and magnificent long gowns. Theatre garb was some of the most interesting in the world and the people who wore it always fascinated Max.
In the Capitol City the rich were like a foreign race to the poor.
"Alright, we're here." Simon detached his arm from Max's grip and brushed himself off. "Now can you stop acting like a little demon?"
Max brushed this comment off and took his place by the curving stairs. They were golden, like much of the theatre's architecture, and curved down in a spiral from the second floor where the performance hall began. The last of the audience members, a group of women, were exiting the hall and gliding down the stairs, the hems of their long dresses trailing behind them. Max caught a few scattered words from them as the descended.
"Simply a marvelous performance."
"Yes, simply marvelous." Simon said giving a mock bow.
"Simon, quiet! They'll hear." Max warned.
But the women didn't even glance at them. They just passed by and continued their conversation.
"Silly Maxi." Simon shook his head and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you know? The rich don't hear what the poor say. They see us moving our lips but they hear a dog barking. Woof!"
Max rolled his eyes. "They hear us."
"Fine, then they don't care what we say." Simon said. "You shouldn't worry about offending them. They're way too high on their horse for insults to touch them."
"Right." Max said. "Now quiet. I want to hear what they're saying."
He tuned into a conversation nearby the stairs. Three men in fine suits and two women, one in a long blue gown, the other in pink with a feather in her hair.
"I can hardly believe they don't use magic." The woman in pink said. "It was a simply enchanting performance."
"Yes, it's a good thing." One of the man, white haired and as thin as the cane he carried, said. "It's nice to know that our entertainment can conserve Mythane crystals for more important things. With the magic drought we need to spare every bit we can get."
"How on earth do they power this place if not with Mythane?" the woman in blue looked astonished. "These lights, the effects."
"I believe these lights are just fancy candles." The thin old man said.
"But couldn't they burn the place down?"
Max shook his head and smiled. He loved hearing this chatter. Chatter about how on earth the theatre could run on no magic at all. The audience often gushed about how amazing it was without the use of Mythane and questioned whether their claim to complete magical independence was true or false.
"But the spotlight!" The woman and pink said, running her delicate fingers over the feather in her hair. "I don't know any fire that can make silver light like that!"
"I hear it is run by mirrors." The youngest of the three men said. "That's why the shows only run at night. They use mirrors to reflect moonlight onto the stage."
There was a chorus of ohs from the group and Simon leaned down next to Max.
"Created by reflectors and controlled by the shadowy phantom!" He hissed.
Max brushed him away. "There's no phantom Simon. Just the light operator."
"Have you ever seen him?" Simon countered.
"The light operator keeps to himself. I've never tried to find him." Max shrugged.
"Because you're scared."
The conversation between the five aristocrats continued and Max tuned out Simon's jabs to listen in. "That little soloist girl. I forget her name but she was so graceful." The woman in pink said.
"Yes very nice." One of the men, a wider fellow with a thick white mustache, agreed. "But you can't forget the diva herself. Amelia Bevens. She has quite a voice."
"Well I don't know." The woman in blue sniffed. "I suppose it's alright."
Max rather agreed with the woman. "Alright" was always how he described Amelia's voice and he often used harsher terms when it came to her personality. Her pitch was impeccable and her range was quite wide. But it lacked the enchanting quality of Olive's dancing.
"Well you have to take into account her lineage." Another man, this one younger and thinner than the last, said. "As far as I know she is the only one of those players who comes from good blood. That has to count for something."
The others laughed and nodded in agreement and Max's fists clenched. Good blood. Rich blood more like it. But it was all the same thing to them.
"Who put the stick up his back?" Simon said.
"I thought you weren't interested." Max shot back.
Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh I'm not."
"Eavesdropping again?" A voice said from behind them. Simon and Max whirled around to see a stern faced Professor Dupree. The Professor was the owner of the theatre and the writer of most of the performances. He was tall, thin and bald save for his white goatee and thin mustache. He wore a suit almost as nice as that of the aristocrats that stood chattering nearby and one bushy eyebrow was raised.
"Sorry, sir." Max said.
"Yeah, many apologies." Simon said, mimicking the rich folk once again.
Professor Dupree's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "What did you think of my final performance, my little friends?"
Max grinned and gave a deep bow, "Simply marvelous, sir."
Just a little intro chapter. Hope you liked it. Review if you have the time!