The door opened.

More dust. Irava coughed as she pushed the door open. Every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust. The room was circular, with a dome of skylights. A desk was built into the entire circumference of the room, with papers and books strewn about. Shelving lined the walls, each shelf bearing strange trinkets and baskets of gears and wire. A single chair sat at the desk directly across from the door.

Irava sprang back. Someone was in the chair. But they weren’t breathing. A Marionette? Her heart beat. Had she found Marilla? She stepped closer, and put her shoulder on the hand of the figure.

The head slumped forward, coming off the shoulders and rolling over. No, not a head. A skull. It smiled up at her from a nest of dust, and she screamed and jumped back.

Heart pounding, she stood in place, fighting the urge to flee. Gods, why hadn’t she told Heta? Why had she come here alone, in the middle of the night?

Collecting her wits, she stepped forward again, hands trembling. The dead person was dressed in antiquated clothing, mouse-nibbled and filthy with the ever-present dust. A heavy gold ring rested on a boney finger, bearing the initials A.T.

Her eyes went wide, and her fear was forgotten. It couldn’t be. She took another step, and brushed the dust away from the notebook the hand was resting on. She picked it up. Inside were diagrams of marionettes. She recognized Marilla, Alonzo, Ava Maria. And there were drawings of the cradles, with tiny notations. Her heart beat faster.

Allistair Tompre. She hadn’t found Marilla. She had found the long-lost inventor of the mechanisms that the theatre was built on.

Journal clutched to her chest like the treasure it was, she spun and headed back into the corridors. This time she had to tell Heta. And Master Blomdstadt, and Barnaby. Everyone! With these notes, the theatre was saved.

*************

Irava retraced her footsteps in the dust and made it back to the Cradle Room. She locked the door behind her and raced back to the hoists, footsteps echoing through the empty halls as she ran. She found the Head of Maintenance in the tool room just off backstage, putting away their tool boxes onto a tall shelving unit.

“Heta! Marilla, the Cradle Room, I just found--”

“Whoa!” Heta’s hand came down on the shelf with a crack. “First you disappear, leaving me to pull the hoists up by myself, and now you babble nonsense at me? Slow down, girl.”

Irava took a deep breath. “Marilla is missing.”

Heta gaped at her. “What do you mean, missing?”

“I mean, I thought I heard the Cradle crank so I went to investigate--”

Heta turned and strode towards the Cradle Room, leaving Irava to scramble in her wake. “The crank? Why didn’t you come to me first?”

“I thought I was imagining it! So, I went to check, and Marilla was gone! The room is empty, no signs of tampering. And that’s not all I found.” Irava paused, barely able to find the words. Heta raised an eyebrow and Irava took an excited breath. “Alistair Tompre’s hidden office. I found it!” 

Irava thrust the book into Heta’s hands and bounced on her toes.  Heta flipped the pages of the book with trembling fingers and exchanged a misty-eyed glance with Irava. “After all these years…”

Irava took the book back and tucked it into her coat. “Marilla is still missing. The book has waited decades for us. It can wait a few hours more. We must find out where she has been taken.”

 “Taken. That is a frightening proposition, the idea that someone can get in there without us,” said Heta before sighing. “Go fetch Master Blomstadt, and Barnaby and bring them to the Cradle Room. I will meet you there.”

***

A few minutes later, Irava stood in the Cradle Room with a furious Heta and a bedraggled Master Blomstadt. The Theatre Master wasn’t pleased at being woken up, but he at least agreed the matter was serious enough to warrant his attention. Barnaby slunk into the room a few minutes later, still doing his shirt up.

The Theatre Master surveyed the empty cradle with his hands on his hips. “Who was here tonight?” asked Blomstadt, his voice gruff.

Heta nodded at Irava. “We were, sir, doing the monthlies on the theatre equipment.”

“Hmm.” Master Blomstadt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Heta, go up to the dormitories, bring everyone to the theatre. Barnaby, go around to the kitchens and round up the staff. Irava, lock the doors. No one is to leave until I’ve questioned them.” 

Heta pointed at Marilla’s empty cradle, vibrating with emotion. “Shouldn’t one of us go for a Brownstaff? A crime has occurred!”

“A Brownstaff? Honestly Heta, after how they handled the murder of the lady of Deveron? We’ll report this later. For now, we are treating this as an internal matter, simply misplaced property.” He held up a hand to forestall Heta’s indignant reply. “Yes, Heta, property. That’s all she is in the eyes of the law, no matter how amazing her inner workings are.”

Irava coughed. “If I may, sir?” Blomstadt waved for her to continue. “I know I’m not a Brownstaff, but I’d still like to help investigate. Marilla is a good friend of mine. I want to find who took her.”

Blomstadt hesitated a moment before nodding. “Yes, of course. Wake the marionettes, they might have seen something. Try to reassure them. You know how upset they get when one of them goes into the Sleep. They might refuse to perform tomorrow night.”

Heta frowned. “Sir, with all due respect, Marilla is our princess. We can hardly put on Prospero’s Revenge without her.”

“Yes, we can. One of the chorus girls has been understudying, what’s her name, the little blonde one. She can do it.”

“Taera? She’s not ready!” said Heta.

“Heta, please. This is a business. You can’t run a theatre with no shows, and we are struggling enough as it is. Irava, you can start your investigation after I’ve addressed everyone. Now go.”

***

The Millennium Theatre had a seating capacity of over one thousand and was once considered the most beautiful theatre in all of Helpurnia. Now though, its midnight blue curtains and plush purple seats were faded, and the stars and planets that covered the ceiling needed re-guilding. Still, it had a sense of dignity, of remembered splendor. Carved marionettes danced up the wooden arms, a motif that continued through the entire theatre, from the railings on the stairs to the mantels about the fireplaces. Irava bowed her head as she found her seat. 

Ten minutes after having been informed of his star performer being missing, Master Blomstadt paced the stage, hands clasped behind his wide back, as the human staff gathered before him. Heta and Master Comard stood off to the side with healthy space between them. Their rivalry was legendary. As more marionettes fell asleep, the theatre relied more on Master Comard’s human performers to fill in the gaps.

Heta had recovered her composure. Her iron grey hair was firmly in place in her habitual bun, her green and purple uniform pristine. Master Comard waited at the edge of the stage with ill grace. Heta hadn’t given him time to do his hair or put on his makeup before hauling him down, and his foul mood showed. He wore an emerald green dressing gown over a simple blue nightgown, and his long blonde hair lay loose around his shoulders. No doubt his chill gaze was why the chorus girls were sitting so quietly.

Irava jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. Barnaby sat behind her, looking dishevelled and out of breath. His shoulder-length brown hair was mussed, and his shirt still partially unbuttoned. She raised an eyebrow at him.

Barnaby shrugged, blushing. “I had to run to get the kitchen staff up. What have I missed?”

“Nothing yet. Oh, shush, I think Master Blomstadt is about to speak.”

The theatre manager stopped his pacing and took center stage. His solemn expression and posture invited the audience to lean in and hear his words. He had been an actor once.

His deep voice filled the room. “Thank you for gathering so quickly. Some of you have already heard, but for those who haven’t, I can confirm the whispers. Marilla has been taken, a theft that happened less than an hour ago.”

He held up his hand to smother the chatter and questions that sprang up from the front rows. 

“I don’t yet know what happened tonight, but I intend to find out. I have had the building locked. No one is to come or go until I’ve had a chance to interview everyone. You will remain here while I conduct these interviews, under the watch of Master Comard. While you wait, please think of earlier tonight. Did you hear anything unusual, or see anyone who shouldn’t be here? Remember, you aren’t in trouble. We simply want to find out what happened to our beloved princess.” A blonde chorus girl snuck to find her seat from the side wings, and Blomstadt glared at her before continuing. “Heta, report back with what the marionettes say, I want to know if they saw anything too. Thank you everyone for your cooperation.”

Talk filled the theatre as Blomstadt walked offstage. Irava pushed herself to her feet and hurried to follow Heta backstage. She passed the chorus girls, and earned a glare from Taera. The pretty blonde was combing her fingers through her long hair with a sneer. 

“You there, marionette girl. Is it true that Marilla is dead?” asked Taera.

Irava rolled her eyes. “You know my name, Taera. We’ve worked together since we were twelve.” Taera sniffed and shrugged her shoulders. “And she’s not dead. She’s just missing. But don’t worry, we’ll find her.’

“Oh, I’m not worried. I’m thrilled. It’s about time this theatre moved into the modern age, and put these silly wooden toys away.” 

One of Taera’s friends gasped, hand to her mouth. “Taera, you can’t say that! The marionettes are the only reason people come to see us!”

Taera’s sneer intensified. “As far as I’m concerned, whoever took Marilla can come and take the rest of them. Good riddance.”

Irava bit back sharp words and shouldered her way past the chorus girls without comment, and made her way backstage.

Barnaby joined her as she passed through the velvet curtains. “What did Taera have to say?”

“That she hopes all the marionettes get taken. I can’t believe her!”

Barnaby flinched. “I’m sure she didn’t say it quite like that.”

Irava turned to Barnaby. “Look, I know you’re sweet on her.” He flinched again. “But she’s pure trouble! She wants us to be like any other theatre on the promenade, and then you and I are out of a job. She’s not worth it!”

Barnaby sighed, but was spared replying by Heta’s famous glare. The Head of Maintenance motioned for them to follow, and they made their way back to the Cradle Room together as Irava filled them in on what she had found so far.

Irava coughed and broke the tension. “Do you think someone from the theatre could have had a hand in this?” 

Barnaby shook his head. “I hope not. Why would they? Everyone… well, almost everyone... loves the marionettes. They’re the reason any of us have a job.”

“A rival theatre, one that only has human performers?”

“Who would bother?” Heta pointed out. “Everyone knows we’re just a lingering fancy. With Marilla gone we only have four marionettes left, and you’ve seen how slow Elliot the Grin has been blinking. It won’t be long before the Sleep claims him too.”

The door to the Cradle Room loomed before them. Heta unlocked it, and walked to the end of the room, where a large crank stuck out of the wall. Irava followed her.

She stopped dead. 

There was another empty cradle.

“Heta!”

The older woman turned and gasped. “Champion! But how?” Heta’s fists clenched and her jaw tightened for a moment before she sighed and released her tension. “There’s nothing to be done for him now. Best we can do is to continue to investigate.” She stepped up onto the copper plating in the floor and pulled a pair of bracelets off a hook on the wall. The mechanisms didn’t work without the bracelets; Irava had tried.

The crank made a loud clicking sound as it activated the mechanisms hidden behind the walls. Irava stood in front of Handsome Tom’s cradle and waited for her cue. The wires that led from the wall to his cradle vibrated, and Irava pulled a tiny key out from under her shirt. 

She pulled the scarf down from Handsome Tom’s neck to reveal a keyhole. Red sparks fizzed up from the copper plates under his hands, and she inserted the key and turned it slowly. To her left, Barnaby was patting at his shirt and pockets. Heta hurried over to Elliot the Grin and pulled out her own key, nudging Barnaby towards the crank to continue working it. She stuck her key in Elliot’s throat while the sparks still flowed and turned it five and three-quarter times.

Handsome Tom’s eyelids fluttered and Irava held her breath as his face transformed from inanimate wood to something magical. The intricate joints of his face that emulated muscles twitched and jittered as his lifeblood pumped once more. 

His glass eyes popped open, a startling milky green that would be impossible on a human. Wooden lips smiled at her and she tried to smile back as she removed the key. The marionette flexed his finely carved hands and undid the straps that held him in place. Irava undid the straps around his waist and helped him step out of the cradle.

He yawned and stretched, joints creaking.

“Good morning Miss Irava, how are–,” His echoing voice froze as he caught the look on Irava’s face. “Did something happen?” He looked around the room. “Where’s Marilla?” 

“Tom, I need to ask you some questions.” Irava’s voice was barely audible. She took a deep breath. “Marilla’s missing, gone from her cradle.” 

The Mariner gasped and stumbled as he climbed out of his cradle. Tom looked to Heta, who stood just behind Lady Moon.

“Heta, what happened?”

“Tom, she’s… she’s gone. Someone has taken her. Champion, too.”

“What do you mean gone? Did she fall asleep somewhere else?” said the Mariner.

Tom bowed his head. He and Marilla were close. She played the princess; he played her lover. Always.