As the rehearsal finishes, you look around for Diar. She'll probably want to walk together again. You find her by the box office gate deep in conversation with Kit, the young city guard you met on the night of the theater fire.
Kit is tall and athletic, and her guard uniform stands out among the magpie finery of the actors and the plain work clothes of the stagehands. Her long red hair falls in a single neat tail down her back, and her uniform shows every sign of recently having been pressed and starched.
"I expect you remember Kit," Diar says. "She's volunteered to walk with us."
You feel an eyebrow rise.
"In exchange for sneaking a peek at the rehearsal," Kit says cheerfully. "I don't get to see plays very often. Patrolling the city keeps me busy."
"So what did you think of the show?" you can't help asking.
"It's terrific," Kit says earnestly. "I know it's just a rehearsal, but you had me on the edge of my seat. I think this is going to be one of my all-time favorites."
"Osberht wrote it," Diar says.
"Really? Seriously? That's amazing!" Kit shakes your hand. "It's fantastic. I can't even imagine how somebody writes something like this. Do you just sit down and it all comes to you? Or do you have to wait for inspiration to strike?"