Rolling your eyes at theatrical temperament, you saunter down the steps toward the stage.
The upper seats are empty, the gentry relying on litters and servants to clear the way for them to arrive fashionably late. In the seats below the awning's reach, a few theatergoers of more modest means have staked out their favorite seats and arranged the thin seat cushions to their liking.
On your way down the steps, you catch sight of a familiar glint of red hair.
"Master Osberht!" Kit calls, standing quickly and sketching a bow. "I hoped I might catch you before the performance."
You're acutely aware of Matty's eyes on you from the back of the house, where she's fussing at one of the usher boys who's supposed to be selling tickets and refreshments outside. It's probably a bad idea to linger talking to the audience right now.
"I only have a second," you say.
"I know you can't chat. I just wanted to tell you, watch out tonight. We've been getting reports of more strange accidents all day."