There's no natural force that could cause this, but an unnatural one could. There are plenty of rival theater companies that might want to see the Odeon's new play ruined.
The audience is growing restless, and the delay before the next scene is growing long. The musicians should be covering the break in the performance, but instead you hear one flute rise in a wavering line and then, abruptly, fall silent.
"Remind me to have Matty dock their pay," Nichol murmurs.
"There's a lantern here, someone bring me a light," Diar says practically, trading her prop for a discarded lantern from an earlier scene.
"They've all gone out!" someone calls, in a voice that unfortunately must carry. Any moment now, the murmur from the audience will rise to catcalls or, worse, shrieks of panic.
"Then someone run next door for a light," Nichol says briskly. "In the meantime, we'll have to stop the play, unless our playwright would care to improvise a monologue on the qualities of darkness?"
That's probably sarcasm. But stopping the play will kill it, and everyone knows it. The last scene will fall flat while the audience whispers and rustles and munches the last of their snacks.