Chapter One Ts ‘The little kids’ gume, plain ordinary old tag, that’s what he had us playing; Even though none of us was younger than eleven, and the older ones were big as men. Gil Warmun even had a triangle of beard on his chin, Warmun was ‘it! for now, the tagger chasing us; suddenly he swung round at me before I could dodge, and hit me on the shoulder. ‘Nat!’ ‘Nat’ it!” ‘Go, go, go!” Run round the big echoing space, trainers squealing on the shiny floor; try to catch someone, anyone, any of the bodies twisting and diving out of my way. 1 paused in the middle, all of them dancing round me ready to dodge, breathless, laughing. ‘Go, Nat! Keep it moving, dont let it drop! Tag, tag!”2 Susan Cooper ‘That huge voice was -inging out from the end of the room, Arby's voice, clear and deep, like a blow on a big gong. You did whatever that voice said, now, you moved quick as lightning. For the Company of Boys, Arby was director actor, teacher, bossman. I dashed across the room towards a swirling group of them, saw the carrotty red head of little Eric Sawyer from Maine, chased him in and out and finally tagged him when he canaoned into a slower boy. ‘Go, Eric, go - keep the energy up— The voice again, as Eric’s scrawny legs scurried desperately through the roisy crowd — then suddenly a change, abrupt, commanding, “O-kay! Stop! That's it! Now we're going to turn that energy inside, anywhere in the room. I want small boys with small, bigger guys together, each group matching.’ ‘We milled about uncertainly. Small to medium, that was me. I linked up with two other boys from someplace in the South, a cheerful, wiry New York kid named Ferdie, and red-headed Eric, sticking to ‘me as usual like alittle shadow: Arby's big hand came down and removed Eric straight away. ‘Pick guys your own size, Sawyer’ He replaced hhim with a bigger boy in unlaced trainers and baggy King of Shadows 3 jeans, with an odd face like a squishy pudding, Td seen him around, but I didn't know him. Now there were four groups of five, and Eric left over. Arby put consoling hand on his shoulder, and faced us all. "Now cool it!’ The voice boomed out, deep and hypnotic. He was holding Eric like a walking-stick, like a prop; Arby was so completely an actor that sometimes you couldn't tell where the division was between performance and real life. ‘This company is a family, a big family,’ he said. ‘Always remember that. We shall be performing in a foreign country, we shall be absolutely dependent on one another, we must each be éatally trustworthy.’ He patted Eric absently on the shoulder, and Eric looked at his feet, embarrassed. But we were all listening, waiting. Arby said, ‘The game you're going to play now is an exercise in trust. Trust, In each group I want one boy in the middle, the other four close round him.’ The squishy-faced boy nudged me into the centre of our group. I looked at him in surprise and he gave me an amiable, toothy grin. “Those of you in the middle, Arby said, ‘shut your eyes, straighten your spine, turn yourself into a broomstick. Then fall, stiff, like a stick. Those of you4° Susan Cooper round him, save him when he falls towards you, catch him gently, and gently push him towards someone else. Fall... and catch .,, fall... and catch... This is all cbout trust. The one falling must trust the catcher, the catcher must be trusted to catch. Go!’ I wasn't too sure I liked this game, but I shut my eyes and leaned to one side, falling stiff as a rail. I found myself against someone's chest, his hands touching my shoulders; for an instant my cheek was against his face, and then he was pushing me ~ I thought: stiff stay siff; Nat ~ and like a pendulum I slanted towards the other side. And again hands stopped me, and gertly shoved me back again. So it went, like music in its rhythm, and it was fan, The feeling of giving yourself to other people, people you couldnt even see, flicked me back to being a very little boy, when my mother was still alive. I couldn't remember much about her, but I did remember how safe she made me feel. The room was quiet; there was only the soft’ sound of hands brushing clothes, and feet shuffling a little, and a murmur of pleased surprise sometimes that must have come from the boys in the middle. Maybe from me. Arby's deep voice was a soothing King of Shadows 5 background: ‘Fall ... and catch... fall... and catch ... good, that’s the way. Feel the trust...” ‘Then, falling, waiting for the reassuring hands to save me, I found myself not saved but still falling, and I shouted in alarm and stumbled, clutching for support, opening my eyes. I caught a look of mischievous glee on the face of the pudgy boy, as he grabbed me up just before I could hit the floor. “Wow, sorry!’ he said, grinning, mocking ~ and then his face was crumpled into shock as a thunder- bolt hit him. ‘Out!’ Arby was shouting. ‘You — out of this company! Go home!’ ‘Te-was just a joke, said Pudding-face, appalled. ‘I didn’t mean— "You meant exactly what you did ~ playing your own little trick. We don't play tricks here, feller. Nothing is more important than the company, nothing is more important than the play. You betrayed a trust and I don't want you here. Out! Go pack your things!” Pudding-face shambled out of the room, without a word. Someone told me afterwards that he was a wonderful actor; Arby had recruited him from a school in Cleveland, specially to play Bottom in 4ty E i i 3 6 Susan Cooper Midsummer Night’ Dream. But back to Cleveland he went, the very next day. We never saw him again. “Trust; Arby said softy, into the startled silence of the room. ‘Remember it. Someone else in the centre, now. Keep going.’ He pushed small Eric gently into the centre of our group, in spite of his size, and Eric gulped, closed his eyes and stiffened his back. The game went on. ‘There were twenty-four of us in the company altogether, if you counted Arby, his partner Julia, Maisie the stage manager, and Rachel the voice coach, The gest were all boys. The Company of Boys, chosen by Arby and his committee from schools and youth theatres all over the United States. We were all shapes and sizes and ages, up to eighteen; the only thing we had in common was that, by accident ot experience or both, we all knew how to act. Supposedly we were the best young stage actors in the country. We had one other thing in common, too. Most of us were pretty weird. When you think about it, a normal kid wants to watch TV or movies, videos or computer games: there's something odd about him if instead he's more interested in the stage. And we were all crazy about it; erazy, and confident that King of Shadows 7 we had talent. Arby had made sure of that when he first interviewed each of us, last winter. Now it was summer. By bus or train or plane, weld all been brought to this school in Cambridge, ‘Massachusetts, to rehearse two plays by Shakespeare together. Some rich theatre nut had left money in his will to have Shakespeare's plays performed the way they were four hundred years ago, when he first wrote them. There were no actresses in the theatre in those days; the women’s parts were all played by boys whose voices hadn't broken yet. Some of the theatre companies were made up of men and boys, some just of boys. Like ours. ‘And when weld rehearsed for three weeks, the rich man’s money was going to fly us across the Atlantic to London, to perform at the new Globe, a theatre that was an exact copy of the one the plays were first acted in, four centuries ago. We were going into a kind of time warp. My dad would have thought that was really cool: he was a big Stat ‘Trek fan. But I try not to think about my dad Arby called a break for hunch. That meant going down to the cafeteria of the school where we were working. Ferdie walked with me — not that he ever really walked, offstage; it was more a sort of spastic8 Susan Cooper bouncing jive, He dmped one arm briefly over my shoulders. “That was severe, man If he chops guys for little things like that, he’s gonna have my ass in a week,’ ‘I feel bad about it’ 1 was remembering the horror on the pudgy boy's face, as Arby banished him. ‘He could've hurt you,’ said little Eric self righteously, shadowing me. ‘Could’ve broken your back, if you'd hit the ground.’ ‘But he didnt let me hit the ground, he caught me, Just a bit late,” 3 ‘Late is too late, ssid Gil Warmun, behind us. He towered over our heads as we all went down the stairs. “The old man was right ~ nobody can mess with trusting. You kics remember that. “Okay, Dad,’ said Ferdie cheerfully. ‘I mean it. You feel bad about that guy, Nat? That's dumb, that's soft. He's history and he deserved it. Grow up? ‘Grow up yourself’ I said, stung. ‘Arby's big voice rang down the stairwell from above, The man was everywhere, like God. ‘Read-through cf The Dream in forty-five King of Shadows 9 minutes, gentlemen,’ the voice said. ‘And just bear in mind, this is going to be the most sublime six weeks of your lives, and the toughest. In the theatre, they go together’ ‘The first weeks were certainly that kind of mixture. Even that first day. It wasn't literally the first day, because weld had a rather muddled week of ‘orientation’, but it was the beginning of serious rehearsal. For the reading, Arby went on with his game pattern. He had us all sit crosslegged on the floor in a big circle, with our scripts, and he sat in the middle with a soccer ball in his hands. He threw his ball at each of us in turn, and when you caught it you had to say in a loud clear voice the name of the characters you were playing, then your own name and where you came from. Then everyone said hallo to you. Then you threw the ball back. We'd been through this whole exercise once already, on the day we arrived, but I have to admit it was helpful to do it again. ‘The ball came at me, stinging my hand as 1 caught it “Ym Puck in Midtummer Night's Dream, Pindarus10 Susan Cooper in Julius Caesar, Nat Field, from Greenville, North Carolina.’ Te was Eric's turn, ‘Eric Sawyer. From Camden, Maine, I'm Mustardseed in A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Cinna the Poet in Juiius Caesar? We chorused, ‘Hi, Eric? ‘Character names first Arby said, ‘They're more important than you are.’ Little Eric flushed. Asby threw the ball at the next boy; a tall, brawny character in a black tank top and black jeans. ‘Duke Theseus in Midsummer Nights Dream, Brutus in Julius Caesar. He had a.voice as strong as Arby's. Tim Ray Danza from Chicago’ ‘Hi, Ray? The boy next to him was tall too, but chubbier, with a mop of curly black hair like a floppy Afro. “Starveling in The Dream, Caesar in Julius Cactar. Hy Schwartz from Los Angeles. ‘Hii, Hy and weall broke up, it sounded so silly. Everyone laughed except Arby. ‘Get « haircut, Hy? he said, and he went on throwing the ball. I was having a geod time all afternoon until the middle of the read-through, when Arby had a go at King of Shadows 11 me for going too fast. Held already told me twice to slow. down, and Ta tried, but I guess I was nervous. We all were, of course. Everyone had a crystal-clear memory of the sudden end of Pudding-face’s career. twas in Act Three, when Puck has a long speech telling Oberon how his queen Titania has fallen in love with a donkey. Oberon is mad with Titania because she’s refused to let him have one of her servants, so while she’s sleeping in a wood, he squeezes the juice of a magic plant on her eyes, that'll make her totally obsessed with whatever person or creature she sees when she wakes up. (Oberon and Titania aren't human, they're the king and queen of the fairies ~ and if that makes you go “Haw-haw-haw’ you might as well stop reading my story right now.) I started out: ‘My mistress with a monster isin love! Near to ber cose and consecrated borwer, White she was in ber dull and sleeping hour...” ‘Puck!’ Arby boomed from across the circle. ‘I keep telling you, will you slow dowa! Wee acting this play in England, It’s their language, it’s called12° Susan Cooper English - you can't help sounding like an American, but at least you can be in-tell-ig-ible!” ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘A Southern draw! has a certain charm,’ Arby said. Everyone was looking at him now. He smiled his famous warm smile at me, crinkling his eyes — and then suddenly the smile dropped away and his face was sour. It was as ifa light had gone out. ‘But a Southern gable is hideous. Vile, You sound like a cross between a monkey and a duck.’ ‘There were some muflled sniggers round the circle, I wanted to disappear through the floor. From behind me a gitl’s calm voice said, ‘It’s okay, Arby ~ welll work on it, Nat and I. Hey ~ you chose these guys for their talent, not their accents.” It was Rachel Levin, and I could have hugged hes, She was a student at the American Academy of Dramatic Art, and she was attached to the company as Arby's assistant and our voice coach; I guess they felt we'd be able to relate to her because she was 60 young, They were right, I glanced round at her and she shook her long hair back over her shoulders and winked at me, The light glinted on the tiny diamond stud in the side of her nose. Arby looked at her expressionlessly for a King of Shadows 13 moment; I-was waiting for him to yell at her. Rachel looked calmly back. Suddenly he grabbed up his soccer ball, which was still beside him on the floor, and threw it violently right at her. Rachel caught it, smooth as silk, though it rocked her backwards. She smiled. Voice coach and dragon's assistant,’ she said. ‘Rachel Levin, from Cambridge, ‘Mass’ She tossed the ball back to Arby gently, and the rehearsal went on. ‘He's so mean,’ Eric said. ‘He's mean to everyone, Is he always like that?” Rachel was rummaging in her backpack. She laughed. I doubt it. He lives with Julia, and I bet she gives as good as she gets.’ She produced a glossy green apple from the rucksack, took a big noisy bite, and passed it on to Gil Warmun. ‘Don't take it personally, Eric,’ Gil said. ‘Or you, Nat. He just wants everyone to know who's the boss. He bit into Rachel's apple and held it out to Eric. ‘We were all sitting on the tired grass of the river- bank, beside the Charles River that flows slow and brown through Cambridge and Boston to the sea. Rachel had been hearing Gil and me do one of our Puck-Oberon scenes, and Erie was there because,14 Susan Cooper well, because he was always there, It was a hot day, with only a whisper of breeze, and the air felt thick as a blanket. Joggers pounded by on the path a few yards away, glistering with sweat, and sometimes cyclists whirred past them, perilously close, On the river, long slender boats zipped up and down, rowed by one oarsman or two, four or even eight; they were amazingly quiet, ard you heard only the small smack of oars against water as the boats rushed by. Cambridge seeme¢ to be a very competitive place. I said, pointing, ‘Arby is like shat!’ A single oars~ man was sculling fariously upriver, very close to our bank. As he came by you could see the intensity tight com his face, and hear the chythmic gasps for breath. ‘Obsessed,’ Gil said. “Yeah.” ‘Nothing wrong with that, though. If he hadn't been obsessed with getting a boys’ company to London, he wouldait have got the money from that millionaire, and we wouldn't be going.’ ‘I's not obsession,’ Rachel said: She reached out and took the apple back from Eric, who was already into his second bite. ‘Not like crew. I know people who row ~ if you want to be really good at tbat it has to be like a -eligion, But theatre? Irs not a King of Shadows 15 sport, it's not about winning, it’s about people.’ ‘And applause? Gil said, needling. ‘All. those lovely hands clapping. That's what we all like most.” ‘Not true,’ Rachel said. He grinned at her, ‘An actor's not much use without an audience.’ “There you go then,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s about people.” This wasn’t a real argument though, it was cheer- fal bickering, We all knew Gil was as obsessed as anyone could be ~ in his case, with Shakespeare. Held read every single one of the plays, and knew huge chunks of them by heart, “What I like best is the smell, backstage,’ I said. I was thinking of the little theatre back at home, where Id played an evil litte boy in a grown-up play last summer. It had been our space, my space, a kind of home, ‘Theatre smell, Dusty. Safe.’ ‘Good word) Gil said, sounding surprised, He reached out and gave me a quick pat on the shoulder. ‘Safe,’ Rachel said thoughtfully. On the brown water, a pair of mallard ducks paddled slowly past us, and she threw one of them a piece of apple. The duck looked at her scornfully, and paddled on.16 Susan Cooper Eric said, ‘My mom thinks theatre's dangerous. My dad had to talk her into letting me come,’ Gil fingered his beard, looking at him deadpan. ‘She thought her beaatiful little boy'd get attacked by nasty molesters? Not with that hais, kid’ Eric looked uncomfortable. ‘She's... religious,” ‘Arby had to do some convincing, with the younger boys’ paren:s,’ Rachel said. “They couldn't understand why they couldn't go to London too.’ “Why couldn't they?” “This company is a family! said Gil, in a perfect imitation of Arby's booming voice. ‘Families only have one set of parents!’ Eric looked at me, ‘Did yours care?” ‘My what? “Your parents, did they give you grief?” Ob please. I cams here to get away from this. I thought I could get aay from this. I said, ‘I don't have any parents.’ ‘They all stared at me. Those faces stunned out of | movement for an instant, they always look the same. ‘An eight slid past us on the river; I could hear the thythmic creaking of the oarlocks, and the small splash of the oars. ‘Oh, Nat, I'm sony,’ Rachel said, King of Shadows 17 ‘Llive with my aunt, She didn't mind me coming, she thought it was a great idea.’ Don't ask me, please don't ask me. Eric asked, direct, young, a hundred years younger than me: ‘Are they dead?” “Yeah.'I got to my feet, quicker than any of them could say anything else. ‘I gotta go pee ~ I'll see you back at the school,’ And I was off, escaping, the way you always have to escape sooner or later if you don't want to be clucked over and sympathised with and have to listen to all that mush, or, worse, have to answer the next question and the next and the next. If you have to answer questions every time, how are you ever going to learn to forget? It would be better in London, it would be better in the Company; I wouldn't be Nat there, I would be Puck.