A Murder Most Dapper | A Werewolves in Space novella

Oliver Has A Revelation

The Brasslantis Grand Theatre was neither grand nor did it look much like a theatre. The wooden door with the hand-painted sign with uneven lettering wasn't particularly reassuring, nor was the dirty glass pane windows with the dark curtains drawn over them. It was, however, dripping in brass baubles from the lantern sprinkled roofline to the gear-shaped cobbled stones at its doorstep. Even for Brasslantis is bordered on gaudy. 

"Oliver," Juliet looked around at the shady street, a district she never even knew was on this dazzling floating city. "Are we sure this is the right place?"

"Of course!" Oliver said, gesturing at the door. "The sign says so."

Juliet bit her lower lip, adjusting one of the attachments to her goggles. "It's just that... I've never even heard of this place before, and to take a daughter of the Lunshington family to such an establishment would be..."

"Come now, Juliet," Oliver said. "Let's see what the inside looks like."

"I was afraid you might say that." Juliet groaned, but she followed Oliver through the door and into a dimly lit foyer.

The wooden floors were worn, a few of the hideous Edison style bulbs were burnt out, and the girl at the ticket counter looked to be wearing... pleather.

Juliet wrinkled her nose at the sight of the girl at the counter, but Oliver approached with gusto. 

"Good day, miss," Oliver said as he leaned on the counter. 

The girl was young, maybe eighteen or so, with a tiny tophat perched crookedly on her yellow hair. She slid the book she was reading to the side and smiled.

"No shows for a while, folks. Or are you here to purchase your seats for tonight early?" she asked.

"Actually," Oliver pulled out a card from his vest pocket, and Juilet stared at it wide-eyed. "Here's my card. Oliver Ambrose, best detective in the universe."

"Oliver, when could you possibly have obtained business cards?" Juliet asked in shock.

"Ooh, a detective, how exciting!" Ticket counter girl stood from her seat, looking at the card and then at Oliver. "Are you here to investigate something, detective?"

"I am, miss..."

"Carol," she offered. "This is so cool! Nothing this exciting ever happens to me. What are you looking for, detective?"

"Oliver, I really do want to know how you got business cards-"

"Well, Carol," Oliver said as he took out the pipe he had acquired somewhere along the way. "I'm investigating the recent life of one Phoebe Lushington. She's been to several of the shows at this establishment and I was hoping to speak to anyone who knows her. She can be described as petite, brown hair, blue eyes, freckles, and probably wearing rather fine clothes."

"Hm. Sorry, doesn't ring a bell." Carol shrugged. "But maybe one of the ushers knows her. I'll take you down to the stage, they should be taking their break before the show tonight."

"Thank you," Oliver said, and Carol stepped out from behind her ticket booth and lead them to the stage.

The stage itself was much finer looking than the entrance. In fact, the seats were plush and covered in velvet. The stage's curtains were a deep, bold red that must have taken several bottles of costly dye to accomplish. There was even a bar to the side with a bartender polishing glasses. He had a handlebar mustache, though not as impressive as Dapperby's, and looked like he'd be very good at nodding while you drank and talked to him.

"Oh, so it's so plain out front because it's a speakeasy?" Juliet asked to herself. "I guess if that's your aesthetic, but it doesn't really fit the time period if this is supposed to be a steam-powered Victorian-era town."