"I've changed my mind. I'll stay."

Gil's mouth twisted wryly.

"Whatever it takes."

"Why did you insist I come?"

"I thought it was time we buried the hatchet, Kimmel.

Don't you?"

"No, I don't," the older man said bluntly.

"I don't trust you, Gil. There's too much of your father in you.

He was a hasty man, quick to pa.s.s judgment. And I suspect you're just like him."

"But that's what I'm trying to avoid--hasty judgment."

"How? By laying out a little home entertainment for a captive audience?"

"Yes, Gil, do tell us what this is all about," Milo drawled in his most bored tone.

"We're all just dying of curiosity."

Gil smiled, his pinched face looking more strained than ever.

"Very well. I've asked you all here to help me celebrate the anniversary of a very special day. I want you to cast your minds back exactly one year. Think back to the day that a man who was a strong swimmer somehow managed to fall off a yawl riding at anchor .. . and never rose to the surface."

Today? LaB oz thought in dismay. This is the day?

Gil's face looked more strained than ever.

"Welcome to my father's death day party."

The private theater in the hilltop house could accommodate an audience of forty, but tonight thirty five of the seats would remain empty.

Shalimar and Kimmel sat together talking quietly, an island of calm one generation removed from the maneuverings of their intense young host and his contemporaries.

"This is morbid, Gil," Phoebe said.

"Unwholesome."

"Hardly that," he answered sharply.

"I wish to commemorate my father's pa.s.sing with a performance of his favorite play. What's morbid about that?" He drew LaB oz aside.

"I'll need your help later on. Will you run the stage console for me?"

"Of course. Just tell me when."

"Later. Just sit and watch for now."

LaB oz took a seat in the audience with the others.

Gil activated the console. The overhead lights dimmed, and on the stage the setting for the first scene flicked into existence. A hologram projection of a battlement at night, wisps of fog drifting across the stage. Holographic images of actors dressed as old-time soldiers, speaking briefly. Changing of the guard.

"For this relief much thanks," one of them said. " Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart."

The staging was good, and the audience watched attentively as the ghost made its first, mute appearance.

LaB oz felt the other actors' fear as tangibly as if he were one of them. More words, a throbbing in the air.

The battlement setting flicked out, and a new scene took its place: a court chamber, with the king and queen and their numerous followers. A brightly lighted, busy scene; LaB oz counted thirty actors on the stage. All holograms--except one: Gil was off to one side, dressed in the black of the mourning prince, his thin face averted from the corrupt celebration of corrupt life going on around him.

LaB oz tensed, wanting Gil to do well even though it was only a private entertainment. And Gil did very well, creating a convincing picture of a royal heir cheated out of his throne, a grieving son still shocked by his mother's hasty remarriage. Gil made only one mistake, inadvertently walking through the hologram of one of the courtiers.

At the end of the scene, Gil paused the projection.

"Interesting," Kimmel remarked.

"Is it just coincidence that you chose a play about the son of a man who died under questionable circ.u.mstances? That son was out for revenge."

Milo said, "Have you cast your guests in the play?

Let's see now. Shalimar must be Queen Gertrude, Phoebe is Ophelia--"

Gil laughed.

"No, not at all. I thought it might be entertaining if we all took turns playing the lead role.

Everybody likes to be the star."

The audience greeted that with three Oh-nos and one Tacky.

"It's a man's role," Phoebe objected.

"Women have played it before," Gil said.

"This way you all get to choose the scene you want to play. We can skip the others."

"I have no intention of playing that homicidal ma mac Milo announced indignantly.

"He kills five people!"

Gil looked amused.

"Well, I could dial out Rosencrantz and Guildenstem. You could play both those roles at once." The stooges.

"I'll play," Shalimar said unexpectedly.

"Truth is.

I've always had a yen to do that advice-to-the players bit."

"Excellent!" Gil exclaimed.

"Step right up. LaB oz will you run the console now? I want to see this from out front."

Shalimar joined him on the stage, where he fitted the b.u.t.ton into her ear that would feed her her lines.

Gil handed her a long black cloak to wear over her shimmering green gown and took a seat in the audience.

LaB oz started the scene.

"Speak the speech I pray you as I p.r.o.nounced it to you," Shalimar declaimed in a strong contralto that was somehow different from her normal speaking voice, "trippingly on the tongue."

The console had a reverse switch, should a player blow his lines and need to start over. LaB oz didn't have to touch it. Shalimar performed with such authority that he guessed she was used to speaking in public. Shalimar moved easily through the scene, not at all self-conscious about being on display. At last LaB oz pressed the hold b.u.t.ton and joined the applause that greeted the conclusion of the scene.