Narrator 1: In the desert, there is a hill. Almost a mountain. Officially a hill. And on the hill there is a town. 

Narrator 2: A chaotic assembly of clapboard houses and adobe homes clustered around this spindly metal tower with a cable stretching off into the sky. A single main road winding along the spine of the mountain, forming the nucleus of the town where the concentration is highest. People milling about their daily business. A particular man weaving his way through them. 

Narrator 3: The man is deft, adroit, sharp-looking. Bowler hat on top of his head, briefcase under an arm, shopping bag in his other hand. 

1: He is arriving now at his destination, his purpose clear in his mind. He has one task, and one task only: 

2: BLACKMAIL. 

[Main theme] 

1: This man is Atticus Concord. Dandy sort of fellow. As we mentioned: the bowler hat, the suit, the briefcase, the shopping bag. (The shopping bag is unrelated; he was out getting something for his sister, who he’ll be visiting later.) He’s a sharp-looking guy. There’s a slight edge of creepiness to him. Clearly you already find him creepy because you know his mission now. 

3: As he proceeds down the street, the other residents of Stationary Hill cast their eyes his way. He sort of sticks out a little bit like a sore thumb, but a sore thumb … in a suit. Let’s just be clear about that. 

2: Like a REALLY attractive sore thumb. 

1: Yeah, he has that self-assured, confident, vaguely theatrical, onstage sort-of quality. There is a slight edge to him, a slight creepiness. There is something not entirely quite RIGHT. There is more going on than meets the eye, and you would sense that if you talked to him. He’s not talking to anyone now; he’s making a beeline for the front door of his destination: the Black Candle Cabaret.

2: Ah, what a sight it is amongst these other dusty and sort of worn-down buildings in Stationary Hill. This place has class. At least, it’s TRYING to have class. 

1: It HAS class. It actually does. Fake it til you make it, right? This place has done that precisely and has come a long way. It is today, here in the bright unlight of Stationary Hill, a cool and mysterious venue amongst all these other ramshackle buildings. The whole building is mostly (the facade, at least) painted a kind of glossy black. 

2: In many ways it imitates the surface of the Fold when you’re looking at it from the Un. 

1: Atticus Concord is not impressed. He’s not here to be impressed. He is here to do business, and he opens the door and goes inside. 

2: It’s not open right now but the door was unlocked, and he lets himself in as though he had every right in the world to be there. Inside is such a contrast to the dusty, red, blazing street outside. Immediately he’s engulfed in velvety, cocooning darkness. 

[The distant sounds of a bustling street are replaced with the dulcet murmur of the Cabaret interior.] 

3: An intimate darkness. Curtains, as though the ribs of a giant whale— 

2: A very plush, luxurious, whale that had been outfitted by a top-of-the-line interior designer at some point— 

1: So we’re inside of a whale, sort of. The rafters are a kind of luscious backbone, a kind of strange velvet maw going back—drapes separating regions of seating. There are small tables. This is a nice, upscale supper club. The tables have little candles on them. Where else are you gonna find that in Stationary Hill? (There are actually about two other places, but this is the nightclub, which makes it automatically better.) 

2: It’s black and navy blue and royal purple, dotted with glimmering little lanterns hung up in the curtains. Atticus Concord makes his way down the central aisle towards the bar. 

1: There’s a sort of receptionist fellow, a Maitre D’. He has no clear job title. He doesn’t even know what his job is, he just works here, and he talks to people and he, approaching Atticus, says “Sir, we’re not actually… open.”

3 (as Atticus Concord): “I have an appointment, as a matter of fact,” Atticus Concord says, “I’m here to see a Mr. Weepe and I believe it is … Sas-KEY-ya?” 

1 (as the Maitre D’): “Saskia, yes.” 

3 (Concord): “Yes, they should be expecting me.” 

1 (Maitre D’): “Of course. Your name?” 

3 (Concord): “Concord. Atticus Concord. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

1 (Maitre D’): “Mr. Concord, why don’t you have a seat at the bar. I will just go check. Not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that, you know, we are not open and we weren’t… I wasn’t informed.” 

2: He doesn’t trust him. 

1: This fellow does not like a man in a suit even though he sees many every single day. He hates a lot of people. He is a hateful and angry person. (He has a drug problem. We’ll get into—we’re actually NOT going to get into that, you know… well, let’s not even talk about that. Let’s just go back to Concord who is more than happy to sidle over to the bar and occupy himself while this young bastard wanders off to verify his meeting). 

2: The bar occupies the very center of the Black Candle Cabaret, one side facing the front door, the other side facing the stage, which you can’t see from here 

3: And Concord is, in fact, not the only person to situate himself at the bar. Not only is there the bartender opposite him—a stately, statuesque sort of man—but also a very young girl, sketching, just there, sitting at the bar. 

1: There is no drinking age in Stationary Hill. If there were one, she would surely not meet it. WHY she’s hanging out here, Concord does not know. Concord does not care. He, addressing the bartender, orders a drink. Looking from the girl to the bartender, Concord perceives (being a very perceptive fellow) they must be related. The bartender approaches. 

3 (as the bartender): “Can I fix you something to drink?”

1 (Concord): “Oh, don’t mind if I do! I would say… uh… something a little bit on the light side… a little bit refreshing… hot out today, y’know. Just, I dunno… you have any kind of…something with tonic, perhaps?” 

2 (Bartender) :”Mm-hmm [affirmative]. Comin’ right up,” the Bartender answers amiably. 1 (Concord): “Whatever you want. I defer to your professional judgment.” 

2: The bartender invents something for him. Mixes up a light, honey-colored refreshment of some kind, bubbling with tonic water. Slides it across the counter to him. 

1 (Bartender): “It’s on the house. I overheard you’re here to meet with Mr. Weepe and Saskia,” the bartender says. 

3 (Concord): “Yes that’s correct. I’m very excited to make their acquaintance. We’ve heard rather a lot about them where I’m from.” 

2 (Bartender): “Oh, and where’s that?” 

1 (Concord): “Well, you know, my good man, I’m not really at liberty to say,” Concord says. 

2 (Bartender): “Ah, say no more,” the bartender says with an understanding nod. “A man of mystery. I get it.” 

3: Atticus Concord, after all, has a theory or two about this place… and locations where people are from is part of that. 

1: The host, descending from the balcony above the bar, beckons to Mr. Concord. “You’re welcome to come up, sir, unless you’d rather finish your drink…?” 

3 (Concord): “Oh, not at all!” 

1 (Maitre D’): “You can bring it up if you want.” 

3 (Concord): “Let’s get down to business. Or… UP!” 

1 (Maitre D’): “Heh. Yeah, har har. [Unimpressed, bored laughter.] Right this way…” 3: Concord follows the host up the spiral staircase flanking the bar.

1: The bartender watches him go. The girl at the bar looks up and watches him briefly before returning to her sketch. She’s drawing pictures of bottles. Concord follows the host up the stairs—the stairs wrapping around the back of the bar overlooks the stage in the furthest interior of the Cabaret: a small stage. 

2: Atticus notices that the design of the Cabaret mimics that of much fancier establishments on more populated islets. Midst, on the other hand, hasn’t been around that long at all, and Stationary Hill is the only city of note on its surface. This might be the only nightclub on the entire islet. 

1: (it is! Literally. Just for your information.) 

2: On the darkened balcony, there is a single green glass lamp lit up over one table. Two people are sitting there. They’re only silhouettes to Atticus right now. 

3: The table, as he can see, is littered with documents: pieces of paper, ledgers, books, pens, pencils… the detritus of business. 

1: The other tables up here on the balcony? Pristine. Untouched, all set for tonight’s entertainment. But this one is an anomaly: a table turned into an office, apparently. Concord, following the host, begins to approach… but a figure stands up and comes to meet him. 

2: He’s treated to a graceful, curvaceous silhouette approaching him, and a dulcet voice greets him. “Ah, Mr. Atticus Concord, I assume. Saskia.” She extends her hand. 

3 (Concord): “The pleasure is mine,” Atticus says, removing his hat. He bows slightly. Takes her hand. 

2: Two huge glossy black dogs lounging on a large tuffet across the balcony raised their heads to watch him. Saskia is a beautiful woman, but not quite ‘there’—she doesn’t quite latch on to him with a vivid gaze the way Atticus is accustomed to so many of the women with whom he interacts. Saskia has a way of not quite paying attention to YOU, specifically, because she’s paying attention to EVERYTHING… all at once. Her eyes are half-lidded, sort of lazy. Kind of distracted. She’s one of those women who calls you ‘dear’ and ‘honey’ and it just seems all perfectly natural. 

1: Concord is actually taken a little bit aback; he was not prepared to find her so immediately and oddly… likable? He’s prepared to blackmail her, and yet feels almost, just briefly, GUILTY? Nah. Definitely not.

2 (as Saskia): “Please, come sit down,” she invites him. 

1: She leads Concord through the nest of tables over to her place of business: the one table occupied here on the balcony overlooking the stage, covered in papers, where her companion sits, and… her companion… is a WEIRD-looking guy. 

3: Let’s pause here for a moment. 

[Moc Weepe’s theme music—a lilting, slightly off-kilter waltz—begins to play.] 

2: So this is Moc Weepe. He is Saskia’s business partner. And, um… he’s a very indescribable sort of man, physically. 

1: We are going to make every effort to describe him to you because he is one of the primary protagonists of this story. You have already met at least one other. We will not tell you whom. 

2: It was Lark. 

1 (laughing): We will tell you whom! Now you know! 

2: So, this man, if we were going to be lazy about it—if we were going to use a kind of shorthand, we might say that he was completely opaque white like a marble statue. Bald. Featureless, pupil-less eyes. No variation at all. But that’s not quite true: it’s more like light doesn’t interact with him properly. 

1: Light simply does not know what to DO with him, and this has the effect of making his entire body—every surface of his body: the interior of his mouth, his eyes, the skin beneath his fingernails—appear a strange, opalescent ivory. And regarding all of this, Atticus Concorde feels… well, actually, not much of anything. Because Atticus Concorde is a cool guy and also a professional criminal. 

2: He does not evidence any surprise. What a champ. 

3 (Concord): “Mr. Weepe, I presume.” Atticus Concorde extends a hand. 

1: And Mr. Weepe, poring over his ledgers, filling in some figures, removing a cigarette—a cigar?—from his mouth, tapping it in the ashtray, extends a spidery hand toward Concord, not making eye contact, draping it into Concord’s embrace… barely making purchase on his hand. Simply says: “Mm-hmm.” [Affirmative.]

2: Saskia has already re-seated herself and inclines her head for Atticus to do the same at the third chair there at the table. 

1 (as Moc Weepe): “I’ve almost finished with my paperwork, Mr. Concord. Just have a seat. I’ll be with the both of you in just one moment.” 

2 (Saskia): “Yes, you have to excuse the mess. We were just doing a bit of bookkeeping before you arrived.” 

1 (Weepe): “I was doing a bit of bookkeeping. Saskia was merely keeping me company,” Mr. Weepe says, still not paying attention, scribbling some conclusion to his math—to his arithmetic. 

2 (Saskia): “Oh, that’s not quite true, Weepe: I was going over the choreography for tonight, you know that. 

1: He looks up, his strange, blank eyes regarding her. 

2 (Saskia): “Well, just because I don’t have a piece of paper in front of me…” 

1: Concord is watching this funky dynamic. He puts his briefcase down beside him. He puts his shopping bag down on the other side of the chair. 

2: Moc Weepe’s eyes light up. Well, they do NOTHING, specifically. It’s apparent that Moc Weepe is looking at the shopping bag. 

1 (Weepe): “Oh!” he says. “Mr. Concord, you really shouldn’t have!” And, gliding his bizarre spider grip around, makes purchase upon the shopping bag. And, bringing it up onto the table… 

2: …just plucks it out of Atticus’s possession. 

3: Not missing a beat, Concord says “Of course! A gift. Thank you so much for your time. I tremendously appreciate you seeing me on such short notice. Please: a gesture of my esteem.” 

1 (Weepe): “You’re a really nice guy, Concord!” Weepe says, dumping the contents of the bag unceremoniously and somewhat roughly onto the table. (The contents, of course, being a gift NOT intended for him but for Concord’s sister. Mr. Weepe doesn’t know, doesn’t care.)

2: Atticus’s palms DID start to sweat for just a moment as he was considering whether this gift that he purchased for his sister would make an appropriate offering for this very delicate business/blackmail meeting. 

1: It is some kind of small, absurd, hand-carved decorative nutcracker, which—let’s be honest—as a gift for Concord’s sister, is pretty shitty. Mr. Weepe thinks it’s terrific, though. “Ohhh!” he gasps. “This is a really top-notch item, Concord! I don’t know… how did you know that I really like things like this?” 

2 (Saskia): “Is this really a nut cracker?” 

1 (Weepe): “Concord, please tell us! I must know,” Mr. Weepe says, gazing avidly with his luminous owl eyes across the table. 

2: Both of them seem breathless with anticipation for Atticus Concord’s answer. 3 (Concord): “Absolutely! Do you have any nuts? You could give it a go!” 

1 (Weepe): “I don’t know! We—y’know, we used to have all those left over from the, um, what was it? The VIP… the…” 

2 (Saskia): “Yeah, let’s call down.” 

1 (Weepe): “The fundraising thing.” 

2 (Saskia): “Sherman?” 

1: Saskia has leaned over the railing to call down to the bar below. 

2 (Saskia): “Sherman, have you got any of those mixed nuts left from the… from the event… uh, the night before last?” 

1: The voice comes up from below: [As Sherman, bartender:] “Uhhh… no, afraid not, I think we, um… I think… didn’t…” (He’s about to say ‘Mr. Weepe,’ but he doesn’t.) “Weren’t they all eaten?” Mr. Weepe ate them all. 

2: Mr. Weepe KNOWS he ate them. 

1: This is all part of a master plan. [As the bartender:] “Yeah, there… no, I just checked. There’s, uh… there’s no more in the cabinet here…”

1 (Weepe): “Well, whadda we pay you for, Sherman? Be creative. Bring me something else crunchy, y’know? ICE, uh… CUBES or something!” 

2: There’s a moment of silence. [As the bartender:] “Yes, sir! Ice cubes comin’ right up.” 

1 (Weepe): “Hey, thanks! At least I can crunch SOME damn thing with this! Wouldn’t want your gift to go to WASTE, Concord, now, would we?” Mr. Weepe says, oscillating the cracker open and shut. “This is pretty good! Pretty smooth action! Anyway, I don’t want to get too distracted here with this, though I really am very excited. It’s not every day I get an unsolicited present from some nice fella I’ve only just met!” 

3 (Concord): “I’m glad you’re excited about it! And I must say, thank you again for your time. I truly appreciate you taking a moment out of your busy schedules to have a quick chat with me.” 

2 (Saskia): “Well, we appreciate the letter of introduction you’ve sent along ahead.” 

1 (Weepe): “Yeah, that was really QUITE informative, Mr. Concord. I think we would’ve waste a lotta time with you tryin’ to explain to us WHY you’re here, but… I think I got a clear picture. So why don’t you just lay it on us, all right? Let’s not waste any time. Tell us the story: why are you here today?” 

3 (Concord): “Absolutely! Well, as someone involved in the human resources, uh… industry… I work with a number of different organizations to help, uh, facilitate employees and, actually, transfer of talent between different institutions.” 

1 (Weepe): “Mmmm, yep, I think I grasped as much from your letter Mr. Concord.” Mr. Weepe is puffing on a cigarette and also having a drink of something with his other hand simultaneously while also brandishing the nutcracker. 

2: The girl from the bar comes up the stairs at this point with a basket of ice cubes. She’s got an incredulous look on her face. Edges towards the table. Puts the ice cubes down and looks at Mr. Weepe. 

1 (Weepe): “Hey, yeah, that’s just the thing. Thanks a bunch. Seeya later.” Mr. Weepe waves her off. And he begins forthwith to crunch ice cubes. [Ice cube crunching and cracking sounds.] They shatter across the tables, spewing out over the floor. 

2: He seems supremely satisfied.

1: He is not distracted. He continues to listen with attention to Concord’s story. 

3 (Concord): “The Black Candle Cabaret, of all locations on Midst, has a… a bit of a REPUTATION. A very POSITIVE one, I might add, but…” 

1 (Weepe): “Really glad to hear that, Concord. Comin’ from you…” 2 (Saskia): “Yes, really…” 

1 (Weepe): “…that’s PRETTY NICE.” 

1 (Concord): “And principally because of your talent.” 

2 (Saskia): “Yes, well, we do take pride in our hiring decisions.” 

3 (Concord): “I feel as though I would be able to help represent your interests, both in acquiring additional talent, and perhaps moving some of those you may… uh… currently employ. I’m not sure if that’s something that you’re looking for… the current state of your operation here… but I just wanted to present that as an option.” 

1 (Weepe): “Well, you know, Concord, as a man in your line of work, I’m sure it’s very clear to you that any place of business… is only…” he looks at Saskia. Looks back to Concord. “…as good as the people it employs. And so, therefore, here at the Black Candle Cabaret, Saskia and I are very interested in employing only the best of the best. And that’s why we often turn to employment agencies to help us… find the right CANDIDATES… if you know what I mean…” 

2 (Saskia): “Yes, there are a few employment agencies that we have established relationships with.” 

[Music and SFX suddenly freeze. A hanging silence.] 

1: Okay. Let’s step back for just one moment. This is NOT a conversation about employment agencies. This is not even really a conversation about hiring. This is a conversation about something entirely more secretive AND illegal, and ALL of them—here at this table right now— KNOW this. 

2: Concord is trying to learn what he needs to know to blackmail them later on. He’s just maneuvering right now. The blackmail—that’s not taking place yet.

1: They carry on, their veiled dialogue proceeding jauntily, Mr. Weepe cracking ice cube after ice cube. 

2: Saskia smiling lazily, indulgently, never meeting anyone’s eye. 

1: Concord lays out his case: he represents an organization with quite a few excellent candidates who would be PRIME for placement here at the Black Candle Cabaret. The Black Candle Cabaret would, theoretically, if all conditions are met, be interested in employing them. Mr. Weepe takes all this in, smoking his cigarette, sipping his cognac, cracking the ice cubes. Saskia listens dreamily, staring off into space as Concord lays out his particulars. And then, putting the capstone on his delivery, presents the paperwork. 

3 (Concord): “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a few pieces of general information outlining what I have in mind. Here.” He produces copies. One for Saskia. One for Weepe. 

1 (Weepe): “Ohhh, be still my HEART. [Cracking ice cubes excitedly.] First you bring me presents, then you butter me up with a lot of nice things about my place, and now you brought me legal documents? This guy! This guy’s got a special PLACE in my HEART!” 

2: Saskia takes both the copies of the document and slides them across the table, positioning one in front of her and one in front of Mr. Weepe, who doesn’t look at it. 

1 (Weepe): “If there’s ANYTHING I like in life, Mr. Concord…” Weepe breathes, almost seductively (it’s a little spooky), “…it’s an AIRTIGHT CONTRACT of BUSINESS!” 

[Ice cubes shattering.] 

3 (Concord): “I think we’ll get to be good friends, you and I!” 

1 (Weepe): “Oh, yes, Mr. Concord, I don’t even think… I think we’ve jump straight to the Best Buddies stage.” Ice cubes go shattering across the floor. He’s almost burned through all of them. “But you know what? Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, my good buddy. We’re gonna have to read these papers somewhat thoroughly…” 

3 (Concord): “Well, I’ll be staying in Stationary Hill with my sister for a few days. Um, if you would like, I could return at some point for a further conversation on this subject?”

2 (Saskia): “I think that would be a wonderful idea,” says Saskia. “There’s a show tonight, in fact, if you come back during business hours, that I think you would enjoy very much.” 

1 (Weepe): “Yeah, that’s pretty nice. There’ll be some… there’s a lotta music… singing… you might even like the… later on, there’re a couple of women… maybe take off some of their clothes. It IS a cabaret. That kind of DOES happen from time to time, but you… it’s been happening a lot LESS lately.” Mr. Weepe, regarding Saskia: “…and I think it’s been 

a little bit detrimental to our business practice. We try to bill ourselves, Concord, as a sophisticated establishment. Which means a little bit less nudity, right? The nudity is not inherently a classy activity, but… anytime we try to tone it down, fewer people show up, our income is reduced… I have all these problems with the papers…: 

2 (Saskia): “It’s a delicate balance.” 

1 (Weepe): “It can’t really be a Cabaret without the cabaret, but we still have some of that. So! You come by tonight. There will be a long line because of the nudity, right? Maybe you’re gonna be able to get in! Maybe you’re not! You’re not a VIP yet. You’re no kind of business partner… so can’t give you any sort of preferential treatment. You can’t come in early. Yeah, there’s no side door. Gonna have to come in with everybody else.” 

2 (Saskia): “Yes, tonight would not be a good opportunity for another business discussion, you understand, but I think it’s a good idea if you come around as often as you can and see how things work around here. If you’re serious about a partnership.” 

1 (Weepe): “You gonna ring up business with us, Mr. Concord,” Mr Weepe says, again giving Atticus Concord his strange, full, opaque attention, “you’re gonna have to learn to work on our schedule. If we were comin’ to you, we would wait for you. But since you’re comin’ to us, you’re gonna wait for US. And I just wanna be clear about one thing, Mr. Concord…” Mr. Weepe’s hand comes spidering across the table, taking Concord’s. “That, of course… if you’re fucking with us…” 

[Tense silence.] 

1 (Weepe): “… we’re gonna fuckin’ kill you.” 

[Weepe’s theme music returns, now more ominous than before. Weepe slowly and threateningly cracks ice cubes.] 

2: Saskia blinks dreamily.

1 (Weepe): “Just to be VERY clear. We’re on the same page. Lotta transparency. Mutually beneficial relationship. Right? That’s what this is? That’s why you bring me gifts? You butter me up? You’ve even brought the papers, so I have no concerns.” 

1 (Concord): “I think we have an understanding.” 

[Satisfied ice-cube cracking with the nutcracker.] 

1 (Weepe): “Damn straight we do, Mr. Concord. And that being said, we got all this vacuum cleaning to do and, uh, somebody really made a mess up here. And I think you’ve said your piece.” 

2 (Saskia): “Yes, sorry to shoo you along, but we do have to get ready for that show I mentioned.” 

3 (Concord): “I look forward to dinner, then. Until later.” Concord stands up, dons his hat, and shows himself back down the stairs. 

1 (Weepe): “And thanks again for the nutcracker. It’s pretty cool,” Mr. Weepe hollers after him, waving. 

2 (Saskia): “Hope to see you again soon.” 

[Weepe’s original waltz theme plays.] 

1: Concord departs presently, wasting no time. He has precisely what he needs. He HAS the answer he came looking for. He’s gone, out into the street, making his way somewhere to find a replacement gift for his sister. And inside the Cabaret, Mr. Weepe, Saskia… regard each other. “Well,” Mr. Weepe says. “Guy knows how to ask the right questions.” 

2 (Saskia): “Gonna have to keep an eye on that one, I think.” 

1 (Weepe): “Well, he’ll be back. I think he’s gonna be hangin’ around quite a bit. We’re gonna be building a pretty nice relationship. And, you know, if he keeps bringing me all this shit…” Mr. Weepe throws the nutcracker on the table. “…I think we’re gonna get along just FINE.” 

2 (Saskia): “I hope his contacts are everything he says they are.”

1 (Weepe): “Me too. I’d hate to rub him out. Well, why don’t you go set everything up?” 2 (Saskia): “Yes, it’s about time. I’ll leave you to it.” 

1: She whispers off down the stairs and Mr. Weepe, on the balcony by himself, regards the contract, tears up the contract, takes a puff of his cigarette, picks up the nutcracker, and cracks the last ice cube. 

[The final ice cube shatters.]