This is the start of chapter two, where we switch perspective and are introduced to our antagonist.

CHAPTER 2: Piero

Piero always walked upon the ground as if he were treading the boards. So even now, when the indigo evening was speckled with the keenest stars and the street was clearly empty, he tossed his dark tousled hair, held his head high, and strutted with purpose. He wore a smart, black jacket over his white shirt and knee-length breeches, with his spotless cravat neatly tied. Presentation was important. He kept himself clean-shaven to display his fine cheekbones, the favourite of his many remarkable features, and often the subject of others’ admiration. His eyelids were smeared with purple powder, and he encouraged the pale green eyes beneath them to gleam with delicious and well-earned hatred.

A vain peacock, Caroline had called him. He had laughed in her face and told her it was a compliment. For a peacock understands his audience, and he commands them. When he takes to the stage in all his glory, everyone is compelled to watch until the peacock declares the show is over. He couldn’t help but smile as he remembered Caroline calling him a few other names after that.

The breeze blew strongly around him now, swaying the lantern which hung by the front door of the inn. The painted sign of the Red Lion creaked as it swung, but it was not the inn itself which had Piero’s attention, despite the merry laughter coming from within. No. There was something more specific he was after.

His eyes lit up as a piece of paper fluttered along the dirty ground, attempting to escape. He picked up the pace – with measured composure and dramatic style, naturally – towards his prey. He began to sing to himself.

“And if ever I should meet you, by the land or by sea,

I will always remember your kindness to me…”

 The heel of his boot stamped down upon the paper, pinning it to the ground. He bent down to pick it up with his white-gloved hand.

THE TICEHURST PLAYERS PRESENT

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

BY SHAKESPEARE

FOLLOWED BY A SONG AND A DANCE

THE RED LION

His heart missed a beat and a smile escaped him. Oh, he had waited for this for such a long time. Waited, and wanted. And he was so very close now. Holding the bill nearer to his face, he inhaled, trying to detect a certain scent, purely for the hunt. But he could not find it. Still, he did not need that scent. Not any more. He needed information. He folded the bill and tucked it inside his jacket. He strutted towards the inn door and held the iron ring in his gloved fingers, gripping it ever tighter as he prepared for his second-favourite thing.

He twisted the ring, threw open the door and left it wide open behind him as he strode inside, ready to devour the response to his entrance.

A wall of comfort hit him, but he had no time for the heady smell of ale. No interest in the hugging heat of the fire, or the plump lips and breasts of the hopeful harlots perched on men’s laps. They eyed him up, and duly noting their attention, he accentuated the sway in his walk oh-so-slightly in appreciation. Lord, he loved taverns. An audience already sitting and waiting, with naught better to do than drink themselves out of their bored skulls – desperate for entertainment, desperate for something out of the ordinary to come and stir up the wretched monotony of their tedious lives. Well, here he was.