SCENE 1: Alyaport, nightfall.  Lone figure (FERN) slowly crossing stage.  Enter MORIBA.



            This is Alyaport,

            Welcome to Alyaport,

            I am your guide, let me show you!

            Don’t try to hide, why I already know you’re there.


            This is Alyaport,

            Squalid little ’Lyaport,

            Come, see your dreams by the setting sun,

            Ripped by the seams—oh, honey, don’t you run!


            This town has got gold by the gallons,

            Shame it is sold to the rich!

            But if you are up to the challenge,

            Honey, this town’s your bitch!


            Look at the little thief,

            Scrawny little petty thief,

            Been stowing away in a spice cart,

            That aroma will stay, oh, what a work of art!



            This is Alyaport!

            Welcome to Alyaport!


            Crime is its heart, and rum its lifeblood!


            Twixt the desert and the sea, wealth is a lovely flood!



            Yoho to me foes and me mateys,

            When I’m here, I’m playing to win!

            And hello to the fine feathered ladies—

            I hardly know where to begin!



            This is Alyaport,

            Lovely little ’Lyaport.


            I am your guide, let me show you!


            Don’t try to hide, why we already know you’re there!


            This is Alyaport!


            Welcome to Alyaport!


Exit MORIBA and Ensemble.



FERN:  Cinnamon…Nutmeg…And what’s this…?  Cloves?  Why must it be I who smells like a spice shop?  I have a job to do!  Pockets to pick!  Jewelry to steal!  I can’t very well make a living with this blasted scent clinging to me, can I?  They’ll recognize me from a mile off!


She raises a pail of water from a well, drinks from it, and then tries to wash the smell of spices off her hands.  Enter SEYMOUR and CEDRIC.  CEDRIC approaches FERN, while SEYMOUR remains back in the shadows.


CEDRIC:  You shouldn’t be out alone on a night like this.

FERN:  And who are you to tell me where to be?

CEDRIC:  Cedric Markason.  That’s who I am.

FERN: I meant, what gives you the authority to meddle in other people’s business, merboy?

CEDRIC:  My uncle says this town’s a dangerous place to walk alone in the night.  Bad things have been happening to people around here in the dark lately.

FERN:  Oh?  Then why are you alone? Why don’t you take your own advice?

SEYMOUR: Because he isn’t alone.

FERN: Where did you come from?

SEYMOUR: I’ve been here all along, m’dear.  Name’s Seymour de Winter, private detective.  He laughs at her reaction. Never fear, little thief, I have no agenda against you.  But, as my nephew so eloquently put it, you shouldn’t be here—thief or innocent, man or woman, no matter how much cinnamon you bathe in as camouflage—It’s all the same to whatever it is that’s out there.  You should most certainly not sleep outside.

FERN: What do you mean by “whatever it is that’s out there?”

SEYMOUR:  I don’t know what it is, but it is there.  Lurking in the desert.  Creeping into town in the wee hours of the morning.  Hunting its next meal.  I’ll admit, I’m not terribly eager to meet it, but…if that’s what the job entails, that I must do.

FERN: I think I’ll take my chances.

SEYMOUR: As you wish, little thief.  All the luck to you, then.  Come, Cedric.  We had best be getting back to our lodgings.




The End

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