"Rome's burning," whispers the Wayward Queen. The other pieces scream. They do not understand the significance of her words. It may be that even she does not. Over the wails of men and women set ablaze, the faint screeches of a fiddle can be heard. Rats and birds flock to him, drawn by the bloodcurdling sound. And yet, even while its disgusting notes ring out above their heads, the Pawns cock their heads and cup their ears, eager to hear more of the song. The mysterious Fiddler stops. The Pawns cry out for more, but he cites the case of The Pied Piper vs. The Townspeople. Can they pay? Will they pay? No, they say, we're poor as strays! I smile. I bring my instrument up to my chin. I play. The Audience is swayed. They do not even notice when the burning beams crush their backs.
Fiddler
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