"That's not right," Phillip called from the prompter's box. "I didn't write Faustus offering a cup of tea to the demon before it drags him off to hell."
"You did according to the latest fair copy,"* Edward stepped to stage left and picked up his crib sheet. "'Ho, demon, thy pits stink of Halifax. Would thou'st care for the Greying Earl or Eels of Darje?' Are these not your words, then?"
"I don't remember writing them." Marlowe frowned. "What did I too last night?"
"You went upstairs with that cloaked gentleman after hours," Mark Grayson, theatre manager, bit player and stage hand, called from backstage, grinning. "He sent down for rum and a new quill."
"How curious." Marlow took the clean sheet and crossed out the offending line. "It's a good job I didn't change anything important."
*a clean sheet of manuscript, written out legibly from the scrawled, crossed out and edited foul sheet
Image: Edward Alleyn