The Brasslantis Grand Theatre was neither grand nor did it look much like a theatre. The wooden door with the hand-painted sign with uneven lettering wasn't particularly reassuring, nor was the dirty glass pane windows with the dark curtains drawn over them. It was, however, dripping in brass baubles from the lantern sprinkled roofline to the gear-shaped cobbled stones at its doorstep. Even for Brasslantis is bordered on gaudy. 

"Oliver," Juliet looked around at the shady street, a district she never even knew was on this dazzling floating city. "Are we sure this is the right place?"

"Of course!" Oliver said, gesturing at the door. "The sign says so."

Juliet bit her lower lip, adjusting one of the attachments to her goggles. "It's just that... I've never even heard of this place before, and to take a daughter of the Lunshington family to such an establishment would be..."

"Come now, Juliet," Oliver said. "Let's see what the inside looks like."

"I was afraid you might say that." Juliet groaned, but she followed Oliver through the door and into a dimly lit foyer.

The wooden floors were worn, a few of the hideous Edison style bulbs were burnt out, and the girl at the ticket counter looked to be wearing... pleather.

Juliet wrinkled her nose at the sight of the girl at the counter, but Oliver approached with gusto. 

"Good day, miss," Oliver said as he leaned on the counter. 

The girl was young, maybe eighteen or so, with a tiny tophat perched crookedly on her yellow hair. She slid the book she was reading to the side and smiled.

"No shows for a while, folks. Or are you here to purchase your seats for tonight early?" she asked.

"Actually," Oliver pulled out a card from his vest pocket, and Juilet stared at it wide-eyed. "Here's my card. Oliver Ambrose, best detective in the universe."

"Oliver, when could you possibly have obtained business cards?" Juliet asked in shock.

"Ooh, a detective, how exciting!" Ticket counter girl stood from her seat, looking at the card and then at Oliver. "Are you here to investigate something, detective?"

"I am, miss..."

"Carol," she offered. "This is so cool! Nothing this exciting ever happens to me. What are you looking for, detective?"

"Oliver, I really do want to know how you got business cards-"

"Well, Carol," Oliver said as he took out the pipe he had acquired somewhere along the way. "I'm investigating the recent life of one Phoebe Lushington. She's been to several of the shows at this establishment and I was hoping to speak to anyone who knows her. She can be described as petite, brown hair, blue eyes, freckles, and probably wearing rather fine clothes."

"Hm. Sorry, doesn't ring a bell." Carol shrugged. "But maybe one of the ushers knows her. I'll take you down to the stage, they should be taking their break before the show tonight."

"Thank you," Oliver said, and Carol stepped out from behind her ticket booth and lead them to the stage.

The stage itself was much finer looking than the entrance. In fact, the seats were plush and covered in velvet. The stage's curtains were a deep, bold red that must have taken several bottles of costly dye to accomplish. There was even a bar to the side with a bartender polishing glasses. He had a handlebar mustache, though not as impressive as Dapperby's, and looked like he'd be very good at nodding while you drank and talked to him.

"Oh, so it's so plain out front because it's a speakeasy?" Juliet asked to herself. "I guess if that's your aesthetic, but it doesn't really fit the time period if this is supposed to be a steam-powered Victorian-era town."

"Hey, boys!" Carol called to a pair of men lounging on the stage in black coats. A third man, one of the actors judging from his colorful royalty costume, stood nearby. The three men turned their heads as Carol lead the pair of would-be detectives to the stage.

"This is detective Ambrose," Carol said. "He's got some questions for us."

"Please, call me Oliver. Do any of you happen to remember a young woman with brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles who goes by the name Phoebe Lushington?" Oliver straightened his goggles. "She's a frequent visitor at your theatre."

"And she would probably have been with a man who wears an eyepatch and carries a cane. Mortimer Deckerton," Juliet added.

"Mortimer!" One of the ushers nodded. "Yeah, he has a box here. A real patron of the arts, he's always coming to our opening nights when we put on a new show."

"I did take him for quite the gentleman," Oliver said. 

"Oliver, I don't want to say anything about someone's mustache, but his was rather dastardly," Juliet said. "And the cane and the eyepatch don't help."

"Yeah, Mortimer does look a bit eccentric," said the actor in the royal robes and crown. "But he's an alright guy. Has this really distinct laugh."

"Oh yeah!" the other usher said. "He does, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, it's like 'Muahahaha' or something like that," said the actor.

Juliet side-eyed the actor. "Are you serious?"

"Do you think you could show me Mr. Deckerton's box?" Oliver asked. "We may find a clue there."

"Of course, detective," Carol said. "I can take you up to the boxes."

"It's the third on the left, Carol," one of the ushers added. "Good luck, detective."

Carol lead Oliver and Juliet to the upper floor, taking the left hallway. Brass plaques lined the wall naming various donors to the theatre and designating the boxes with initials. 

"Here it is," Carol said. "I'll leave you to it, let me know if you need anything else."

She smiled and walked back down the hall the way they had come.

Juliet turned to the plaque on the wall and gasped. "Oliver, look!" 

Oliver turned to see Juliet pointing to the wall. "What is it?"

"It says m d in lowercase letters," Juliet said.

"Yes, his name is Mortimer Deckerton. I would expect his initials to be on his box at the theatre," Oliver said.

"No, pay attention!" Juliet snapped. "The lowercase initials, just like the cufflink and just like the murder weapon!"

"Yes, I know what a lowercase letter is," Oliver scoffed. "I'm the university student here, remember?"

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Oliver, who do you know that uses the lowercase letters when they put their initials on something?"

Oliver chuckled. "No one does that."

"Right, but here we have Mortimer Deckerton's box," Juliet prodded.

"Of course, this is where Carol took us. Mr. Deckerton's box," Oliver said. "So?"

"How can anyone be this slow?" Juliet muttered, rubbing her temples. "Okay, Oliver. We have the initials m d on this box. Where else have we seen these initials?"

Oliver's brows knit together in thought. "Now that you mention it, we saw them on Deckerton's cufflink..."

"Yes! And, anywhere else?" Juliet prodded.

Oliver tapped his chin in thought. He knew there were several pieces at play here. He'd collected a number of clues, he just had to figure out how to put them together...

"Oliver, the murder-"

"The murder weapon!" Oliver exclaimed. "Juliet, if you turn the PW upside down on the knife, you have m d just like this box right here!"

"Yes!" Juliet shouted. "Finally!"

"Juliet, I've solved the case! I've cleared Professor Stirlingwell's name!" Oliver laughed. "I truly am the greatest detective of all time!"

"Oliver, we need to take our clues to the police," Juliet said. "They need to know so we can free the professor."

"Right you are, Juliet," Oliver said as they strode out of the box and down to the theatre lobby. "Come, witness the master detective of the universe make his big reveal for Dappersby!"

"I'm getting really tired of this detective thing," Juliet muttered.

And the pair rushed out of the Brasslantis Grand Theatre, Oliver finally understanding how letters work.