Shakespeare for Squirrels: A Novel (Fool #3)(26)

“Not an elf,” said I.

“Unloved?” said Demetrius. “She is anything but unloved. I adore her, I dote on her in idolatry.”

“Not so much as do I,” said Dark Beard. “Here, good Helena, put your foot upon my head, so you will know I am your servant, your spaniel—for I would be the soil upon your shoe if it means I may be that close to you.”

And with that, Dark Beard put his head upon the ground by Helena’s foot, and was quickly joined by the straw-haired Demetrius, who put his ear to the ground by her other foot. “Lady, my goddess, tread upon my face, and if perchance your small toe should enter my nose hole, so will I breathe in your essence and never exhale, ere I explode with your love. Both small toes, in my nose, I beseech thee!”

I looked to the auburn-haired girl, who seemed the only one viewing this spectacle with the appropriate amount of horror. “Lunatics?” I inquired.

“Bloody enchanted,” she said. “Both were in love with me yesterday, although I love only Lysander.” She pointed to Dark Beard, who had Helena by the ankle and was trying to put her foot on his head by force.

“Don’t believe her,” said Helena. “Hermia is part of this cruel joke. She delights in my humiliation.”

“Hermia?” I inquired to the auburn-haired girl.

“Yes, Hermia, daughter of Egeus,” said she, unable to stop herself from making a polite curtsy.

“Charmed,” said I, bowing over her hand. “Pocket of Dog Snogging, at your service.”

She said, “Last night, while we all slept, separate and chaste, the Puck placed some drops in their eyes. He thought I slept, but I saw him. When they awoke they were both in love with Helena and have nothing but scorn for me.”

“Wretched cow,” called Demetrius, rubbing his face into some leaves.

“Shut your fetid cakehole, thou festering canker blossom,” Hermia shouted at the piss-haired Athenian. To me, she said, “See? Enchanted.”

“Well cursed, lass,” I said.

“Don’t trust her,” shouted Helena, who was trying to stop Lysander from licking her shin. “She was a vixen when she went to school, and though she be but little, she is fierce.”

“Little, is it?” said Hermia. “I will show you little, thou lumbering maypole. I shall decorate your inconstant lovers with your splattered brains.” She snatched up a heavy branch from the ground and made for her friend. I caught her by the sleeve as she passed by, swung her around, and relieved her of her weapon. She looked at me wide eyed, both surprised and offended.

I slapped her cheek ever so lightly to bring her attention to the fore. “The Puck, you say?”

“Hit her again,” shouted Lysander. “She distracts me from my love. I loathe her.”

“I loathe her more,” added Demetrius.

She made to grab for her club and I cautioned her by waving the stick in her face.

“Tut tut, love. Your father promised me good recompense for slaying Lysander and once my blade is bloodied it will be no trouble to cut all your throats.” I am shit as a fighter, being ratshaggingly small and all, but I am the very mutt’s nuts when it comes to crafting a threat.

“Do your worst on her,” said Lysander. “I love her not and would not stand in your way.”

“Neither I,” said Demetrius. “I wouldn’t have her if she were naked and carrying her weight in gold, annoying dwarf that she is.”

“Fine,” I said. I handed Hermia back her club. “Brain them, love. I’ll wait.”

“Please, good Hermia,” said Helena, hopping from one foot to the other to stay out of the affectionate grasps of her suitors, “let your mercy be as sweet as our friendship was once: kill only Lysander and leave Demetrius to me.”

Hermia stomped up to her friends, menaced them all with her stick, then screamed in frustration and cast the club into the rocky hollow. “If I were going to kill anyone it would be that rascal Puck. He’s at fault for this—this disgusting display.” She waved at the two grovelers. “This is not a natural allure, but some trifling elvish magic. And you know it, Helena.”

Helena’s face went slack as anger gave way to revelation. “They’re not having me on?”

“No, friend,” said Hermia.

“And they don’t really fancy me, either?”

“You saw the Puck in the night.”

“You jesters!” Helena kicked Demetrius and Lysander until they scuttled away a few feet and sulked like scolded puppies. “You buffoons, you have been duped by the Puck.”

“No, lady,” said Lysander, “if I thought the Puck had but put the taint of insincerity on my love for you I would puncture his liver most mortally.”

“And I his other liver!” said Demetrius.

“What are these knobs on about?” said Cobweb, who was suddenly standing at my shoulder without the courtesy of a cough or crunching leaf to announce her presence. I leapt a foot or so into the air and yelped a bit, as a courtesy, so as not to deprive her of the satisfaction of thinking she’d surprised me.

“Where have you been?” I inquired.

“Tending to the night queen, as is my duty.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye.”