Shakespeare for Squirrels: A Novel (Fool #3)(28)

“No. No! I saw him put the drops in the boys’ eyes. That is all. I didn’t even speak to him.”

“RAWR!” Cobweb roared in Hermia’s face, and the ingénue burst into tears and turned away.

Cobweb spun on a heel to face me. “They didn’t kill him.” She trotted back to me and handed me the bolt. I replaced it in the sheath at my back. “These well-kept types don’t do their own killing, though. They would have hired an assassin.”

“And they might be lying,” said I.

“Oi, are you lying?” Cobweb called to the lovers. They all shook their heads ardently, even Demetrius, who held his bloody chin and grimaced in pain with the movement. “See?”

“Sweet Cobweb,” said I, “you are the very vicar’s knickers when it comes to nest building and rescuing seafarers, but you are shit at interrogation.”

“You’re shit at it,” she said. “What’s a vicar?”

“Are you all right, love?” I asked her.

She regarded me with recrimination.

Over by the lovers, Lysander said, “I told you I should have brought my crossbow.”

“Wait,” said I. “What? You have a crossbow?”

“As do I,” said Demetrius.

“Ladies are only allowed longbows,” said Hermia, “but I am quite a proficient archer myself.”

“And she is ever so pretty, with her arrows quivering,” said Helena, “while I lumber like a great ox spraying bolts about the green, willy-nilly.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Hermia. “If you are going to feel sorry for yourself at least wait until you don’t have two suitors hanging on your skirt hem.”

I was about to inquire whether everyone in this bloody country was armed, when from behind the rocks there came a great raucous caterwaul that set my various sphincters on high tension, even as I reached behind my back for a dagger.

“Bear!” said Cobweb.

The lovers, who had huddled together at the first call, bolted, led by Demetrius and followed by Lysander, who herded the girls ahead of him, all of them letting out horrified yowls as they ran. I thought to follow, but then I saw Cobweb was laughing, nearly doubled over with her private joke.

The caterwauling sounded again, closer now. It was definitely not a bear.

“That’s not a bear,” said I, the very herald of the obvious. We’d had a trained bear for a while at the French court and it made no sound like this bellowing in the forest. Did she ever tire of frightening people with possible bears?

The bushes by the trail parted and a great horse-headed creature stepped into view.

“Holy rancid fuckcheese!” said I. “A centaur.” The thing had the body of a man—fully dressed in trousers, a shirt, and a fine woven waistcoat—and the head of some equine creature. It let loose another bellow, a bray, really, illuminating its species as a donkey, not a horse. I suppose the long ears might have given it away, but rather than committing the time to study, I was considering fight and flight, and would have done one of those, I’m sure, had Cobweb not exclaimed, “Bottom, what are you doing here? The night queen will be furious if she wakes to find you gone.”

“Bottom?” I said, to myself more than the world. The waistcoat did look familiar.

“Oh, Master Cobweb, that is just the trouble,” said Bottom. “I awoke in Titania’s bower utterly alone, the lady had abandoned me. I was desperately in need of breakfast. I see you know Master Pocket. So good to see you, maestro.”

Cobweb turned to me and grinned. “Master Bottom was an honored guest in the queen’s bower last night. Very honored guest.” She made a vulgar thrusting gesture while rolling her eyes and lolling her tongue.

“Bottom,” said I. “Thou art transmogrified. How happened this change?”

“It were a revelation, maestro, for I was using the very method you taught our troupe of players. When last evening the queen wished that I have the personage of a donkey, I conjured the memory of when in the past I had sensed myself to be an ass, thus your coaching transformed me.”

“Good Bottom, that is a fluttering firkin of fairy wank. I invented that method on the spot because Snug was so bloody stupid he crafted a lion’s roar from chicken sounds.”

“Nevertheless, here you see the result,” brayed Bottom. “Your method and magic have enchanted me.”

“The Puck,” Cobweb whispered in my ear.

“The Puck? You saw the Puck last night? Why didn’t you say so?”

“You were busy chatting up your fancy Athenian shoe tarts,” said Cobweb. “The Puck often keeps company with the night queen, as she employs him for spying and other services.”

“I thought Puck was the jester for the shadow king.”

“Do you not have spies in the mortal world? Dual loyalties are rather their speciality.”

“Well, we need to see the night queen, then,” said I.

“And have her command me to imagine myself a weaver again,” said Bottom. “Mrs. Bottom will be very cross if I return in this form.”

“You may be surprised,” said Cobweb, giving an encouraging pat to the prodigious bulge snaking its way down the inside of Bottom’s trouser leg.

“Oh my,” said Bottom, letting loose a laugh that degraded into a string of wheezing whinnies.