Shakespeare for Squirrels: A Novel (Fool #3)(29)

“Come on then,” said Cobweb. “The queen will need tending to.” And she led us off down a path opposite from the direction in which the lovers had run.

As we walked, Bottom said, “The lads must be beside themselves. This will be the second rehearsal I’ve missed. I fear the part of Pyramus may be more of a challenge than before, unless you may work another spell on me, perhaps sharpening my jaw and giving me the steely-eyed aspect of a hero.”

“Bottom, I do not have magical—”

“Shush!” said Cobweb, spinning around and shaking her head in a stern and angry manner, followed by a less-than-subtle wink, which wasn’t lost even on Bottom.

“But I myself saw you disappear in front of the watch, and this . . .” He gestured to his ears and muzzle.

Cobweb growled a threat, a sound as if she might be concealing a small dog under her frock.

“Quite right,” said I. “Magical. We shall see about the magic in a bit. But, good Bottom, I’ve just encountered several young Athenians, all of whom said that they owned bows or crossbows. Is everyone in this bloody country armed?”

“Just the toffs,” said Bottom. “Working folk aren’t allowed.”

“But Snug the joiner told me that only the watch and soldiers were permitted to carry weapons.”

“Well Snug is a ninny, isn’t he?” said Bottom.

“There you have it,” said Cobweb. “Right from the horse’s mouth. Come on, you, the night queen will shit a hedgehog if she finds her donkey boy gone. And you’ll want to have a chat with her, Pocket.”

Cobweb went ahead, leading us down a forest path that was all but invisible to me, but the fairy moved in the moonlight as sure as under the noonday sun, so Bottom and I kept in sight of her pale frock as we navigated the dark forest at a quick pace. We’d gone perhaps a half mile—hard to say with the meandering and whatnot—when a banshee scream sounded out of the dark above us and three slight figures dropped out of a tree, nearly landing on Bottom. Before I could draw a dagger or shimmy up a tree they were on him, tugging and tickling and generally making a ruckus. Three fairies, no bigger than Cobweb, swarmed the donkey-headed man, who brayed with delight as they tugged his ears, rubbed his muzzle, and dry-humped various parts of him, none designed for such purpose.

“Oi! Oi! Oi! You lot, get off of him,” cried Cobweb, and the fairies turned their attention on her, leaping and tackling her, trying to pull her frock over her head, wetly and loudly kissing her ears, and generally shaping themselves into a giggling pile.

“Stop!” Cobweb shouted. “We got fucking guests, you twats. To see the queen.”

The fairies fell into a rough approximation of a line while Cobweb crawled to her feet. “This here is Pocket of—of the Far Away, and he’s a king’s fool.” With that, the fairies came to attention. Three of them, two female, one male, the latter wearing black military trousers and no shirt. They stared at me in bloody awe, I reckon, all of their eyes as disturbingly wide as Cobweb’s.

“That’s right,” said Cobweb. “Like the Puck, so don’t give him no trouble or he’ll change you to a toad quick as you please.”

“Sorry,” said one of the girls. “We was looking for Bottom and was excited to find him.”

“And I am most abundantly found,” said Bottom.

“These here are my mates,” said Cobweb. “That there is Moth.” The first girl in the line curtsied and grinned. She had hair the color of an eggshell, short, like Cobweb’s, and wore a similar rough linen frock, in mossy green, that hung to just above her knees, although there were fewer burrs and sticks tangled in hers. “That there is Peaseblossom, she’s dead simple.” Peaseblossom, with light brown locks, rounder and a bit shorter than Cobweb and Moth, curtsied and nodded in agreement. “And that rascal there is Mustardseed.”

“I am also simple,” said the boy. Well, not boy, really, just a small, slight man, with pointed ears and short black hair, cut in the same manner as the others’, which was, from appearances, with a knife, in the dark, by someone who was angry. He bowed. “At your service, good sir.”

“Fancy a frolic, Master Pocket?” said Peaseblossom.

“Oh, that would be lovely,” said Mustardseed, jumping on his toes.

“Yes!” said Moth.

“Master Pocket don’t frolic,” said Cobweb. “Now, we need to get Master Bottom back to the queen’s bower or she’ll roast our dicks on a stick. Go on.”

Mustardseed and Peaseblossom took Bottom, each by a hand, and led him further into the forest. Moth hung back and held her hand as if for me to take it.

“Go on,” said Cobweb. “Follow the others. I got this one. Go, and no fucking frolicking along the way.” She waved Moth on and fell back beside me, letting the others get far enough ahead that all I could see was Moth’s white hair bobbing in the dark like, well, a moth.

“Don’t say nothing about the Puck being killed. Not yet,” Cobweb whispered as we went along. “And you can’t let on you haven’t magic like him. Do some tricks with your puppet stick there, and juggle and sing and hint that you have fearsome powers.”

“You think that will work?”

“It must. Show the queen your passport from the duke, too.”