Shakespeare for Squirrels: A Novel (Fool #3)(32)

“No, there are others, ma’am, but I’m not to ask them until you answer the first.”

“I am the queen of the night, fool. Ruler of all the fields, forests, and fairies. Only with the dances of my fairies do the grains ripen, the apple trees blossom, the clouds bring life-giving rain. Only by my command do tides turn and the moon bless the fertile fruit of babies to be born. You stand before me, in my palace, and dare to ask trifling questions? You would hold messages from a king hostage under condition of my answers? In my palace?”

“So, last evening, I’m told, was when last you saw the Puck?”

The night queen leapt to her feet, leaving her garlands in a pile, and although I was still heartbroken and not attuned to such tastes, she was right fit for an ancient fucking fairy, and if Cobweb was right, and the queen was to have her way with me, I would try to savor my suffering.

“Insolent fool, on your life now, deliver Theseus’s message or suffer my wrath.”

“Will you be especially wrathful, then?” I inquired.

“I will.” She seemed less sure than when she’d first spoken. “Probably.”

“Well then, I should get to it. Theseus wondered if you received the message he sent by way of the Puck.”

“I did,” said the night queen.

“Aha!” said I, storming up to the very edge of her nest, which was built upon some small tree, higher than my head, so I backed up a bit so I could look the queen in the eye. “Aha!” I repeated. “So you did see the Puck last evening?”

“Yes, I just saw no reason to tell you.”

“And what was that message?”

“Theseus sent you, and Theseus knows, does he not?”

“He forgot, so I was to ask again.”

“He did not forget, fool. Must I have you seized and scrubbed again?”

Truth be told, I hadn’t been so much seized as the fairies had asked me to come along, and they were so enthusiastic and annoying that I accompanied them to the stream and submitted to their scrubbing on the condition that my kit was kept close at hand, except for my codpiece, of course, with which Mustardseed had absconded into the wood. Still, if Titania felt a good sand scrubbing was a viable threat, who was I to disabuse her of the notion?

“Oh no, ma’am, not that. But the duke was expecting you to send something to him with the Puck and he wonders if you sent it.”

“He does not know?”

“Well, no, since nothing was found with the Puck when they found his body.”

And everything paused, as if everyone in earshot were gathering a breath for a song.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Pocket!” said Cobweb, which came out rather louder than I think she expected. Titania and all the fairies turned to regard Cobweb, and the girl fairy slid her bycocket hat down over her face and attempted to hide behind Bottom, who had folded his long ears down over his eyes and was pretending to sleep.

“Which you knew because you killed him,” said the puppet Jones, in my voice, as I was working his string. And suddenly everyone’s attention turned from Cobweb to the puppet, as had been my intent.

“Apologies, ma’am,” said I. “Your fairies gave the puppet a good scrubbing as well and he’s surly when he’s damp.”

“Aye,” said the puppet Jones. “Cross as a cat when wet, I am.”

“Aye,” said I.

“Aye,” said Jones.

Titania’s mad green eyes went wider. “What sorcery is this?”

“Simple fool craft, ma’am. Nothing any extraordinarily talented jester could not do.”

“Like the Puck?” she said.

Behind the queen Cobweb had peeked out from behind Bottom and was nodding at me hard enough to shake her eyeballs free of their sockets.

“Aye, ma’am. Just like the Puck, who is, if I had not made it clear, quite dead.”

“Dead?” said she.

“Quite.”

Whispering commenced in the ferns and shadows—fairy voices trying to hush alarm and disbelief. Heart-shaped faces peeked out from the branches above, one fairy, who must have been hiding in the green dome, lost his grip and plummeted into the middle of Titania’s nest, then, before anyone could react, jumped to his feet and swung out the far side of the nest and out of sight. The odd sob and sniffle sounded out of the dark. The pan flute ceased.

“Murdered, ma’am,” said I. “With—” I looked for my clothes and weapons. “Where’s my kit?” I called to the gallery.

Mustardseed popped up out of a stand of ferns and strutted forward, codpiece on his prow rigged for ramming, carrying a bundle of my clothes, the harness with my daggers draped over the top. He set the bundle at my feet and stepped back, grinning like a loony, first at me, then at the queen, then at me again.

“Thank you. Well done,” said I. “Fuck off, then.”

Mustardseed proceeded to fuck off back to his hiding place, but Titania called him back. “Wait, you.”

Mustardseed waited, turned, grinned, basked in the attention of his queen.

“What is your name?” asked Titania.

“Mustardseed, ma’am,” said the prong-donged fairy.

“Mustardseed, join my personal attendants tonight.” She beckoned him up into the nest, then shooed him to the back with Bottom and the others. She turned to me. “So, the Puck is slain?”