Shakespeare for Squirrels: A Novel (Fool #3)(34)

“That I will,” said I.

“Then away to the Night Palace with you, fool.” She turned to her retinue. “Fairies, prepare me a bath.”

The fairies, including Cobweb, Peaseblossom, and Mustardseed, scrambled upon her order.

“Your Grace,” I called. “While I am the very model of the magical fucking fool, in this strange land I do not have my finding spells sorted, so if I may borrow one of your fairies to lead me to the Night Palace? A Mistress Cobweb who led me here was quite a competent navigator, and she is indifferent to my cheese odor.”

“Poor thing,” said the queen. “Very well, Cobweb, go with this fool. Lead him to Oberon’s castle.”

Cobweb scrambled out from behind the nesting tree, came to my side, and wetly whispered, “Get the others,” in my ear.

“And, ma’am,” said I, “for some of my magics I will require others to attend, mainly to gather my scattered bits if something goes wrong. Might I borrow Peaseblossom, Moth, and Mustardseed as well?” The queen’s mad eyes were darting at the request, so I quickly added, “You’ll want as many fairy eyes in the Night Palace as possible, if the shadow king has taken to murder, don’t you think? I’ve played in a multitude of courts, and once the killing has started it seldom stops until everyone is dead. It would be wise to be informed of conditions.”

“Very well.” She called the three fairies, and they scampered from various parts of the green cathedral and joined Cobweb and me, except Mustardseed, whom the queen called back. “Not you. I’ll need you to attend me in my bath.”

Mustardseed winked at me, honked his codpiece (for certainly it was his now, as he was about to earn it), and swung himself back up into the nest.

“You’ll need a passport, beyond that of Theseus’s, or Oberon’s goblins may slay you while you’re still in the wood.” She reached into her hair and plucked a small white flower. “Raj?” Without looking back the little Indian boy came forward, took the flower from her, leapt to the ground, and gave it to me.

“It’s a flower,” said I.

“Yes, Oberon and his people will know it is mine and that you are under my protection.”

“But it’s a flower. A tender one at that. It will wilt.”

“Then you had better hurry, hadn’t you? And when you are finished, before you return to Theseus, return here and tell me what you found. Take note of any mortals in the Night Palace.”

I bowed. “As you wish, ma’am.”

Cobweb was already headed into the woods, the other fairies right behind her. I picked up my kit, tucked Titania’s passport flower in my hat, and started to follow.

“Master Pocket!” called Bottom. “Please, I am transformed and we have a play to do and I must get home or Mrs. Bottom will be very cross.”

I shrugged. I knew not how I could pry the weaver-turned-ass away from the fairy queen. “Can you help him, ma’am? When you are no longer in need of his services, that is. He is expected to perform at the duke’s wedding.”

“Take him. I am finished with him,” she said. “Go, creature. Go with him.”

“And could you turn him back to Nick Bottom the weaver, so as not to detract from his performance?”

“Oh, that is up to you, good fool, for he was turned by the Puck, and only the Puck may turn him back, or someone with his powers.”

“Come then,” I said to Bottom, who had begun to weep in great honking sobs.





Chapter 10

Fancy a Frolic?




The fairies led us on a path wide enough that moonlight could find the forest floor and it was easy going. Moth and Peaseblossom were in the front, each holding one of Bottom’s hands, leading him as he wept and whined all along the way. Cobweb and I brought up the rear, some twenty paces behind the others.

“Well you got a set of bollocks on you, I’ll say that,” said Cobweb. “Just told her, ‘if you didn’t live up a fucking tree,’ like she was some common wood wench. I thought you were done for.”

“Gentle fairy, when I was young I was jester to a feeble old man who called himself the Dragon of Britain. He raged day and night about the fury of his wrath, the sum of which was bluster and betrayal. Since then, I have seen a real sodding dragon—a more fearsome creature than has ever walked upright on two legs—and yet I survived. For most of my life in service, my pillow has been the headman’s block, the axe always a royal whim away, and yet I learned to sleep, and now, with the loves of my life in the tomb or gone on a pirate wind, I simply do not care. I am not afraid. It affords me some license.”

“Good on you, then. Don’t know when I’ve seen her so rattled.”

“I am somewhat disturbed that she didn’t try to shag me as you predicted.”

“That’s because I saved you—threw Mustardseed to her as a sacrifice, didn’t I?” She winked, did a little skip of a dance step.

“Heartless way to treat a mate, especially one who is a bit simple.”

“I have seen how you treat your mate, who is a bit simple, if ‘a bit’ is a bull-sized barrel of bloody simple.”

“Drool is not my mate, he is my apprentice,” said I. “And I do try to do my best by the great ninny.”