Shakespeare for Squirrels: A Novel (Fool #3)(60)

I drew a plan of the rest of the dungeon, including the large central chamber that Drool’s cell opened on. “There’s a great iron key on a hook here.” I pointed on the diagram to the spot. “Here there’s a chair where I suspect the guard will be sitting, if there even is one. On the night of the duke’s wedding, I suspect they’ll either be on guard in the streets or making merry themselves.

“Next to the key is a rack of weapons, mostly poleaxes—halberds. One of you grab the key and run and hand it through the bars of Drool’s cell. Cobweb, Drool knows you, so you go through the bars into his cell and be there when you turn. You open the lock for him and tell him to fight. One of you grab one of the poleaxes from the rack and give it to him as soon as the cell door opens, then get out of his way. If there are three or fewer guards, he will make quick work of them. Then you lead him out the way you came and bring him back here.”

“But they’ll be naked,” said Bottom. “Even if they free your mate, people will notice three girls running naked through the city streets chased by a giant with a poleaxe.”

“We’ll have Drool drop the poleaxe,” said I.

“Oh yes, that quite solves the problem,” said Peter Quince. “No one will notice if he’s not armed.”

“Good Quince,” said I. “I know you are new to the theater, so you have not learned its many secrets, but among professional thespians, anyone who uses sarcasm in that manner is thought to be a twat.”

“I did not know,” said Quince.

“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Robin Starveling. “The elf is lying again. These are just common squirrels, and that is a common monkey, and that a common hat covered with tongues which are wagging in a most common way. Pish-posh and balderdash.”

“Just so,” said I, having resolved to treat my cast with respect and a minimum of head bashing. “Which is why you lot will stay here and rehearse your lines while you wait for a tar-black goblin with a grin like a mill saw and a hollow man who moves like lightning and has a coat to match that very common hat.”

*

“No, sir,” said the spot-faced guard. “You may not enter the gendarmerie.”

“But I have this passport, given me by the duke,” said I, holding out the chip of wood with the duke’s seal.

“Be that as it may, sir, I am on orders to report anything suspicious to the captain of the guard and your horse is suspicious.”

“He is not,” said I. “He’s lovely.” I was sitting on Bottom’s back. The weaver was bent over, holding a pair of heavy, well-matched branches to serve as his front legs, and the Mechanicals had thrown a blanket over his back to complete the ensemble.

“No, sir, I must object. Your horse has suspicious front legs, what look very much like sticks, and he is wearing trousers, which are also suspicious.”

“Well that is where you are wrong,” said I. “My horse is, in fact, not a horse, but a donkey, and trousers are quite normal for donkeys. Which are sacred and unsuspicious creatures.”

“No, sir, your mount is suspicious and shall be reported.”

“Your mum’s a suspicious mount,” said I. Perhaps unwisely. Bottom snickered.

“Wait here while I fetch the captain,” said Spot Face.

“But look at these ears,” I said, holding Bottom’s ears affectionately. “These are the very ears Jesus caressed upon his ride into the holy city. These are blessed fucking ears. Go ahead, touch them.”

“I don’t want him touching my ears,” said Bottom.

“Well we’re right fucked now,” said I.

“Did that donkey just talk?” said Spot Face.

“No,” said Bottom.

“No,” said I.

“I must fetch the captain.” He turned to run off.

“Fine!” said I. “Fine, fine, fine.” I slid off Bottom’s back to the ground. “I will go in to see the duke without my horse, now open the gate.”

“Your horse wasn’t going in either way. Horses aren’t allowed. I’m simply saying he is suspicious.”

“Agreed,” said I. “The horse stays. Now let me in, please. I have been summoned by the duke.”

“Then why ain’t you going in the front door upstairs, like the other wedding guests?”

“Because I am the entertainment and entertainers must enter from the rear.”

Bottom snickered again.

“Fine, but I’ll have to check you for weapons. What’s in that satchel?”

I had a leather shoulder bag loaned me by Francis Flute. “Simple squirrels.” I flipped open the flap. A brown, a red, and a white squirrel all looked up, squinted into the late daylight.

“You’ve brought a satchel of squirrels to the duke’s wedding?”

“Trained squirrels. For the show. Do something clever, girls.”

The squirrels just blinked, looking very common and squirrelly.

“What’s all that black cloth in the bottom?”

“Squirrel kit,” said I. “Costumes.”

“All that for three squirrels?” Spot Face reached into the satchel. “What’s that? A razor?”

“Oh balls,” said I.