Shakespeare for Squirrels: A Novel (Fool #3)(68)

“Gritch, mate, what’s the plan here with your one hundred soldiers?”

“To take the castle.”

“On Oberon’s command?”

“No, on command from the warrior queen.”

“Hippolyta?”

“Yes. She gave us silver.”

“Bottom,” I called. “Bring me that armlet.”

Bottom brought me the Medusa armlet, the match to the one Gritch was already wearing. I took it and placed it in the goblin’s hand. He almost went to his knees in ecstasy at its touch.

“Don’t kill any of us,” said I. I gestured to everyone in the room. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, carry on then. We’ve a show to do.” I patted his shoulder, which was very much like patting a millstone.

Gritch started to head out the door, then stopped, turned, and looked to the three fairies, who now stood together against the wall, all wearing the same garment as the goblin. “We let them go,” said Gritch.

“Pardon?” said Moth.

“We let the fairies go.” Gritch looked back to me. “All the sodding fairies.”

“Where are they?” asked Cobweb.

“At the castle of leaves with the other fairies.”

“How did you get them out?” asked Cobweb. “They were too afraid to move. Did you hurt them?”

“Squirrels,” said Gritch. “We caught them when they were squirrels and took them in cages to the castle of leaves. There was sun. We needed robes.” He tugged at his black hood.

Moth’s disturbingly large eyes filled with disturbingly large tears. She ran to Gritch, threw her arms around him, and snogged his disturbingly smooth forehead, making a disturbingly wet smacking sound. Gritch looked to me, as if I might rescue him from his pale attacker, which, of course, I did not.

Then Moth pushed away from him. “Wait. Squirrels? Did you eat my brother? Any of our friends?”

“No,” said Gritch. “But they were afraid. They ran when we let them go.”

Cobweb took Moth by the shoulders and walked her away from the goblin. “They’ll be fine. The others would have found them at sundown. They’ll take care of them.” Cobweb looked past Moth to Gritch. “Thanks, mate.”

“Yes,” said Gritch. He went to the door, opened it a crack, peeked out. “They are waiting,” he said. Then he pulled his hood down over his face and slipped out into the hall.

“Players, we shall need to improvise a bit. Cobweb, you will need to pretend to be Hippolyta, the Amazon queen. And Peaseblossom, you shall be Titania.”

The fairy looked on the edge of panic. “I can’t read.”

“You shan’t need to read, love, just prance around acting mad until I pretend to shag you, then make all manner of moaning and sounds of ecstasy.”

“Like Cobweb did with you?”

“You mean you shagged this ginger fairy who was a squirrel but a few hours ago?” said Robin Starveling.

“Now you believe it?” said I.

“Well things have changed, haven’t they? Fairies and goblins and squirrels running around willy-nilly. Anything could be possible. Elfs shagging squirrels, not such a stretch anymore, is it?”

“Not an elf,” said Drool note for note in my voice. Then, in his own, “Pocket, you shagged a squirrel?”

“Drool,” said I, “you and Snout shall again play the watch—wait, no, the part of the king requires reading. Tom Snout, you shall play Oberon. Snug shall play Burke.”

“We have no part written for Oberon,” said Peter Quince. “We have no costume for the fairy queen and none for Oberon.”

“Grab your quill and ink, we shall write a short speech for Oberon, but the rest shall be improvised cruelty. Moth, give your black robe to Snout. Starveling, blacken all parts of Snout that show out of the robe with charcoal from the brazier, including his stupid hat. Peaseblossom, you shall play Titania in flagrante.” I bounced my eyebrows at my masterful use of Latin.

“That means ‘on fire,’” said Quince.

“No it doesn’t, it means ‘naked,’” said I.

“No, it means ‘on fire,’” said Quince.

“Well I’m not going to do that,” said Peaseblossom. “You can just pretend-shag yourself on fire.”

“No, no, no,” I said. “Just naked, as is Titania’s way, anyway. And Cobweb, you shall play Hippolyta, the warrior queen.”

“Why does Peaseblossom get to pretend to shag you?” said Cobweb. “It’s because you want to set her on fire, isn’t it? Is that what you like to do with your shoe whores? Put them in their shoes and spark them up?”

“No one is going to be set on fire.” I thought for a second. It wasn’t necessary to the plot, except it might evoke anger from Oberon, but there would be plenty to spur him without it. “Fine. You, lamb, shall pretend to shag me, while Peaseblossom will pretend to shag everyone else.”

“As is my way,” said Peaseblossom. “The queen’s way, I mean.”

“You will need a costume for Hippolyta,” said Peter Quince.

He was right, of course. “Fine, Starveling, come here.” I cracked the door and pointed out to the audience. “See that girl, the one sitting behind the duke? Go fetch her. Tell her I need her for the play.”