Master of the Revels

by Nicole Galland

  “Has my brother shown up yet?” I asked.

  “Tristan? No, love,” said Rose with her easy smile.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Is it possible he arrived when you were out and just took his clothes and went into the city without your knowledge?”

  “Could be,” said Rose. “Let me check.”

  She went into the house but returned to say the clothes were still there. When I pressed her, she sweetly but firmly declined to give me any intel about where she’d just Sent Gráinne—“Just as I refuse to give an answer when she asks me about you, and trust me, lass, she’s asked me about you. Now, am I Homing you, or Sending you someplace new?”

  Once I was back here at East House, we immediately checked Erzsébet’s Macbeth script. We discovered something that’s weird in two ways:

  First, the printing of the spell itself is now blurred in the book, as if the ink had been smudged before drying. That wouldn’t be too unusual if this were a reprint of an ancient manuscript (or a cheap inkjet-printed one), but it’s a standard trade paperback—and the ink hadn’t been smudged before.

  Second, the notes on the facing page were different from any notes anyone has ever said about the play. Here they are:

  Line 33: Weîrd sisters, etc. This is the first of the famous “missing spells.” These 6 lines, as well as—more significantly—35 lines in act 4, scene 1 (see p. 119), are illegible in the First Folio. They have been re-created entirely by supposition in all subsequent editions. We have chosen our lines based on the diary of Samuel Pepys, cross-referencing it with the version found in the Second Folio.

  The witches’ curses are the only illegible lines in the entire First Folio, and this, naturally, helped to spawn the superstition that the play is cursed by witches . . .

  Mortimer was instantly on his laptop checking other versions of published Shakespeare online—the Riverside edition, the Arden, the Norton, the Oxford, and scans of the first three Folios. Every one of them had either some sort of technical glitch that rendered the spells unreadable or (in the case of the Arden and the original Folio copies) notes like the Folger edition, saying that there was no way to know for sure.

  “This is a good sign,” said Erzsébet. “It means things are in the middle of Becoming.”

  Amendment, added by Rebecca:

  Robin has gone to bed now, and Erzsébet will Send her again tomorrow, to repeat the Globe performance. Erzsébet seems confident that a few more Strands like this one and we’ll have accomplished changing the text. The lesser of Robin’s two goals, but not insignificant: Tristan’s absence frustrated Robin a great deal, of course, but Erzsébet was unfazed by it, explaining, “I am Sending you on multiple Strands. I Sent Tristan to only one Strand. Clearly it was not the one you just returned from. Perhaps it will be the next one.”

  I’m about to jump over to the Sicily channel to report some data re: Hanno Gisgon, in case it’s useful to Mel.

  I just want to point out that the sole reason Robin is in the “death trap” of Gráinne’s London is because we know Tristan needs saving. I fail to see why we are not doing the same thing for Frank in the “death trap” of Gráinne’s Japan.

  Response from Mortimer Shore: We have specific intel on where, when, and how Tristan is attacked. You gotta believe me, Rebecca, if we had even one data point on Frank’s actual situation, I’d be all over somebody parachuting in for him.

  Response from Rebecca East-Oda: That’s specious. We have a where and a when for his arrival there. Erzsébet could Send Julie to the same coordinates.

  Response from Mortimer Shore: And then whatever happened to Frank will happen to her. What does that accomplish?

  Response from Rebecca East-Oda: We use the same MO we are using with Robin—Send her back to shortly before Frank arrives there, and she tells him to be Homed immediately.

  Response from Mortimer Shore: Rebecca, we don’t know what has happened back then. She might end up preventing him from doing something that’s beneficial. We don’t have the kind of data that we do about the situation in 1606 London. There is nothing to do right now but sit tight. I know that’s hard, it sucks, I’m sorry.

  Handwritten letter on linen stationery

  from Lady Emilia Lanier to Edmund Tilney,

  Master of the Revels

  22 APRIL 1606

  After my very hearty commendations, hoping of the Almighty your health and prosperity,

  Regarding our earlier correspondence, it pleases me past all measure to advise that the tides of fortunes may be turning for you. Your desires and Her Majesty’s may now align. Philip Herbert, whom Her Majesty finds abhorrent, has yet again curried undue favour with His Majesty, who now contemplates entitling him Earl of Montgomery. Moreover, and far more galling to Her Majesty, Herbert seeks the privilege of status that would allow him to request court masques created to his particular taste. This privilege is presently only allowed to the Royal Family, and most of the court joins Her Majesty in dismay at his presumption.

  Thus, Her Majesty desires to out-gambit the gentleman, to rebuke him for arrogance, and to remind him that he is inferior to her own esteemed self and her children. In private conference with her, I have convinced her of the wisdom of your book as an excellent device for such an accomplishment. To wit: she shall press His Majesty to choose her favourite (that being you now, sir!) for royal patronage rather than Herbert’s favourite. Surely your work shall then be published, to great acclaim, while Herbert’s man’s shall not. Her Majesty is delighted with this plan. It will be my pleasure to present it to her on your behalf.

  Furthermore, when the time comes for Macbeth to be performed at court, I hope you will attend, as it is not inconceivable that I may, at that time, introduce you to Her Majesty not merely as the Master of the Revels, but as the Author of the Book. Provided, of course, that you remain zealously committed to staging the inert charms and not the actual dark magic in Macbeth. Obviously if you fail to ensure the actors say the correct lines, it is my moral obligation to report you and Mr. Shakespeare to the King, in which case there is no hope whatsoever of your book’s publication. But as we seem to be united in our aims, I am sure this will not be the case!

  I shall look forward to reading your book and then seeing you in person upon the Macbeth court debut.

  Your very assured friend; With the remembrance of my humble duty unto you, I humbly take my leave and rest, Lady Emilia Lanier

  Handwritten letter on linen stationery

  from Edmund Tilney, Master of the Revels,

  to Lady Emilia Lanier

  24 APRIL 1606

  To the Right Worshipful Lady Emilia, My humble duty remembered,

  Words fail to express my gratitude towards your most recent message. As you already have my humble manuscript of my many years’ labour, I heartily commend you to pass it along to Her Majesty; and all my hopes go with it.

  All gratitude again for your guidance regarding the witches’ curse. Thanks to your wisdom and honour, the play contains nothing to concern or provoke His Majesty or His Majesty’s most stalwart servant, that being your honoured self.

  Thus indebted to you for your pains taken for me, I bid you farewell. Edmund Tilney, Master of the Revels

  FREYA’S TRANSCRIPT OF

  CONVERSATION AT EAST HOUSE

  DAY 2035 (23 FEBRUARY, YEAR 6)

  MORTIMER: Hey, Erzsébet, have you seen Rebecca?

  ERZSÉBET: Do you mean today?

  MORTIMER: Uh, yeah.

  ERZSÉBET: I saw her this morning.

  MORTIMER: Any idea where she is now? We were going to edit Mel’s recruitable witch list once I got back from HEMA practice.

  ERZSÉBET: What time is it?

  MORTIMER: 3:37 p.m.

  ERZSÉBET: I am guessing she is above Montana.

  MORTIMER: Say what?

  ERZSÉBET: Approximately thirty-five thousand feet above Montana.

  MORTIMER: What?

  ERZSÉBET: My accent is not so thick. You und
erstand what I said.

  MORTIMER: Where is she going?

  ERZSÉBET: From your tone of voice I believe you know the answer.

  MORTIMER: Um. Wow. Why didn’t she tell me?

  ERZSÉBET: She didn’t want you to worry.

  MORTIMER: She—

  ERZSÉBET: She only told me because she originally wanted me to Send her.

  MORTIMER: To 1450??

  ERZSÉBET: Of course not. To today’s Kyoto, so that she could do research. But we could not find an ODEC for me to Send her to there, and also, she received a better offer and did not require my services.

  MORTIMER: Why does she need to go there in person? That’s what the Internet is for!

  ERZSÉBET: She has engaged in what I believe you call back-channel communications with Mr. Fugger.

  MORTIMER: You gotta be—

  ERZSÉBET: He is taking her on his very nice jet airplane.

  MORTIMER: Erzsébet—

  ERZSÉBET: He looks like someone who knows how to select an excellent winter red.

  MORTIMER: Erz—

  ERZSÉBET: I envy her. I wish I had made myself more attractive to him—he might have offered me a trip to Hungary, where I may spit on the graves of my enemies. I have delayed doing that in service to all of you and your wrongheaded crusade.

  MORTIMER: Come on, Erzsébet, what’s going on?

  ERZSÉBET: (sigh) Well. Do you remember the mobile ODEC unit—

  MORTIMER: It’s called an ATTO.

  ERZSÉBET: Do not expect me to remember your ridiculous acronyms. The Fuggers appropriated an ATTO from DODO last year, remember?

  MORTIMER: Well, yeah.

  ERZSÉBET: Frederick Fugger sent the ATTO to live in Japan for a while, for business reasons. Rebecca tried to explain it to me, but I do not pay attention to money because that is gauche. But I think it has something to do with the futures.

  MORTIMER: Right. Futures, plural? Like in the stock market sense, or the multiverse sense?

  ERZSÉBET: It is the same thing, but that is irrelevant to our situation. Mr. Fugger and Rebecca have made a pact. He will bring her to Japan, and she will Send a protégé of his to 1450 Kyoto to procure artwork to sell later. As we did with the Bay Psalm Book when DODO began.

  MORTIMER: And while the protégé is in the DTAP, that person will try to extract Frank.

  ERZSÉBET: Exactly.

  MORTIMER: Huh. I could almost like that plan. Except for her doing it behind our backs.

  ERZSÉBET: Behind your back.

  MORTIMER: But here’s what doesn’t make sense. I mean, I don’t know why he wants the ATTO in Japan, but besides that, Tristan figured out that the Fuggers have their own witch. Why do they need to use Rebecca?

  ERZSÉBET: Mr. Fugger’s protégé, who is the very attractive, muscular Japanese gentleman who drove his car when he came to visit us, he is the one giving Rebecca the details, and he says that Mr. Fugger believes Gráinne is trying to corrupt the Fugger witch. Mr. Fugger doesn’t want Gráinne meddling in his activities, so he does not want his own witch to know about them.

  MORTIMER: This is nuts.

  ERZSÉBET: It is not such a problem. Rebecca will be back within seventy-two hours. Frederick Fugger promised.

  MORTIMER: Look, I’m texting her right now—

  ERZSÉBET: I am confident Mr. Fugger will make sure she does not receive your text. But she will be back within a few days. Maybe a week if he can convince her to go sightseeing. Meanwhile I require you to stay here overnight so I am not alone in the house and the cats can be fed. The master bedroom is available. How are your kitchen skills?

  MORTIMER: Hahaha.

  ERZSÉBET: Mortimer Shore, how are your kitchen skills?

  MORTIMER: I can wield a can opener like Vulcan at his forge.

  ERZSÉBET: Even I know that is not how can openers work.

  AFTER ACTION REPORT

  DOER: Robin Lyons

  THEATER: Jacobean London

  OPERATION: Stymieing Gráinne

  DEDE: A widely viewed performance of a magic-free Macbeth

  DTAP: April 1606, London (Southwark, Clerkenwell, and Whitehall)

  STRAND: 2, New Plan

  I was Sent by Erzsébet at 10:13 a.m. on February 16 and once again arrived at Rose’s barn on the 14th day of April 1606. (So, before Macbeth has debuted on this Strand.) For most of the time I was there, everything unfolded largely as it had before, only smoother. This time around, Gráinne tried to poison me, spook a horse into trampling me, and burn down the rooms on Silver Street. But I knew to be on guard, and Ned got up to speed quick, so we stymied her.

  I went to check with Rose more frequently on this Strand, but still no Tristan. Otherwise, nothing was really different until a few days before we opened Macbeth. And then suddenly, one important detail was very different.

  I was working at the Revels Office when Tilney received a message from Their Majesties, and he went off with the royal messenger to his private closet. When he came out about a quarter hour later, his face was glowing and he was nearly trembling—very out of character for him!—but at first it was hard to tell if he was delighted or upset.

  “Well,” he said, as if to himself, and then, noticing me, stared hard at me for a moment. “You must take this news to your cousin and his men.”

  “Of course, sir,” I said, standing up from my bench and setting down the bills I had been alphabetizing. “What shall I tell them?”

  “His Majesty King James, perceiving the delicate nature of the most anticipated play of the season—that being Macbeth—”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “His Majesty has determined that the play must not debut at the Globe, but that its very first performance take place for himself and Her Majesty, at court.”

  “And may I, on behalf of my cousin, inquire as to why, sir?” I asked, trying to calculate what this meant for my DEDE. First alarm bell: Tilney would be at the court performance. Second alarm bell: Where did that put Tristan? Tristan only went back once before Gráinne attacked him. I had now gone back on two different Strands . . . and Tristan hadn’t shown up on my previous Strand, so he must be on this one, right?

  Tilney was replying: “Due to the representation of King James’s royal predecessors, and also the depiction of witchcraft, His Majesty wishes to assess for himself if it be politic for the story to be seen by the general public at all, or if it should in fact be expunged from existence altogether.”

  “I see. And when will Their Majesties wish to see it?”

  “In four days’ time,” he said. There was roiling beneath his cold exterior, a sea of repressed emotions. In the last Strand, he’d told his staff this venue change might happen, and then he’d been disappointed when it didn’t. Maybe he was thrilled that, because it was at court and not at the Globe, he would have total control over such a sexy debut. I had no idea what the court theatre looked like, which meant my studious hours of plotting how to find and get to Tristan in time at the Globe were all for nothing now.

  “It is imperative we make a good impression on His Majesty,” he continued. “For this play of all plays.”

  “I will tell them so,” I said. (I’m pretty sure the King’s Men are always top-notch, or else they would not be the King’s Men, just saying.)

  “But it must be sensationally good,” insisted Tilney, as if I were arguing with him. “Superior to any previous court debut. And I know how to make it so. Tell them they are to perform it at Whitehall Palace, in the Banqueting House.”

  My jaw literally slackened.

  “Exactly,” he said with satisfaction. “The story is itself quite powerful, but my presentation of the story, in that space, shall outshine even Shakespeare’s text. My presentation shall be unforgettable.”

  Here’s where my undergrad degree was useful: I know about Whitehall Palace in 1606. That’s the year Queen Elizabeth’s “temporary” canvas Banqueting House was finally torn down, a quarter century after she’d put it up to use for just one
weekend. By all reports, it was in a state of disrepair well before they’d demolished it. Meaning it was in a state of disrepair now.

  FTR, I can totally see a modern production of Macbeth set in a creepy derelict building. But theatre didn’t work like that in the seventeenth century. This was mind-blowingly avant-garde of Tilney. Seriously, I was so impressed. (I doubted that Queen Anne, who seemed to like mostly Very Nice Things, would take to the notion of showing up at that decrepit canvas mold factory. But still—the dude was visionary.)

  “Won’t His Majesty find it offensive to see a play about a king of Scotland performed in such a venue?” I asked. “Might it not be better to stage it at Hampton Court Palace, as usual? I hear that is a very handsome hall, and the players are familiar with it.” (Also, it still exists—I’ve been there, I’ve seen floor plans, so Tristan-saving would be easier.)

  “Were the play about a noble king, perhaps it should be done in such a noble space,” said Tilney. “But the play is about Macbeth, who was a corrupt villain, and that rotting barn is the fitting place for such a theme. Further, it is appropriate for a presentation of His Majesty’s conception of witches.”

  He had a point.

  “Excellent good,” I made myself say. “I shall advise my cousin of this plan. Shall he come with us to the site?”

  Tilney shook his head. There was something else going on behind those eyes.

  Text written by the slave Melia on a series of wax tablets, sealed within the family shrine of the family of Marcus Livius Saturninus

  FOURTH-CENTURY SICILY

  I can’t fucking believe I once again find myself in this position: I’m stuck in the past with no prospect of ever being Homed. At least if I write in English I don’t have to watch my language, but a stylus in wax is even more slow going than writing with a fountain pen. And this time, rather than being presumed a madwoman and thus left to my own devices, as happened when Gráinne stranded me in 1851 London, I’ve precious little free time and almost no privacy.

  On the other hand, I probably have the rest of my life to write this.

  Not that there is any reason to do so, since within the next century this place will be abandoned for greener pastures (literally) by the family and fall into ruin. If anyone ever finds these tablets, the wax into which I write this will have dried and fractured into dust. But I’ll devolve into an actual madwoman if I don’t write it out.