The Mercutio Problem
Page 23
Beth’s heart pounded. Shakespeare had killed Marlowe, and Marlowe had seen him do it. But Shakespeare had intended to attack the men holding Marlowe instead.
Shakespeare’s memory of the day was mistaken. And Beth could guess who had muddied his memory.
In a rage, she spun back to Ms. Capulet’s office.
She stood up. “Merlin!” she yelled. “Come here right now!”
Merlin walked out of the computer screen. He wore a flowing white robe.
“How dare you summon me as if I were a servant, you insignificant girl?” he bellowed.
“You can’t intimidate me the way you intimidated Shakespeare!” Beth didn’t shout, but she shook with anger. “I’ve seen what happened the day Marlowe was killed. Shakespeare was trying to save Marlowe but killed him by accident. You talked Shakespeare into having a false memory of killing Marlowe in a duel, didn’t you? His guilt gave you more power over him. I’ll tell him the truth.”
“You were not authorized to go back to that day!” Merlin’s face whitened to the color of his robe. “You are not allowed to meddle with history.”
“But you are?” She made such tight fists that her knuckles turned white. “How dare you make him believe he was a murderer! He wasn’t made to be a killer. He didn’t have a killer’s heart.”
“But you will destroy his trust in me.”
Merlin was pleading. Could that be?
“Trust you don’t deserve.”
“I will not stand here begging you.” Merlin resumed his usual arrogant tone. “If I have taught you anything, it should be that you must not try to tamper with history.”
“You’re the only one who can tamper with it?” she asked. “Why did you let Shakespeare model Richard on Mordred? That was your fault.”
Merlin shook his head. “I thought that putting Mordred in a new play would contain him. My strategy was wrong. The opposite happened.”
“I don’t understand,” Beth said to the wizard. “If you have so much power, why can’t you defeat Mordred?”
Merlin covered his eyes with his hands. “Do you have any idea what it would cost me to do that?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Good. May you never know.” Merlin took his hands from his face.
“Why do you never confront Richard?” Beth asked.
The wizard frowned. “Can’t you do it?”
“I’m a girl. You’re a powerful wizard. Or at least I believed you were. Richard should be afraid of you.”
“Perhaps.”
“Are you more afraid of him than he is of you?”
He shook with anger. “How dare you!”
Beth folded her arms. “I dare. Richard and Mordred have to be separated, and it’s your responsibility to figure out how to do it.”
Merlin shuddered. “There is a way.” His voice sounded hollow. “A terrible way.” He groaned again and vanished.
What could be more terrible than the things that had already happened? Beth wondered.
SHOULD SHE TELL THE living Shakespeare that Merlin had deceived him, or should she tell Shakespeare’s ghost? Much as she longed to ease the living Shakespeare’s pain, she thought it was more urgent to tell the ghost. As a ghost, he might be able to communicate with the ghost of Marlowe, who was the immediate danger.
She spun through a forest of playbills. Props bumped into her—the moon from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, various rings, even the dog from Two Gentlemen of Verona. Juliet’s balcony whirled at her, but she ducked.
She landed on the bare stage where the ghost dwelt. She was herself, dressed as Ben. Beautiful Renaissance music filled the air. The blurred ghost of Shakespeare appeared to her.
He frowned at her. “Why do you invade my world?” he asked. “Leave me to enjoy the music in the air.”
“I have important news,” Beth told him. “I have seen the night that Marlowe was killed.”
“No!” the ghost moaned. “Be gone!”
“Three of Walsingham’s men attacked him and were ready to kill him.” Beth spoke as fast as she could in case the ghost might vanish. “You came in and attacked one of them, but the man ducked, and that’s how you killed Marlowe. You didn’t mean to do it, except in a duel.”
The ghost sucked in air. “Can that be? Don’t deceive me, I beg of you.”
“I’m not deceiving you. I saw it. That’s how it happened. Please believe me. You bent over Marlowe’s body. You were grieved. You were trying to defend him. You know that’s what you would do if you saw him attacked by ruffians, even though you were furious at him for abandoning your sister.”
“I would have.” Shakespeare’s ghost took a long pause. “There is a vague stirring of memory. Men grappling with Kit. But why have I remembered it so differently?”
Beth said just one word. “Merlin.”
“Merlin?” the ghost moaned. “Merlin deceived me?” He put his hands to his head. “I loved that old man so much. He showed me almost more beauty and terror than my heart could bear. But such an awful grief. Can I believe you?”
“Please believe me,” Beth begged him. “You need to tell the truth to Marlowe’s ghost to protect your plays from him. I don’t know how he could manage to rewrite them, but he will if he can because Richard said you tampered with his.”
The ghost winced. “But I did kill him. You saw me do it. And he saw me do it, did he not?”
“Yes, but you struck the wrong man. You must convince him of that.”
Shakespeare’s ghost shuddered. “A task grievous enough to break my heart again. But I must undertake it. Take me to him, if you can. Now, before cowardice weakens resolution.”
“I’ll try.” Beth’s heart flooded with love for him. She wished she could hug him, but it didn’t seem right to try to hug a ghost.
She thought of Marlowe’s ghostly Thames. She hated to take Shakespeare’s ghost there. It was so much more horrible than his afterlife. It would pain him to see Marlowe there.
She imagined fog, endless chilling fog, and permeating dampness. She spun through it shaking.
She dropped to the bank of the ghostly Thames, and saw that Shakespeare’s ghost was with her.
“ ’Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart,” Shakespeare’s ghost said. “Must Marlowe hover through this fog for eternity?”
“Who spoke my name?” Marlowe’s ghost appeared in the fog. “Will?” Marlowe’s single eye glowed with anger; it was the only bright thing in the unnatural mist. Blood oozed from his other eye socket. He twisted his hands. “If only I could strangle you! If you were alive, I would kill you. I would tear out both your eyes.”
“Peace, Kit,” Shakespeare’s ghost intoned. “We are both dead. I have come to make peace with you.”
“Peace!” Marlowe’s ghost howled. “Peace! I have no peace, and you shall have none. I will murder your heroes and ravish your heroines. I will tear your foolish clowns to shreds.”
Shakespeare’s ghost backed off. “Kit, the day you died I came to duel with you, not to murder you. I was trying to kill the man who held you, not you.”
“You killed me!” Marlowe screamed. “I suppose you died peacefully in your bed.”
“I did,” Shakespeare admitted. “But I did not spy for an ungrateful crown. It was your work that led you to be killed. Be angry at Walsingham, not me. You embraced danger, and it betrayed you.”
Marlowe’s ghost regarded him with contempt. “You fled from danger; you just penned your worthless plays. But you cannot flee from me. I haunt you. I have always haunted you.”
“You have.” Shakespeare’s voice was quiet, though he trembled. “But you should have haunted Walsingham, and the queen.”
“Do not pretend friendship!” Marlowe screamed at him. “You destroyed my work. You made my Tamburlaine one of your milksop heroes. You made my Faustus a prattling monk.”
“You killed me.” Marlowe wailed. “Why should I doubt that you killed my plays, too?”
“Because plays are sacred,” Shakespeare’s ghost said.
Marlowe’s ghost grabbed him by the throat and wrestled with him.
Shakespeare’s ghost struggled back. “You cannot kill incorporeal air, Marlowe. Cease this madness.”
The fog began to cover them, obscuring them from Beth’s vision. She moved closer.
“I would kill you a thousand times, if I could!” Marlowe cried. “I would keep you in this hideous fog rather than let you return to whatever haven where you rest.” He pushed Shakespeare’s ghost towards the Thames.
Beth gasped.
“I know you would.” Shakespeare’s ghost slipped away from him. “You know you cannot kill a ghost.” His voice was calm. “You cannot change your fate or mine. Do not try to slip through worlds to distort my words. You will only make yourself mad. Avoid madness, I pray you.”
“Please, Master Marlowe, listen to me,” Beth exclaimed. “I am living four hundred years after you died. Your Tamburlaine is terrifying. All your characters are. No one has changed them. Richard is lying to you. He always lies. That’s his nature. He succeeds by deceit, rather than by force like your Tamburlaine. That’s why you used to despise Richard.”
“So I must believe the word of a girl? I am reduced to that?” Marlowe’s ghost said. But his voice was quieter.
“A girl brave enough to enter our dead worlds and bring me here,” Shakespeare’s ghost said. “You may not believe me, but do not be foolish enough to believe a consummate liar.”
“If you have not touched my plays, I will not touch yours,” Marlowe said grudgingly. “But go, go, and never come back.” He turned away from Shakespeare.
“Fare as well as you can,” Shakespeare’s ghost said. He vanished.
Beth spun through fog to Ms. Capulet’s office. She closed her eyes. The fog seemed to chill her even there.
She wanted to tell the living Shakespeare what she had just told the dead one. But the living Shakespeare wanted never to see her again.
Would it be fair to Merlin to tell the living Shakespeare? Would Shakespeare reject him? Would that break Merlin’s strange heart? Beth knew that King Arthur had rejected the wizard but Shakespeare had not. Did she have the right to interfere, even if her interference might soothe Shakespeare’s mind?
She wasn’t supposed to change history. Would telling Shakespeare about Merlin change history? Did he write his story of a wizard, The Tempest, knowing that Merlin had misled him, or not knowing? Shakespeare’s ghost hadn’t known, so the living Shakespeare must not have known. Would he have changed The Tempest if he had known?
BETH WAITED AND WAITED, but Ms. Capulet didn’t come.
Finally, the door opened. Arnie entered.
“Ms. Capulet sent me back because she guessed you’d be here,” he said. “Are you all right?”
Beth jumped up. “I’m fine, but how’s Kevin?”
Arnie shook his head. “As okay as he can be. He promised over and over not to try suicide again. He finally persuaded her not to tell. There was a long wait in the emergency room, but at last a doctor set his broken ankle. Kevin’s parents came, and Ms. Capulet told them that he’d been pushing himself too hard and should rest at home for a few days.”
Beth exhaled with relief. “Thanks for telling me. He’s been hurting himself more than me.”
“But you need to be protected from him. And maybe the rest of the cast does, too. Of course, I’ll visit him as soon as I can. Poor dumb Connelly.” Arnie shook his head. “Maybe you should go home and rest, too. I could walk with you.”
Ms. Capulet entered the room. Her wrinkles had deepened. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “An excellent suggestion, but I think it’s better if I drive her home. Thank you for everything, Arnie. You’re really a trouper.”
“Okay. Good night.” Arnie’s voice was reluctant. He looked at Beth and went on his way.
“Please stop trying to fight Richard. This fight against him is too much for you. It’s too much for all of us.” Ms. Capulet seemed to be summoning up her last reserves of energy. “I don’t want to hear one more word about Richard. He’s done enough damage.”
Beth felt her own energy ebbing away. “I won’t talk about him if you don’t want to hear about him, but what happened to Kevin makes me more determined than ever to keep on. Evil people won’t stop doing evil if we try to ignore them.”
“Let Merlin fight him! He shouldn’t have dragged you into so much danger. Do you have any idea how much sadder your expression is than it was a few weeks ago?”
Beth choked. “I know. Please take me home so I can rest.”
“Of course.” Ms. Capulet pulled out her car keys. “Let’s go right now.”
Beth felt as if the whole night had passed. She was surprised to walk out of the building and see that the sky was still dark.
Fortunately, her teacher didn’t talk on the way home. When Beth walked in through the front door, her mother took one glance at her and exclaimed, “What’s the matter? You look terrible.”
Beth turned her face away. “Kevin broke his ankle at rehearsal, so the play has been postponed.”
“What a shame! But a broken ankle shouldn’t postpone the play for long. I’m sure Kevin will want to act anyway. Don’t be too disappointed,” her mother said. “We have veggie lasagna for dinner.”
The aroma of lasagna reminded Beth too much of Verona, but she said, “That’s great.”
Chapter 32
BETH SLEPT AND DREAMED. She saw Shakespeare pacing around his room. Knowing that he couldn’t see her, and wouldn’t want to if he could, saddened her.
He hit his head with his hand.
“Why do these strange ideas come to me?” he exclaimed. “Why should I mutilate my plays? Why do voices tell me, ‘Make Juliet a whore, make Romeo go mad and kill Juliet’s parents? Take away Hamlet’s finest lines, and make him run away, leaving Claudius to rule? Have Duke Theseus order Bottom, Quince, and all the other mechanicals executed for putting on a bad play? End all the comedies with bloodshed?’
“Why must I have these ugly thoughts? Is this Marlowe’s revenge? Must I make all my plays as cruel as his?”
Shakespeare stopped pacing and took a drink of ale. “Be calm. I must be calm. I killed Marlowe in a duel. I had good cause to fight him. But even if that was murder, I cannot murder art. His plays will live, and mine also. The world must have beauty. We are not all brutes. We must laugh at times. I must not listen to my demons. Demons, toy with some other poor wretch. I will not be your fool.”
He sat down, took up his pen, and smiled.
Beth hoped that he found peace.
WHEN BETH WOKE IN the morning, she felt good after time traveling. That hadn’t happened in a long time.
On her way to school, she saw Sita waiting to walk with her. “Hi!” Sita’s voice was too perky. She wore a glittery scarf over her jacket. “How are your journeys going?”
“Well. Very well.” Beth eyed her friend suspiciously. “I’ve been thinking. Both Cordelia and Desdemona appeared at just the right moment and persuaded their angry male relatives to stop fighting for Richard. Is that just a happy coincidence?”
Sita grinned. “That’s wonderful. I guess it’s a coincidence.”
Beth grabbed Sita’s sleeve playfully. “I think you know something about it.”
“Hmm.” Sita put her hand on her chin. “I did happen to see Cordelia recently. Desdemona, too.”
Beth hugged her. “You’re a
mazing. But did you do it on your own?”
“A certain lady from Scotland told me how to find them.” Sita smirked. “I had to get to know Lady M. I’m going to play her part again someday, and I want to be spectacular. She approves of that ambition. Let’s go see her.”
“Just like that? Pay her a visit?”
“You can do it, can’t you? Will you need a tune-up after a certain number of miles of travel?”
“Definitely a battery recharge,” Beth said.
They whirled around with ravens, then landed in Lady Macbeth’s withered garden. Beth was Mercutio, while Sita was dressed in the gown she had worn earlier.
The lady sat on a stone bench, playing with a dog that looked at least half wolf. The dog gave the girls a bored look, then went off to sniff in a corner.
“I hope he doesn’t dig up too many bones,” Lady Macbeth said. “That could be inconvenient.”
Beth gagged even though she guessed the queen was making what was her idea of a joke.
“Lovely lady, I could stay away from you no longer,” Beth said, kissing the queen’s hand though doing it in front of Sita was embarrassing.
Sita mimicked Lady Macbeth’s every gesture. The resemblance was eerie. Beth marveled that Sita could be so much like both Lady M and Titania.
“We came to tell you that Cordelia has persuaded King Lear to stop siding with Richard. And Desdemona persuaded Othello,” Beth said.
Lady Macbeth smiled. “I thought that might work,” she said. “Women can be very persuasive, as I know to my regret. Why didn’t I just ask Macbeth to move to Cawdor and renovate the castle there?” She shook her head. “I am so glad that I can ask Regan and Goneril to leave. They have been such tiresome guests, but I wanted to keep them here until Lear made up his mind.”
“That’s why you asked them to be on our side?” Beth asked.
“Of course. I needed to keep them on the sidelines so seeing them would not encourage him to continue his working for Richard.” Lady Macbeth shook her head. “They may have thought their father was a discourteous guest when he stayed at their castles, but I assure you that they are just as bad. So many ladies in waiting! Such quibbling over the food and wine! Such noisy quarrels between them! Let them keep house for themselves.”