“No!” he said out loud. “I ought to smash this thing right now. Like Prospero does.”
“Wait, Harry!” Ariel stepped towards Caliban. “You must use the staff once and only once.”
“Isn’t that twice?”
“Listen! This poor creature can’t stay here. Your world has no space for him - no space where he might find any kindness, at any rate.”
Harry baulked. “I’m not going to kill him!”
Caliban whined.
“It’s all right,” Harry made a placatory gesture. A spark flew from the end of the staff and singed Caliban’s fish cheek. The poor creature squealed.
“Oops, I’m so sorry,” Harry tried to approach. Caliban flinched and tried to hide behind Ariel.
“Keep the damned thing still!” Ariel advised. “For all our safety. No, you’re not to kill him, Harry. He’s heartbroken, you know. He really believed his mother was going to come back. De Vere’s manipulations didn’t take into account the poor creature’s feelings. You must send him back to the island. You must send him back to his time, when he can live in peace and never come into contact with Man-unkind.”
“I don’t know...” said Harry. “Seems like a punishment to me. A life of solitude. That island might be the most beautiful place in the universe but it’d still be a prison. I can’t doom him to a life on his tod.”
“He won’t be alone,” said Ariel. “For I shall accompany him.”
“What?” said Harry. “Are you serious?”
“And I’ll go too.” It was Alicia in the doorway. She rushed across to Caliban and embraced him. The creature cooed and purred.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” said Harry.
“Now, Harry, don’t be like that,” said Alicia. “What Caliban and I share is unique and very special. In Oliver’s dressing-room he taught me to look beyond the surface. We are in love. He keeps calling me Miranda for some reason but I can live with that.”
Harry and Ariel were dumbstruck.
“You must do it, Harry,” said Ariel, taking his place beside the happy couple.
“This is bonkers!”
“Think on it, Harry: what a wonderful new story you’ll be able to add to your tours!”
“Hah!” Harry scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s interested in a story about a chap called Harry with a magic stick.”
“Just do it, Harry. Wave it in a circle above our heads - that’s all you have to do.”
“Is that all?” Harry lifted the staff. He felt a surge of power course up to his shoulder.
“But before you do,” Ariel interjected, “I must thank you for your kindness and your friendship, Harry. A spirit never had a better master.” He reached out a hand. Harry shook it and found he was blinking away tears.
“Oh, stop calling me master,” Harry grinned. “You’re called Ariel - I was bound to give you good reception.”
Three blank faces blinked at him.
“Get on with it,” said Alicia with a sour expression.
That was the only spur Harry needed. He was keen to see the last of the miserable witch... Hang on a minute... Caliban’s mother was a witch! The silly sod’s shacking up with a mother figure! Oh well. It was none of Harry’s beeswax.
He set the staff in motion, describing a wide circle over their heads. The staff seemed to gain momentum, moving through the air of its own accord. Harry wondered if he’d be able to stop it or whether it would twist his arm off. Round and round it went. A circle of light shone over the three travellers, getting brighter and brighter until it filled the tower. Harry had to screw his eyes shut but that only gave the light the pink tinge of his eyelids. He turned his face away.
“Farewell, Harry!” Ariel’s voice faded, as though the spirit was snatched away on a bungee cord.
Harry sensed the light go out. He opened his eyes and blinked. Colours danced before his face and the room swam in and out of focus. Ariel, Caliban and Alicia were gone.
Harry tottered. He tried to steady himself but could feel himself falling.
He didn’t hit the floor. A pair of hands caught him and lowered him gently. Harry’s vision cleared. He found he was looking at the face of a ghost. A ghost with a body that was half fish and half monkey.
“Olly!” he gasped. “Listen: it’s about Alicia...”
“You don’t have to worry,” Olly patted his face. “I’m going to finish with her once and for all.”
Harry laughed. “I think she’s already moved on, mate.”
“My God, will you look at this thing?” Brownlow had come in. He was holding the staff in both hands and turning it over and over.
“Put it down!” Harry cried.
“Are you shitting me?” said Brownlow. “With this little beauty, I can make the best goddamn TV show ever made. This thing will draw in more viewers than anything. We’re all going to be rich, boys.”
“I shit you not,” said Harry, standing up. “The thing must be destroyed. It’s too much power for one person.”
“It’s a long way to Mordor, Harry,” said Olly. “You can’t just beam there.”
“There’s so much wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to begin. The staff must be broken - that’s what Shakespeare tells us at the end of the play. When all the magical manipulations are done, people have to learn to live with each other. That’s the toughest trick of all.”
“Somebody should be writing all this down,” said Brownlow. “Say, would you like to be a script advisor on my show?”
“The staff, Hank.”
“The staff, Hank,” said Brownlow, sadly. He handed it over.
Harry strode to the exit.
“Where are you going?” said Olly. “I’ll come with you.”
“See you back at the house,” said Harry. “It’s better if no one sees what becomes of the staff once I break it up again.”
Harry hurried down the stairs. There was still a crowd in the street. Professor Auberon Cheese was explaining something to the longsuffering Montmorency. The tree had been fenced off with tarpaulin sheets. A crane arrived. To get Jeremy down, Harry supposed. He could save them the trouble and wave his magic wand -
He cut the thought off before he could finish it. He skulked around the side of the theatre and headed to the river.
***
A year later, they watched the end credits roll in the screening room. Harry and Olly believed applause was in order. Brownlow waved them to be quiet and paused the tape. Wouldn’t you know it: his own name was frozen across the screen?
“Gentlemen, your comments, please?”
“Well...” Harry didn’t know where to begin.
“I think Sir Neville was marvellous,” Olly nodded, “He got Professor Cheese down to a tee. And your mate Trish was brilliant - they all were, in their hoods and everything. I want one of those octopus badges. You should flog them, Hank - on hoodies!”
“Yes, and Nigel was a fantastic Caliban. Although, of course, you should have got that job, Olly.”
“I was too busy playing myself,” Olly grinned. “How was I?”
“Marvellous!” said Harry. He waited a few seconds. “And now you’re supposed to say ‘you were marvellous too’!”
“You weren’t bad,” Olly teased. “I shall have to give you some tips.”
They laughed and their laughter turned to screeches as they set about each other with tickling.
“Ladies, please!” Brownlow strove to get their attention. “The show goes out tomorrow night. If you want to suggest any changes, now’s your only chance.”
“It’s great, Hank, truly.” Harry stood up and shook the American’s hand.
“Of course, if we could show the real staff, it would be a heckuva lot better...”
“Not g
oing to happen,” said Harry. “I keep telling you I’m not telling you.” He moved to the exit. Olly stood up and gave Brownlow a salute.
“It’s been real swell, Hank,” he said in a passable imitation of the American’s voice. He licked his tongue and saluted.
At the door, where Harry was waiting to go back to their hotel suite - paid for by the production company, of course - Olly turned to deliver a parting shot.
“Oh, and Hank, you might want the CGI boys to paint out that bald spot. It doesn’t half glare, mate.”
Brownlow gaped. He reached up to touch the back of his head, hoping to find gelled hair and not naked scalp.
The sound of Harry and Olly’s laughter echoed down the corridor.
THE END
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