“Welcome to your double selves, my dear,” said Lady Macbeth. She wore her fur robe. “Would you prefer to come indoors? I could serve you some mulled wine.”
Beth didn’t want to enter the moldy castle, whose walls emitted a deeper chill than the cold garden. But she had to think what Mercutio would say. “Whatever is your pleasure, lovely lady.”
Lady Macbeth smiled, which was a close as she ever came to a laugh. “I can bid one of our servants to bring mulled wine to the garden. If you are Mercutio, you must learn to drink without being much affected.” She pulled a small bell out of her sleeve and rang it. “But you do not have to address me with as many compliments as he would.”
Beth felt the urge to kiss Lady Macbeth’s hand, and did so. “If you wish, my lady.”
What was she doing? She had been repulsed when Mercutio kissed the blood-stained hand, though the blood was not visible. She noticed that the queen now smelled like faded rose petals. Fortunately, no scent of blood clung to her hand. How would she react if the lady ever smelled of blood?
Lady Macbeth shuddered and withdrew her hand into her sleeve. “Merlin’s transformation is working well, I see. I am grateful that he did not change you into Romeo, or you would be showering me with profusions of love.”
During Beth’s earlier journeys, Romeo had imagined he was in love with the Scottish queen.
“I have started visiting characters from the comedies. They seem more willing to oppose King Richard”—Beth winced as always at saying his name—“than those in tragedies are.”
“I wonder that you have not yet asked Henry V. He might be willing.”
Beth shivered. She had seen Henry killing in battle, and she had no great affection for that young king. “I suppose he would. He must like the ending of his play. He won.”
“I see that you are reluctant. I would ask him myself, but he probably dislikes me for killing a king.” Lady Macbeth shook her head as if that were a trivial objection.
A gangly servant appeared with huge silver tankards of mulled wine.
The scent filled Beth’s mind with dreams. She was grateful that spices from the East had come to England—and apparently, Scotland—by Shakespeare’s time.
She drank. The wine moved through her, warming her and cheering her so that even the thought of meeting Henry V no longer troubled her.
“My lady, your mulled wine is the finest I have ever drunk.” Beth inclined her head.
“Also the only mulled wine, I’ll wager,” the queen said, sipping from her own tankard. “And after Henry V, there’s always Hamlet.”
“But wouldn’t he want to change the end of his play?” Beth asked. “He was killed.”
“Hamlet cares more about justice and honor than life,” Lady Macbeth replied. “Hadn’t you noticed?”
“Perhaps.” Beth’s tone was dubious. She drained her tankard, yet did not feel the wine go to her head. “I shall take my leave, my lady.” She bowed.
“Farewell, dear friend, double but true,” the lady said.
What a pity that the lady was a villain, Beth thought. She couldn’t help liking some aspects of Lady Macbeth.
Beth closed her eyes and found herself in a tent of sumptuous silks. Golden goblets were perched on a gilded table. Henry V sat on a throne studying a large map, doubtless a battle plan.
Beth had hoped to meet him in his castle rather than near a battlefield. She had seen more than enough of his fighting.
Fortunately, he was alone. She took off her velvet cap and bowed low to the ground as he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Your majesty, I am honored to see you. I am Mercutio, cousin to the prince of Verona.”
“I’ve always liked brawlers and bawdy jesters. Welcome, Mercutio,” Henry put down his map and smiled. “Pour yourself some wine.”
“I am grateful for your condescension, your majesty.” Beth poured wine from a golden pitcher into the golden goblets and prayed that she did indeed have Mercutio’s capacity for drink. She took a sip. The wine was much sharper than the mulled wine she had drunk in Scotland. It must be what people called a dry wine.
She managed to swallow it without choking. “Excellent wine, your majesty.”
“What capers have you been engaging in? I have not had much amusement lately,” the king said. He smelled horsey. He must have been riding earlier.
Beth frowned. Mercutio would not like a king to treat him as if he were a jester. “Your majesty, I am not one of your tavern fellows. True, I have met in recent days some fair ladies and fair women who were not ladies, and, as you can imagine, I greeted them warmly.” She winked. “But I have come to see you on more serious business.”
Henry drank. “Will you help me against the French in case they rise up against me?”
Beth cleared her throat. “Your majesty, we face an enemy far more dangerous than the French. Richard III.”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “Him? I could make mincemeat of him.”
“Allow me the liberty to say that won’t be so easy, your majesty. He had strange powers way beyond those of Richard in his play. Mordred is in his blood.”
Henry turned purple. “Mordred who slew King Arthur?”
Beth nodded. “The same, your majesty. Richard and Mordred are one. They are determined to force the endings of Shakespeare’s plays to change. They have enlisted many characters who want a change—Othello, Iago, Lear, Cassius, and who knows how many others.”
“Othello!” Henry exclaimed. “Surely he is too noble to join with such wretches.”
“I had thought so, too, your majesty. But he so repents of killing Desdemona that he would do anything to undo that.”
“He must stand by his own deeds, as everyone must.” Henry pounded the small table, and it shook. “Richard will not undo my victories, or unjoin me from my French bride. But he and his band cannot change history.”
“Beg pardon, your majesty, but I fear he is so ambitious that he may want even that.”
Henry leapt up. “I will oppose him, and so will every man in my army. No one can take our glory from us. Every Crispin Crispian’s, the world will remember us.”
“Of course it will, your majesty.” Beth didn’t bother to tell him that no one even knew what Crispin Crispian’s day was anymore, though many had heard his speech urging his men to battle. Remembering that she was Mercutio, she said, “If only I had fought for you on that noble day. But I must take my fate, and so must every character.”
“So be it. Let me know what I can do to oppose the villain.”
“In time. We must be patient. Thank you, your majesty.” Beth bowed and backed out of the tent.
That hadn’t been so bad after all. She just hoped Henry wouldn’t start a bloodbath.
Perhaps she should visit Hamlet, but she was too tired, and there was homework to be done.
She returned home and began her homework. French. She thought Henry should be taking the lesson with her since he claimed to be the rightful king of France as well as England.
Chapter 8
WHEN BETH ARRIVED AT the next history class, Kevin wasn’t there. The room filled with students, but he never appeared.
Mr. Clarke frowned. “Kevin would be the best one to read Richard’s part, but he called in sick. He must be very sick, because he wouldn’t miss this chance otherwise. I wonder what virus is in the air? I’m tired of my students getting sick. Be careful. Cover your mouths when you cough and use tissue if you have to sneeze.”
Arnie’s hand shot up. “May I read Richard’s part today?”
“Yes,” the teacher said without much enthusiasm.
Beth heard a boy with thick blond hair whisper, “The teachers always pick kids from the same drama class clique.” Beth hadn’t thought of her friends as a clique, but she was too worried about Richard to care.
Ms. Capulet entered the room. “
May I watch your class today, Mr. Clarke? I do want to see how my students handle the reading. That will help me in casting future plays. I was unable to come yesterday because the principal asked me to take over another class.”
“Of course you may watch.” Mr. Clarke inclined his head. “You may sit in the front. Sita, let Ms. Capulet have your seat.”
Sita smiled one of her strange smiles and rose from her chair. Ms. Capulet sat in it.
“We shall do the scene with Lady Anne,” Mr. Clarke said. He looked at Beth.
She caught her breath at the thought of pretending to fall in love with Richard, but Sita exclaimed, “Please, Mr. Clarke, let me read Lady Anne.”
“All right,” the teacher said.
Surely if Arnie and Sita were playing the scene, nothing terrible would happen, Beth hoped.
Sita began Anne’s speech lamenting her father-in-law’s death and her husband’s. She read so well that Beth almost enjoyed hearing her despite it being Richard’s play.
Then it was time for Arnie to speak.
“Stay, you that bear the corpse, and set it down,” he commanded.
Beth shivered, but not as much as she had when Kevin read.
They continued the reading. Arnie’s delivery was just as good as Kevin’s though subtler. Beth’s head spun only a little. She had taken both aspirin and Dramamine.
Arnie began to woo Anne, whose father-in-law he had killed. He had probably been responsible for the death of her husband too. He was properly insidious. But when he began to say “Fairer than tongue can name.” He paled.
Sita’s sharp response, “Fouler than heart can think thee,” roused him.
All proceeded well, but when Arnie said, “To undertake the death of all the world, so I might live one hour in your sweet bosom,” implying that he had killed her husband so he could have her, he trembled.
Beth remembered that Arnie had once dated Sita, but she didn’t think that was the reason Arnie trembled.
When he held out an imaginary dagger and offered it to Sita, he closed his eyes for a moment. She pushed the imaginary dagger against his chest. He opened his eyes and, after staring around the room, looked at her as if he were relieved.
When he offered her his ring, he shook like a leaf. Was that acting?
Sita looked into his eyes, and he revived.
Beth gagged. She could almost feel Richard.
When Sita moved away and Arnie began saying, “Was ever woman in this humor wooed?” he appeared to be pulling himself together. He stared at the page and did not let his eyes leave it.
Beth shook. Something was wrong. Arnie should not find the reading this difficult. Arnie never had the fear of Richard she had. Arnie had never met Richard.
She saw that Sita was mouthing the words along with him, and so was Ms. Capulet. In fact, Ms. Capulet had been moving her lips during Arnie’s entire performance.
When he finally read, “Shine out, fair sun, till I have brought a glass, that I may see my shadow as I pass,” Ms. Capulet and Sita burst out clapping. The whole class joined them.
Beth pressed her hands together, but no sound came out.
Ms. Capulet jumped up and put her arms around Arnie. “Good job,” she exclaimed.
Beth had the feeling that the drama teacher was holding him up. His face was white.
She saw the blond boy roll his eyes and heard him whisper, “Arnie was okay, but what’s all the fuss about?”
“Good work, Arnie, though Kevin might have made the part a little more devilish,” Mr. Clarke said.
“Would you mind ending the class now?” Ms. Capulet asked him. “What could surpass that reading?”
Mr. Clarke raised his eyebrows. “If you wish, Ms. Capulet. We’ll resume reading the play tomorrow.”
“Sita, Arnie, and Beth, please come with me to my office,” Ms. Capulet said in her firmest voice. She held Arnie’s elbow.
Beth’s legs felt like rubber, and she had the sense that Arnie’s did also. Sita walked beside her and watched her in case Beth couldn’t make it alone.
When they entered the teacher’s office, Beth and Arnie collapsed into the two chairs available for students. Sita hovered over Beth’s chair.
“What happened?” Beth asked. Her voice shook.
Arnie let his head sink to his lap.
“Richard was trying to enter,” the teacher said, “but Arnie didn’t let him. Sita helped him work to keep Richard out.”
Beth gasped, but she had known it all along.
“You helped, too,” Arnie said to Ms. Capulet. His voice faltered. “Thank you both.”
“Richard managed to use Kevin yesterday,” Ms. Capulet said. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to stop it.”
“Kevin let him do it,” Sita snapped. “The idiot made a pact with Richard. He bragged about it to me. Kevin actually believes that he can be a double agent and oppose Richard that way.”
“Oh no!” Beth groaned. “Poor Kevin. What will Richard do to him?”
“Poor Kevin, my ass!” Sita snapped. “I made him get sick. I have the power to do that. I only wish I had made him sicker.”
“He doesn’t understand the risk to you.” Arnie looked at Beth. “But I do. I’d do anything in my power to keep Richard from you.”
Tears sprung into Beth’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
“But Beth is right,” Ms. Capulet said, handing a bottle of water to Arnie. “Now we have to worry about saving Kevin, too. You were very brave, Arnie, but I don’t know whether you can stand to go through that every day until the play is finished.”
“Please don’t,” Beth said. “You looked like you were in pain. Can’t I just be sick every day and miss the play?”
“And not get promoted at the end of the school year?” Sita asked. “They don’t allow that many sick days. You can’t take that chance.”
“We’ll find a way,” Ms. Capulet said. “We have to make sure that Richard doesn’t make you sick. Perhaps Merlin could devise some magic to strengthen you. We haven’t heard much from him lately. He’s leaving you on your own too much. It’s time for him to help.”
“You’re right,” Beth said, mentally chastising the wizard for getting her into this situation in the first place. “I don’t want Richard to make Arnie sick either.” She looked at Arnie, who was still pale.
Arnie straightened up in his chair. “I’m all right,” he insisted.
Beth glanced at Sita, who appeared unaffected by the experience. Sita smiled, but the smile disturbed Beth. It was Sita’s Lady Macbeth smile. Was it necessary to have two Lady Macbeths?
WHEN BETH RETURNED HOME that afternoon, she ate some leftover guacamole and chips and cut herself a slice of bakery apple pie. Her mother had an evening class, so dinner would be late.
Fortified for an encounter with Merlin, Beth went upstairs, sat at her computer chair, and said, “Hello there, Merlin, it’s time to appear.”
The wizard appeared, dressed in purple robes like a king. He sat on her bed, the better to spread them out. “I dislike the over-familiar tone you are taking with me,” he chided her.
“And I dislike going on missions without adequate protection,” Beth replied, folding her arms.
“Do you want Mercutio to lug along a cannon?” Merlin scoffed.
“No, I mean protection as Beth. My history teacher is making us read Richard III aloud, and Richard keeps trying to break through into the classroom.”
Merlin turned white with anger. “Richard must not be allowed into your century,” he demanded. “That would be very dangerous.”
“No kidding,” Beth said. “He’s knocking me out, literally. And he devastated my friend Arnie when Arnie tried to read the part and block him out.”
“Tell your numbskull teacher not to let the play be read aloud in your presence,” Merlin commanded.
“I believe that students in your time are allowed considerable liberties.”
“Not that many!” Merlin’s lack of understanding of her world annoyed her. “I can’t order people around the way you do. The worst thing is that Kevin let Richard channel through him.”
“Little idiot!” Merlin hit his palm with his fist. “He’ll be lucky if Richard doesn’t strike him dead.”
Beth flinched. “You have to do more to help us. This is too much for us.” She worried that asking Merlin would be about as effective as praying to St. Jude, patron of lost causes.
“I can’t appear to every teen at your high school,” Merlin complained. “Can’t Portia Desdemona Capulet do something?” he said.
“She is trying. She’s mouthing all the words in the play along with the students, and that seems to help. And so is Sita.”
“Hmpf. I think that Indian girl could cause considerable trouble.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She has power in herself, but she hasn’t asked to work for me. That in itself is suspicious.”
“Sure, anyone would want to be your minion. Great pay, great benefits.”
“Like seeing Shakespeare,” the wizard reminded her.
Beth remembered her parting from Shakespeare. She didn’t think he’d want to see her again. But he didn’t know that she was trying to help him. “And have you planned any visits for me?”
“It’s interesting that you haven’t tried yourself. You had a little tiff with the illustrious playmaker, perhaps?”
Beth had no intention of telling him about her last meeting with Shakespeare, which was confidential.
“Don’t change the subject. I’m asking for protection to keep Richard from using my class as a springboard to the twenty-first century. At least I need something to keep myself from collapsing whenever he tries to break through.”
“Do you imagine that I could give you a potion that would help?”
Beth looked him in the eye. “Yes, I think you could. And I want some for my friends, too.”
“Very well,” Merlin conceded less than graciously. “I shall give you a potion that may keep you from fainting. But if one of your friends has decided to help Richard, that is another problem entirely.”
The Mercutio Problem Page 8
