“I would give that up to preserve those worlds from Richard’s schemes.” Beth took a deep breath. “I won’t try to hold onto Mercutio. I won’t try to hold onto Shakespeare’s world. I won’t try to hold onto Merlin. But the decision is Merlin’s to make. I won’t make it for him. I must warn him that death is painful.”
“You are brave, Moonface,” Mercutio said, taking her hand.
“Your death as Mercutio was painful because you were killed by a sword. Mine wouldn’t be,” Merlin said. He turned to Mordred. “It’s time, Mordred. It’s time for us to go back to our deaths in Camelot and to die in all other eras.”
Mordred scoffed. “I know you don’t want to die, old man. That’s why you’ve lived so long. You’re a coward, afraid to die. You’ve used most of your magic to prolong your life.”
“You must leave Richard and go back to the battlefield where you died, and were left unburied. And I must return to a cave.” Merlin’s voice was solemn. Not loud, but terrible. “Come, Mordred.”
“No!” Richard screamed. “You’ll divide me in two. You can’t do that.”
His voice changed, and Mordred said, “He won’t do it. Merlin will never agree to die. No immortal would.”
“Only because of you, Mordred,” the wizard said. “Now,” he intoned.
Merlin clutched at his heart.
Beth gasped. “No!” she cried. Could she bear to see the old man who done so much for her die?
“It must be,” Merlin choked. “Everyone must die.” He sank to the floor. “Perhaps I’ll be reunited with Arthur.”
Richard screamed and tore at his chest. Mordred emerged, kicking and yelling. “Merlin, you fool, don’t do this!” he cried.
Merlin’s eyes closed.
The slim man collapsed beside him. “No! Power will keep me alive,” he insisted, but his voice broke.
Mordred’s eyes closed.
Beth felt tears for Merlin drip down her cheeks. She had never imagined that he would sacrifice himself.
Richard bent over Mordred’s body. “No, don’t go!” he cried. “Don’t leave me alone.”
The bodies disappeared.
The hall began to change. Its mirrors dissolved, revealing bare stone walls. It became an ordinary fifteenth century castle.
The throne remained, and the boar pendant.
“You are just Richard III, no more and no less,” Beth said.
“I am still terrifying,” he insisted, glaring at her. “Plots have I laid. I am determined to be a villain.”
“You are a villain,” Beth said, “but only in your own play. You have no power elsewhere.”
Iago stepped forward. “I am in charge now. Richard has as good as abdicated. I am the only one who is rational enough to control Shakespeare’s world.”
“No,” Beth said. “You’ll have to go back to your own play, and the wife you killed.”
“Traitor!” Richard yelled. He drew his sword and fought Iago, killing him quickly.
Richard wiped his sword. “It was tiresome waiting to see when Iago would betray me. How pointless to wait until the last possible moment.”
Iago’s body melted away.
“You should have no power ever again.” Mercutio strode up to Richard and confronted him. “You had me stabbed in the back. Now you must fight me in single combat.”
“No!” Beth cried. “Please don’t, Mercutio.”
“I must, Moonface.” Mercutio’s mouth was rigid and his eyes were cold. “Come, pig king. Fight me if you dare.”
Richard smirked. “I can easily defeat you, little Veronan.”
Mercutio drew his sword, and Richard drew his.
“No!” Beth exclaimed.
But Mercutio slashed forward and Richard lunged at him. Steel struck steel.
Mercutio pushed Richard back towards the throne. Richard tripped.
“Stay in your own play, boy, and I’ll stay in mine,” Richard said. He fell back into the throne and began to disappear, throne, pennant, and all. Richard laughed his hyena laugh.
“Pig! Coward!” Mercutio shouted.
Beth sighed with relief that Mercutio had not been hurt, but she still wept over Merlin’s sacrifice. It had been hard for her to risk her life, and she imagined how hard it must have been for him to give up immortality. Of course, as a character, he would be immortal like other characters, in all the books written about him, even though he had lost his special ability to appear in all eras.
Mercutio sheathed his sword. “I should have known that Richard had no interest in fair fights,” he said with disgust.
Beth exhaled. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you,” she said.
The incense smell disappeared, and the scents of flowers and rich, garlicky food filled the air.
Mercutio’s brow furrowed. “Verona is approaching. We may never be able to see each other again.”
Tears formed in Beth’s eyes. “I’m so glad I’ve known you.”
Mercutio put his arms around her and kissed her on the mouth.
She pressed her lips against his. The kiss was wonderful. Just what a kiss should be.
The aromas of Verona became stronger. Mercutio pulled away. “Farewell, my Moonface,” he said in the tenderest of voices. “Queen Mab will bring us dreams of each other.”
She clasped his hands as if that could keep him with her. “Good-bye, dear Mercutio.” Her voice cracked, but she tried to smile.
Then he disappeared. Beth moaned. She seemed to fly over England and Italy, rivers and cathedrals, lakes and mountains. Then she spun through flying mirrors. She dodged them and refused to look in their glaring light.
Beth sat in a messy office. She shook her head as if she had just emerged from a swimming pool.
“Richard has been defeated.” Beth felt dazed. Her voice was hollow. “But Merlin had to die to defeat him.”
Ms. Capulet bit her lip. “We shall miss Merlin.” Tears dripped down her cheeks and she rubbed them away. “But if Richard can no longer harm you or my other students, I am grateful.”
“It’s over. It’s all over.” Beth was almost too sad to appreciate the victory over Mordred. No more seeing Merlin. No more seeing Mercutio. No more witches offering clues. No more seeing Shakespeare. She was exiled from his world. Banished.
She bowed her head. The loss felt too great.
“Your career is just beginning.” Her teacher’s tone was brisk and hearty. “You’re a good actor. If the problem with Richard is resolved, I think you should go to Kevin’s home and tell him. I’ll text Sita and Arnie so they can go with you.”
“Sure, I’ll tell Kevin.” Beth remembered the sight of Kevin with the rope. She jumped up. It was important to tell him as soon as possible. That was the only thing that could make her feel better.
She walked through the halls. They looked the same, but everything was different. No one would try to injure her on her way to class or in the auditorium. Her muscles relaxed. Only then did she realize how tense they had been in the past weeks.
At the main entrance, she found Sita and Arnie, both beaming at her. Frank stood with them.
“This is my show, too,” he said. “I want to say hello to Connelly without worrying that he’s going to get me thrown into a pit or sent to prison for something I didn’t do. I used to like the guy. I can give you a ride.”
“Sure, let’s all go,” Beth said.
Sita hugged her. “I’m so proud of you,” she said.
“Thanks.” Beth tried to smile, but her chest felt hollow. She had lost something that none of the others had experienced, so how could she expect them to understand?
The temperature was around forty degrees, but the wind tossed the branches. In a few weeks, spring will be here, Beth thought. A year ago, she could never have imagined that she would meet Shakespeare or Mercutio. She could li
ve without them. She just wished that she didn’t have to.
Kevin’s house was Tudor-style. It even had a little turret. Beth thought he was lucky, at least in his home.
Kevin answered the door himself. His face was pale and there were circles under his eyes. His ankle had a bandage and brace.
“What’s up?” he asked in a strained voice. “I hope you haven’t come to escort me to a mental hospital.”
“No way,” Frank said. “Your troubles are over.” He gave him a high five.
“Everything’s OK, Connelly.” Arnie smiled his widest smile.
“Let Beth tell him,” Sita said. “Sit down, Kevin.”
Beth still felt nervous around Kevin, but she tried to make her voice sound warm. “Richard has been defeated. I don’t think he has the power to affect any of us anymore.”
“Really?” Kevin blinked. “Is it safe for me to come back to school?”
“It’s safe,” Beth said, hoping that was true.
“Come back tomorrow,” Sita said. “We’re finally going to have the real dress rehearsal. The show must go on. The audience can believe that Sir Toby’s ankle is bandaged because he has gout.”
WHEN SHE GOT HOME, Beth went to bed as early as possible.
“Are you feeling sick?” her mother asked.
“Everything’s fine. Kevin’s better and the show will go on. I just need to rest,” Beth told her. “I’ll have lots of late nights with the new dress rehearsal and the performances.”
She went up to her room and sobbed silently into her pillow. Now she had killed Merlin. She hadn’t begged him to live, which was almost the same as killing him.
She didn’t want Queen Mab to bring her dreams of Mercutio. They would be too painful. No, wait, she did want the dreams. She did and didn’t.
Was seeing Mercutio a few more times worth killing and dying? No, Beth thought, it wasn’t. But giving him a chance to enjoy life, even if she couldn’t see him, probably was worth it.
She reminded herself that her real purpose was to reduce King Richard’s power by separating him from Mordred, maybe saving Shakespeare’s plays. Perhaps that was worth all her pain. Merlin believed in that task enough to die for it.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, BETH walked to the auditorium. She took a detour to the bathroom and scrubbed her hands. No, she couldn’t be Lady Macbeth today. She tried to put herself in a Viola mood. She had been lost at sea, and now she was in Illyria. She had met a man and fallen in love at first sight, but she was disguised as a young man. She tried to walk like a guy. Fortunately, she’d had practice. She would be the best Viola ever.
The lights were on, transforming the auditorium to a real theater. She would have a chance to be on stage. Her favorite place. She would show her love of Shakespeare by acting in his plays.
As Beth walked to the stage, Sita began to sing, “A great while ago, the world begun, with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain. But that’s all one, our play is done, And we’ll strive to please you every day.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
I WANT TO THANK Debra Doyle for editing this book and encouraging me. I thank Sherwood Smith for reading an early version of the manuscript of Merlin’s Shakespeare and for her frequent encouragement.
Rose iStrode’s reading of the manuscript and her excellent suggestions helped me immensely.
I am grateful to L.M. Elliott for her suggestions regarding the first chapter of The Mercutio Problem and to the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) for providing a space for critiques.
I am grateful to Viable Paradise for providing a wonderful atmosphere for learning about writing fantasy.
I thank all my friends for encouraging my writing, especially Ned Cabot Sr., Susan Carrigan, Virginia Cerello, Tacie Dejanikus, Beth Eldridge, Daniele Flannery, Julie Harris, Marlene Howell, Sue Lenaerts, Kate Leonard, Mary Leonard, Vickie Leonard, Tricia Lootens, Elizabeth Lytle, Colise Medved, Trudy Portewig, Luanne Schinzel, John Schmitz, Dolores Smith, Betty Jean Steinshouer, Liz Quinn, and Judith Witherow. I also want to thank the women of the Writers’ Circle at Carefree, especially Dana Finnegan, for their encouragement.
I thank John Appel, Catherine Lundoff, Catherine Schaff-Stump, and Mary Anne Yarde for publishing advice and support. I’m very grateful to Gabriella Eriksson for her beautiful graphics and to Terry Roy for formatting this book. Many thanks to Liz Quinn for proofreading the galleys.
About the Author
CAROL ANNE DOUGLAS has loved Shakespeare since she was introduced to A Midsummer Night's Dream when she was a child. She identifies with the character Nick Bottom because she wants to play every part, which only a writer can do. She has written the novels Lancelot: Her Story and Lancelot and Guinevere. She is an avid reader of Arthurian and Shakespearean lore and writes plays as well as fiction. She was born in a suburb of New York, grew up in Los Angeles, and lives in Washington, D.C. When she isn't reading or writing, she spends as much time as she can in the national parks hiking and observing wildlife.
Visit her website: www.CarolAnneDouglas.com
Follow on Twitter: @CarolAnneDougl1
Books by Carol Anne Douglas
Lancelot: Her Story
Lancelot and Guinevere
For Young Adults
THE MERLIN’S SHAKESPEARE SERIES
Merlin’s Shakespeare
The Mercutio Problem
The Mercutio Problem Page 27
