Saving Juliet

by Suzanne Selfors

  I couldn't see more than a few yards ahead. I didn't bother to answer Troy because he wasn't ready to believe. And until the effects of the herbal tea wore off, he wouldn't remember anything about the broken charm or the ashes.

  "Why aren't there any streetlights? I can't see a single street sign. How is a taxi supposed to see us without any streetlights?" He grabbed the candle from my hand. "Still can't see anything." He held it at knee level. "Some kind of dirt road. They must have driven us outside the city."

  I didn't like the idea of wandering those streets at night. If the Capulet guards came along, I'd be in big trouble. "Troy, let's just go back inside and wait until the sun rises."

  "Look, you obviously don't understand the severity of this situation." He held the candle at arm's length and started down the road. "This isn't a game, Mimi. This isn't a moment of insanity or a dream. Those freaks back there are capable of a lot more than stabbing me in the leg so start looking around for a phone or something."

  "I can't stay out here, Troy."

  "Why not?" He stopped walking and even though I couldn't clearly see his face, I could feel his eyes burn through me. "You want to go back to lover boy?" He stepped closer. "He'll hurt you, Mimi. Get that through your thick head. He'll hurt you." He started up the street again, the candle's flame bouncing with every hobbling footstep. "The gas they used to knock us out is still clouding your brain. Come on."

  "I can't. I have to go back. It's safer for me back at the church."

  "Fine! Go back!" The candlelight grew smaller and smaller, then disappeared around the side of a building, leaving me alone.

  Something scurried across my shoe. Lady Capulet had mentioned a plague. Didn't rats spread plague? Getting stabbed in the leg or slapped in the face had to be like a Disney cruise compared with a case of bubonic plague. I stumbled in Troy's direction. He had stopped walking so I bumped right into him.

  Dawn's rays started to trickle into the city. As Troy and I watched, light spread across windows, curled around sleeping pigs, and seeped through steaming manure piles. Like a well-rehearsed play, nature's alarm clock woke the city. Windows opened and hands tossed garbage and pots of urine into the gutters. Doors opened and storekeepers began to set up shop. Troy's mouth opened and, standing speechless, he looked like the village idiot. I shivered, remembering the rat, and shook my foot in case any bubonic germs clung to it.

  "Where are we?" he asked.

  "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to say anything until I've finished."

  Fifteen

  ***

  "A horse, a horse. My kingdom for a horse!"

  We huddled next to a baker's window. The scent of warm bread mingled with the stench from a nearby gutter. There we stood as a world we had each memorized, yet didn't really know at all, wove its way around us.

  I explained as best I could. Even though a Capulet guard might have stomped down the street at any minute, I did not rush my explanation. Truth lay in all the crazy details, beginning with the arrival of Aunt Mary's letter and the charm. Troy listened, turning his back to the street as if to block out all distractions. His gaze never strayed from my face as I described the ash cloud, the woman in the alley, and my first encounter with Friar Laurence. I talked about the shepherd boy and about meeting Romeo, about Juliet's predicament and Lady Capulet's terrible temper. "I thought this was a dream but it isn't," I concluded. "It's really happening." Troy didn't say a word. "It's magic, Troy. Those ashes transported us into the story. But by being in it, we've changed it."

  A tower of wooden crates stood behind an old cart, just to the side of the bakery. Troy removed the top crate and sat on it, stretching his good leg. I sat next to him, resting my head against the bakery wall. Aside from my little nap in Nurse's chair, I hadn't slept since the night before the final performance. The night I had discovered that my mother was stealing from me--a discovery that had not led to a restful night's sleep. That had been Saturday night and by my calculations this was Monday morning. No wonder I could barely keep my eyes open. A deep, gaping-mouthed yawn possessed me, as did another and another.

  "I wish I could," Troy murmured, "but I don't remember a necklace. Stupid friar and his herbal tea"

  "He was just trying to help you," I said, yawning again.

  "Whatever. I could use some coffee. Do you see a Starbucks anywhere?"

  He still didn't quite get it. "Troy, this is 1594, remember? There are no Starbucks. I don't even know if they have coffee."

  "Great," he complained. "That's just great."

  "Give me one," a familiar voice demanded. I stifled another yawn and craned my neck so I could see over the cart. Tybalt, Juliet's vile cousin, was bullying a girl who held a basket of bread. He tossed a coin in the air, then grabbed a flat brown loaf, forcing the intimidated girl to chase after the coin.

  My heart fluttered. "We've got to get out of here," I whispered to Troy. Certainly I was worried about my own neck, having gotten myself exiled by messing with Juliet's engagement party. But Troy's neck was also in jeopardy because he was dressed in Montague orange and black.

  Troy peered over the cart. "That guy looks familiar."

  "He's totally dangerous. Come on." Troy didn't bother to argue this time. The fact that I had dug my fingernails into his arm might have helped persuade him. The fact that Tybalt looked like a salesman for one of those home bodybuilding systems didn't hurt either.

  We could have made a clean getaway, except that when Troy struggled onto his bad leg, the tower of crates tumbled over. Before I could duck, Tybalt turned. "You there!"

  I grabbed Troy's hand and started running in the opposite direction of Friar Laurence's church. What else could I do with Tybalt blocking the other direction? Despite his hobbling gate, Troy managed to keep up. "You there!" Tybalt called again. Just before we darted into an alley, I glanced back. Tybalt had discarded the bread and had unsheathed his sword. He and his golden cobra, poised for battle, were on the move!

  "I know that guy," Troy said as we hurried to the other end of the alley. "How do I know that guy?"

  "That's Tybalt." I told him, scared out of my mind. He'd kill us. No doubt about it. Well, he'd kill Troy and probably drag me back to Lady Capulet for a round of eye-gouging and limb-hacking. We ran from the alley and followed a series of twisting streets until we came to a square. It appeared we had lost Tybalt so we stopped to catch our breath beside a fountain. "Hey, I remember this place," I said. It was the cake pedestal fountain with the sculpted lady on top. "This is where it all started."

  Troy stood beneath the sign with the painted boot. "I think I came out of this shop," he told me. "Yes, I remember coming out of this shop but I don't remember how I got into that shop. Maybe this is the way out. Maybe there's some sort of door or time portal, like in Star Trek." Sounded as probable as anything else so we went inside. While I pretended to want a new pair of shoes, Troy inspected the cobbler's walls. When the cobbler knelt to measure my arches, Troy darted into the back room. He returned, shaking his head.

  "Thank you," I told the cobbler, slipping the wooden shoes back on my feet. "I'll have to think about it."

  Back outside, Troy splashed fountain water on his face and neck. Then he sat on the fountain's rim. "Tell me about those ashes again."

  So I did.

  "They came from Shakespeare's quill? So what if we just get another Shakespearean quill? Hey, buddy," he called out to a man. "Is there a quill shop around here?"

  "Next door to the cobbler's shop," the man said over his shoulder as he walked by.

  Sure enough, right next door. So we entered the shop and were greeted by a thin man with yellow skin and teeth. "Just got some quills in from Egypt," he told us. "Have you ever seen such exquisite feathers?"

  "Do you have any Shakespearean quills?" Troy asked.

  "Shakespearean? I do not know what you mean."

  "You know, William Shakespeare, the playwright." Troy tapped his foot. "Come on, you know. Do you have any of his
quills?" I figured this was a lost cause. Shakespeare wrote the story, he wasn't a character in it.

  "I am not familiar with William Shakespeare. Can I interest you in an ostrich quill?"

  "Are there any other quill shops in town?" Troy asked.

  The man scowled. "I am the only quill dealer in Verona. But if my quills are not good enough for you, then you shall have to go to Venice."

  "Thanks anyway," I said, opening the shop door. "Let's get back to the friar's. It's safer there." We stepped outside, only to catch Tybalt's attention.

  "Stop!" he screamed from across the square.

  And so the chase continued. We stumbled down another alley and onto a road that ran alongside a river. It was a wide open space, providing zero places to hide. To the right the road narrowed under an archway and turned back into the city. To the left it crossed a bridge. Tybalt rushed into the alley and shouted at us. "Come on," I urged, turning right in the hopes of making a full circle back to the friar's church. Back to Romeo and Benvolio, who would continue to help me, I hoped. But could I persuade them to help Troy as well?

  But just like a cheesy Hollywood movie, a couple of peasants chose that moment to push their cart, filled with kindling, down the narrowest part of the road. As they passed under the archway, with only a few inches to spare on either side, the cart got stuck in a rut. I kid you not. I skidded to a stop in those stupid shoes, scanning the road for another exit, but with a building on one side and the river on the other we had to get past the cart. Trapped. How were we going to get out of this?

  "Excuse me," I begged, dropping to the ground. Maybe I could crawl underneath.

  "Let us by," Troy insisted. As I squeezed under the cart, he tried to climb over. Just as I got about halfway through, someone grabbed my dress sash and yanked.

  "Where do you think you are going, Montague whore?" Tybalt stood at the other end of my sash. His party mask was tucked into his belt. He pulled me to my feet.

  "Hey, let go of her," Troy said, sliding off the cart.

  "What have we here?" Tybalt pushed me aside, focusing his venomous gaze on Troy. "We meet again, Montague scum," he hissed, aiming his sword at Troy's chest. What was he talking about?

  Troy raised his palms. "See, I don't have a weapon. And I'm not a Montague. There's been some sort of mistake."

  "There is no mistake." Tybalt pointed the blade at me. "Her ladyship told me that you cavort with Montagues. I see this is true. That dress is stolen property. Return it at once."

  "I'll return it as soon as I can," I assured him. "As a matter of fact, I was just on my way to change my clothes. If you'll just let us go, I'll..."

  "Now. Give it to me now."

  "Now?" What was I supposed to do? Walk around in my underwear? "Please, Tybalt, this is all a terrible misunderstanding."

  The peasants nervously backed away from their cart. Tybalt lunged forward and grabbed my sash again, pulling me so close I could see the rims of his bloodshot, after-party eyes. "You will return it to her ladyship and face punishment." His gaze was hypnotic and I couldn't turn away, locked into a paralyzing stare down.

  That's when Troy hobbled forward and punched the distracted Tybalt in the face. Quite a punch, too, because it knocked Tybalt against the wall. Since he was still gripping my sash, it ripped clean off. "They fight!" the peasants cried, abandoning their cart. Before Tybalt could regain his balance, Troy punched him again. As Tybalt fell to the ground, the sword was knocked from his hand.

  "I remember you. You're the guy who stabbed me," Troy yelled. "Who do you think you are? Don't you know that I'm a celebrity?"

  Tybalt sat up and ran his hand under his bleeding nose, his eyes welling with hatred. With a grunt, he leaped to his feet and ran full force at Troy, ramming him in the gut. Both lost their balance and tumbled down the riverbank, landing just at the water's edge. Tybalt began to scramble back up the bank but Troy grabbed his foot. "Why'd you stab me?" he cried. "Do you hate my music or something?" How dense could a person get? In Troy Summer's mind, the world revolved around him. Even an alternate world.

  Tybalt kicked Troy's hand free and clambered up the slope. Before he reached the side of the road, I grabbed his sword. It was as heavy as a cast-iron frying pan and I could barely fit my fingers around the hilt. What was I supposed to do with it? I tried to look confident as Tybalt took a few steps toward me. Who was I kidding? I wasn't going to stab anyone.

  "Don't let him have it," Troy yelled, reaching the road.

  I tried to bluff. "Stay away or ... or ..."

  Tybalt smiled and grabbed the sword from me as simple as that. I felt like a total failure, but it wasn't like I had ever been trained to use one of those things.

  As Tybalt turned on Troy, two men in short red capes ran under the archway, led by the peasants. The prince's men. "Hold there!" They started to climb over the cart. Tybalt cursed and took off.

  "Troy," I said, rushing to his side. "Montague and Capulet are not supposed to fight. They'll arrest us. We've got to get out of here."

  "Stop!" one of the soldiers cried.

  Strangely enough, we followed Tybalt back up the alley, the three of us in equal peril. But before we parted ways at the bakery, Tybalt did what every great villain is meant to do--he issued a nasty threat. "I could have killed you both." He returned his sword to its scabbard. "Be warned, I shall not show mercy the next time we meet. And there will be a next time. Mark my words."

  Sixteen

  ***

  "The game is up."

  Benvolio was waiting on the steps of Friar Laurence's church. "Mimi," he said, rushing to my side. "You should not have gone into the streets without a protector."

  "I protected her, thank you very much," Troy said, wincing as he limped up the stone steps. He had protected me, at the very least from having to walk around in my underwear. Who knows what Tybalt would have done to a half-naked girl? Maybe Troy had even saved my life.

  Benvolio placed a hand on my back and guided me into the church, not bothering to hold the door open for Troy. "You must stay inside," he insisted. "Word has spread throughout the city that you are exiled and that Lady Capulet has offered a reward for your arrest. Yet I think I may have a solution."

  "What is it?" I asked. Troy pushed the door open and flung himself on one of the benches.

  Benvolio continued. "Because you are a Capulet woman, the Capulet family has jurisdiction over you. But if you were to marry a Montague, then your Montague husband would become your master. You would have a legal right to stay in Verona."

  "Marry?" Troy blurted.

  "Master?" I choked on the word.

  "Yes." Benvolio took my hand and tenderly kissed my fingertips one at a time. Goose bumps popped up all over my arm. "I hope that you will consider this option. In the meantime, I must go and train the Montague guards. It is my duty. But I will return tonight and we can discuss this matter further." Discuss the matter? It's not like I was going to marry a guy I hardly knew--especially a guy who might not actually exist. No matter how much I liked it when he kissed my fingers.

  "Where's Romeo?" I asked.

  "He has returned to Montague House to shut himself into his room. I fear that Rosaline will be the death of him." Benvolio frowned. "Adieu, sweet Mimi. Remember, stay here until I return. Only danger awaits you outside this sanctuary." He pointed a finger at Troy. "Look after her."

  "What do you think I've been doing?" They stared at each other with narrowed eyes and clenched jaws. I half expected them to pound their chests.

  After Benvolio left I pushed my full weight against the door, trying to shut out the horrible, dangerous Romeo and Juliet world. Then I slid to the floor and yanked off the wooden shoes.

  I expected Troy to tease me about Benvolio's marriage proposal. Had it been an actual proposal or just a suggestion? But Troy sat deep in thought. St. Francis stared at me from the end of the aisle. A carved bird perched on his stone hand. Mounds of wax drippings covered the altar. Sunlight streamed through t
he stained-glass windows, casting blues and greens on blisters that had formed on my big toes. The sanctuary smelled like dust and sweat. My sweat. I needed a bath.

  "I remember." Troy's voice startled me. "I remember that I couldn't see through all those ashes. They stung my eyes. I tried to follow you outside but the stage door had closed and I couldn't find the knob." He paused, as if downloading the images. "When the ashes cleared, I was standing in that cobbler's shop. I ran through the shop and onto the street but everything had changed. I wandered around trying to find the Wallingford. Then I saw you."

  "Yes! You called my name."

  "That's right." His words came quicker. "But there were so many people, I couldn't get to you. And then Tybalt pushed me down and stabbed me. He kicked me in the head. I must have passed out." He rubbed the side of his head again.