The songs were great, the plot was great, and the fog machine worked like a charm.
Up in the best theatre box, Aaron Ardent, freshly re-crowned ‘King of Denmark Lane’, tapped an appreciative finger to the music. He’d been to every Skulls performance since Willy helped him unmask Skellington and his great Royal bee scam. Captain Rosenbloom had seized Skellington’s bees and taken them back to the palace at Richmond. Skellington was locked up in the dungeon there, under the watchful eye of Sir Victor.
Aaron Ardent caught sight of Willy standing in the wings next to Yorick. He waved and winked, and Willy waved back.
The play was drawing to a close. All Willy had left to do was bring down the final curtain.
Onstage, Olly was pounding out the big closing number, ‘It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Write ’n’ Roll)’.
With Elbows cranking up the music behind him, Olly swaggered to the front of the stage, gripped the amplifier cone stand and gave the number everything he had.
‘Rollin’ down the horsetrack, headin’ for Ludlow,
Stoppin’ in the evenings, playin’ my lute slow…’
Willy remembered why he loved this troupe so much.
They were the best!
Olly crashed out the last chord on his lute and Yorick dimmed the lights. The crowd went crazy and Willy lowered the curtain. The London run was over. And Willy was still with the Skulls.
Backstage, the dressing room filled with the Skulls, their friends, Morty, the Utter Nutters and a ragtag collection of hangers-on and scribes.
Everyone was chattering excitedly and making plans for the next Black Skulls tour.
Everyone that is, except Willy.
‘’Ave you seen Willy anywhere?’ Yorick asked Charlie. ‘I can’t understand why ’e ain’t ’ere.’
Charlie was being interviewed by the Slaughterside Sentinel. ‘I think he’s out on the front steps,’ he said. ‘I heard him saying something about getting some fresh air.’
Yorick felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Aaron Ardent.
‘Hello, Yorick,’ Ardent said. ‘Just the fellow I’m looking for. Come with me, there’s something I want to show you before I head home.’
‘Yeah, sure, jist let me find that nephew o’ yours. I’m a bit worried about ’im,’ said Yorick. ‘’E seemed a bit…flat when the show finished.’
‘Willy can wait for a moment,’ said Ardent. ‘Trust me.’
He headed for the stairs that led back up to his box.
Yorick followed close behind. ‘Wot’s this all about?’ he asked as they reached the door.
Aaron Ardent smiled and pushed open the door to the box.
‘Blimey!’ said Yorick. ‘Now ain’t that summink?’
Willy sat on the steps of the theatre and stared glumly along Denmark Lane. It was quieter now. A few pickpockets wandered through the thin crowds, a man selling chestnuts was trying to move a stray cow away from his stall, the local beggar was packing up his false leg for the evening, a dancing bear had escaped and was chasing its owner towards the river. All part of a perfectly normal London evening that Willy would have usually enjoyed.
But something was still troubling him.
Old Feller.
There was no getting around it: if Willy hadn’t got mixed up in this whole affair, that friendly, playful old dog would still be alive.
Willy heaved a heavy sigh.
Just then, the door to the theatre opened behind him and Yorick came out. In his hand was the end of a piece of string. The string trailed along the ground and back through the door into the theatre.
‘Wot are you doin’, sittin’ out ’ere like some great dumpling?’ said Yorick. ‘All the fun’s back inside, Waggledagger!’
Willy shrugged. ‘I was wondering if I’m really cut out for a life in the theatre,’ he said. ‘I seem to be causing an awful lot of trouble for everyone. Maybe I should just go back to Stratford.’
‘Stratford?’ barked Yorick, in the same tone he’d have used to say ‘big pile of cow poop?’. ‘You can’t go back there!’ he added.
Willy didn’t say anything.
Yorick waggled the string in Willy’s face. ‘Ain’t you goin’ to arsk me about this?’ he said. ‘It might cheer you up.’
Willy looked at the string. ‘It’s a nice bit of string, Yorick. And I know you do like string. But, no offence, string’s not going to make me feel any better.’
Yorick smiled. ‘No?’ He pulled on the string. Two seconds later, a scruffy head poked around the door.
‘Old Feller!’ cried Willy. ‘What? How?’
The dog bounded up to Willy and the two of them rolled around on the steps like a pair of puppies.
‘Rosenbloom found ’im at Skellington’s warehouse an’ gave ’im to yer uncle,’ said Yorick. ‘The fleabag’s bin ’iding in a store cupboard fer weeks!’
‘And eating a lot of honey, too, judging by the size of him!’ said Willy.
‘The dumb mutt must’ve jist dropped ’is collar in the ’oney vat,’ said Yorick. ‘Maybe ’e fort ’e’d get into trouble, so ’e ’id in the cupboard. Who knows?’
‘And who cares?’ yelled Willy. ‘The important thing is that he’s alive!’
Yorick smiled and turned back towards the theatre.
‘Where are you going?’ said Willy.
‘To the party, o’ course!’ said Yorick. ‘I’ve wasted enough time already tonight. Elbows is crankin’ up some serious fiddle in there! Me legs are itchin’ to get jiggin’!’ He flung the theatre door open wide and a blast of music blew out. ‘C’mon, Waggledagger, let’s party like it’s 1599!’
Willy scrambled to his feet. Seeing Yorick dance was something he wasn’t going to miss.
‘Let’s rock and roll, Yorick!’ said Willy.
‘Woof!’ barked Old Feller.
About Martin Chatterton
Martin Chatterton has traced his family tree back to the days of William Shakespeare and, in an amazing coincidence, has found that the greatest English playwright was not his great-great-great-great-greatgreat uncle! Born in Liverpool, only a stone’s throw from Stratford (assuming the stone was launched via a grenade launcher), Martin has been doing joined-up funny writing for absolutely yonks. Martin loves Shakespeare because, if the Bard was ever stuck for a word, the cheeky monkey would just invent one! Martin’s favourite Shakespearean word is ‘road’.
About Gregory Rogers
Gregory Rogers was born in Brisbane, Australia, which is nowhere near Stratford. His favourite Shakespeare play is A Midsummer Night’s Dream because it’s got such great characters. Like Shakespeare, Gregory loves inventing good characters and in over 20 years of illustrating books he’s created lots. One of his books even won the prestigious Kate Greenaway Medal in England. He bets Shakespeare never got one of those!
Look out for…
Willy Waggledagger has accidentally tickled the Queen’s bum with his false beard.
Now Willy is Wearing a frock,
Sir Victor Vile wants to chop off his head, a doll is plotting to Detray him, and an old witch wants to pick his nose.
Could this be the true story behind Shakespeare’s Macbeth?
Available now!
Look out for…
Willy Waggledagger is being picked on by a man who thinks he is King of the Faeries.
Now Willy must steal from the Queen, stop a man marrying a tree, try not to upset a one-eyed squirrel, and save Yorick from deing an ass.
Could this be the true story behind Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream?
Available now!
Praise for Willy Wagg/Edagger
‘This zany novel is bursting with slightly revolting humour and mayhem. A fun introduction to the world’s greatest ever playwright.’
—Bookseller & Publisher
‘This is an awesome book. Sometimes it made me laugh and other times it made me laugh even more.’
—Jacob Harris, age 9
‘I g
ive this story five stars!’
—Edward Warrington, age 11
‘Lots of kids would enjoy this book.’
—Tom Lord, age 12
Chew Bee or Not Chew Bee Page 8
