“No,” said I. “No more.”
“But she killed me.”
“No she didn’t. A goblin killed you, on the order of Titania.”
“Well that’s hurtful,” said the Puck. “I was going to kill her anyway, for sending the fairies to Oberon’s harem, but Titania kill me? No.”
“Yes. You paid the assassin yourself when you delivered the silver bracelet to the goblin Talos.”
“She said that was for weapons for the Amazons, so I had to appear as a mortal to deflect blame.”
“She lied.”
“But I was her favorite.”
“Not anymore. The Indian boy was her favorite in the end.” I nodded to the boy, who now stood over the dead king and queen, studying them.
The Puck leapt from the balcony, but instead of falling he blinked to a spot by the Indian boy. He leaned in close to the boy, examined him, looked him top to bottom, then looked to Rumour, who was smiling in a self-satisfied way center stage. “Why does this sprout get a hat? I didn’t get a hat.”
“The boy is your son, Puck,” said Rumour.
“Bollocks,” said the Puck. “Did he say that? Did you say that?”
The boy looked at his father like a dog watching a bee working a flower, intrigued by the movement, but relatively sure he was not good to eat.
“Come here, boy,” said Rumour. And the boy blinked to his side. “Could anyone but the progeny of the Puck do that?”
“Blimey,” said the Puck. “A son. With a hat.”
“Yes,” said I. “Magical and a bit thick—the boy is yours. Not so his turban. Puck, mate, you are short of time and there are things you need to put right.”
I jumped onto the stage and waved for the Puck to join Rumour at center stage, while I went to Cobweb. “This is why you were so late?”
“Took a massive fucking frolic to bring him back, dinnit?” she said. “He’d been dead three days.”
“Does he know? Does he know he won’t last?”
“I think he can feel it.” She nodded at the Puck, who was leaning on Rumour as he coughed, which seemed to distress him more than finding he had a son.
I pulled my coxcomb from my head, went to the Puck, and fitted it on his noggin while I whispered in his ear, “This is yours, mate. You traded for it fair and square. Now we have to put this disaster in order. Your best magics, Robin Goodfellow, for this shall be your legacy.”
I patted his back and pushed my way in front of Rumour. “You could have just told me,” I said sotto voce. “Those were not magic fucking words.”
“I didn’t say they were. I said they were the key.”
“You said the lovers were the key as well, and that was utter rubbish.”
“Puck used his second flower on the lovers. There was no flower to give to Theseus to use on Hippolyta. He had no intention of delivering that potion. Had you not been so thick, you would have known he had gone to Turtle Grotto for another purpose. His intent, since hearing Hippolyta’s plan with Oberon to bring the goblin soldiers to the wedding, was to gather the powerful and corrupt and kill them all.”
“Your hat smells of monkey fuck,” I replied. I turned to the audience and raised my hands for quiet.
“What you have seen here you shall remember only as a dream. When you wake, people of Athens, you shall go about your business, your farming and your trades, and give thanks to the forces of nature, and once a year, in the spring, take an offering of fabric, needle and thread, and simple tools, and leave them in the forest to the east. And four times a year, take a hundredweight of silver to the forest in the north, and for this the gods shall protect you from invaders. As now, you may never enter the forest at night, and never shall anyone do harm to a squirrel, for any reason, lest they bring bad harvests onto the city. You will remember goblins and fairies only as stories you tell to delight your children. Further, the working people of Athens shall keep the fruits of their labor, and only give so much of it to the city as is required to pay these offerings and protect the city, not to enrich their leaders or maintain a conquering army.”
I looked at the Puck, who was now holding himself up by bracing himself on Rumour. “Can you enchant them thus?” He nodded. “And change Nick Bottom back to a man?” Again the nod.
“Hippolyta, you shall take your warriors and your ships and return home to your island, never to return to this land again, lest you meet the wrath of the goblins. Do you understand?”
“Can’t we kill her?” said Puck.
“No, we can’t kill her. She did not come here of her own will, she was as much a slave as you. Can you do the spell?”
“Yes. But they should give shoes and hats to the fairies as well.”
“As you wish.”
“Goblins, return to your castle of night, and remember that the stars and the moon are yours, always, and you owe no one obeisance for their silvery shine. Return to this city no more, and never harm your fairy brethren, for their magic sustains you too.”
“And no eating fucking squirrels!” shouted Cobweb.
“Yes, that too,” said I. I turned to the Puck. “The stage is yours.”
The Puck struggled forward but gathered his strength, sucking in great breaths of air, and puffed his chest and prepared to speak. But there came a loud clacking noise before the stage.
Hippolyta looked up at me and shrugged. In front of her, Drool and Peaseblossom were bent over the body of Theseus, and the fairy was forcefully beating the dead duke in the face with an iron candlestick, which was where the racket was coming from.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
The two simpletons looked up with great satisfied grins. “Drool told me about tooth fairies,” said Peaseblossom. “I shall become a tooth fairy.”
“We’ve nearly a bagful,” said Drool, holding up a coin purse that looked suspiciously like it had been fashioned from someone’s scrotum.
“I’m going to get silver for them and give it to the goblins for saving our mates,” said Peaseblossom, holding up a bloody molar.
“That is not how it works,” said I. “That is not how it works at all.”
Rumour cleared his throat loudly and hopped off the stage, deferring to the Puck.
“The magic is done,” the Puck said to me. “They will not remember.” Then he moved to the edge of the stage, and to the audience, said:
“If we shadows have offended,
“Think but this, and all is mended,
“That you have but slumber’d here
“While these visions did appear.
“And this weak and idle theme,
“No more yielding but a dream,
“Gentles, do not reprehend:
“If you pardon, we will mend:
“And, as I am an honest Puck,
“If we have unearned luck
“Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,
“We will make amends ere long;
“Else the Puck a liar call;
“So, good night unto you all.
“Give me your hands, if we be friends,
“And Robin shall restore amends.”
Then the Puck took a great bow, another to the right, another to the left, and the audience, on their feet, applauded, even the Amazons and goblins. And the Puck dropped to one knee. Cobweb ran to him and caught him before he fell, lowering him to the floor. I hopped up on the stage and knelt over the Puck. Cobweb held his head, cradled in her lap, and the players gathered round and watched, heads bowed, as he died.
* * *