A Mystery of Errors (Shakespeare & Smythe 1)

“Damn it, Speed…”

“Hold on, there’s my cue!” He drew himself up, raised his chin, and swept out onto the stage.

Smythe swore in frustration. Toward the end of the first act, most of the company were onstage in a scene that took place at a ball, with everyone who was not delivering lines engaged in milling around and dancing. Several of the hired men would be making rapid entrances and exits, changing pieces of their costume to make the cast seem larger than it was. Smythe rushed up to one of them as he came off the stage and ran to make his change.

“Miles!”

“Smythe! Bloody hell! You’re late!”

“Never mind, where’s Will?” “Kemp? He’s out on stage, of course.”

“No, no, Will Shakespeare!”

“On the other side, standing in the wings and prompting.”

“Miles, listen, you must tell him-”

“No time now, I’m off!”

“Miles!”

But he had already rushed out of the tiring room and back onstage.

“Damn!” Smythe swore and looked out through the curtain, toward the back of the playhouse, where he saw his fellow ostlers all standing at the rear, holding staves and clubs and pitchforks, looking around for him to tell them what to do. “Hell,” he muttered, through gritted teeth. He could see no sign of Sir William, or the killers, or the man in the black cloak who led them. But they were all out there, somewhere. He had to warn Will, and then get back to the ostlers and let them know what they had to do.

He found his sword, which was fortunately right where he had left it earlier that day, buckled the scabbard around his waist, then quickly made his way around across the backstage area and to the other side. Will was standing just offstage, in the wings, holding the book, following the action and making certain everyone picked up their cues and made their entrances on time, with the right props.

“Will! Thank God!”

“Tuck! Damn you, where the devil did you get to?” Shakespeare said, angrily.

“Never mind that. Listen to me, your life is in danger. Four men are here to kill you.”

“What?”

“Look, I do not have much time to explain-”

“Phillip! Now! Your cue! Go on!” said Shakespeare, to one of the young boys playing one of the female parts.

“Blast! Sorry,” said the lad, and lifting up his skirts, he rushed out onto the stage.

“Will-”

“Not now, Tuck, for heaven’s sake! I cannot be distracted! You are getting in the way! The act is almost over. There is still time for you to chang

e and do your part if you hurry.”

“Will, have you even heard what I said? There are people here to kill you!”

“What? Why would anyone wish to kill me?”

“Because they are acting on Gresham ’s orders!”

Shakespeare rolled his eyes. “Oh, what rot! What sort of nonsense has that damned girl filled your head with now? I told you to stay away from her! Burbage told you to stay away from her! You are just going to cause everyone a lot of trouble!” He reached out and grabbed one of the hired men as he was rushing past. “Wait, Adrian, the tray! Do not forget the tray!”

“Shit. Thanks.”

“Will, please… listen to me, Elizabeth has nothing to do with this-”