Shakespeare for Squirrels

I measured my answer here, tempted as I was to wax poetic over what an obvious and egregious slut was the queen of the night, it appeared that this information had value to Oberon. “This I will do,” said I. “She shall not so much as smile at a passing hedgehog that you will not know of it in an hour.”

“And I shall need you to convey me to the Duke of Athens’s wedding tomorrow night.”

“That, I cannot do, Your Grace, for my task at hand is to perform at the very same wedding.”

“You are in service of Theseus?”

“Among others. But when you see me, let us pretend we are strangers.”

“Agreed.”

“And, Your Grace, see to the security of your castle. For having so many goblins at arms, your fortress is as porous as a sieve.”

“I have no fear. I am immortal.”

“So was the Puck, Your Grace.”

Chapter 14

The King’s Dread Pleasures

I pretended to drink, and regaled Oberon with lies of my travels and magical exploits well into the wide posterior of the night, when finally, the shadow king staggered off to slumber and a goblin servant led me to the harem as the king had instructed. Two guards with halberds stood outside the double doors, and between them, on the floor, lay the dead goblin that Oberon had shot with the crossbow. Over him crouched Gritch, his bat-wing ears drooping like wilted leaves. Nick Bottom sat leaning against the double doors, snoring quite loudly.

“Ring the bell,” Gritch commanded a guard, and the goblin turned and pulled a cord strung through the wall over his head. Somewhere on the other side of the door a bell chimed.

“Gritch, you needed only to bring the dead goblin here. You didn’t have to stay.”

“Was my mate,” said the goblin, stroking the dead goblin’s brow.

“This monster was your wife?”

“My friend,” said the goblin.

“Oh, quite right. Condolences.” I reached into my belt and retrieved the button from Bottom’s waistcoat and handed it to Gritch, who took it and stared mournfully at the silver Celtic knot pattern.

The two guards each bent over and regarded the button as if it were a holy relic. Gritch growled at them and they returned to attention.

A small brass portal in the door opened and a painted face filled it. “What?” she said. The face was tarted up, but from the white hair around it I could tell it was Moth.

“It’s Pocket, love. Let us in.”

“What’s the magic words?”

I looked to Gritch. “Magic words?”

The goblin shrugged.

“I don’t know the magic words,” said I.

“Do piss off, then.” She snapped the little brass door shut.

I pulled the bell cord again and gently kicked Bottom awake. “Bottom, why are you locked out?”

The ass-man sputtered and looked around, realizing with some disappointment, it seemed, where he was. “They won’t let us in. No goblins, they said.”

The little brass portal opened. “Pocket!” said Peaseblossom, rather tarted up in her own right. “They painted us and shaved our bits. I hope that goes away at dawn. Methinks climbing trees will be rough with my bits shaved.”

“Let us in, love. We’ve brought the dead goblin Cobweb asked me to bring.” I pointed to the dead goblin, who was still wearing the silver armlet.

“No goblins,” said Peaseblossom. “Eaters of squirrels. Do piss off.” And she snapped shut the little brass door.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Gritch, do you eat squirrels?”

“Squirrels are delicious,” said the goblin, with enthusiasm I’d thought they reserved for silver. The guards on either side of the door nodded in agreement. “Uh, I am told,” Gritch added, rolling his large yellow eyes. The guards shook their heads, evidently having just remembered that they, too, had never tasted squirrel.

“Ring the fucking bell,” I snapped at the guard beside the cord. To Gritch, I said, “How is it that no one nicked that silver armlet from your mate? May he rest in peace. There must have been a thousand goblins horny for silver in that courtyard.”

“To take silver is forbidden,” said Gritch. “Silver must be given.”

“Do you know who gave that armlet to your mate?”

“A human mortal,” said Gritch. “I don’t know which.”

The little brass door opened. This time it was Cobweb. “What?”

“Cobweb, stop messing about and let us in,” I said.

“That the dead one?”

“This one with the crossbow bolt in his heart and tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth? Why, you know, it could be.”

“Sarcasm will make your willy fall off.”

“Open the door, please, we need to be on our way before dawn.”

“What are the magic words?”

“Oh, do piss off, Cobweb.”

“Correct!” She snapped the portal shut and I heard the iron bolt thrown. The heavy doors opened a crack and Cobweb peeked out. “Just you and the dead goblin. Everyone in here is a bit fragile, it seems. Not sure the sight of Bottom might not send them round the bend. Sorry, mate.”

“Do you have anything to eat?” asked Bottom. “Some dried peas or oats would be lovely.”

“I’ll have Moth bring you something,” said Cobweb. “Now, drag him in.”

I dragged the dead goblin in by the arms and Cobweb closed the door behind me. She was painted up like the others, wide blue brows and shadows around her eyes that almost described a mask, her lips painted lavender, lined in black. She wore a simple, hooded robe of black satin that hung to her knees and she was, of course, barefoot. We had not entered a chamber, but simply an antechamber with another set of heavy doors.

As soon as she bolted the door she turned, jumped into my arms, and ferociously snogged me. “Did you see?” she said, pounding my chest with one hand while keeping the other wrapped around my neck. “Did you see me take the piss out of Oberon? You’re right, Pocket, it was bloody glorious. ‘You live in this palace made of midnight while your queen lives up a fucking tree,’ I told him. Felt finer than a frolic, it did.”

The doors opened behind us and I let Cobweb slide to her feet. Peaseblossom and Moth were manning the double doors and had opened them into an expansive boudoir done up in draperies and cushions of black and gold. The floor, at least, was covered in woven wool rugs of red, yellow, and green amid the black, in the patterns of the Persians. Except for my three traveling companions, I saw no fairies at all.

“I know you’re shit at counting, but I expected—”

“Come on then,” Cobweb called to the empty room. “Come on, he won’t hurt you.” She turned to me and whispered, “I think it’s your black and silver kit has them scared. Give them a bit.”

“Why are we here, Cobweb?”

“Finding the Puck’s killer, I reckon,” said Cobweb. “Make your puppet stick talk. They’ll love that.”

Why not? I thought. Since, apparently, I had relinquished authority to a sometime squirrel. I pulled the puppet Jones from down my back. “Nick of time,” said the puppet Jones. “This newt wouldn’t know magic words if they smacked him on the bum.”

Peaseblossom and Moth—actual magical creatures themselves—giggled, clapped their hands, and jumped with joy at my trifling trick.

I had Jones launch into a solemn hymn from my days at the nunnery, “Sister Lilly Oft Yanks Me Willy”:

“Oh, she’s pious as a vicar’s nose.”

The draperies, cushions, and covers began to move, nude and nearly-so fairies emerging from beneath and behind.

“All through vespers, she buffs me hose.”

They gathered around, wide eyed—disturbingly wide eyed—as the puppet sang.

“To fancy a nun, just might seem silly.”

There were, it seemed, a hundred of them, both male and female.

“But I’d give my all, to Sister Lilly.”

I danced a step or two, to

ssed the puppet Jones in the air and caught him behind my back, then bowed with a great flourish. The fairies clapped and cheered. Upon my second bow I noticed hair-thin scars on some of the fairies’ legs. Some were like white threads, some pink, as if fresher, none more visible than the scratch of a kitten, but each fairy was covered, head to toe, with a lattice of scars. Even amid the face paint I could see the white threads, and one or two of them had one eye that was clouded. Not unseeing, but bright blue or green iris paired with a clouded gray one.

I took Cobweb by the shoulder and pulled her aside. “What is this? What are these scars?”

“The marks of Oberon’s pleasure,” she said. “A frolic stops the bleeding. Two or three will bring an eye back, but the new eye doesn’t always match.”

I felt my supper sour in my stomach and rise in my throat. I swallowed hard to force it back down. “I would have never let Oberon send you here if I’d known.”

“I knew,” she said. “Well, I had heard. Moth has a brother here. She’s right troubled about him.”

Moth was touching foreheads with a male fairy with eggshell hair like her own.