Shakespeare for Squirrels

“He is not,” said I. “He’s lovely.” I was sitting on Bottom’s back. The weaver was bent over, holding a pair of heavy, well-matched branches to serve as his front legs, and the Mechanicals had thrown a blanket over his back to complete the ensemble.

“No, sir, I must object. Your horse has suspicious front legs, what look very much like sticks, and he is wearing trousers, which are also suspicious.”

“Well that is where you are wrong,” said I. “My horse is, in fact, not a horse, but a donkey, and trousers are quite normal for donkeys. Which are sacred and unsuspicious creatures.”

“No, sir, your mount is suspicious and shall be reported.”

“Your mum’s a suspicious mount,” said I. Perhaps unwisely. Bottom snickered.

“Wait here while I fetch the captain,” said Spot Face.

“But look at these ears,” I said, holding Bottom’s ears affectionately. “These are the very ears Jesus caressed upon his ride into the holy city. These are blessed fucking ears. Go ahead, touch them.”

“I don’t want him touching my ears,” said Bottom.

“Well we’re right fucked now,” said I.

“Did that donkey just talk?” said Spot Face.

“No,” said Bottom.

“No,” said I.

“I must fetch the captain.” He turned to run off.

“Fine!” said I. “Fine, fine, fine.” I slid off Bottom’s back to the ground. “I will go in to see the duke without my horse, now open the gate.”

“Your horse wasn’t going in either way. Horses aren’t allowed. I’m simply saying he is suspicious.”

“Agreed,” said I. “The horse stays. Now let me in, please. I have been summoned by the duke.”

“Then why ain’t you going in the front door upstairs, like the other wedding guests?”

“Because I am the entertainment and entertainers must enter from the rear.”

Bottom snickered again.

“Fine, but I’ll have to check you for weapons. What’s in that satchel?”

I had a leather shoulder bag loaned me by Francis Flute. “Simple squirrels.” I flipped open the flap. A brown, a red, and a white squirrel all looked up, squinted into the late daylight.

“You’ve brought a satchel of squirrels to the duke’s wedding?”

“Trained squirrels. For the show. Do something clever, girls.”

The squirrels just blinked, looking very common and squirrelly.

“What’s all that black cloth in the bottom?”

“Squirrel kit,” said I. “Costumes.”

“All that for three squirrels?” Spot Face reached into the satchel. “What’s that? A razor?”

“Oh balls,” said I.

And that’s when Cobweb bit him.

“Ouch!” The guard jumped back, waved his one hand as if it were on fire while trying to bring his spear into a threatening position with the other.

“Run, girls,” said I. The squirrels jumped out of the satchel and dashed through the heavy metal bars of the gate. “You only had to do something clever and this would have worked,” I shouted after them.

“Hold!” said the guard.

“I am bloody holding,” said I. “But they’re getting away. Go get them. They’re rabid. You don’t want them getting to the duke’s wedding party.”

“You brought a satchel of rabid squirrels to the duke’s wedding?” The guard was examining the bite on his finger, which was welling up with blood quite nicely.

“Yes, they were the only squirrels available on short notice. Now go!”

Spot Face took the heavy key from his belt and opened the gate, then started through after our team. “Wait,” said I.

“What?” said Spotty.

“Take this,” I said, handing him my satchel. “You’ll need this to put them in when you catch them.”

“Right,” he said. He took the satchel and ran off down the passageway, leaving the gate swinging on its hinges.

“I don’t think clever squirrel tricks were going to convince him if he wasn’t moved by a talking horse,” said Bottom.

“Quite right,” said I. “But the door is open, the girls are in and have no doubt located Drool, and”—here I squinted at the sky—“I would say that the sun has safely set, so I pronounce the plan working, despite your somewhat weak performance as a horse.”

“Does it seem strange that there was only one guard for the lower entrance to the castle on the night of a royal wedding?” Bottom asked. “This will be my first time inside, myself, but having seen Oberon’s castle, and even Titania’s castle of leaves, it seems rather sparse, don’t you think?”

He had a point. While I expected the members of the watch to be patrolling the castle perimeter for the wedding, there had been at least six guards when I’d made my way out. “One gua

rd does seem fortunate for us, but who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth? So to speak.” I bowed and made way for my equine colleague to enter the gendarmerie, then followed. “Shall we?”

We were but twenty or so steps down the hall when a gruff and familiar voice shouted, “You there, stop!”

“Oh fuckstockings,” said I.

“What?” said Bottom.

“Be a horse,” I said, turning to face Blacktooth and Burke, who stood in the gateway where we had just entered.

“About time, thou smarmy lick-knobs,” said I. “I’ve been looking for you. I have returned with the item the queen sent me to find. She told me to bring it directly here to you.”

“Where is it?” said Blacktooth. “Show it to me.”

“I would,” said I, “but that pup of a guard you left at the gate took it from me and went off to give it to the duke himself. Hog the glory, methinks.”

“See here, knave,” said Blacktooth, “I will not have you expunge our integers.”

I looked to Burke for some translation, but even the captain’s personal catch-fart was baffled and merely shrugged.

“Well you had better catch him and stop him, hadn’t you?” I said, pointing down the passageway. “Before he reveals your darker purpose to the duke?”

“Right,” said Blacktooth, and off he went, lumbering after the young guard.

“Well go on,” I said to Burke, who stood looking from me, to Bottom, to me.

“Why’s your horse so funny looking?” he asked.

“Bad lighting in here,” said I. “You need more torches. We’ll have it sorted by the time your mum comes by to shag him.”

“Burke!” called Blacktooth from around the corner.

“Off you go,” said I.

And off he went, Bottom and I following ten or so yards back. We ran round the turn to the left, and I began shouting, “Foe! Foe! Friend! Friend! Foe! Foe! Friend! Friend!”

“What are you doing?” asked Bottom as he ran along beside me.

“You’ll see,” I said. Then, “Foe! Foe! Friend! Friend!” repeating the refrain until Blacktooth was rounding the turn leading to the vault and the cells, and the captain’s head stopped in midair with a loud thunk, while his feet and torso continued on their way, somewhat airborne, until he tumbled into an unconscious pile in the dungeon.