The Slaying of the Shrew (Shakespeare & Smythe 2)

“Wait here,” Shakespeare said to the driver, rather superfluously, for of course the man would wait. He had been ordered to take him there and back. The driver merely glanced at him with disdain and said nothing.

The shop was still open for business, so Shakespeare went straight in. The strong aroma of herbs filled the air inside the shop.

It was the same curious, yet somehow comforting mixture of rich smells he remembered from the first time he had visited the shop, together with Tuck Smythe, Dick Burbage, and Elizabeth Darcie. The door shut behind him with a loud, protracted creaking sound, accented by a soft tinkling of small bells tied to a cord. A profusion of herbs hung drying from the ceiling beams in bunches, dozens and dozens of them, giving the ceiling the appearance of a hanging garden. From one instant to the next, depending upon where he stood, different odors wafted over him, some familiar, like rosemary, fennel, thyme and basil, others strange and exotic. Wooden shelves from floor to ceiling lined all four walls, each shelf holding a wide assortment of earthenware jars of various sizes. In front of one row of shelves, to his left as he entered the shop, stood a long wooden counter upon which were spread cutting boards and mixing bowls, mortars and pestles, scales with weights and measures, scoops, funnels, scissors, knives and various other tools, some of which he could not even identify. For all the clutter, however, there was not a speck of dirt or dust anywhere in evidence.

A hanging cloth embroidered with the symbols of the zodiac was pushed aside and a tall, almost skeletal-looking man in a long black robe stepped out. His dark eyes were deeply set, giving them a hooded aspect, and his features were lined and gaunt. He had high, prominent cheekbones and a high forehead with long, wispy, snow white hair cascading down over his shoulders from beneath a woven skullcap. His face was set into what appeared to be a perpetual expression of somberness. Once again, Shakespeare thought that he looked like the very image of a sorcerer, only instead of having a dramatic name like Merlin Ambrosius or Asmodeus or some other suitably necromantic appellation, he bore the rather prosaic and innocuous name of Freddy.

“Good day to you, Master Shakespeare,” Freddy said, greeting him with a slight bow.

“ ‘Allo, Freddy. I am pleased to see that you remembered me.”

“Indeed, I do remember, sir. And if I had not, then Meg would have reminded me. She told me that we might be expecting you today.”

“Did she?” The poet shook his head, smiling. “Your good wife continues to amaze me, Freddy. And did she also, by any chance, happen to tell you on what errand I would come?”

“A grave errand, Master Shakespeare.”

The smile slipped from Shakespeare’s face. “Aye. A grave errand, indeed. I trust that she will see me then?”

“But of course,” said Freddy, standing aside and beckoning him through the doorway. “This way, sir.”

The poet went through as Freddy held aside the hanging cloth and together they proceeded to the back of the dimly lit shop, towards a steep and narrow flight of stairs against the far wall. Shakespeare slowly climbed the creaky wooden stairs until he came out through the floor of the living quarters on the second story. It was a narrow, one-room apartment, longer than it was wide, with whitewashed walls and a planked wood floor that was, unlike the floor in the shop below, not covered with rushes, but swept bare and kept immaculately clean.

At the far end of the room was the only window, looking out over the street below. It was partially hidden by a free-standing wooden shelf that also functioned as a divider to screen off the sleeping area in the back. Nothing at all had changed since the last time he was here. The furnishings were still simple and rough-hewn, consisting of not much more than a couple of sturdy wooden chairs, several three-legged stools and a number of large, old-looking wooden chests. A rectangular wood-planked table similar to those that one might find in any tavern stood in the center of the room, before a fireplace.

> Except in the homes of the wealthy, fireplaces on the second floor were simply unheard of. In thatch-roofed country homes, where the ceilings on the upper floors were usually just the dry thatch on the roof, the fire hazard would have been extreme, to say nothing of the flammability of the rushes strewn upon the floors.

However, there were no rushes scattered here, and the ceiling was planked and wood-beamed, not thatch. With the exception of a couple of candles, the flames from the hearth provided most of the light in the room, and there were several black cauldrons of various sizes hanging from iron hooks over the fire. In his mind’s eye, the unbidden image of three witches came to him as they stood over the cauldrons, stirring the bubbling brew and cackling to themselves. He shook his head and smiled at his own foolishness, yet at the same time, his surroundings were very much conducive to that sort of vision.

Like the apothecary shop below, the walls were all but covered with wooden shelves crammed full of books and earthen jars, curious looking wooden carvings and small statuary made of stone, clay pots of every shape and size, necklaces and amulets of every description, little leather pouches suspended from thongs with who knew what sort of strange talismans contained therein… Shakespeare imagined eyes of newts and wings of bats and pulverized horn of unicorn. Everywhere he looked, there was something wonderfully different and strange to arrest his attention.

“Freddy, I was wondering…” he began as he turned around, then stopped abruptly when he saw that Freddy was not there. He frowned. He could have sworn that Freddy had come up the stairs right behind him. In fact, he was certain that he had. He made a wry grimace and shook his head. “The man moves like a ghost,” he said to himself.

“Not all ghosts move quietly,” said a soft, low voice from behind him.

He started when she spoke and turned around again to see Granny Meg standing by the table in front of the fireplace. It seemed as if she had simply appeared from out of nowhere. Clearly, she must have come from behind the screen at the far end of the room, by the window, but she was barefoot and had moved so quietly that he had not heard her footsteps. He tried to recall if Freddy had been barefoot also, but he had not noticed, and with his floor-length robe, it would have been difficult to tell, in any case.

Once again, he was struck by how ageless Granny Meg appeared. She was no longer young, but her skin was so fair and clear as to be almost translucent, without a single blemish or wrinkle. She was of average height, girlishly slim, and sharp-featured, with a pointed chin, high cheekbones, and a delicate, thin nose. Her thick, silvery-gray hair hung down to her waist. She had worn it loose the first time he had seen her, but now she had it plaited into one thick braid that hung down the left side of her chest and was held with simple rawhide thongs. She wore a simple homespun gown, lightly and delicately embroidered with green vines and flowers around the neckline. Her voice was low and mellifluous, memorable certainly, but not nearly so much as her eyes, which were an unusual, striking shade of pale grayish blue, so light that they seemed to absorb light and reflect it. And she seemed to be surrounded by a brightly glowing, pulsating aura.

Shakespeare blinked, taken aback, and then realized that it was but a momentary illusion of the firelight on the hearth behind her. He smiled, thinking of how easily his imagination ran away with him each time he came here. It was, after all, nothing more than an ordinary apothecary shop.

“I was thinking that surely no ghost could move as quietly as you, madame,” Shakespeare said. “You gave me a bit of a start.”

She smiled. “Forgive me. The floorboards here are stout, and these old bones are very light.”

“ ‘Tis good to see you once more, Granny Meg. Good day to you. I am given to understand I was expected?”

She shrugged, a very spare and graceful gesture. “I had a strong presentiment that I would be seeing you today.”

“And lo, here I am.”

“There you are.” She indicated one of the chairs at the table. “Please, be seated.”

He took the chair and she sat down across from him.

“You are very troubled,” she said.

“Indeed. You can divine that much already?”