“Duke,” she said, by way of greeting.
“Queen,” said he, a bounce in his eyebrows.
And she was on him, approximating the same scene she’d played out with Bottom, only with less braying and more moaning, and they both disappeared behind the tapestries, did a bit of orgasmic screaming, then returned to the stage, massively out of breath. The audience loved it, cheered through the entire scene. Titania seemed bothered not at all, but patted the Indian boy’s hand, as if to assure him that everything was fine. But the duke was aghast and continued to glance sideways at Hippolyta, who seemed curious but not particularly concerned.
“I am troubled,” said Starveling. “I am to be married in three days and my wife loathes me.”
“Have you tried a love potion?” asked Peaseblossom.
“Is there such a thing?”
“There is, and for your favor now and in the future, I shall send you one. Put a drop of it in Hippolyta’s eye when you are the next thing she shall see and she will be yours. I shall send the Puck here tomorrow morning with one. Have your agents meet him at sunup.”
They both ran offstage. Drool and Snug whispered between themselves conspiratorially, then nodded and skulked off behind the tapestries.
Peter Quince retook the stage.
“Ladies and gents, be not afraid of all the shagging going on, for it is merely stage shagging and not actual shagging. Nor are the betrayals real betrayals. Or the murders real murders. All is staged for your delight and is completely suitable for ladies and children.
“Now, we are taken to the chambers in the castle of the beautiful Amazon queen, Hippolyta.”
Cobweb, wearing the remnants of Helena’s dress, trimmed down to her size, and the remnants of Helena’s hair, woven into her own short tresses so it hung in plaits like Hippolyta’s, scampered out from behind the tapestries and whispered in Quince’s ear, then retreated to center stage.
“For the purposes of drama, the audience should imagine the queen is wearing shoes,” Peter Quince said, then exited.
Cobweb sighed heavily, which was my cue. I ran from the floor stage left, leapt onto the stage, and did three cartwheels and a backflip to land in her arms, my back bent, faux Hippolyta holding me up. I had some doubts about my tumbling ability, having been starved and shipwrecked, but it appeared the fairies’ frolic was still sustaining me.
“Hello, Puck,” said Cobweb.
“Your Grace,” said I. “Fancy a bonk?”
“Perhaps. If you promise me a favor.”
“I am your servant, ma’am,” I said with a bow.
“I am to be married in three days, and before that time, I would like to meet with the goblin king. Can you arrange that?”
“A piece of piss, love. I’ll have him here before dawn.”
“Then lay on, Robin Goodfellow!” She was on me, and in the manner of the previously stated trysts, we raucously bounced through the tapestries, much to the delight of the audience. Once offstage she whispered, “You are a shit.”
“Moi?” said I, in perfect fucking French.
She kissed me quickly and made for her mark onstage, where Drool and Snug were waiting as the watchmen.
“What do you tossers want?” asked Cobweb.
“Ma’am, to report, ma’am, that we witnessed something that would be of great interest to you and would be worth a reward to us.”
“You shall have your reward. One of my silver armlets. What is your news?”
I peeked out to see Hippolyta rubbing her biceps where once she wore her silver armlets. Surely, this was not how it had happened, but it was close enough that the point was finally reaching her. She knew we knew. Theseus leaned forward on his chair and was paying close attention. The rest of the audience was watching a silly farce, but the royals were all watching an indictment.
“The duke is to receive a love potion from the fairies,” said Snug, reading slowly from a slip of parchment. “Which he intends to enchant you with upon your wedding day. We are to retrieve it from the Puck at Turtle Grotto at dawn tomorrow.”
“Well that shall not happen. You shall stop him reaching Theseus with the potion,” said Cobweb. “In any way you can.”
“The Puck is very clever. The duke had us out searching for him all day.”
“Do not let the duke receive that potion,” said Cobweb. “Now be gone, I have a guest coming.”
Drool and Snug exited.
“Oh, I need some air,” said Cobweb. She went to the back of the stage and held aside one of the tapestries, through which I stepped, then bowed as Tom Snout in his Oberon togs skipped through.
“Away, Puck,” said Snout as Oberon. “Come for me before dawn.”
I exited through the arras but peeked out. This would be the scene where the show would shift to the audience. I checked my two remaining daggers and nodded to Peter Quince, who had two short scripts from which he might read, as well as a third option I’d alerted all the players to, which was to run for the antechamber if it came to it.
“Oh, my dark lord,” said Cobweb. She moved to Snout and rubbed against him in a lascivious and seductive manner, accentuating their height difference, which, while ridiculous, was no more than that between Titania and Oberon. “Take me, use me, like the warrior tart that I am.” Cobweb looked past Snout to catch my eye and made a silly grin, proud of her improvisation. What she couldn’t see, and neither could the audience, was that much of the soot that we had used to blacken Tom Snout was now smeared on Cobweb’s face and all over the front of her once-white gown.
I laughed. Cobweb saw her hand, blackened, then looked down her front.
“But no.” She turned suddenly and went to the front of the stage, as actors do when changing their mind, so the audience may see the conflict in their visage. Or, in her case, the soot all over her. The audience burst into laughter, which energized Cobweb no little.
“First,” she said, “you must help free me from the bonds of that putrid dongwhistle Theseus.”
The players definitely had the attention of the royals now. Cobweb was doing smashingly improvising her lines with only the rough instructions we had come up with in the antechamber.
Snout moved up behind Cobweb and put his hands on her shoulders, leaving black prints wherever he touched.
“Anything, my warrior queen, if you will submit to my dread pleasures.”
“You know I am a prisoner here,” said Cobweb, “and even if I escape, there are scores of my soldiers who are hostages, for even as they walk free about the castle, they are allowed no weapons, and every one of my warriors is watched by one of Theseus’s guards.”
“A sad affair,” said Snout.
“I am to marry, three days hence, and you and Titania are invited to the wedding. When you come, I want you to bring a cohort of your goblin soldiers, and when I give the signal, they must kill Theseus’s guards and give arms to my warriors.”
Before Snout could reply, before the audience could react to the idea of goblins, which they thought something made up to frighten children, a ferocious female war cry filled the hall, echoing up into the vaulted rafters, as Hippolyta pulled a dagger from under her gown and drove its point under Theseus’s sternum. She continued to scream, even as she twisted the blade in his chest and h
is heart’s blood poured out over her hand. “Now!” she screamed. “Now! Now! Now!”
“Go, go, go,” said I to my cast. I shooed the players back toward the antechamber. Cobweb and Snout ran off the side of the stage after them.
In the hall the dark hoods were pulled back and goblins put blades to soldiers’ throats at every door, disarming but not killing the soldiers. The audience screamed and rose to run, but each of the six double doors was slammed shut and bolted. Above, in the balconies, soldiers had been disarmed and yanked away, presumably held at sword point on the floor, while the balconies filled with goblins bearing crossbows, which they trained on the crowd below. Several of Hippolyta’s warriors reached for the soldiers’ weapons but were beaten back by the swipe of a sword or the aim of a crossbow.
“Now! Now! Now!” screeched Hippolyta, but her Amazon warriors could not respond to her call, all of them held harmless by armed goblins.
Hippolyta pulled the dagger from Theseus’s chest and let him drop to the floor as she stood. She crouched and brandished the bloody dagger, ready for a fight. The audience members, including Hermia and Lysander, had moved away from her, leaving her alone with her dead duke. At the other side of the stage, Oberon was on his feet too, looking confused and furious. “Kill the guards!” he shouted, to no effect at all. He looked from balcony to balcony, and from each, a dozen crossbows were trained upon him.
I hopped on the stage and danced a jaunty jig to the edge, stage right, where Hippolyta waved her knife. At spirits, evidently.
“Everyone please take your seats,” said I. “We are not finished here. I know this is unsettling, and several of you have probably soiled yourself, but be of good cheer, I assure you no one will be harmed.”
“Yes they will,” said Hippolyta, shaking the dagger at some goblin archers. “They will all be harmed.”
I looked down on her, gave her my most beatific smile. “That knife is mine, love,” said I. “If you don’t mind.” I held out my hand.
She turned as if to attack me and a crossbow bolt thunked into her empty chair, then another one right next to it. I looked to the first balcony, where a goblin wearing two silver armlets stared down, his crossbow ready to be reloaded. Gritch.