"What's that?"
Yorick looked up from the box on his lap, the bells on his hat jingling. When he saw the speaker, he grinned. He stretched out his two-toned legs and leaned back on the stone steps where he was sitting. "Well now, my prince, what does a lad like you care about what's in an old jester's box, eh?"
The precocious seven-year-old Prince Hamlet only blinked. "We want to know what's in it," he said, as though the intention of his question should have been obvious. Yorick, true to his occupation, dodged the original question. "We, eh? What's all this talk of 'we' now, hm? All right, you little twerps, come out wherever you are."
Hamlet turned and waved a hand toward one of the pillars. Horatio, a grave old man just past his eighth birthday, solemnly stepped out from his hiding place. Three-year-old Ophelia followed after him, one hand grasping his belt and the other planted firmly in her mouth. Yorick's grin widened and he waved the other children over to join them.
Horatio plopped a few steps down from Yorick and scooped Ophelia onto his lap. Hamlet sat on the floor facing them. "It doesn't look like the sort of box you'd expect a king's fool to have," he said firmly.
"Is that so?" said the jester, waving to Ophelia, who quickly buried her face in Horatio's shoulder. "And what sort of box would you expect me to have?"
"Something colorful, like your motley. Or painted with strange animals, from far off places like Norweenmark. Or shaped in some curious fashion. That box is awfully plain."
"That's very true, young prince; but remember: looks can be deceiving." Yorick glanced back to Horatio, who was too busy fishing in his pocket for Ophelia's wooden bird to notice. "Well, prince, I'll tell you about this box. As a matter of fact, this is my skull box."
Suddenly there was a loud crash from around the corner in the hall. It was the unmistakable sound of two small boys knocking over a suit of armor. Yorick couldn't contain his laughter any more. "Alright, you two, come on over an join us."
A rather sour-looking six-year-old named Guildenstern came around the corner, followed by a puzzled little fellow named Rosencrantz. "Does this mean it's Yorick's turn to hide now while we count, Gilly?" he asked as the joined Hamlet on the floor. "No," replied Guildenstern, "it means we sit here. And stop calling my Gilly."
"I could call you Rosie, and I could be Gilly," offered Rosencrantz. Guildenstern glared at him. Hamlet pointed at the box. "Yorick says that's his skull box," he said by way of filling in the newcomers on the conversation thus far.
Before they could continue, they were again interrupted, this time by the entrance of seven-year-old Laertes. Hamlet's expression immediately darkened. Laertes ignored him and beelined for his little sister.
"C'mon, 'Phelia, we're going," he said in a well practiced older-brother voice. Ophelia, however, shook her gold curls and stared wide-eyed at her brother, all the while trying to clutch both Horatio and her bird.
"Is there something inside it?" said Rosencrantz, who was now attempting to stand on his head to look at the box. Laertes gave him A Look, and Guildenstern pointed at the box. "Hamlet says it's called a skull box," he said, "but we don't know why yet."
Laertes crossed his arms and glared at Yorick. "That's a stupid name for a box. Why do you call it that?"
"Maybe it's called a skull box because there's a skull in it," said Horatio very quietly. Rosencrantz fell over on his side and sat up quickly. "A skull? There's a skull in the box?" Laertes went a little pale and Guildenstern's mouth gaped. Hamlet's eyes got huge. Rosencrantz screamed.
Within seconds there was pandemonium. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were crawling all over each other trying to get out of the hall. Laertes was frozen until Hamlet crashed into him trying to run off. Within two minutes, all four of them were gone.
Yorick grinned as broadly as he could as he turned to Horatio, who was soothing a very bewildered Ophelia. "That was a nasty little trick, my boy." Horatio shrugged. "You were going to do the same thing, weren't you?" he said.
Yorick opened the box and tilted it toward them. Ophelia cautiously peered over Horatio's shoulder. The boy reached into the box and withdrew two cookies, one of which he handed to the little girl. Yorick leaned over and ruffled her curls as she popped the cookie in her mouth.
Years later Horatio sat in his room. Yorick was nothing but a pile of bones now: a pile of bones too unimportant to rest in peace. He had been evicted from his resting place to make room for another, a pretty young girl with golden curls. Nevertheless, Horatio couldn't help but smile as he pulled an old battered box out from beneath his bed.
"Alas, poor Yorick," he muttered as he began to munch on a cookie, "I knew you well."