Chapter Three
While Anne Hathaway slumbered, an effect on her especially from reading from the special manuscript of the play, Henry IV, things were stirring in the world of Shakespeare. The Dark Lady was only moments away from rejoicing in the greatest celebration of her life.
After more than a decade of research and several years of countless searching, she had at long last found them all. Her father would have been proud. She imagined the look on his face, the excitement in his eyes, if he was here that day to see an unparalleled event. Today would go down in history, as were many more days now that the Dark Lady had acquired all of the Seven Relics. She would be unstoppable. With all of her allies by her side, including the Critics, she would march into each of the Three Thrones and claim them as her own. She would rule the world of Shakespeare and those who were against her would perish, simple as that.
It had been weeks since she had traveled to uncharted territory to parlay with the mysterious Critics. Caliban and Don John had been her companions into the heart of the Critic city where they had met with Critic leaders known as the Council of Nocturne to discuss proposal for an alliance against the army of the Three Thrones—the King's Men—and the free lands that were still protected by the swordsmen known as the Sycorax, even though Caliban, their creator and leader, joined forces with the Dark Lady.
It had been weeks and yet it only seemed like yesterday when the Dark Lady had went to meet with the Critics for the first time.
Once she and the others had been granted access into the gates of the Critic territory, it had been smooth sailing then despite the Dark Lady's anxiety. As malignant and malicious as she prided herself to be, she was only human after all and sometimes, she was prone to feeling scared. However, pertaining to the Critics, she wasn't the type of scared that you would imagine her to be. Her fear hadn't stemmed from the Critics themselves because she didn't fear anyone, but rather her fear had been created from thoughts of failure. She had not wanted to fail in getting the Critics to join her rebellious cause. She needed her army to be formidable. Strength was in numbers and to be the strongest she needed more allies and that had required her to strike a deal with the Critics. Of course, they didn't lend their allegiance and their services for free. There was always a price to forming an alliance, but at least it the beat the alternative hands down. The Dark Lady would have hated to invade the lands that the Critics had claimed since they were such intelligent beings. It would have been a waste of bloodshed, an unnecessary carnage.
The Dark Lady had been surprised that the Critics had entered into an accord with her so quickly. It hadn't taken much deliberation, only a few hours maximum, and when deliberations were all said and done, the Critics had agreed with the Dark Lady's motive of conquest and the term—yes, term in the singular—of their agreement was simple: While the Dark Lady ruled the Three Thrones, they wanted to rule everything else.
It had been easy for the Dark Lady to tell the Council of Nocturne that the Critics could conquer the free lands of Shakespeare. Her response hadn't required much thought and she hadn't needed two hours to deliberate, although Caliban didn't think such a proposal was a good idea. But the Dark Lady didn't care about what Caliban thought. All she had cared about was the Three Thrones and acquiring the rest of the Seven Relics, with only two remaining to be claimed. With her entire life focused on accomplishing these two feats, the Dark Lady felt that the Critics could have the leftovers if they wanted to, after the war was over.
The Dark Lady smiled, while reflecting on the meeting with the Critics. She had intentionally not mentioned anything about the Seven Relics to the foreigners. Just like the Thrones, the Relics would belong to her and she planned to never tell the Critics about them. The less they knew, the better their arrangement would be for her and her closest, most loyal followers. Besides, why would she want to tell the Critics about the only weapons she would possess to thwart them if they broke the covenant or if she ever decided to conquer them too after she had conquered all of Shakespeare?
That wasn't the first time that that particular thought had crossed her mind. In fact, she had thought about it several times since she teaming up with the Critics weeks ago. Looking back at the history of her world, betrayal seemed to be one of the stepping stones to ultimate power and getting whatever you wanted out of life. Antony had betrayed his country by courting Cleopatra. Caesar was betrayed by his closest friends. The Dark Lady desired ultimate power, but was she so ruthless that she would betray her newest allies?
Over the course of a few weeks, the Dark Lady had forced herself into believing that she would betray the Critics only if she saw a need to. Trust wasn't an issue here because she trusted people as much as she feared them, which meant that she didn't trust the Critics as far as she could throw them. She knew that with all of her allies, it was easy for one of them to deceive her, so she was always prepared and willing to return the favor if need be.
The Critics were still ambiguous to her, even after weeks of working close together with them, scheming up their first means of revolt against the unsuspecting Three Thrones. She didn't even fully understand what they were capable of. For all she knew, the alliance they had forged with her was a fluke, a way for them to invade Shakespeare without having to do all of the work themselves. Then, afterwards, they would claim the world as their own and the Dark Lady would be serving them.
But that wasn't going to happen. The Dark Lady would never subjugate herself to be a servant of the Critics. She would rather die than to suffer such shame and dishonor. If the Critics ever had the idea of backstabbing her, she would make sure that she would be the one who performed the first stab.
As seconds passed and turned into minutes and minutes turned into at least two hours without any word from the two scouting teams, the Dark Lady's mind shifted from the Critics and returned to thoughts about the Seven Relics. She stood up from her seat and started to pace.
She was at home, in the only home that she had ever known. When her father had died, the Dark Lady had inherited his place of residence—the exquisite Lanier Castle, which was located on the outskirts of the free lands that was known as Mantua. Mantua was by the sea and had been one of the most popular vacation sites for centuries. People all around the world of Shakespeare flocked to Mantua during the spring and summer months for getaway trips, but the Dark Lady resided there year round. People came and went from Mantua but she never wanted to leave, although she knew that one-day she would have to if her dreams were to become a reality. The Lanier Castle would be left behind as a tourist attraction or her summer home and she would then become one of those people who only visited on rare occasions. Perhaps she would construct a new Lanier Castle in one of the three kingdoms that she would choose as her home. It would be a palace that was fit for a queen.
Lanier Castle had been in the Dark Lady's family for centuries and many believed it to be long since abandoned after the tragic death of Lord Lanier and his young daughter. But it wasn't abandoned, for his daughter was still alive and she wore a mask day in and day out to conceal her true identity.
Now, Lanier Castle was used as a base of operations for the Dark Lady and her growing faction. Caliban had some pull in the politics of the free lands, as leader of the Sycorax, so government officials left the castle alone. They never snooped around the premises and they never tried to purchase it from the Dark Lady's remaining family, all of whom wanted nothing to do with Lord Lanier's remaining heirloom.
The place was perfect for a hideout. It was miles away from the nearest building. It was located on the beach, with half of the structure built into the side of the cliff that jutted out into the foamy ocean—two options of escape by either traveling by boat or hiding out in the mountains and making a path through the rocky pass. And it was immense. The Dark Lady's entire army could fit inside of the castle.
She was currently in her father's old bedchamber, which she had recently claimed as her own. She had been sitting on her unnecessarily large bed, but had slid off of it to walk the length of the room, pacing back and forth, back and forth . . . .
What was taking so long? Caliban had located the last two Relics—the ring and the skull—and the Dark Lady had sent two teams out to recover them. Both teams should have been back by now. It was making her worry. Had Caliban been wrong about the locations of the ring and the skull? Had the Dark Lady led her soldiers into two traps? Prospero was a clever man—so much like the Dark Lady's father—and she would put nothing past his magical talents, especially when it pertained to the Relics. After all, hadn't Caliban told her that Prospero was linked to the Seven Relics and that there were things about them that Caliban himself couldn't understand?
They had never finished their conversation from the day that they had gone to speak with the Critics—Caliban and the Dark Lady. She had never brought it up again as she was so busy as of late with military strategies and preparing her troops for war. Caliban was also always on the move, fulfilling his role as double agent very well. Even with someone as sharp as Mercutio within the ranks of the Sycorax, the Dark Lady had faith that one day the swordsmen who protected the borders would become a part of her insurgence. Caliban was that gifted. Such a slippery man he was, full of guile beyond most people's wildest dreams.
The Dark Lady stopped pacing suddenly and peered through the holes in her mask, staring around at an empty room.
She thought for a moment and decided that Caliban was too crafty for his own good. She would have to keep a close watch on him at all times, even though she adored him and was glad that he was on her side. The Dark Lady needed more men like Caliban on her side, but the only other person that could match his skill was Othello, and he would never abandon the King's Men. If Caliban was too crafty for his own good, then Othello was too good for his own good.
The Dark Lady cocked her head to the side. There were some of her men who had showed promise. As much as she hated comparing any of her followers to Caliban, she couldn't help but to do so. Caliban had set the precedence on what it meant to be devoted to serving the will of the Dark Lady and therefore, she couldn't help but to compare Caliban with others.
Iago was probably the one who showed the most potential on the side of cunning and intelligence. It was difficult to tell just how cunning and intelligent he was since he tended not to speak much, but it was a whole different ballgame watching Iago in action, manipulating people to carry out whatever he wanted them to. As far as eager to do battle was concerned, young Hotspur was the perfect commander. She was sure that he would make a good military leader and he was a part of King Henry IV's entourage. King Henry was one of the Golden Kings, ruler of one of the Three Thrones, and he would never suspect a thing once Hotspur and his allies turned on their own kingdom.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the Dark Lady's bedchamber doors. She spun around and faced the door as the knock came again.
"Enter!" she commanded, as her musings were interrupted.
The double-doors opened slowly and a woman stepped into the room. She marched with poise, her long dark hair flowing and her face cruel. She had a lot of confidence and her tongue was sharp, two things that the Dark Lady liked about her and two reasons why she was the only woman—besides the Dark Lady herself—to be a part of the rebellion so far.
"Lady Macbeth! What a present surprise! What say you on this glorious night?" The Dark Lady greeted her, sweeping across the room to meet her visitor halfway. They embraced and then, the Dark Lady looked eager to hear the purpose behind Lady Macbeth's visit.
"Milady," Lady Macbeth performed a quick bow. "I am here to tell you that I have failed in my mission and I would like to beg for your forgiveness."
Failure was not to be tolerated. There was so much at stake. Lady Macbeth's mission had been simple. She was a woman who was a master of seduction and yet, she had failed. The pleasantness that the Dark Lady had felt upon Lady Macbeth's arrival had faded. She had lost a lot of respect for Lady Macbeth, who she had always praised as being capable of carrying out her duties. But now she had one strike against her. The Dark Lady was merciful and would grant her another chance; however, if she failed again then it would be strike two and Lady Macbeth would be out—there would be no strike three. And although, she would give Lady Macbeth another opportunity to prove herself once more, it didn't mean that the Dark Lady couldn't torment her for a while. After all, she was bored with waiting to hear back from Caliban and Hostpur, who were leading the two teams to retrieve the last two Relics.
"Forgiveness?" The Dark Lady echoed, suddenly and genuinely angry. Her eyes flashed behind the mask. "Why should I forgive you when you have failed me and after so many times of success. You had an excellent track record and now it is ruined with the easiest of tasks."
"Milady," Lady Macbeth countered, after hanging her head in humiliation. "My husband is smarter than you give him credit for. Sure, he listens to me, but I believe that it is going to take a whole lot more persuasion than me utilizing my feminine wiles."
The Dark Lady scoffed. "I think that you have all of the factors of persuasion that you will ever need to get Macbeth to join us. After all, it was you who caused him to rise quickly in the Scottish military so that he could become a competent warrior. Wasn't it you who bedded the king? Surely, it wasn't Macbeth who secretly courted King Duncan."
Fury burned Lady Macbeth's face and the Dark Lady loved it. Lady Macbeth was feisty and fiery but she knew when to hold her tongue and in the presence of the Dark Lady was one of those moments that she was afraid to speak her mind.
For a moment, Lady Macbeth just stood there, her eyes blazing before she spoke again as calmly as she could muster. "Milady, I have my husband wrapped around my finger, I can assure you of that. Allow me to try again and I will not fail you a second time. You have my word."
The Dark Lady studied Lady Macbeth for a while in silence. There was so much potential there, so much anger, and so much aptitude. The Dark Lady knew that Lady Macbeth could succeed in recruiting Macbeth, there was no doubt about that. But how long would such a task take to accomplish? Currently, Macbeth was enjoying the high life of being a thane, who was constantly being honored by the elites and the common citizens of his kingdom. How long would it take for Lady Macbeth to convince him to come down off of his high horse and take a look at the people of his country and see them for who they really were? The citizens of Scotland didn't truly give a damn about Macbeth. Whenever his days of being a general were long gone, no one would remember him. Once he was done protecting his "people", then the cheers and applause that he received while out in his village would disappear altogether. It was essential that Lady Macbeth got him to see this so that he could join the Dark Lady's forces, a group of soldiers who would actually care about him and take care of him, while helping him to glory.
The Dark Lady didn't have much time to wait for this to take place for too long. War was close now; she could feel it. And she needed more military leaders. The more, the better . . . .
"You are lucky that I as lenient as I am generous," the Dark Lady spoke again in a low voice to tell Lady Macbeth that she was off the hook for her folly for now, but also that the Dark Lady meant business and such a mistake had better not happen again. "You are not a coward, Lady Macbeth. You have come to me and faced me, woman to woman, and because of that, I commend you. I will also grant you one more chance. Fail me again and . . . let's just say that I will not have mercy next time. Understood?"
Lady Macbeth bowed low. "Yes, Milady. I shall return to Scotland at once and talk to my husband."
"You will return soon enough," the Dark Lady told her. "Stay tonight and celebrate with us. The last of the Relics shall be here soon."
Lady Macbeth nodded. "If it is your will, Milady, then I shall remain here until morning."
The Dark Lady smiled, her thoughts returning to the Relics once more.
As if on cue, she heard the footsteps coming down the hallway outside of the bedchamber, for Lady Macbeth had left the doors wide open when she had entered the room. Someone was approaching. The Dark Lady wondered who her guest would be this time. She hoped that it was Touchstone bearing good news for her.
A man came to a halt in the open doorway. He wore a silly jester hat and had white makeup that cover his entire face, except for the two circles that was around both of his eyes. His real nose was concealed behind a bright red nose and he bounded excitedly when he walked. Touchstone the clown was always animated and was a good servant to the Dark Lady. She was pleased that she had such good servants and that even a figure that personified goodness as much as a clown did could be so evil. Touchstone was pure evil.
Touchstone chuckled an insane laugh but did not enter the bedroom without permission from his master. "Milady," he said in the crazed voice of a lunatic. He chuckled again. "It is time. They have returned."
"Excellent," was one of the many words that the Dark Lady could have used to describe how she felt upon hearing Touchstone speak those very words. The time had finally arrived. Too long had she been obsessed with finding the Seven Relics. Too long had she been searching, sometimes in vain it seemed just to find the precious artifacts. But no more searching. At long last, she had found them all. Tonight, they would be hers forever. Tonight was the night that the rebellion would rise and crush the kingdoms and free lands of Shakespeare.
Cool and composed, the Dark Lady restrained her excitement. She didn't want for Lady Macbeth and Touchstone to see her in such a state. She instilled fear into the hearts of her followers, not exhilaration. She couldn't drop her mentality now because if she did, she might as well take her mask off right then and there and cast it aside. But she would never do that. The mask had created the persona of the Dark Lady and it was her life now. There was no going back, which meant that she couldn't show any positive emotions. Not in the typical sense, at least. The Dark Lady's way of showing excitement would be to use the Seven Relics to destroy her enemies. Now that was excitement and . . . pleasure.
"Leave me," the Dark Lady said curtly. "Tell Caliban and the others to wait for me out in the courtyard. I will bring the other Relics with me."
Touchstone and Lady Macbeth bowed and bounced and walked swiftly out of the room. When they were gone, the Dark Lady closed the bedchamber doors behind them with a wave of her left hand and a slight twitching of her lips. Then, she swept across the room, past the four-poster bed. She stopped before a seemingly blank stone wall that was gray like a slab of metal.
She reached out a hand and touched a piece of stone with the tips of her fingers. At first, nothing happened, but then with a rumble like thunder that shook the entire bedroom, the wall slid aside to the left, revealing a secret passageway behind it.
The Dark Lady stepped down into the dark hallway and the chandeliers hanging overhead were instantly lit with magical fires that were the color of gleaming rubies. This was another reason why the Dark Lady was grateful that her father had left the Lanier Castle to her after his death, because of all of the hidden hallways and secret rooms. There were about twenty concealed passages and about seven or eight rooms that did not show up on the floorplans for the castle. The Dark Lady had explored the home herself over the past few years and had discovered most of its' secrets. There were still many that remained but the ones that she had found so far were sufficient to hide things that she didn't want anyone else to find. No one, absolutely no one in her army knew about any of the hidden chambers and hallways and she wanted to keep it that way. They say secrets don't make friends but the Dark Lady begged to differ. After all, she had made many friends by keeping secrets.
Her footsteps echoed loudly in the empty stone hallway as she walked the length of it. When she ran out of corridor, she was facing a large painting of her late father that was over seven feet wide and seven feet tall. The Dark Lady waved a hand again and the portrait—canvas, frame, and all—slid aside just like the bare wall inside of the bedroom.
Behind the portrait was a tiny room, about the size of a walk-in closet. That was where the rest of the Relics were hidden.
The Dark Lady eyed the Relics. They were all beautiful, all gleaming with a gold or silver hue. Separate, they were plain and dull, but together, they were lustrous. And the more Relics were added to the collection, the brighter the light that reflected off of the Relics. Tonight would be the brightest yet.
She waved her hand once more, twice this time, and the Relics rose high into the air around her at her silent command. A grin spread across her face slowly but she was still in denial. Were the Seven Relics about to be hers finally? It couldn't be real. It was like a dream come true. It had been her life's work and she had successfully completed it at still a fairly young age.
She turned and walked back down the passageway. It was cold and damp but inside, the Dark Lady felt completely opposite. She was very warm as if the Relics were giving off heat from their glow, as they floated in the air behind her, magically trailing her as she returned to her bedchamber and the stone opening resealed itself behind her.
The Dark Lady strode from the room, her cloak sweeping the floor behind her like a dust broom. The bedroom doors closed automatically behind her once the Relics had glided through.
The hallway that she was in now had walls that were not made of stone like the secret passageway where she had stashed each Relic after discovery and retrieval. The walls here were modernized, mostly plaster that was painted a deep crimson color. Paintings and other wall furnishings added decoration and the hallway was lit by the fiery light that was coming from the many scones that jutted out from the walls on both sides at ten feet intervals. Pale golden light illuminated this corridor and the carpeted floors were also the color of wine, trimmed in gold and white patterns that were similar to the designs one would find on wallpaper. There were also statues of armored knights and marbled busts, the typical and stereotypical décor of a fancy castle that had been owned by a man who had been very wealthy while he was alive. The Dark Lady's late father had enjoyed such artifacts but the Dark Lady herself didn't care about them at all. The Relics were the only artifacts that were significant to her, and all others were trivial and shouldn't exist in the first place.
The Dark Lady descended the stairs at the end of the hallway and entered a grandiose antechamber. Through a door and across the marbled floor of the entrance foyer and she was only feet away from stepping out into the courtyard where her entourage were waiting with the final two missing pieces to a puzzle she had been trying to complete for a long time.
She was ready and willing to wield the items that would give her ultimate power. They were legend, bedtime stories that her father had told her when she was a kid. Back then, she was skeptical, believing in the Seven Relics as much as she believed in Santa Claus, but now was different. The Relics were real and she had placed all of her faith into their abilities, as if they were a religion. She wasn't sure of their powers completely yet—what the Relics could do had not been a part of the stories her father could recite from memory. No one really knew, except for maybe Prospero and the Golden Kings, and the stories had been passed along orally for centuries so various parts were jumbled or changed. Some tales told of Five Relics, some of Thirteen Relics, and one version of the legend had one of the Relics being a rabbit's foot for good luck. The Dark Lady had scoffed when she had heard that story. She didn't need a rabbit's foot for good luck. In fact, she didn't need good luck at all. The Relics would ensure that she never had to worry about fortune again. Or fate neither.
Grinning again, she exited the castle and out into the courtyard. The Relics floated closely behind her.
Many of them were gathered outside, circling the gigantic marble fountain that marked the center of the courtyard. Caliban was there with his search team, consisting of Parolles, John Falstaff, and Don John. Hotspur was also there and standing nearby was his team—Lord Angelo, Iago, and Roderigo. Tybalt and Polonius were there, along with Lady Macbeth and Touchstone, of course. Many other familiar faces were dispersed throughout the crowd and nearly half the army was there. There were no Critics present. They would come later when it was time to ride to war.
Hotspur was smiling when the Dark Lady arrived, gloating. He was so young but brilliant. He was prone to act upon impulse, but sometimes, that was when he did his best work. And he had succeeded in recovering the skull. The skull that had the Dark Lady worried that she would never find. But there it was, in Hotspur's outstretched hands, polished and shiny like a tiny sun.
"We were wrong all along, Milday," Hotspur addressed her, speaking loudly for all to hear. The Dark Lady swept towards him and the Relics followed her. They were now enclosed in diaphanous globes that shielded them from summoning charms and any other spells that anyone in the crowd could conjure if any one of them got the impression that he could steal from the Dark Lady. She trusted no one and Hotspur shouldn't hold the skull out like that. He needed to be more careful. So young . . . .
"Calm down, young Hotspur," The Dark Lady told him. "Tell me what we were wrong about because I am seldom wrong."
"Prince Hamlet didn't know anything about the skull," Hotspur announced eagerly. "He wasn't a threat at all."
"Then how did—"
"The King," Hotspur answered the Dark Lady's question before she had a chance to ask it. "King Hamlet knew all about the skull. It is special, you see. This particular Relic liked to migrate, change heads so to speak. It was apart of the protection that Prospero had established years ago. The power within moved from skull to skull, usually taking residence inside of the cranial remains of a person who recently died in the Golden Kingdom of Denmark. The Golden Skull used to belong to a close friend of the King, who died several weeks ago of a stroke. But now the enchantment is broken and it belongs to you. King Hamlet made sure of it before he took his last breath."
Behind the mask, the Dark Lady's eyes widened. Even more good news. Tonight was a good night, the beginning of many more nights to come that would hopefully be just as pleasant.
"So, the deed is done then?' The Dark Lady asked. "Claudius has successfully destroyed King Hamlet?"
Hotspur nodded. "Yes, Milady. The other Golden Kings are aware of Hamlet's untimely and tragic death." Hotspur grinned even broader. "Prince Hamlet is on his way home from Wittenberg even as we speak; however, it is no use. Claudius and Gertrude have convinced the other Kings that the prince is in no right mind to rule the kingdom, with his current . . . mental state. The Kings are convinced and they have decided to name Claudius king, replacing his brother. Tomorrow's the coronation. We are all invited of course, especially you, Milady."
"Flattering and tempting," the Dark Lady said. "But the King's Men would be all over me the moment I showed my face—or my concealed face—anywhere near the celebration tomorrow. I'll have the good Polonius send the new king my regards."
Out in the crowd, Polonius looked smug.
"You can give me your regards in person, Milady," a voice cried out from somewhere in the crowd. A rushing of hooves followed and quickly, the crowd dispersed, creating a narrow break where several men rode through on horseback. Claudius led the pack and he came to a halt before the Dark Lady and Hotspur and climbed down from his steed.
Claudius was a devilishly handsome man with wavy jet-black hair and boyish good looks. He was strong and strapping and not to mention, dashing. Ladies swooned over him because of his charm, but not the Dark Lady. She hadn't recruited Claudius for some ridiculous high school crush, although she admired his cunning and how persuasive he could be. He had used such skills to seduce Queen Gertrude, the wife of his beloved, and now late, brother, Hamlet. Their affair was kept a secret for many years but there was no need to keep up their charade anymore now that the king was dead. Queen Gertrude had even had a hand in Hamlet's death, which was marvelous. Perhaps she was on her way to becoming the second female member of the Dark Lady's band of anarchists.
"Lord Claudius," the Dark Lady had to admit that she was surprised to see him there so soon after the demise of his older brother. "Or should I say, King Claudius." A few people out in the crowd gave great hoorays in salute to Claudius, while others applauded briefly, commending Claudius on his new status in society. "I am curious to know how and why you are here? Shouldn't you be . . . mourning?"
Claudius flashed a dazzling smile. "I left Gertrude to mourn, Milady. She is to meet up with Prince Hamlet upon his arrival. When I could leave, I seized the opportunity, telling my new court that I needed to be alone to grieve the loss of my brother for a night. Then, I took a handful of my closest men, men who are already devoted to our cause, Milady, and I came here to see you as swiftly as I could. I did not want to miss such a glorious night. Tonight is the night that myth becomes reality." The Relics caught his attention and he looked at them all. "The Seven Relics," he announced breathlessly, as though no one in the group was aware of the glowing objects.
"Right you are, o glorious king," the Dark Lady said. "I am glad that you could make it tonight."
The Dark Lady turned away from him as Claudius walked back across the courtyard to rejoin his entourage. The Dark Lady took the skull away from Hotspur, who gave it to her freely, like an offering to a great deity. Tonight, the Dark Lady would have an apotheosis. She would become a goddess.
The Dark Lady held the skull up and the gathering thrust their swords into the air and gave a great noise that resembled a war cry. Then, she turned to face the five floating Relics and tossed the skull into the air. It twisted and spun around like a baseball before joining its brethrens, shielded just like the others.
The Dark Lady approached Caliban then. He and his team had been responsible for recovering the lost ring, one of the Seven Relics. She was eager to have it. Everything would be complete. The time had come to take the Three Thrones.
"Milady," Caliban growled simply, holding out a closed fist. The Dark Lady reached out a hand and something tiny, round, and silver fell into it. That was it. She had the final Relic in her hands.
The Dark Lady held up the ring as if to inspect it. It glowed even more in the moonlight from the full moon overhead. More cheers erupted from those who were watching. The Dark Lady glanced over at Caliban, waiting to hear if he had something to tell like Hotspur did, a story of how he and his team had acquired the ring. But like always, Caliban was silent, his face inert.
But it didn't matter. The Dark Lady wasn't concerned with another story. She faced the other Relics and released the ring. It drifted, shrinking the distance between it and the rest of the Relics. Everyone watched, holding his or her breaths. It was an epic scene, straight out of a—
Without warning, there was aloud explosion that struck the side of the castle. Everyone ducked and stared up at the Relics, wondering what was happening. The Dark Lady dove out of the way as huge chunks of rock fell from the castle's façade, showering her and most of her army in dust and debris.
The Dark Lady stood up quickly, standing tall, her posture straight and stiff with anger pulsating through her. She was confused, pondering what was going on. She hated to not be in control of any situation and she was definitely not in control of this situation anymore.
In mid-air, the Seven Relics gleamed brighter and brighter, twisting and turning like tornados. They spun around faster and faster, blurring and distorting as they moved. The Dark Lady stood rigid, watching.
Tybalt stepped up to her. "Milady, should we—"
The Dark Lady shook head. "No," she said with so much authority that Tybalt's face flashed the fear that he felt already from the spectacle that was taking place above them. He froze as well, watching as the plot thickened.
The Dark Lady looked over at Caliban suddenly. "Is this supposed to happen?"
Caliban shrugged.
"Is this another one of Prospero's enchantments?"
"I don't know, Milady. I was thinking that—"
Another explosion. This one didn't destroy part of the castle, but it seemed to have destroyed the Relics. They slowly faded from view; the shield charm that the Dark Lady had placed on them had long since vanished. They were now taken by a different form of magic, a more powerful form of magic that was unknown to the Dark Lady or any one of the people who surrounded her, awaiting some kind of command.
"What's happening?!" The Dark Lady shrieked in outrage, staring at Caliban. "I need to know what is going on right now!"
Caliban didn't respond. He was one of the extremely few people who could defy the Dark Lady's demand and live to tell about it. Caliban's disobedience was trivial compared to the disappearance of the Relics—her prides and joys. They were her whole life. She had only possessed all for a few minutes and now they were leaving her. The worse thing about it was that she didn't know why.
Then, they were gone.
Golden and silver lights seemed to form in its place, drifting down from the stars themselves. The golden and silver lights filled the sky, intertwined as one and inventing a new color that was impossible to duplicate. The lights formed a huge shape, nearly as large as the moon for all in the courtyard to see, along with all of the citizens of Shakespeare.
Caliban laughed, a cold, high-pitched laugh that was neither good nor evil, but somewhere in between.
The Dark Lady rounded on him. She was devastated but she kept her composure. "What are you laughing about?" she demanded, anger exploding out of her like those two previous blasts before the Relics had vanished. "There is nothing funny about this!"
"The Prophecy; it is true," Caliban said simply.
"What Prophecy?"
"The Royal Beacons are lit," Caliban said, again simply.
"Are you referring to the Prophecy that the Sycorax believe in?" The Dark Lady wanted to know so that she could laugh in amusement at such a stupid myth. Unlike the Relics, the Prophecy of the Sycorax was not real.
Caliban nodded. "The very one."
"It is not true!" The Dark Lady lashed out at Caliban. Several of her men cowered, scrambling over one another to get out of her way as she unleashed a path of destruction in her wake while sweeping towards Caliban. "It is not true," she repeated in a softer voice, stopping inches away from him. "And even if it was, what does it have to do with the Seven Relics? In case you hadn't noticed, they are gone. Gone! And I want to know why. I want to know of the way to get them back. What does the Prophecy have to do with the Relics?"
"Everything," was Caliban's response.
The Dark Lady was frozen again. She was thinking, her mind was racing. Then, she looked up into the night sky. The stars glittered, but were nothing compared to the light mass that had joined them, spectacular with effulgence that was dazzling. It was a crown, a three-pronged crown of gold-silver. The words, the Royal Beacons are lit echoed in her thoughts as she tried to figure out what to do next, where to go from here.
Disgusted, the Dark Lady faced her army like the brave leader that she was. "I want to know as soon as possible what has caused the Relics to disappear tonight. Claudius?"
Claudius stepped forward, eager for the assignment that the Dark Lady was about to give him. "Yes, Milady."
"When you are crowned King of Denmark in the morning, it is your duty to question the other Golden Kings about your new status. I want you to find out from them all they know about the spells that Prospero has put on the Relics. I want them back to me within a fortnight."
Claudius nodded and bowed. It would take some getting used to him bowing to her now that he would be king. After all, she should be bowing to him. "If it is you will, Milady," Claudius said. He stalked off towards his horse, ready to ride back from the free lands to his recently acquired kingdom.
"Don't you get it, Milady," Caliban said, as Claudius and his bodyguards rode off into the night. "The Prophecy. The Relics. They are all tied together. This is not some protection of Prospero. This is something greater. If you are to reacquire the Relics, then you are going to have to find the one who the Prophecy speaks of. He or she will be the key to finding the Relics now. That person is the proper—"
The Dark Lady held up a gloved hand, silencing him. "Enough!" She roared. "I need to speak with you Caliban in private now. It is time that we continue the conversation that we had before speaking to the Critics. I want to know everything you know and everything that you can speculate about. I want to know what is going on."
Caliban didn't say anything. He just stared at the Dark Lady, expressionless.
"Hotspur!" The Dark Lady called into the throng of soldiers.
Hotspur stepped away from the crowd, separating himself from the rest so that the Dark Lady could view him better. He was just as eager as Claudius had been to serve the Dark Lady's will.
"Yes, Milady."
"I want you to find our old friend, Owen Glendower, and tell him to gather his forces. Despite my loss tonight and a major setback, the storm is still brewing. We will ride to war soon enough. Inform the Critics that we need to meet when they are able. It is nearly time for us to start the invasion. We will begin with England. Civil strife has plagued the kingdom for years and King Henry won't expect a third party to enter into the fray."
Hotspur grinned. "Glendower shouldn't be too hard to find. I'll make it my top priority, Milady."
With fleeting eyes, the Dark Lady took one last glance at the crown in the sky. Prophecy or no Prophecy, the Seven Relics belonged to her and she would find them all again, even if it took another ten years. She had been patient before and she would try to be patient again. But first, she had to learn all that she could about the Prophecy of the Sycorax. Caliban was withholding information and that was not good.
He was her best servant, yet he was the only one who had the greatest potential of betraying her.
From that point forward, the Dark Lady planned to keep a close eye on Caliban, like she had decided to do earlier in her bedroom. He was never to be trusted again and if she ever had the slightest inclination that he had jumped ship, then she would dispose of him herself.
Far away from the free lands of Mantua and in the heart of the Three Thrones, a beautiful place where the three kingdoms of England, Denmark, and Scotland met, Robin Goodfellow was enjoying himself by playing a royal march on his flute.
He had seen the golden-silver crown that now lit up the night sky like the brightest of the brightest stars and for a split-second he had thought that morning had come about ten hours early. Once his eyes—which were always wide with glee and mischief—had seen the crown and he had realized that it was still night, his excitement meter had skyrocketed. To be sure, he had dashed out of his current home to gaze at not only the gigantic crown, but also off in the distance at the seven Royal Beacons that were illuminating the path that led to the sanctuary of the King's Men. Four golden flames and three silver flames, each brilliant with blazing vitality. They didn't look as though they had remained unlit for centuries with so much life now.
Overtaken by joy, Robin, or Puck as he liked to be called, had raced through the streets, awaking all who would hear his cries and cheers. "The Royal Beacons are lit! The Royal Beacons are lit!" It wasn't "The British are coming!" that he had screamed but it had gotten most of the town out of bed like Paul Revere had.
Sleepy and slightly perturbed, they had yelled back at Puck, trying to convince him to cut the racket and return home. But Puck didn't return home. He had half-ran, half-flew from building to building, yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs.
"The Royal Beacons are lit! The Royal Beacons are lit!"
The demeanor of the denizens of the town changed instantly once they had seen what Puck was hollering about. They flooded the streets, amazed, their eyes going back and forth from crown to the Beacons, and back again.
Someone had suggested that Prospero be alerted at once. Puck had volunteered to go to Prospero's palace and notify the leader of the King's Men. Although Puck didn't see a reason to tell Prospero because the great magician seemed to know everything, he was up for such a task to get a closer look at the Royal Beacons. It was Viola who had made the suggestion. Initially, she was going to tagalong with Puck, but Rosalind decided to go with him. Together, the two of them had set off for the palace that Prospero and the King's Men called home.
Now, they were walking through the maze of hedges to reach the courtyard of the palace. The two of them—Puck and Rosalind. Rosalind led the way, her chocolate brown hair blowing in the breeze behind her. Puck walked with enough distance between them so that her swinging hair wouldn't interrupt his jolly song. He played the march precisely as it should be played, fast and steady. Rosalind looked back at him, irritated.
"Robin, can you stop playing your flute for two seconds? It's really annoying," she snapped at him. He had known Rosalind for quite some time now and they had never really gotten along, although they were similar in the fact that the two of them had a great sense of humor. But apparently, the sense of humor that they shared wouldn't help at the moment.
Puck did as he was told, although he was not complying with Rosalind's outburst. He had stopped playing because she had offended him—but again, not because of her outburst. "Don't call me, Robin," Puck told her, snapping back. "My name is Puck."
Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Right, Puck. I'm sorry. What was I thinking?"
"You weren't," Puck said. "But who cares. Tonight is a happy night and you are not going to ruin it."
Rosalind sighed as Puck started to play his tune again. She would have to tolerate it until they reached the palace. Either that, or she would murder Puck first. She could totally catch him off guard and he wouldn't see it coming. He was too busy playing his flute like some kind of a cheerful piper. Wait a second . . . She didn't have to murder him. She had another arsenal of weapons available to her. Of course, Puck could easily retrieve the flute after she did it but it would still be amusing and distract him for a moment.
Rosalind spun around slowly and Puck barely dodged around her to prevent from bumping into her. He continued to play his march until—
Rosalind raised a hand and shot a spell at Puck. The spell struck the flute and pushed it out of his hand. The flute flew across a row of hedges several feet away.
Rosalind roared with laughter and Puck looked up at her, slightly dejected. "What did you do that for?" He went to retrieve the flute by flying over the hedge, flapping his little wings madly, looking like an overgrown hummingbird.
"You wouldn't stop playing that annoying song," Rosalind said in between roars of laughter. "Besides, it was hilarious. Admit it, it was funny, wasn't it?"
Puck snatched up the flute. "It was most certainly not funny," he told Rosalind, using a part of his shirt to dust off his beloved instrument. "You got it all dirty."
"And now, you're whining about it," Rosalind sighed and stalked on. "Jeez, you act like a small child sometimes. You like to joke around but you never like to be the brunt of the joke. What are you going to do now—cry about it?"
Puck shook his head and trailed after her. "Get even," he mumbled.
There was a flash of green light and Rosalind went screaming and sprawling to the grass, tripped up by some unseen force.
"Robin!" she shrieked in outrage, while Puck chuckled merrily. "That's not funny!"
"Now, you know how it feels," Puck taunted her. "And the name's Puck, not Robin."
He started playing his march again and Rosalind climbed to her feet, spitting grass blades out of her mouth. Puck led the way this time and Rosalind fell back, muttering angrily under her breath and looking like she rather have had someone else as her companion to see Prospero other than Puck. As a fairy, he was always inclined to the stereotype of causing all kinds of mischief, but he was also the most annoying person that Rosalind had ever met. How he became a member of the King's Men was beyond her. Maybe Prospero had allowed him to join in special favor from Oberon. Maybe. But from what Rosalind understood about Puck and Oberon's relationship was that Oberon was as fond of Mr. Goodfellow as she was, and she had to immediately debunk her own theory. Perhaps Prospero just wanted to have Puck be a member of the King's Men to convince more fairies to join. It sounded like the type of campaign Prospero would be advocate about. He was all about better relations between humans and fairies.
Rosalind scoffed then, a little too loudly. If all fairies were like Puck, then she hoped that none of them ever joined the King's Men. She was already having enough of a time trying to prove herself in an army that was dominated by men. Some of the male soldiers didn't take too kindly to a woman being a part of the only protection of the Three Thrones, and they especially didn't like the fact that Prospero's daughter, Miranda, held an honorary seat on The Council of Seven.
Miranda's position was basically a figurehead position and she had no real say-so in the decisions made by the King's Men, the Sycorax, and the fairy air force known as Fairy Wings. But oh how Rosalind would have murdered someone to hold such a position within the King's Men. If she were a member of the council, then she would make the figurehead position a real one. She would openly voice women's rights to become soldiers if they truly desired and she would vote for more women being allowed to join. Her friends Celia and Viola were excellent fighters and could serve the King's Men well if they were given a chance.
But they weren't. In fact, besides Desdemona, whose father had influence in the King's Men and all sorts of bureaucratic affairs throughout the kingdoms that were ruled by the Three Thrones, Rosalind believed that she was the only female soldier. She had tried and failed to convince Viola and Celia to join the Sycorax, who could use their skills and were accepting women as much as men—Caliban was definitely not a sexist leader—but they never would oblige to do so. Their hearts belonged to wanting to join the King's Men and fight alongside their good friend. Rosalind commended them on their dedication but she knew that it was almost unattainable feat for the King's Men to recruit them. After all, Rosalind had been recruited for the fact that she was good at impersonating males with her alter-ego, Ganymede.
When Rosalind had tried to explain to Celia and Viola that this was the reason why she had been chosen to join the ranks of the King's Men, Viola had laughed and told her that perhaps she should cross dress as well. Viola was certain that she could make herself look just like her twin brother, Sebastian . . . .
Puck's silly song snapped Rosalind out of her thoughts. She was fed up. "Hey, Puck," she called, making sure that she put enough emphasis on the name that he liked to be called. "Can you please give it a rest for a while? I beg of you. You're giving me a headache and I am out of medicinal potion, so can you please?"
Puck thought for a moment and then, stopped playing the flute. "Well," he considered it with an impish grin, "since you asked so nicely and since you said my . . . true name, I will stop playing. For now." Then, he started jumping up and down like an wound up toddler whose parent was about allow him or her to have some candy. "I'm just so excited. Believe it or not, the fairies have been waiting for this moment for a very long time now. I think that some of us have even wanted this to happen more so than you humans."
"What?" Rosalind asked absently. "You've been waiting for the Royal Beacons to be lit? I thought it was just some hocus-pocus that the Sycorax believed, a prophecy that may or may not be true."
Puck nodded. "I have been waiting. And the prophecy is real; I know it." Then, he looked at Rosalind, inquiringly. "Are you a skeptic?"
"No," Rosalind responded automatically.
"You don't believe in the Prophecy of the Sycorax, do you?"
Rosalind laughed a laugh that wasn't very convincing. She just hoped that Puck hadn't noticed. "Of course I believe in the prophecy. All of the people of Shakespeare believe in the prophecy. It is a part of our entire world, the meaning for our existence. If I didn't believe in the Prophecy of the Sycorax, then I wouldn't be walking through this labyrinth of vegetation with an annoying fairy to tell Prospero about the Royal Beacons."
Puck seemed convinced and Rosalind breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone knew about the prophecy, or at least parts of it. There was so much mystery surrounding the prophecy and things had been altered so much over time that it was almost a legend like the Seven Relics. Rosalind didn't believe that the Seven Relics existed and she didn't really place much faith in the prophecy either. Nonetheless, she wanted it to be real. The world of Shakespeare was so divided, even though most of the countries were at peace with one another, and Rosalind just wanted unity. They were all Shakespearean and not just English or Venetian or Illyrian or even Roman.
For what she knew about the prophecy, a great king, descendant of the creator of the world of Shakespeare, would return someday after the Royal Beacons were lit. The new king would lead the world and unite all of the twenty-four known realms of Shakespeare, including Fairyland, the magical place where the fairies and magic are said to come from, and Sarmartia, the land of the Amazons.
That was the extent of Rosalind's knowledge. She wished she knew more but then again, she didn't think that she would care about any of the other details about the prophecy. If the prophecy was real, then uniting Shakespeare was all that she cared about. She wondered where the supposed descendant and king was now. The Royal Beacons had ignited minutes ago, so had that great king finally arrived? Had he just been born or did he arrive in the world from another world? Rosalind had heard that there were other worlds outside of Shakespeare, her home, other worlds with people similar to her own. The king had to have come from another world. He couldn't have been recently born because it would take years for him to be able to lead a country, let alone an entire world.
But then, Rosalind shook her head. The prophecy wasn't real. It couldn't be. Then she had to really ask herself what she was doing there, approaching the palace with a companion like Puck. The answer came to her like a lightning strike.
Rosalind was there because she hoped that bringing good news to Prospero would advance her rank in the King's Men, and then hopefully she would be able to persuade her revered leader to allow Celia and Viola to fight along side her. But Rosalind was still only a Page now. Would she have that much pull in the knighthood if she became a Squire after tonight's deed?
Rosalind shook her head again and Puck didn't notice that she was lost in thought—he was too busy skipping along merrily as they continued to draw nearer to the beautiful palace.
Back to Rosalind's thoughts . . . She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Prospero probably still wouldn't listen to her if she leveled up in the King's Men but she would at least try to make her voice be heard.
Rosalind was resolute when her and Puck walked up the golden steps of the palace. At the top, they found two fairies hovering just outside of the golden doors of the entrance. Rosalind knew they were members of Fairy Wings at once, although she had never seen them before. Puck, on the other hand, knew the two fairies well. He stopped skipping immediately and his mouth fell open with shock. One of the fairies—the one that had jet-black hair—spotted the arrival of Rosalind and Puck and she grinned before tapping her companion on the shoulder. Her companion had flaming red hair.
"Well, look who it is, Cobweb," the fairy with red hair spoke loudly so that Puck and Rosalind could hear her. "If it isn't our friend, Robin Goodfellow."
Puck rolled his eyes, more so at the mention of his given name than the sight of two of his old . . . "friends", if he could even call them that.
"I don't believe it," the one called Cobweb—Rosalind had nearly chuckled at hearing such a peculiar name and was now staring dumbfounded when she realized that the fairy with black hair was really named Cobweb—said with a grin that Rosalind usually saw on Puck's face. "Robin Goodfellow. You have done pretty well for yourself. A member of the King's Men and all."
"For the last time, my name is Puck, not Robin Goodfellow," Puck nearly screamed in outrage. Cobweb and her friend laughed. "What are you two doing here? Cobweb? Peaseblossom?"
"We accompanied our most honorable queen here, of course," the one called Peaseblossom told him.
"Titania?" Puck shrieked, dropping his flute. It fell and bounced down a few of the golden steps and he ignored it. "Titania is here?"
"Queen Titania is here," Peaseblossom said. "The Council of Seven has convened for an emergency meeting. They are discussing whether or not it would be wise to send a diplomatic party to speak with the Critics. Apparently, King Duncan wants to know why they are here and why they have lived separate from us for months now."
Rosalind looked over at Puck. "For a moment there, I thought that they already knew about the Royal Beacons."
Puck nodded in agreement.
Apparently, Cobweb didn't hear what Rosalind had said. She was too busy staring at Rosalind with a look of slight disgust on her face. Rosalind turned to face her and wondered why Cobweb was staring at her. Rosalind's hand felt the tip of the hilt of her sword and then, Cobweb looked away, her eyes darting back to Puck.
"Who's the human?" Cobweb asked. "Is this is why you joined the King's Men with Oberon, Puck? For human companionship?"
Rosalind was confused. Puck shook his head.
"It's nothing like that," Puck quickly defended himself. "I would never do something like that. That's just gross."
Puck's retort to Cobweb's question confused Rosalind even more. What were they talking about? Human companionship? Rosalind thought for a moment and then, slowly realization dawned on her. She knew what the fairies were talking about and she quickly agreed with Puck. That was gross.
"Rosalind here is just escorting . . . I mean, going with me to speak to Prospero. In case you two didn't notice—the Royal Beacons are lit!" He spun around dramatically and pointed out in the center of the courtyard where the seven torches, floating high in the air, were lit by golden and silver fires. Above them, even higher, was the sparkling and shimmering crown.
Simultaneously, Cobweb and Peaseblossom looked at each other, their eyes wide. Peaseblossom pointed along with Puck. "Those are the Royal Beacons?" she cried amazed. "I had no idea. Did you, Cobweb?"
Cobweb shook her head four times. "No, Peaseblossom. I had no idea. I knew about the Royal Beacons, but I didn't know that they were . . . well, there."
Puck lowered his arm. "That is why we are here. We are going to let the Council know about the Beacons. If they are in the conference room, then there is no way for them know that something wonderful has happened." He smiled.
Cobweb looked at him, barely able to take her eyes off of the Beacons and the crown in the sky. "We're coming with."
"And let you two try to take all of the glory?" Puck asked rhetorically. "I don't think so." He glanced at Rosalind. "Come on, Rosalind, let's go."
Together, Rosalind and Puck stepped up to the large golden doors. Since they were members of the King's Men, the doors opened up for them automatically. Cobweb and Peaseblossom flew in closely behind them because the doors were already swinging shut as Rosalind and Puck stepped through them. The doors closed with a loud bang and Peaseblossom looked back over her shoulders to make sure that the doors hadn't clipped her wings as she flew into the palace.
They entered the entrance hall. It was empty and dark. Rosalind looked up at the chandelier dangling high above them beneath the glass dome that looked out at the stars and the moon. Rosalind raised a hand, muttered a spell and the chandelier was lit, lighting the path that they would need to make it upstairs to the conference room.
Rosalind led the way with Puck nearly right beside her. He was back to prancing again, something Rosalind could tolerate because he was not playing that awful flute. He had left the flute outside and Rosalind made a mental note not to tell him where he had misplaced it if he asked her about it later.
Peaseblossom and Cobweb trailed them, glancing around at the splendid interior of the palace in awe. They had never set foot inside of the headquarters to the King's Men before, although they had accompanied Titania there loads of times. It was not that Titania had forbid them to enter; they just never wanted to because they didn't enjoy being around humans much. There was a mutual tolerance between humans and fairies that had been going on for years, ever since the climactic last battle of the Fairy Wars decades ago. But humans and fairies have been known to not like one another very much.
For years prior to the Fairy Wars, the humans had treated the fairies as slaves, ever since their arrival from Fairyland during the time of the great Roman Empire that was ruled by the tyrant, Julius Caesar, who had declared himself the descendant of the creator, the king of kings, through Divine Right. Even after the fairies were emancipated years later and after they had received the same rights as humans, the fairies continued to regard the humans as oppressors and the humans continued to think of the fairies as slaves. The Fairy Wars broke out and the rest was history. Discord was still present between the two parties but as long as Fairy Wings worked together with the King's Men and the Sycorax, then there would never be another full-scale war again. A lot had changed over time and today, there were even some fairies, like Puck, who enjoyed the company of humans, and vice versa. There was some who didn't look at the other race with prejudice. Cobweb and Peaseblossom were not one of those fairies. Because of their upbringing, they couldn't help but to feel resentment towards humans for a past of enslavement. Even Titania didn't fully trust humans as much as Oberon did. That was why she had never joined the King's Men with her husband and Puck.
The conference room was just off the second-floor landing. Two members of the King's Men stood sentinel before the entrance. They twitched the moment that their eyes caught sight of Rosalind and the others and their swords were drawn at once. They stepped forward to meet the foursome.
"Laertes? Benvolio? At ease, good fellows," Puck greeted them gaily. Rosalind couldn't figure out how he could grin so much, as if everything was one great big joke. "It is I, young Puck, traveling with the maiden, Rosalind, and the fairies, Cobweb and Peaseblossom."
Benvolio returned Puck's smile and sheathed his sword. Laertes copied him, but only in putting away his blade. The look on his face was far from inviting.
"Good morrow, Puck and Rosalind," Benvolio greeted, happy to have some company other than the downcast Laertes, while standing guard for the Council. "What brings you here so early in the morning? The sun is not due to rise for quite some time still."
"We are here to alert the Council," Rosalind spoke up before Puck could.
Laertes looked up then, mildly interested. "Of what?" he said gruffly.
Puck regarded him. "What's up with you, Laertes?" he questioned him curiously, forgetting for a moment why he and Rosalind were there with Peaseblossom and Cobweb anyway. "You seem a little under the weather." Puck chuckled and looked at Cobweb and Peasebottom. "You get it? He looks downcast. Under the weather."
Cobweb laughed sardonically. "It's not funny if you have to explain the joke," she told Puck.
Puck glowered for only a moment before he watched Laertes, waiting for him to respond.
But Laertes didn't answer Puck's question; he just stared daggers at the fairy. It was Benvolio who replied.
"Don't mind old Laertes here," Benvolio said with a chuckle, his plump cheeks forever rosy and jovial. He was one of the few soldiers who really liked Puck. Puck wasn't annoying to him. Puck liked having a good time and Benvolio liked having a good time, so why not have a good time together? "He's just upset because his sister is getting pretty cozy with Prince Hamlet."
Laertes shot Benvolio a dirty look this time. "You would be too if you knew that your sister was interested in a prince who was so self-absorbed that he didn't even fight his uncle to claim the throne of Denmark after his father's death."
"Ophelia and Hamlet?" Puck echoed, not hearing nor comprehending what Laertes had just said. Peaseblossom and Cobweb were looking around at the humans, trying to understand what was going on. "Who would have thought?"
"Puck," Rosalind called in sheer exasperation; she hadn't heard what Laertes had said as well. "We don't have time for this. We have to enter the conference room and talk to Prospero."
Puck seemed to remember then. "Oh yeah, right. Benvolio, my friend, we need into the conference room, please?"
Benvolio eyes fell away from Puck and he looked down at the floor, as if ashamed. "I'm sorry Puck, but no one can enter until the meeting is adjourned. Prospero's orders."
Puck understood. "Well then, I guess that we have to wait out here until the discussions are over. Do you guys want to hear a song?" And he groped around for his flute, wondering where he had stashed it. Rosalind purposefully ignored him.
"How long do Council of Seven meetings normally last?" Rosalind asked Benvolio conversationally, while Puck continued to search for his lost flute. Inside, Rosalind was smiling, but on the outside, she kept a straight face trying to hard not to laugh at Puck's misfortune because the temptation was there.
Benvolio shrugged. "Sometimes a few minutes, sometimes hours. One time, and I heard this from my cousin, Romeo, so I don't know if this is actually true or not, but one time, one of the Council meetings lasted for seventeen hours." He cocked his head in thought. "I can't remember what Romeo said they were talking about but he and Michael Cassio had to stand guard for—"
"Seventeen hours?" Rosalind cut Benvolio off, just as he was repeating those two words. Her voice was shrill from shock.
Benvolio nodded.
"We don't have seventeen hours to wait," Rosalind told him and Puck seemed to have forgotten about his flute for the time being as he watched her step towards Benvolio and Laertes. Cobweb and Peaseblossom floated nearby, simple observers, and Rosalind was actually surprised that they hadn't spoke much. "We have to talk to Prospero and to the Council now."
"Did you not hear what Benvolio said, Rosalind?" Laertes piped up once again. "Prospero says that no one is to enter that room while the Council is there. End of discussion."
"Not even if the Royal Beacons are lit," Rosalind said casually.
Rosalind was used to the reactions from such news that the current look on Benvolio's face didn't surprise her at all. Even Laertes was looking curious, that is to say if a scowling face could look curious.
Benvolio chuckled like Puck had made a fool of himself or something and Rosalind stared at him, waiting. Time was ticking by. Even though she didn't know how she truly felt about the prophecy, the sooner they could speak with Prospero, the quicker she could see some action and hopefully, a promotion.
"You're kidding, right?" Benvolio looked back and forth between Rosalind and Puck. His eyes even flickered over at Cobweb and Peaseblossom. Cobweb narrowed her eyes at him spitefully and Benvolio looked back at Puck and Rosalind.
Rosalind shook her head. "I am not kidding. The entire town is outside right now, watching, and they can all bear witness to this extraordinary event. The Royal Beacons are burning bright, even though they hadn't blazed with glory for a long time now. And there is even a crown in the sky that seems to be made out of the stars themselves or fairy dust." Rosalind shot a fleeting glance over at Peaseblossom and Cobweb, who were both looking smug.
Benvolio turned to Laertes, who seemed to be in charge here. He did outrank Benvolio in the King's Men.
Laertes stared at Rosalind and Puck for a long while. "If you two are lying, then Prospero's anger shall be severe."
Laertes stepped aside and Rosalind and Puck walked up to the doors—these were silver and not gold. It was funny to Rosalind how their party kept growing. At first, it was just she and Puck, then Peaseblossom and Cobweb had joined them outside of the palace. Now, Benvolio was trailing them too, eager to attend this new meeting and find out what Prospero and the Council had to say about the Royal Beacons.
Rosalind tentatively rapped on the silver doors for lack of not knowing what else to do. Benvolio rolled his eyes. "You can enter, you know? They're unlocked."
"Oh, right," Rosalind said, suddenly nervous. Before now, she had never had an opportunity or a want to interrupt a Council of Seven meeting. She hesitated and could feel the eyes of the others behind her, wondering if she was brave enough to open the doors. Rosalind took a steadying breath, ignored the stares, and pushed the doors.
The Council continued their discussion when Rosalind and the others entered. They were convened in the center of the chamber, seven golden seats that were arranged facing each other in a circle. Rosalind stepped deeper into the room and her companions followed her closely like four shadows.
The Council of Seven was not complete, although all seven seats were occupied—four for the King's Men, two for the Sycorax, and one representing Fairy Wings. The members of the Council were as followed: Representing the King's Men was Prospero, his daughter, Miranda, Oberon, and Othello; Representing the Sycorax was Caliban and Mercutio; and for the Fairy Wings was Titania. Rosalind noticed immediately that neither Caliban nor Othello was present. Orlando was sitting in Caliban's usual seat as a replacement and Rosalind gasped when she saw whom Othello had picked as a temporary Councilman. Desdemona was sitting on the left side of Prospero and Rosalind was surprised that Othello hadn't sent his friend Michael Cassio in his stead, but was glad that Desdemona was there nonetheless. There were two women on the Council tonight. Even though, Desdemona's seat was temporary, this was still unprecedented.
It was Rosalind's gasp that alerted everyone to the arrival of her and Puck, along with Benvolio, Peaseblossom, and Cobweb. Rosalind noted that there were more people present in the conference room besides the Council as well. Ariel, the spirit girl, hovered inches behind Prospero's chair like the faithful servant that she was. Rosalind didn't know much about her but she knew that Ariel was an unusual being. Spirits, ghosts, apparitions, or whatever they were known as these days were pretty common in the world of Shakespeare and Rosalind had caught wind of stories of several hauntings from travelers that passed through these parts from time to time, especially travelers from the free lands. Rumor even had it that the territory of Old Rome was haunted by ghosts of dead Roman soldiers and Rosalind believed that because Old Rome was a ghost town anyway, its old splendor had long since disappeared. But Ariel was different than the spirits of the tales that Rosalind had heard. It was as if she had been created from magic itself, which was a safe assumption considering how powerful Prospero was in the magic arts. Some even believed that he was more powerful than the fairies, including Oberon and Titania themselves. Puck had once told Rosalind that Ariel was really a fairy, but he didn't have an argument anymore when Rosalind pointed out the fact that Ariel didn't have wings or pointed ears.
There she was, floating there, watching, a playful look on her face. Rosalind always felt creeped out for some reason whenever Ariel was present. She resembled a normal and playful teenage girl with dark brown hair and a quirky sense about her; however, it was difficult for Rosalind to get over the fact that Ariel was so . . . was so . . . well, diaphanous, like the thinnest of curtains or gossamer wings.
Prince Malcolm, King Duncan's eldest son, was also there, along with Don Pedro. The two of them were a part of the King's Men and they stood with Horatio, another member of the Sycorax. Horatio was looking very somber as though he had seen a ghost—and Rosalind wasn't thinking about Ariel anymore. Rosalind pondered what was up with Horatio. He was normally very chipper.
With all eyes on her, except for Horatio's, Rosalind approached the Council with as much confidence as she could summon. "Council," she spoke, her voice shaky. "Fellow soldiers. I am sorry to intrude but I bring good news. The Royal Beacons have been lit again!"
To this, Puck nodded, grinning.
Prospero stood up immediately. It took everyone else a moment longer for the words to sink in. Prospero stood tall and regal and it wasn't the first time that Rosalind thought that he should be one of the Golden Kings. Prospero was very wise, even beyond his years, which was saying much because he had already lived a very long time. He had long gray hair and a beard just as long and he looked like the typical wizened old sage. His thin, piercingly bright blue eyes that were like sapphires regarded Rosalind. He looked as if he had known this already.
"I assumed," he spoke softly, yet his voice carried across the room, "that this would happen soon enough, but I did not expect for it to happen in light of a tragedy."
"Tragedy?" Puck was curious. "What tragedy?"
"The king is dead," Horatio announced, proof that he was still among the living because he looked so depressed, so dead himself. "King Hamlet is dead! He's been murdered!"
"Now, now, calm down, young Horatio," Oberon joined the conversation. "We don't have any proof at all that King Hamlet was murdered. He died in his sleep of natural causes."
"He was murdered, I tell you!" Horatio cried in anger and Malcolm and Don Pedro struggled to contain him as he shook with rage. "Everyone knows that Claudius has been after his brother's throne for years."
"Horatio, please calm yourself," Prospero said calmly. "If what you say is true, and Claudius has had King Hamlet murdered, then we will find out the truth. But for now, you must remain calm and accept Claudius as your king."
"He will never be my king," Horatio spat.
Rosalind was taken aback. She had never heard someone disrespect Prospero like Horatio just did and . . . the king . . . King Hamlet, one of the Golden Rulers who occupied one of the Three Thrones was dead. She couldn't believe it. It was devastating, although she could never possibly feel the way that Horatio did. After all, Horatio had known King Hamlet well because he was friends with Prince Hamlet.
"Prince Malcolm? Don Pedro? Please escort Horatio out of here so that he can cool off," Oberon instructed them.
As Malcolm and Don Pedro led Horatio, who was openly sobbing now, from the conference room, Titania stood up.
"Prospero, my lord. Oberon, we must act now," she spoke in her voice that always sounded so maternal. Everyone could also hear how strained her voice sounded when she mentioned Oberon's name; Titania still hadn't forgiven her husband for joining the King's Men. "First, the Critics arrive, then, the death of a Golden King, and now, the Royal Beacons."
Prospero's face was blank and unreadable, but his eyes gave away the notion that he was thinking very carefully. He then looked to Desdemona, who had climbed out of her seat moments earlier at around the same time that the other members of the Council had done so.
"Desdemona, I need you to find Othello and bring him back to the palace," Prospero started to dish out instructions. He and Oberon were co-leaders of the King's Men, but ultimately, decisions fell upon him, like with Caliban in the Sycorax. "I know that he is spending time in Africa with his family but I have an important task for him."
Desdemona nodded. "Yes, my liege," she said respectfully. "Would you like for me to leave now?"
"Yes," Prospero said. "Time is of the essence. We must act swiftly."
Desdemona moved at once for the exit, following after Horatio, Malcolm, and Don Pedro. When Prospero spoke again, he was giving out more commands.
"Mercutio? Orlando? Will it be possible for the two of you to track down Caliban? It is time for us to know all that he knows and how he is faring in his mission."
Mercutio shrugged. "It shouldn't be too hard, Lord Prospero. We know the free lands well enough and Caliban should be returning to address us soon anyways. Give us about a week or two and we can send him here to speak with you."
"A week or two?" Titania echoed. "Can we possibly wait that long?"
"We may not have a choice," Prospero told her.
"But we have to find the king—" Titania started to say but Prospero interjected before she could finish.
"I am very aware of the Prophecy of the Sycorax, Milady," Prospero told her. "Which is why I need Caliban here. There is much we have to talk about and we will talk when the moment is right. We don't have to rush this conversation; we have other more pressing matters to attend to. Mercutio and Orlando will have Caliban come to us when he returns."
Titania wanted to argue but she caught Oberon's gaze and her voice faltered.
Since Titania had nothing more to say, Prospero was already looking to his daughter. "Miranda, darling? Contact our friend, Antonio. I need to speak with him. Tell him it is urgent."
"Yes, father," Miranda said in a soft voice and then, she was off.
"What about us, my lord?" Puck wanted to know. Titania glanced at him and rolled her eyes "What do you want me and Rosalind to do?"
Benvolio stepped forward and passed Puck. "Don't forget about me," he said. "I'm here as well."
Prospero was resolute with his next words and there was no point in even trying to argue with him. "Soon, there will come a time when all of the King's Men shall have very important roles in shaping the future. But for now, I would like for you to return home and await further instructions." He looked at Titania, ignoring the looks on the faces of Rosalind, Puck, and Benvolio. "Titania, can you have the Fairy Wings on alert? I need some eyes in the skies just in case."
Titania didn't know what Prospero was getting at with his "just in case", but she assured him that it would be no problem.
Then, Prospero swept from the room, without a single glance back at the company he was leaving behind in the conference room.