The Mercutio Problem Read online

  “Can’t you give me something for Arnie and Sita, too?”

  “Sita can take care of herself, but I’ll give you something for Arnie.”

  “Do you dislike her because she’s Asian-American?” Beth demanded. “What’s your problem with her? She’s my best friend.”

  “Don’t accuse me of harboring the absurd prejudices of your time.” Merlin scowled. “If you can’t see that Sita is playing some game of her own, you’re unobservant.”

  “She’s my friend and I trust her.” Beth decided not to let herself doubt Sita.

  “Good. You trust her. Now, as for the potion you requested, just drink orange juice for breakfast tomorrow. I’ll cast a spell on it. You should also call Arnie and tell him to drink orange juice, too.”

  “I’ll look stupid.”

  “Protect him or not. It’s all the same to me.”

  Merlin stood, swirled his purple robes, and vanished.

  Beth had never called Arnie before. She wondered what his parents would think. She dialed his cellphone and he answered. She had hoped to leave a message on his voicemail.

  “Hi, Arnie.” She rushed into her message, not even letting him finish saying “Hello.” “You should drink orange juice for breakfast tomorrow. I know this is weird, but don’t ask why.”

  “It’s not so weird. Don’t worry, I’ll drink it.”

  “Thanks.” She hung up. He certainly was cooperative.

  Now for Hamlet. He was perhaps the greatest character in literature, so why did she feel so reluctant to talk to him? Maybe because he was the greatest, and she didn’t want to look foolish by comparison. Besides, Hamlet was so suspicious that he might sense that Mercutio was not entirely who he should be.

  She thought of Denmark. It was probably cold this time of year. She hoped Merlin would provide warmer clothes than usual for Mercutio.

  Beth flew through a snowstorm with large, soft flakes, the kind whose shape you can see. Then she landed on a snowbank on a cliff overlooking the sea. Was it the Baltic? A castle formed of brown stones stood nearby. It had several turrets pointed as sharp as Hamlet’s words. Elsinore.

  She wore a fur-lined velvet coat with fur trim. As Beth, she would never wear fur, but she was glad that Mercutio would.

  A pale young man, also clad in fur, stared out to the sea. He must know someone was near him, but he took his time about turning to Mercutio.

  “Noble and most unlucky prince.” Beth bowed to him. “I am Mercutio, cousin to the Prince of Verona. It is a great honor to meet you.”

  “I have no need of another foppishly dressed prattler,” Hamlet said. His gaze went past Mercutio. “Go speak with Polonius. He might appreciate your jests.”

  “But you are the one I must see, noble prince.” Beth kept her voice calm and showed no offense. “I hope that Queen Mab will bring you pleasanter dreams, for you dream of nothing but murder most foul.”

  “It’s no dream. You cannot help me, so leave me be. Don’t force me to banter with you. I am sick to death of bantering.” Hamlet stared at the castle’s ramparts as if he could see his father’s ghost still walking there.

  “You have good reason for your misery, Lord Hamlet, but I must trouble you a little longer. I suppose you would not want wine . . . .” Beth pulled out her flask.

  Hamlet pushed it away. “My mother was poisoned when she last drank wine. I no longer drink. My mind tosses enough without it.” Hamlet heaved a sigh.

  “I have come seeking your help.”

  “Then you have come on a fool’s errand. Everything has turned to dust.” He sighed again. “I have lost everything and can help no one.”

  Beth used her most serious voice-or rather, Mercutio’s most serious voice. “Prince Hamlet, Richard III is gathering together a band of characters who seek to force a change in the endings of Shakespeare’s plays. I am trying to gather a band to oppose him. I had hoped you would join us, because you are so clever and subtle. Would you want to see the ending of your play changed?”

  “Change the ending of the world’s greatest drama? Of course not.” Hamlet shook his head. “It is my fate, or my destiny. No one can change fate.”

  “I am afraid they can. They might even want to alter your lines. That would indeed be tragic.” Beth tried to look him in the eye, but Hamlet still stared beyond her.

  “I am weary past enduring. Do you think I know how to prevent tragedy? Impossible.”

  “You killed one evil king. Surely you could help us devise a strategy to defeat another.”

  “Richard did not kill my father.”

  “No, but he killed other fathers. And who knows what havoc he could wreak in Denmark? He might already have won your uncle to his side.”

  Hamlet raised his hand to his brow and covered his eyes. “Tell me when you know more. I am not certain that I trust you. Why should you be the instigator of the opposition?”

  “I was fooled by Richard and he had me killed. I seek revenge. That’s a sentiment you should understand.”

  “I have lived and died for my own revenge. Why should I work for yours?”

  “To protect Shakespeare.”

  “The author of my miserable life? The author of my glorious life? Perhaps. Come back another time.”

  Waving Beth away, Hamlet walked back to the castle.

  Beth was not surprised, but neither was she pleased. She returned to her warm room and took out her French book. Whatever happened in the world of Shakespeare, she had to pass her next test.

  Chapter 9

  THE NEXT MORNING BETH’S orange juice tasted no different than usual, even if Merlin had put a spell on it. She also took aspirin and Dramamine because she didn’t want to take any chances.

  She took a deep breath before she entered the history classroom.

  The obnoxious blond boy walked up to her. “Why are you friends with that freaky cow-worshipper? Hindus pray to elephants,” he scoffed.

  Beth flushed and glared at him. “That would make more sense than killing them,” she said. “Ganesha has an elephant head, but he isn’t an elephant. If you ever say anything else nasty about Sita, I could change your he. . . .”

  “That’s not necessary,” said Sita, who had come in behind Beth. “Don’t even deign to speak to him.”

  The boy sneered. “What caste do you belong to?” he asked Sita.

  “The cast of Twelfth Night,” she said, taking her seat.

  Arnie joined them. He wore an orange sweater. “We belong to the Order of the Orange,” he whispered. Beth chuckled. She knew he wasn’t talking about the anti-Catholic Northern Irish. Or about prisoners.

  The other students filed in, Sita among them. And Ms. Capulet. Beth exhaled with relief at the sight of her.

  “Is Kevin still sick?” Mr. Clarke shook his head. “What a pity. Arnie, you read Richard’s part again. Beth, you will read Queen Margaret.”

  At least Queen Margaret hated Richard. It wouldn’t be hard to get into that, Beth thought. “Out, devil!” she said with all her might. And soon she had a chance to say, “A murderous villain, so still thou art.”

  Arnie’s face retained his normal color. Richard apparently was at bay.

  But Beth nevertheless had the chance to say, “Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world.” She had never in her life spoken with more sincerity.

  Sita and Ms. Capulet mouthed all the lines, and Arnie proceeded from outrageous statement by Richard to outrageous statement without shaking.

  But later in the dialogue, when Beth had to call out “Richard,” she feared that she might summon the real Richard.

  “Ha!” replied Arnie, but he was simply playing the part.

  “I call thee not,” Beth said. Was that ever the truth!

  They got through the class without interference from any other world.

  Arnie slumped
back in his seat, but he smiled, and Beth smiled back.

  They moved to the French classroom to take a test. No ordinary exam could be as worrisome as the test they had just taken, Beth thought.

  At lunch, she met Sita and Arnie as usual.

  Beth bought more orange juice, just in case, and she saw that Arnie did too. Orange juice didn’t go too well with the hummus she ate or the tuna salad that Arnie ate, but that didn’t matter.

  “Tuna salad again,” Sita groaned, and they all deplored the frequent appearance of that mediocre dish.

  “Just call it salad Niçoise and it might taste better,” Arnie said.

  A shadow appeared over their table. Kevin stood over them and set down his tray with a loud clunk.

  “Strangely, I got better just after the history class was over.” He glared at them.

  “I’m, ah, sorry you were sick,” Beth said, though the words tested her acting abilities. “I’m glad you feel better.”

  Kevin’s face reddened. “Sita’s not sorry, are you? You’re the one who cursed me.”

  “Silly Kevin. Can’t you take a joke?” Sita said, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

  “That was no joke.” Kevin glowered.

  “You’re right. Everything is serious. You’ve been playing with fire,” Arnie told him. “Let’s go outdoors and discuss it after lunch.

  “There’s nothing to discuss, Silver,” Kevin said. “What a weak Richard you must have been.”

  “Arnie is far from weak,” Beth interjected, her voice rising. “He’s right. We need to discuss this later. But not outdoors. In Ms. Capulet’s office.”

  “Is she the new principal?” Kevin scoffed. “Oh, I’m terrified of her.”

  “If you had any sense, you’d be terrified, but not of her,” Arnie said.

  It didn’t take long to finish lunch, and the journey to the drama teacher’s office was short.

  She opened the door. “I was expecting you,” she said. “Welcome back, Kevin.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” His voice reeked of sarcasm. And he reeked himself that day, too, Beth thought. He must have been too irritated to take his shower this morning.

  There weren’t enough chairs. Arnie gestured that the girls should sit down, and they accepted it.

  Kevin slouched against the wall. Arnie stood near Ms. Capulet’s desk.

  “Did you really try to make a deal with Richard III?” Ms. Capulet asked, staring at Kevin as if he had spray-painted the Lincoln Memorial.

  “Some people talk too much.” He glared at Sita.

  “Some people brag about things that no one should brag about,” she replied. She wouldn’t look at him.

  “It’s true.” Kevin beamed with pride. “King Richard appeared to me in a dream and I decided to help Beth. I told Richard I’d cooperate with him if he left her alone. I pretended that I thought he was a great guy.”

  Beth groaned.

  “And of course he couldn’t see through you,” Arnie said. “Of course you’re brainier than a vicious character with magical powers. Didn’t you see how your cooperation hurt Beth? She fainted in class.”

  “I didn’t want her to faint,” Kevin objected. “I didn’t think she would. You’re all right now, Beth, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “No thanks to you,” Sita said, shaking her head.

  “But now Richard believes I’m on his side, so he might let me in on his secrets,” Kevin said, standing up straighter. “I can save the day.”

  “Kevin. Kevin. Kevin.” Ms. Capulet let out a sigh each time she said his name. “You’ve just been recruited to a terrorist network. Your allowing Richard to almost enter this school put all of us in grave danger, and many other people besides. You cannot allow a villain to enter this world. There is quite enough evil here without him. Who knows what he could engage in? At a minimum, he is trying to incapacitate Beth. You absolutely cannot do anything else like this again. There is great danger that you will hurt your friends. And yourself, though you might not believe that.”

  As Kevin listened to her, he paled. “Damn!” He clenched his fists. “But how can I undo a relationship with Richard III, now that I’ve entered one? Will he let me go?”

  Beth felt sorry for Kevin.

  Ms. Capulet heaved another sigh. “I don’t know. Just resist him instead of encouraging him. Try to shut your heart to him. Don’t listen if he talks to you. Treat him as if he were a drug dealer trying to persuade you to sell his drugs.”

  “I don’t believe Kevin is strong enough to resist Richard,” Sita taunted him.

  “Yes, I am,” he snapped. Then he paused. “Cute trick, Sita. Nobody seems to have any confidence in me.”

  “That might balance the fact that you have an unbelievable amount of confidence in yourself,” Arnie told him. “Don’t you remember the time that Richard stuck us in the Tower? We were little boys, and he threatened to kill us. But Beth saved us.”

  “Richard did that?” Kevin choked. “That wasn’t just a dream?” He drew a deep breath. “What is this? An AA meeting?” he asked. “Am I supposed to say that I’m weak and need a higher power to help me?”

  “That might not be a bad start.” Ms. Capulet looked him in the eye. “Merlin has entrusted Beth with the task of opposing Richard. That is a formidable enterprise, and if we’re going to help, we need to work together, not strike out on our own. Now, how did you contact Richard in the first place?”

  “He contacted me.” Kevin’s voice had lost its bravado. He slouched so much that he seemed to have shrunk. “I kept seeing a king in my dreams. I saw his boar emblem, and knew it must be Richard. He asked if I wanted to be powerful, and I said I did. I figured that I could spy on him and help Beth in whatever this quest is.”

  “Never believe a word that Richard says,” Beth told him. “That’s the first step. He kills the people who work for him.” Her voice quavered. “He killed Mercutio.”

  “Kills?” Kevin’s voice hit a higher note than it had since he had reached puberty. His foot knocked over a stack of books on the floor.

  “I mean characters,” Beth said to reassure him. “He can’t kill human beings. But he can make you miserable, believe me. Try if you can to stop listening to him.”

  “I’ll try.” Kevin sounded chastened.

  Or was he acting? Beth wondered. He was a good actor. She guessed that the others were wondering the same thing.

  “I know this sounds strange,” she said, “but you should also drink orange juice.”

  Kevin laughed. “Orange juice? Orange is the new magic?”

  “No joke. It can’t hurt you, can it, Connelly?” Arnie shook his head. “When will you ever learn?”

  Chapter 10

  BETH DRANK PLENTY OF orange juice before the next history class. She guessed that Mr. Clarke would ask Kevin to read Richard’s part again, and that’s just what happened.

  Kevin acted well. Beth felt only her usual nausea, not any overpowering weakness, at hearing Richard’s words.

  “I pray you all, tell me what they deserve that do conspire my death with devilish plots of damned witchcraft, and that have prevailed upon my body with their hellish charms?” Kevin read, just before Richard begins ordering the deaths even of those who have served him.

  But only Kevin’s voice, not Richard’s, came from Kevin’s mouth, and Kevin resembled only himself.

  Beth managed to get through the class. She hoped that Kevin had learned a lesson. But she wondered whether Richard had only become subtler.

  “See, nothing to it,” Kevin said to her afterwards.

  “Thanks,” Beth said, but she doubted that Richard had abandoned Kevin and she wasn’t sure that Kevin had abandoned Richard.

  Beth went home that evening and returned to her computer chair. So the witches had been right when they told her to be
ware of her friends. They had said “friends” plural, but she didn’t want to think about that.

  She longed to see Mercutio. Not to be him, but to see him and talk to him. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She was working hard, but how could anything she did bring Mercutio back?

  The answer flashed in her mind like a light bulb in a comic strip. While you’re being Mercutio, you’ll get killed, dummy. That’s how you’re supposed to bring him back.

  Her spirits sank lower. Would getting killed as Mercutio hurt? Was she really a character when she was Mercutio? How could getting killed again bring Mercutio back? Was it certain that she could still live as Beth? She didn’t much want to die and come back to life. She could back out of this mission. Would her death as Mercutio save Shakespeare’s plays? And who would kill her, anyway? She didn’t think her predicted death would be an accident. Richard usually used some henchman to do his work, but who would it be? She hoped whoever it was would kill her quickly.

  Beth jumped up, grabbed one of the pillows on her bed, and smashed it into the wall. Setting herself up to be killed was crazy.

  I want to go somewhere where someone will comfort me, Beth thought.

  She spun out of time. When she smelled the detested incense, she could barely open her eyes.

  “Poor Beth,” Richard said.

  With great reluctance, Beth opened her eyes. She stood in Richard’s opulent hall. She was Ben, dressed like Ben, the boy she had pretended to be in Shakespeare’s London. She wondered why she wasn’t Mercutio.

  “I understand the challenge you have set yourself.” The king smiled his hideous smile. “You are not appearing as Mercutio, because he would attack me on the spot, and you are not yet ready to die. You see, I do know what fate you face.”

  “Thanks for your compassion.” Beth put as much sarcasm as possible into her tone. “That’s one of your most notable traits.”

  “I am glad you have noticed that. I am not made of stone. Would you consider a libation?” He gestured to golden goblets on a table near his throne.