‘Let’s see . . .’ said Dan. He opened Pride and Prejudice. ‘. . . If it worked, she should be in here now.’ He started flicking through the pages. ‘Look, there she is!’ Dan pointed to the name Kitty on the page.

  ‘Wow, it actually worked,’ said Selby. Looking over Dan’s shoulder she could see the name Kitty right there in the text.

  . . . they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman’s punctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining room upstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.

  ‘You see, she’s okay,’ said Dan.

  ‘Good for her,’ said Selby. ‘There are no deadly sword fights in this book, are there?’

  ‘You really should read it for yourself,’ said Dan.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Selby. ‘I’m just asking if she ends okay.’

  ‘Well, the book is mainly about getting married,’ said Dan as he flicked through the final chapters. ‘Lydia ends up with a cad, but she does get married. And Kitty . . . Here we go . . .’ Dan read it aloud himself.

  Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally known, her improvement was great.

  ‘I’m glad she got a happy ending,’ said Selby.

  ‘She did have a rotten character arc in Hamlet,’ agreed Dan.

  ‘Speaking of such,’ said Selby. ‘I’d better put him back.’

  16

  Back Again

  Dan got out their now very beaten up copy of Hamlet and started flicking through the pages.

  ‘What point in the play should I be taking him back to?’ asked Selby.

  ‘The next big scene is the one with the grave digger,’ said Dan. ‘That’s the famous speech where Hamlet talks to the skull. You know – “Alas, poor Yorick” – that bit.’

  ‘So we go back to there?’ said Selby.

  ‘No, that scene can’t happen now,’ said Dan. ‘That whole scene takes place in the churchyard when Hamlet comes across two gravediggers, who are digging a grave for Ophelia. But you’ve saved her, so that plot point has been erased.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not upset,’ said Selby. ‘If I’ve just wiped out a famous Shakespearean speech.’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Maybe there will be a different, better speech now. This plot is better. All good writers need a good editor.’

  ‘So when I take Hamlet back,’ said Selby. ‘What will happen?’

  ‘There will be a fencing match between Hamlet and Ophelia’s brother, Laertes,’ said Dan. ‘But the whole thing is a set-up. It isn’t really a sporting match. Laertes’ blade is poisoned. And just in case that doesn’t work, the king also poisons Hamlet’s wine. It’s a duel to the death. The king talks Laertes into it so he can get revenge.’

  ‘But if Ophelia hasn’t died,’ said Selby. ‘There’s no need for a duel.’

  ‘The duel was never about her,’ said Dan. ‘It’s about Polonius.’

  ‘Oh yes, their dad,’ said Selby. ‘That feels so long ago.’ She was getting tired and finding it hard to keep up.

  ‘The duel is to avenge his death,’ said Dan. ‘Ophelia is never mentioned at the fight, so it should still take place.’

  ‘And whose death am I trying to prevent this time?’ asked Selby.

  ‘All of them,’ said Dan. ‘Hamlet and Laertes both die. So do the queen and king.’

  ‘Wow, that’s quite a duel,’ said Selby.

  ‘Shakespeare had a thing with ending stories that way,’ said Dan. ‘Sometimes, all the characters live happily ever after. Sometimes, they all die.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll take Hamlet back,’ said Selby. ‘But first, I’ve got an idea from my biology homework that might solve a lot of this conflict. I need to find a book.’

  ‘What book?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Not in your line,’ said Selby. ‘From the non-fiction section. Do you think this trick of reading my way into a book would work with non-fiction as well?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dan. ‘It’s so weird. I wouldn’t think so. I think it’s the story that has the magic.’

  ‘I’ll just have to take the book then,’ said Selby.

  She disappeared down into the back of the store, then emerged a few moments later carrying a large tome. ‘Come on, your highness,’ she called out to Hamlet, who was sitting on the stool behind the counter, reading. ‘I’ve got to take you back to Denmark.’

  ‘To my prison?’ said Hamlet.

  ‘No need to be such a Nelly Negative,’ said Selby, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. ‘You know you have duties to attend to there.’

  ‘Aye, forsooth, it is my duty to murder mine uncle,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Yes, there’s that,’ said Selby. ‘But I was thinking more of the fact that you are heir to the kingdom of Denmark. You might spare a thought for the entire country of people looking to you for leadership.’

  Hamlet sighed. ‘Aye, ’tis so. From my mother’s womb I came forth, already with the yoke of duty heavy upon my shoulders.’

  ‘You whinge too much,’ said Selby.

  ‘I know not this word you speak,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Probably for the best,’ said Dan, handing Selby the copy of Hamlet. ‘Don’t pick a fight with him now,’ Dan told Selby. He pointed to a passage. ‘Start reading here.’

  Selby found the spot, concentrated for a second and began to read. She and Hamlet were soon drawn forward, down into the text . . .

  HAMLET

  Since no man of aught he leaves knows,

  what is’t to leave betimes? Let be.

  A table prepared, with flagons of wine on it. Trumpets, drums and officers with cushions.

  Selby and Hamlet materialised back in the great hall of the castle, but they were hidden behind a curtain. Selby tucked the play in the pocket of her jacket.

  ‘Why do all this?’ asked Hamlet.

  ‘What?’ said Selby.

  ‘Why are you helping me and Ophelia, and my mother?’ asked Hamlet. ‘You have your own life brim full of drama and intrigue. Why forsake your world and undertake so much for mine?’

  Selby was surprised at such a genuine and simple question. Hamlet usually spoke in riddles. ‘Because you need help,’ she said simply.

  ‘True,’ said Hamlet. ‘But what do you want in return?’

  ‘To go home,’ said Selby. ‘Without a guilty conscience.’

  ‘We all of us are sinners,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Yes, but that is no excuse to do less than your best,’ said Selby.

  You would think, having watched so many daytime soap operas, that Selby would be able to foresee what was about to happen. But it was dark behind the curtain and she was preoccupied with how she was going to handle the duel, so when Hamlet started to lean towards her, it just didn’t occur to Selby that he was going to kiss her. When his lips pressed to hers, she was shocked. She was extra especially shocked when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. Selby pushed herself away.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Selby. ‘Apart from the fact that you are way too old for me. This is so not the time.’

  ‘Once more, you give me sage counsel,’ said Hamlet. He reached out with a finger and touched her cheek. ‘Witches and fools are the only truthtellers to princes and kings.’

  ‘You would be better off if you didn’t label everyone,’ said Selby. ‘I’m not a witch or a fool. I’m just a girl.’

  ‘And yet to be thus is to be all three,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Okay, enough with the entrenched sixteenth century misogyny,’ said Selby. ‘You’ve got quite a talent for picking fights, you know?’

  Hamlet heard the sound of furniture being moved. He looked around the edge of the curtain. ‘What’s this?’ asked Hamlet.

  Servants were bustling about, drawing the furniture to the sides of the room and placing two thrones at one end. The king and queen entered with Laertes and other courtiers.

  ‘Your uncle has set up a fencing match between you and Laertes,’ explained Selby. ‘He’s bet lots of horses and weapons on it.’

  ‘Which one of us has he bet on?’ asked Hamlet.

  ‘Apparently, you,’ said Selby as she consulted her copy of the play.

  ‘I see,’ said Hamlet, ‘I embrace it freely, and will this brother’s wager frankly play.’

  ‘Don’t,’ urged Selby. ‘Nothing is predestined. You don’t have to go through with this – not the way it was written.’

  But it was too late. Hamlet had stepped out into the room and the king had spotted him. ‘Come, Hamlet,’ called out the king. ‘Come and take this hand from me.’ The king grabbed Laertes’ hand and held it out to Hamlet. Laertes looked like he’d rather chop his hand off than shake with Hamlet.

  ‘This is bad,’ muttered Selby. ‘This is really bad.’ She started leafing through the play, desperate to find the spot they were up to and to figure out what was about to happen next. The words were swimming before her eyes.

  Out in the room, Hamlet broke the moment. He held out his hand to Laertes, Ophelia’s brother, Polonius’s son, and said, ‘Give me your pardon, sir, I’ve done you wrong.’

  Selby was so surprised to hear Hamlet admit he was wrong, she peeked around the edge of the curtain.

  ‘But pardon’t as you are a gentleman,’ continued Hamlet, ‘I am punished with a sore distraction. What I have done, that might your nature, honour and exception roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. If’t be so, Hamlet is of the faction wronged. His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness he apologised,’ Selby whispered to herself.

  Laertes did not seem willing to accept the apology. ‘I am satisfied in nature,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘whose motive in this case should stir me most to my revenge. But in my terms of honour I stand aloof.’

  No doubt to stop them killing each other before the fight had a chance to start properly, the king stepped in between.

  ‘Give them the foils, young Osric,’ ordered the king, calling out to a courtier who held a collection of fencing blades. ‘Come, begin. And you, the judges –’ the king glared at the men who would umpire the match – ‘bear a wary eye.’

  Hamlet and Laertes faced each other and bowed.

  ‘If Hamlet give the first or second hit,’ declared the king. ‘The king shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath!’ The king poured out two cups of wine. One for himself and one for Hamlet.

  Hamlet and Laertes took guard ready to fight.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Selby, running forward to stand between Hamlet and Laertes. ‘Stop the fight!’

  ‘’Tis not a fight,’ said Hamlet. ‘But good-natured play. A contest betwixt brothers.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Selby. ‘It’s not a fight. It’s murder. Premeditated, accidental and in the heat of passion. Four times over in the next ten minutes if you don’t listen to me.’

  ‘Hamlet, school your unruly attendant in the proper manners of court,’ ordered the king.

  ‘Let us heed her,’ urged Hamlet, ‘for she is wise beyond her years. She has opened my mind to many wonderous things, and shown me a world of books most fantastical.’

  ‘Yes, books. That’s how I know,’ said Selby. ‘I’ve been reading ahead.’ She shook her now battered copy of Hamlet at them. ‘The first person to die at this fight will not be Hamlet, or Laertes. It will be the queen.’ Selby pointed at Hamlet’s mother. She seemed shocked to suddenly find herself the topic of conversation.

  ‘What, I?’ said the queen. ‘Am I to take up a blade in my son’s defence?’

  ‘No,’ said Selby. ‘You will drink from that cup.’ She indicated the goblet in front of the king that he had set forward for Hamlet. ‘The king has put poison in it. Poison intended to kill Hamlet.’

  ‘She is mad,’ said the king.

  ‘Mad is a word that has been used a lot since I came here,’ said Selby. ‘And yet I don’t think any of you are mad. Except perhaps for poor Ophelia, and even then, it is not so much mental illness as crushing grief.’

  ‘It seems to me that you are mad, young maiden,’ accused the king.

  ‘I am,’ agreed Selby. ‘But not mad in the sense of being insane. I’m mad in the sense that I am angry at you all for being so pig-headed and violent. The only reason you constantly talk of Hamlet as being mad is to discredit him.’

  The king had had enough. ‘Guards, seize this fishwife who dares to berate a king,’ he ordered.

  Guards hurried forward to grab Selby, but Hamlet barred their way, ‘Stand down,’ he counter-ordered.

  ‘If I am mad or lying,’ Selby challenged the king, ‘then you won’t hesitate to drink from Hamlet’s cup.’

  The king baulked.

  ‘Why do you pause, Uncle?’ asked Hamlet. ‘Drink. We all know how you love your wine. Drink.’

  ‘It may be poisoned at another’s hand,’ said the king.

  ‘But it is my cup,’ said Hamlet. ‘You poured the wine yourself. Drink.’

  ‘I will not,’ said the king. ‘I know not which tricks this girl is up to.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Selby. ‘It’s probably best you don’t drink it anyway, because I don’t want your death on my conscience. Let’s try something different. How about you all talk through your problems. If you just communicated with each other, and expressed your concerns, you wouldn’t be so paranoid and deluded.’

  ‘Ay, she speaks well,’ said Hamlet. ‘This is the same matter I have read of in this very wise and excellent book of men and women from other planets.’ Hamlet took out his copy of Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus and showed it to the room. ‘This text puts forth the discourse that there would be less conflict betwixt the sexes if but woman would let man retreat to his cave. And, in counter measure, man would let woman speak of her woes in his loving embrace. There is much truth here.’

  ‘Thanks, Hamlet,’ said Selby. ‘That’s very true. But it’s not the point I was getting at. I suspect that this whole conflict in your family has, at its heart, a big misunderstanding.’

  ‘Explain yourself,’ urged Hamlet. ‘Surely murder most foul is a simple matter.’

  ‘Well, it’s not,’ said Selby. ‘You think that the king murdered your father by pouring poison in his ear while he was sleeping.’

  ‘What treason is this?’ demanded the king, leaping to his feet.

  ‘It is not idle speculation,’ said Hamlet. ‘Mine own father has come to be in a ghostly form and told me thus.’

  ‘Yes, I saw the ghost say it,’ concurred Selby. ‘Horatio was there too.’

  Horatio nodded. ‘’Tis so,’ he agreed.

  ‘And the accusations of this most worthy ghost were proven true,’ accused Hamlet. ‘By your own self with your guilty conscience and blustering rage on witnessing the play.’

  ‘Guards, I say, seize this wench at once,’ ordered the king again.

  But again, Hamlet held up his sword to prevent them.

  ‘Hold your horses.’ Selby grabbed Hamlet’s sword arm. ‘Look, I know you think it’s true, Hamlet. But I know that in fact – your uncle did not kill your father.’

  ‘What devilry do you speak?’ asked Hamlet.

  ‘I believe he did pour poison in your father’s ear. But that would not kill him,’ said Selby.

  ‘Explain yourself,’ ordered Hamlet.

  ‘Your father, the ghost, said he was poisoned with hebenon,’ explained Selby. ‘But I read up on it in my biology textbook. Hebenon is a deadly poison if consumed in a large enough amount, but there is no way you could get a large dose into a man via his ear.’

  ‘What?’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Here,’ said Selby, taking a big book from her tote bag. ‘This is a biology textbook. According to this . . .’ Selby showed Hamlet the relevant page. ‘. . . the volume of the ear canal in an adult man is only two point five cubic centimetres.’

  ‘What is this “centimetre” of which you speak?’ asked Hamlet.

  ‘Okay,’ said Selby. ‘My bad. I forgot you haven’t gone metric yet.’ Selby looked about for something of relative size that would mean something to Hamlet. She spotted a bowl of nuts and grabbed some. ‘Alright, the inside of your ear is tiny. It’s about the same size as a hazelnut. Also, the ear canal runs alongside the bone of the skull. Bone is not very absorbent. That means not much liquid can soak in there. Especially because the ear canal is also lined with wax, which also prevents absorption.’

  ‘So my father was not poisoned?’ asked Hamlet. He was stunned by this idea. Avenging his father’s death had consumed his mind for so long now. It was hard to reorientate his thinking.

  ‘Not fatally, no,’ said Selby. ‘Even if your father had a ruptured ear drum and all two point five cubic centimetres of poison had drained through his ear, and from there through the Eustachian tube that join the ears to the throat, and then into his digestive system, that amount would not have been enough to kill him.’

  ‘Then of what cause did he die?’ asked Hamlet.

  ‘Well, how old was your father?’ asked Selby.

  ‘Six and fifty,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Okay, so he was fifty-six,’ said Selby. ‘That’s old for the sixteenth century. Plus, he’d had a long career fighting wars and running a country. That’s a stressful job. And he was good at it, which meant lots of feasting, which meant lots of high-fat foods and drinking. His arteries were probably clogged. The small amount of poison could have triggered a heart attack.’

  ‘A what?’ asked Hamlet.

  ‘The blood vessels to his heart became blocked,’ said Selby, ‘from years of calcification. That’s like a build-up of gunk you might get in a drain pipe. Only when that pipe is a blood vessel leading into your heart – a build-up becomes deadly.’

  ‘Then my uncle still did kill him?!’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Yes, but it puts a different twist on it, doesn’t it?’ said Selby.

  ‘I will be revenged,’ said Hamlet, glaring at his uncle.