Wyrd Sisters

‘No! I did not do it! It was not like that! You cannot say it was like that! You were not there!’ He stared at the upturned faces around him, and sagged.

‘Nor was I,’ he giggled. ‘I was asleep at the time, you know. I remember it quite well. There was blood on the counterpane, there was blood on the floor, I could not wash off the blood, but these are not proper subjects for the inquiry. I cannot allow the discussion of national security. It was just a dream, and when I awoke, he’d be alive tomorrow. And tomorrow it wouldn’t have happened because it was not done. And tomorrow you can say I did not know. And tomorrow you can say I had no recollection. What a noise he made in falling! Enough to wake the dead … who would have thought he had so much blood in him?…’^{75} By now he had climbed on to the stage, and grinned brightly at the assembled company.

‘I hope that sorts it all out,’ he said. ‘Ha. Ha.’

In the silence that followed Tomjon opened his mouth to utter something suitable, something soothing, and found that there was nothing he could say.

But another personality stepped into him, took over his lips, and spoke thusly:

‘With my own bloody dagger, you bastard! I know it was you! I saw you at the top of the stairs, sucking your thumb! I’d kill you now, except for the thought of having to spend eternity listening to your whining. I, Verence, formerly King of—’

‘What testimony is this?’ said the duchess. She stood in front of the stage, with half a dozen soldiers beside her.

‘These are just slanders,’ she added. ‘And treason to boot. The rantings of mad players.’

‘I was bloody King of Lancre!’ shouted Tomjon.

‘In which case you are the alleged victim,’ said the duchess calmly. ‘And unable to speak for the prosecution. It is against all precedent.’

Tomjon’s body turned towards Death.

‘You were there! You saw it all!’

I SUSPECT I WOULD NOT BE CONSIDERED AN APPROPRIATE WITNESS.

‘Therefore there is no proof, and where there is no proof there is no crime,’ said the duchess. She motioned the soldiers forward.

‘So much for your experiment,’ she said to her husband. ‘I think my way is better.’

She looked around the stage, and found the witches.

‘Arrest them,’ she said.

‘No,’ said the Fool, stepping out of the wings.

‘What did you say?’

‘I saw it all,’ said the Fool, simply. ‘I was in the Great Hall that night. You killed the king, my lord.’

‘I did not!’ screamed the duke. ‘You were not there! I did not see you there! I order you not to be there!’

‘You did not dare say this before,’ said Lady Felmet.

‘Yes, lady. But I must say it now.’

The duke focused unsteadily on him.

‘You swore loyalty unto death, my Fool,’ he hissed.

‘Yes, my lord. I’m sorry.’

‘You’re dead.’

The duke snatched a dagger from Wimsloe’s unresisting hand, darted forward, and plunged it to the hilt into the Fool’s heart. Magrat screamed.

The Fool rocked back and forth unsteadily.

‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ he said, as Magrat pushed her way through the actors and clasped him to what could charitably be called her bosom. It struck the Fool that he had never looked a bosom squarely in the face, at least since he was a baby, and it was particularly cruel of the world to save the experience until after he was dead.

He gently moved one of Magrat’s arms and pulled the despicable horned cowl from his head, and tossed it as far as possible. He didn’t have to be a Fool any more or, he realized, bother about vows or anything. What with bosoms as well, death seemed to be an improvement.

‘I didn’t do it,’ said the duke.

No pain, thought the Fool. Funny, that. On the other hand, you obviously can’t feel pain when you are dead. It would be wasted.

‘You all saw that I didn’t do it,’ said the duke.

Death gave the Fool a puzzled look. Then he reached into the recesses of his robes and pulled out an hourglass. It had bells on it. He gave it a gentle shake, which made them tinkle.

‘I gave no orders that any such thing should be done,’ said the duke calmly. His voice came from a long way off, from wherever his mind was now. The company stared at him wordlessly. It wasn’t possible to hate someone like this, only to feel acutely embarrassed about being anywhere near him. Even the Fool felt embarrassed, and he was dead.

Death tapped the hourglass, and then peered at it to see if it had gone wrong.

‘You are all lying,’ said the duke, in tranquil tones. ‘Telling lies is naughty.’

He stabbed several of the nearest actors in a dreamy, gentle way, and then held up the blade.

‘You see?’ he said. ‘No blood! It wasn’t me.’ He looked up at the duchess, towering over him now like a red tsunami over a small fishing village.

‘It was her,’ he said. ‘She did it.’

He stabbed her once or twice, on general principles, and then stabbed himself and let the dagger drop from his fingers.

After a few seconds reflection he said, in a voice far nearer the worlds of sanity, ‘You can’t get me now.’

He turned to Death. ‘Will there be a comet?’ he said. ‘There must be a comet when a prince dies. I’ll go and see, shall I?’