Thirteenth Night (29 page)

“Milord and Miladies,
mesdames et messieurs,
good night.”

S
EVENTEEN

Mock on, mock on—'tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.

WILLIAM BLAKE,
“
MOCK ON
”

 

In my dream, I juggled once again with an unseen partner in the forest. Then the trees parted like a fog in an unexpected gale, and Death walked towards me, tossing the clubs harder and harder, the grinning skull gleaming under the cowl, pure white broken only by green diamonds under each eye.

*   *   *

I woke with a cry, sitting up so hard I nearly wrenched my back. A figure stood in the doorway, holding a lit candle on a dish. Still between dream and reality, I gaped at it in terror.

“Are you all right?” asked Viola, entering the room.

“What's the hour?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Late. Near dawn, I think.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Olivia is now the regent until Mark is considered of age by vote of the leading families. Claudius is no more.”

“What about Isaac?”

“He becomes the steward for both the Duke and the Countess. That was my price for going quietly. May I?” She indicated my marotte, lying on a table by the bed, its head not far from where mine had rested. I nodded, and she picked it up gingerly. “Is it safe?” she asked.

“At the moment.”

She turned it in her hands, inspecting it from every angle. “I give up,” she said finally. “How does it work?”

“The staff has a thin tube inside, with a spring that catches near the handle. It shoots a small metal dart. Poisoned, of course. I can hit any target I want within fifteen paces. I put it into the back of his throat.”

She shuddered. “How close was I to dying just then?”

“From me, not very. From him, too close for me.”

“Did you know he was going to do that?”

I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. “I hoped he would do something. I didn't think he would do that.”

“How did you know he was involved?”

“Little things. The most glaring, and I curse myself for not seeing it sooner, was when he rode into the square on the Feast of Saint John. He had been out looking for the Stone, or so everyone thought. But he wouldn't look for the Stone after the snow had fallen. He told me so himself. And that was the morning my colleague was killed, according to what Joseph told me when he led me to the body. By the way, did you resume his food supply?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Even a holy man cannot live on prayer alone. I believe that Andrew used this quest for the Stone as an excuse to go out every day and wait with Malvolio for Feste to appear. Only I came in by boat, and they got poor Bobo instead.”

“When did you realize this?”

“When I saw him holding Lucius's body. I saw the loneliness of the man, the desperation. I thought of how he, as well as Malvolio, was left out of the general happiness of our original adventure. The fire, the poisoning of Mark—these are the tricks of an alchemist. When I exposed you as Claudius, I watched his face. Many were surprised. He wasn't. I don't know when he stumbled onto your secret, but he knew. None of this would have been enough to accuse him, but I went ahead and did it anyway.”

She shook her head sadly. “Poor Andrew. I cannot find it in my heart to hate him, even knowing what he's done.”

“Who's Aleph?” I asked.

She looked up, startled. “How did you know…” she began, then stopped. “Am I to have no secrets at all?” she protested.

“I am sure there are many more,” I said. “But who's Aleph? We saw it in Isaac's ledger. Why was he given so much money, and why did he pay it back months later?”

“Aleph is a
colleganza
of the powerless,” she said. “Jews, slaves, and wives. We borrowed from the Duke's funds, speculated on ships, returned the principal, and kept our profit. Every now and then, a slave would purchase his freedom, or a woman would find the wherewithal to flee her marriage. As for the Jews, they store away and prepare for the winter.”

“A worthy cause,” I said.

“You see much that others don't,” she observed. “I've been trying to decide whether or not I forgive you.”

“For exposing Claudius?”

“No, you had to do that. It was inevitable. I was fooling myself to think that it could last, but there was no graceful way to end it. But I was thinking of something else. I've been seeing things that I didn't notice before, either.”

“Such as?”

“A shipwreck with no wreckage. The survival not only of a pair of twins but of their belongings, washed up intact on shore. And at every turn, there was you, dashing madly about. Knowing what I know now, I no longer believe in fairy tale romances. Well? What about it? Come, Feste, I've never known you to lack for words. Tell me how you manipulated my feelings.”

“Did you love him?” I asked, my voice sounding harsh to me.

“How much choice did I have?” she said. “I was thrown into this bizarre situation, not knowing whether my brother was dead or alive, wondering how I would survive. And then I fell in love with my benefactor. Who wouldn't?”

“But did you love him?”

“I was tricked into it.”

“Did you love him or no?” I persisted.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I loved him. But I would like to have had the choice myself.”

“You did,” I said. “What would have happened to you if you never came here? Have you ever considered that? Your parents were dead. You would have been dependent on Sebastian. Do you really think he would have let you have your own choice of husband? Assuming that I had something to do with this, you still ended up marrying a wealthy, powerful man whom you loved for himself, and you had a good, long life together. How many could say the same?”

“And the seed for his murder was planted at the same time, thanks to that arrangement.”

I could not answer. She buried her face in her hands.

“I'm sorry, Feste. He could have died sooner a thousand different ways. But he died this way, and once again you came galloping in to change my life forever. They won't even let me raise my own children, now. I am deemed too strange—untrustworthy even though all that I have done was for the benefit of Orsino. Now, I can do nothing. I shall sit in a comfortable room with a large window overlooking the sea and be paraded out for state occasions and do needlepoint for the rest of my life. And you won't even be staying around to entertain me, will you?”

“I don't think that would be possible under the circumstances.”

She began crying softly.

“There's one more thing,” I said hesitantly.

She looked up.

“Venice attacks in the spring. They seek dominion over the Dalmatian coast. I cannot advise you what course you should take, whether to fight or to negotiate, but you should know that it's coming. You may be able to work through Isaac. He has Venetian contacts. He may even be their spy.”

“Of course he's a spy,” said Malvolio, standing in the doorway. He looked haggard, perhaps the result of some time with Perun, and was still wearing a dead fool's motley. He held up a crossbow and leveled it in Viola's direction. “Look what I found. Move away from the bed, Feste, and leave your sword there. Or I will kill her.”

I moved, my back to the window.

“Your problem, if I may be so bold as to venture some criticism after that brilliant performance of yours, is that you think too small. Do you really think that I would undertake to assail this town with just a whimpering simpleton to aid me? I had others. One is Perun's lieutenant, who was kind enough to assist my escape. I have quite a talent for corruption, you know.”

“Let her go,” I said.

“Maybe, maybe not. The scandal made when the Duchess is found in the Fool's bed would be delicious. But I really wanted to pay my respects to you before I left. You, after all, were the original author of my humiliation.”

“You deserved it.”

“Why, Feste?” he protested. “For falling in love with a countess? Was that such a crime? Or did it just not fit in with your grand design? If it was a crime, then you are the greater criminal, Fool, for you desired an even greater prize.”

“What is he talking about?” whispered Viola.

“Haven't you told her, Feste? My, my, all that grandiloquence about telling the truth, and you can't even tell her that you love her. But that isn't surprising, is it? That's the way of your cowardly little guild, running your second-rate conspiracies all over the Mediterranean. Believe me, Duchess, if I had the time I could tell you all about the secret workings of this organization. They put the Templars to shame. But I digress.”

“Still working for the Saracens?” I spat at him.

“Politics,” he said dismissively. “Was that the problem? Really, Feste, the whole history of this world is of one nation conquering another. What does it matter who wins? You know, the irony is that I was willing to let the whole matter drop at the time. Oh, well, I said, chalk it up to experience. But then, one sunny day, I chanced upon a troubadour singing that charming little ditty you concocted. There I was, immortalized as one of the great dupes of all time. It was the last song he ever sang, believe me, and now, I've come to have the last word. A parting shot, if you will.” And he shot.

I stared dumbly down at the end of the bolt protruding from my thigh. Ah, I thought. That's what it feels like. Then the pain hit in earnest.

Malvolio drew his sword. “You didn't think I'd allow you a quick death, did you?” he said. I tried to move, but the bolt had pinned my leg to the wall. Then I heard another sword being drawn from a scabbard.

Viola walked towards him, holding my sword in front of her. Malvolio looked at her in disbelief.

“Really, Milady, this is beyond ridiculous,” he said wearily. “I've seen you…” He barely got his blade up in time.

She attacked him with a methodical fury that caught him off guard, but he fended her off. He began driving her back, his madness a match for her rage. And she was tiring. My blade was too heavy for her. It was clear he would prevail.

I tried pulling my leg away, but it was no use. Blood was leaking out of me at an alarming rate. I reached with my good foot to the boot holding my knife, but it was too far. The room was starting to blur. Then I remembered my dagger and slid it into my hand. She was between him and me, and I shook my head, trying to focus for a clear shot.

Then I thought, idiot, he's taller than her, and I whipped it at his head. He saw the motion and ducked to the side just enough so that it merely creased his temple.

But it distracted him long enough for her to get under his guard. She grasped the hilt with both hands, planted her feet, and drove my sword upwards through his neck with so much force that it embedded the blade a few inches into the opposite wall.

I would have liked very much to see him suffer, to see him die in agony with the full awareness of his sins, but the truth was that he was killed instantly. She let go of the hilt and staggered back, clutching her mouth with both hands. He hung there, supported by the sword. She looked back and forth at the two of us, and a high-pitched giggle fled her throat.

“I seem to have a collection of fools pinned to the wall,” she said. “How chic! So much more interesting than butterflies, don't you think?”

“Very good, Milady,” I gasped. “But this butterfly would like to forgo the honor.” She flew to my side and examined the bolt.

“I think I can get it loose,” she said, and carefully pried the head from the wall. I sank gratefully to the ground.

“Now, get out,” I commanded her.

“What?”

“Get out. I don't wish to sully your reputation any further. Leave me here.”

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “You need help. And I want full credit for Malvolio.”

She ran into the hallway. “Ho! Malachi! Selena!”

Footsteps clattered in the distance.

“Hot water and bandages immediately. And send for that surgeon. I don't care who he's sleeping with, find him.”

She came back and cut my leggings off.

“I think it missed the bone,” she said. She lopped the fletches off the end of the bolt. “You might not die. We may even be able to save the leg.” She gave me an odd look and kissed me suddenly. “Looks like you're going to have to stay with us a little longer.”

“One way or another,” I said. I was fading.

“Get up,” she commanded, and helped me to my feet. A maid ran in with a basin and bandages and nearly fainted upon seeing the macabre scarecrow on the wall.

“I'm going to pull the bolt all the way through,” she said. She handed me her handkerchief. “Hold this between your teeth. I'll count to three. This may hurt.”

“It already hurts.” I turned and leaned against the windowsill.

“One!”

And suddenly I was praying, praying as I never could before, praying forgiveness for my sins, praying that I would live, that she might be mine. Praying that I would at least see another sunrise.

“Two!”

And there it was, climbing the gap in the eastern ridge, our daily miracle, God's only sun, sent forth to redeem the world once again.

“Three!”

The night was over, and darkness fell upon me.

A NOTE ON THE TRANSLATION

The translation is taken from a fifteenth-century copy of the original manuscript (made on foolscap paper, of course). The copy was part of a collection preserved to the present day, as so much was, in the library of an obscure abbey in western Ireland, the precise location of which I have agreed to keep secret in exchange for further access.

The original appears to have been lost, so its authenticity is ultimately unverifiable. Believe me, I wish more than anyone that I could verify it, for I anticipate being besieged by Shakespeareans (and Baconians) who will say, “But didn't
Twelfth Night
come from several sources? Didn't Shakespeare (or Bacon) cobble it together from
Gl'Ingannati,
Forde's
Parismus,
Riche's tale of Apolonius and Silla, etc.?”