Charlie Fenton’s Reviews > Fools and Mortals > Status Update

‘“All the scripts?” He was having trouble understanding the disaster that had befallen us.
“Everything,” I said. “and the Sharers won’t be happy.” That was an understatement. The chest had contained all our plays, all the parts, all the scripts. I was not sure whether my brother had locked a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream or of his new Italian play into the heavy chest, but everything else had been there.’

‘The condemned, their hands tied behind their backs, were brought to their death on a cart, the ropes were tightened around their necks, and the cart dragged away so that they fell a foot or so, jerked to a stop, and started dancing. If they had friends, and if the constable and the hangman stood back, they might die quickly by having those friends drag down on their ankles’

‘The company was beginning to enjoy the play, and there was a growing excitement in the room as it continued, but I just sat simmering with an angry resentment. Alan Rust was right, I was playing a man, but the man I played had to pretend to be a woman. And there was nothing I could do about it. I had been cozened by my grinning brother.’

‘My borrowed finery made me look wealthy, and apprentices shouted at me, offering me silver plate, linen, saddlery, gloves, or fine French lace. I ignored them, walking the city confidently, but always remembering my constant fear when I had first arrived. No one accosted me now, no one threatened me, because after seven years I had become a Londoner.’

“My wife noticed that it doesn’t have a title yet.”
“I was thinking...” my brother began, then hesitated.
“Yes? Well?”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream, my lord.”
“A midsummer night’s what?” Lord Hunsdon asked, frowning. “But the bloody wedding will be in midwinter. In February!”

‘His proposal was so dishonest, so shocking, that I could not find the words... If the Earl of Lechlade’s company came by a copy of the wedding play, or of the new play set in Verona that my brother was still writing, they could perform the plays and so steal our audience. A play script is precious, worth eight, nine, or ten pounds each, and so they are locked safely away. To steal one would be to betray the company’

‘from the office where the money boxes were taken to be emptied. “Seven lordlings on the stage,” he said happily. It cost sixpence to sit at the stage’s edge, so the Sharers had just earned three shillings and sixpence from seven hard stools. I was lucky to earn three shillings and sixpence in a week, and soon, when winter weather closed the playhouse down for days at a time, I would be lucky to earn a shilling.’

‘“You pay William Sly twice what you pay me,” I said, “and my parts are just as large as his.”
“Maybe because he’s twice as good as you? Besides, you’re my brother,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Just stay through the winter, and after that? Do what you will. Leave the company and starve, if that’s what you want.” He walked on towards the playhouse. And I spat after him. Brotherly love.’

‘I died just after the clock in the passageway struck nine. There are those who claim that Her Majesty, Elizabeth, by the grace of God, Queen of England, France, and of Ireland, will not allow clocks to strike the hour in her palaces. Time is not allowed to pass for her. She has defeated time. But that clock struck. I remember it. I counted the bells. Nine. Then my killer struck. And I died.’