The Ghost Quartet by Marvin Kaye

Author:Marvin Kaye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor Publishing Group
Published: 2008-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

It came more quickly than he thought it would. By torchlight, in the great hall.

Hamlet was in the garden where his father had died. Horatio brought him his sword. “Laertes is looking for you,” he said.

“I don’t have time for Laertes. He must know I didn’t mean to kill his father,” said Hamlet.

“It’s not his father,” said Horatio. “It’s his sister.”

“Ophelia? I didn’t touch her.”

“She killed herself. Walked out into the sea, dressed in her heaviest gown. A funeral gown. Two soldiers went in after her, and a boat was launched, but when they brought her body back, she was dead.”

“And for that he wants to kill me?”

“He blames you. Between killing her father and trifling with her affections—”

“I don’t want to fight Laertes.”

“Hamlet—he’s been practicing for four years in order to fight you.

“What? We were friends! Until this afternoon I thought we still were!”

“It’s not what you think. He meant to kill your father. But he believed that in order to kill him, he’d have to fight you first. He knew that nobody could beat you with a sword—but he was determined to try. Now your father is dead, but his rage isn’t. If you leave, just stay away for a few days—take ship for the Orkneys, Hamlet, I beg you to do it. Laertes will be back in his right mind before you return.”

“But I won’t be,” said Hamlet. “My father is unburied.”

“He’s also dead,” said Horatio. “You aren’t, and so far neither is Laertes.”

“And neither is Claudius.”

“Exactly. Leave bad enough alone, Hamlet.”

But Hamlet had already strapped on his sword and was striding toward the castle.

“O God!” cried Horatio. “Stop him! Stop this all!”

The torches flickered and danced. Several courtiers were already there, as were the King and Queen. Laertes was pacing up and down in front of them, shouting, demanding justice, vengeance, satisfaction. “My sister’s dead body is still drenched in seawater and I’ll have the heart’s blood of the rogue who drowned her!”

“No one drowned her but herself,” said King Claudius.

It galled Hamlet to hear his uncle plead for him. “Enough talk!” he cried from the far end of the chamber. “Do you want my heart, Laertes? You had it all our lives; it still belongs to you. Take it now, if you can!”

Their swords drawn, they fairly flew at each other across the room, blades flashing. Everyone moved out of the way, behind the arches, trusting in the stone pillars that held up the ceiling to keep them safe.

How many times had they fought, as boys? Laertes had learned much since then. There was no playfulness about it now. Laertes’s every blow and thrust was intended to kill or maim; he moved in a fury, taking no pause for breath.

Yet Hamlet saw very quickly that Laertes could not win unless he let him. It was not a lack of skill—Laertes was as good a swordsman as Hamlet had ever seen. Nor was it Laertes’s rage: He fought with control, with a furious calm that made no mistakes.

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