Vengeful Creations || ONC 2021

Chapter Eight

Hamlet passed me the wine bottle and I took an indulgent swig.

The wine was strong. Potent. Robust. Nothing like the seven dollar bottles I bought at the supermarket for myself back home. Home. Ha! What, and where, and when was that? I'd dreamed up countless broken realities, and now I was living in them.

I passed the wine bottle to Peter.

"Just there," Hamlet said softly. He sat down next to me and pointed to a spot no more than six feet from us. "There is the mark upon which I didst first witness the apparition that had become of my father. Solid enough to seize my heart and shake my very core, but phantasm enough through which the moon shone most bright."

"So...a ghost?" Peter summed up. He took a long pull from the wine bottle.

"Aye," Hamlet said. "A ghost. He told me then that tragedy which did befall him at the curs'ed hands of his own brother." His voice sounded despondent and far away.

I bumped my shoulder against his. "We will reveal your uncle's plot and strip that crown off his head," I promised.

Hamlet nodded in silence as he took the wine bottle back from Peter.

We were camped out (or maybe just straight up hiding) on top of one of the castle's highest towers. After overhearing Claudius' plan to ship Hamlet off to England to meet a swift and gory end, we thought it best to avoid the King and the royal guard until we could devise our own plan. We had snuck through the kitchens on our way to the tower and grabbed some provisions: bread, apples, and wine. The essentials.

The sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon and the sky was darkening rapidly. Soon it would be night. Night in a place with no electricity. I was fascinated to see the castle Elsinore alight with torches and candles, but I was also scared.

"Do you think your goofy friends are going to come through?" Peter asked Hamlet. "They seemed kinda unreliable."

"I have faith," Hamlet replied. He handed the wine bottle to me. "They shall return with knowledge most useful. In our youth, both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern would have swam through icy waters for my love. I believe them to be true."

Peter and I both gave the Dane a solemn nod. We had no choice but to share his faith in them.

Peter took a noisy bite of an apple and munched. "Dude," he said to Hamlet. "If I find a worm in here, I will punch you in the face."

"Then let us hope the batch be all the more devoid of earthly pests," Hamlet said. He raised his own apple in acknowledgement, then bit into the crisp fruit.

I smiled to myself as I took a drink from the bottle. My boys were almost getting along.

"So, Cristina," Peter said between bites. "What's at the center of your imagination?"

"A character I created long ago," I answered. I passed him the wine bottle. "By the time I was in college, I already had hundreds of plot and character ideas. Too many to keep efficiently organized. I created this character to be the keeper of my stories. I call her 'the Archivist.' She was designed for unbiased utility. She'll know how to end all of this in a swift, favorable way."

"The Archivist?" Hamlet repeated. "I look forward to our introduction. Pray she gives you the guidance you require."

"Thanks," I said. "I hope so, too."

A sudden ruckus of blaring horns and shouting voices erupted from far below us.

Hamlet launched to his feet. "The alarm!" he exclaimed.

"Intruders!" shouted the voice of a guard. "Intruders at the gate!"

Hamlet, Peter, and I ran to the edge of the tower. We searched the darkness below for the cause of the sudden panic.