Storytime: Macbeth

Chapter 7: Third Interlude

Interlude 3

"It worked, then?" Victoria asked.

"Of course it worked." William Shakespeare sounded amused at the thought that it might not have. "I can cast who I like in my own plays, can't I?"

Victoria turned to Izzy. "So how did it go?"

"Well, I got in there all right. And yes, Jamie and Samantha are telling the toddlers 'Mac—'" She caught herself. "Sorry, I shouldn't say its name, should I? Anyway, I spoke to them both."

"Can we stop them?"

"Stop them." Izzy shook her head. "Of course, that's what we should be doing. Do you have any ideas, Mr. Shakespeare?"

"Please, call me Will. But why should I help you stop a performance of one of my plays?"

"Because Jamie could get hurt!" Victoria pleaded. "And Samantha."

The Bard drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't think either of you could stop it, love," he said. "It'd be like trying to hold back a river with your hands. But if you go with the flow, you might be able to influence it." He turned to Izzy. "You were Hecate, weren't you? Act Three, Scene Five?"

"That's right," Izzy said.

"You'll be on again in Act Four, Scene One. That's probably your best chance to do what you can."

"Can you put me in as well?" Victoria asked. "I mean, if there are more of us, wouldn't that help?"

"Probably. If you can rope in a couple of friends, that'd be even better. I've got just the parts for you."

"I'll go and talk to them right away," Victoria said, rising to her feet.

Shakespeare held up a hand. "You'll have to tell me their names first."

"Zoë Heriot and Isobel Watkins."

She waited while he wrote the names down, and then set off at a run.

"Thank you — Will," Izzy said. "I'd better get along after her."

"One other thing, love. If you want to fight magic, use magic. Not machines."

Izzy nodded, thanked him again, and took her leave. François left a decent interval before coming to collect the empty glasses.

"You fancying streaky ginger girl?" he asked. "Because François warn you, she not interested." He tapped his nose. "Batting for other side."

Shakespeare smiled faintly. "'Twas ever thus. Good lookers in their prime / Are either gay, or else they're Lords of Time."

*

It seemed that Victoria's guess was right. By the time she and Izzy had reached the industrial estate, Zoë was much more her usual uppity self.

"This is the craziest and most irrational plan I have ever heard," was her first comment.

"It made sense when Mr. Shakespeare explained it," Victoria said.

Zoë gave her a disdainful look. "I see no reason to modify my initial assessment."

"It's the only plan I've got," said Izzy. "And we don't have very much time. Can you get your hands on the props?"

"Oh, Izzy!" Zoë was obviously feeling well enough to use her exasperated I'm-cleverer-than-you voice. "Why do you think this is called a Factory of Fun? I should have everything we need in stock. Computer: Locate the last delivery from the Boffo Novelty Shop."

"Main-Stores-Aisle-3-Level-1," a flat computer voice replied from thin air.

Zoë looked at Isobel.

"I suppose we've got to do this," she said. "Since Victoria helpfully signed us up without asking us first. Do you feel up to it?"

"Oh, I think so," Isobel replied. "As long as I don't have to eat anything. How are you feeling now, Victoria?"

Victoria raised her eyebrows. "You feel the need to ask me that? I didn't have as many of those eels as you two. In my opinion you were both guzzling them in a wholly unladylike manner. I'm probably in better shape than either of you."

"Fine," Zoë said. "Come with me."

She led the other three back down the stairs, and into a large storeroom full of steel racks laden with boxes, barrels, vacuum-sealed packages and suitcases. Without hesitation, she crossed to a crate indistinguishable from a dozen others and lifted the lid.

"Here we are," she said, throwing rubber spiders and squeaky toy rats onto the floor. "Green blusher, pointy hats, black cloaks, folding broomsticks. Just what we need."

Victoria draped a cloak around her shoulders.

"We'll look awfully silly if this doesn't happen the way we expect," she said nervously.

Isobel settled one of the hats on her head, and examined her appearance in a hand mirror.

"It's a terrible perpetuation of gender sterotypes," she said. "But I suppose we've got to be a maiden, a mother and a crone. Any volunteers?"