something for the dragonfly teams.
“Only if they want to go north,” he muttered. “Or south, possibly. East or west would be…” He paused for a moment, thinking it through and picturing a compass in his mind.
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “Yes, I have, your lordship. But that is not why I’m here.”
Before the High Tollin could reply, Sparkler stepped up to the throne and handed over four packets of paper, keeping one for himself. Wing took one and began to read it. The High Tollin looked confused, but he too opened the first page, while two of the advisors struggled to see over each other’s shoulders.
“There are plenty to go around,” Sparkler said. He’d had a whole class of Tillets copying out his first draft. He wasn’t certain they’d managed the spelling of the trickier words, but the reaction had been good, at least.
“What is this?” the High Tollin said, in the tone of a man who’d expected more diagrams.
“It is… a play,” Sparkler said. “You read the words aloud, as if it’s real life.”
He was dreading the next question. He’d thought of lots of ways to answer it, but if the word ‘human’ was part of it, he knew it would be the last he ever heard of plays. The book had set his imagination on fire. He couldn’t let the High Tollin stamp out the flames, he just couldn’t.
“Did you write it?” the High Tollin asked, unaware of how the words sent a shiver through Sparkler.
“Yes,” Sparkler said in a tight whisper. It was true in a way. He had written each word. He just hadn’t made them up. He just hoped William Shakespeare never heard about it.
“I’m not sure I quite understand,” the High Tollin said, peering at the pages warily. “You read the words aloud, do you?”
“Yes, my lord. You learn them first and then you speak them as if it’s all new. Other Tollins listen.” Sparkler saw the High Tollin’s eyes glaze over and struggled on.
“There are swordfights, my lord.”
“Brilliant!” said the High Tollin immediately, as Sparkler had known he would. All the Tollins were fascinated by the new swords coming out of the iron forges. Grunion used one of the prototypes to cut his toenails.
“If you look… here, my lord,” Sparkler went on, “you’ll see a speech by an angry prince, a man of power and authority a little like yourself. He is angry with his people for fighting in the street… with swords.”
“Brilliant!” said one of the advisors. The High Tollin frowned at him, then looked at the section Sparkler had indicated.
“Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace…” he read. “Oh, I like that. That’s good, I shall use that.”
“It’s also a love story, my lord, a love story with swordfights.”
“And the prince wins in the end, I expect? Executes his enemies and so on?”
“Well, yes, he does, in a way,” Sparkler said reluctantly. He wasn’t sure the High Tollin had understood the idea, but he hadn’t refused it outright, either.
“That’s good, lad. Well, thank you for bringing this to me. I shall put it with that book of herbs you made.”
“Yes, well done,” said one of the advisors. Sparkler glared at him until the advisor blushed and pretended to read the script.
“I would like to perform the play, my lord,” Sparkler went on. “The Tillets are available for some of the smaller parts. I thought I might play Mercutio myself – Romeo’s friend. He dies in a swordfight.”
“Brilliant!” the same advisor murmured.
“Well… we are a little busy at the moment,” said the High Tollin. “Does the prince have much to say? I mean, would it take me long to learn the words?”
Sparkler blinked. This was not how he had expected the conversation to run, or even limp.
“I could have just your character’s lines copied out on to new paper, my lord. You could learn them in a month, I’m certain. I thought I might aim to perform the play at the end of summer, just before the leaves turn.” He saw the High Tollin was engrossed in the lines.
“Once more, on pain of death, all men depart!” bellowed the High Tollin. His advisors were halfway out of the room before he called them back. “Oh, that was a great bit. I’m definitely using that one again.”
“You might consider not shouting, my lord,” Sparkler said desperately.
“Oh, you need a bit of shouting,” the High Tollin told him. “It makes people sit up and listen, shouting.”
“I’ll have to hold auditions, my lord,” Sparkler added.
“Auditions?” said one of the advisors. Sparkler glared at him again.
“Yes, my lord. Anyone who wants to be in the play can read a few lines and then I choose the best ones.”
“I see,” the High Tollin said. A dangerous tone entered his voice. “I don’t suppose there will be anyone else wanting to be the prince, though?”
“I seriously doubt it, my lord,” Sparkler said, with a sigh.
“Excellent,” said the High Tollin. “Shouting and executions. I am more than qualified, after all.”
Sparkler gave in. Wing looked up from the play and grinned at him.
“Yes, my lord,” he said.
“A rothe by any other name would thmell as thweeet!”
“Yes… yes, thank you, Beryl,” Sparkler said. “I think I see the problem there.”
The little Tillet looked downcast.
“Ith it my brathe, thir?”
“I’m sorry?”
“My brathe, thir, on my teeth!”
Sparkler didn’t want to hurt Beryl’s feelings. She’d always had a lisp, but he had to admit that the brace he’d designed for her front teeth seemed to make it worse. She had worked ever so hard copying out the scripts and it felt mean to refuse her a part.
“The thing is, Beryl, there are only four female parts in the play. Lady Montague is a mature lady, as is Lady Capulet. The nurse is meant to be quite old, so that leaves…”
“Juliet, thir, yeth, who ith quite young,
