Chapter Four
The elephant shook my shoulders urgently. “Come, Horatio. Tis nearly midnight.”
“Just a few more bunnies,” I pleaded, scooping the little fluffballs closer.
The pink elephant—who I believe was named Herbert—stamped his feet and flapped his ears urgently. Behind him, the volcano spewed pudding into the sky.
“Horatio, tis me. Hamlet.”
“Blerg,” I mumbled, forcing my eyes open. “Wherever did those rabbits get to?”
Hamlet chuckled. His dark hair tickled my nose as he leaned over me. The shadows were so all-consuming that Hamlet’s pale face nearly glowed. “You have the strangest dreams, my friend. Come.” He tossed my cloak at me. “We are to see this ghost of yours tonight. Remember?”
“Not my ghost,” I mumbled as I rolled out of bed. I shoved my boots on. I had slept in my clothes in preparation. “If ‘twere my ghost, I would be dead and I could dream in peace.”
I tripped after Hamlet, out of my dark room and into the torchlit hallway. I squinted until my poor eyes adjusted to the light, only to realize that Hamlet hadn’t been considerate enough to wait for me. Yelping, I ran after him and nearly crashed into his silver-lined cloak.
“Shush, Horatio,” Hamlet said over his shoulder. “You know, you remind me of Ophelia’s dog. Always tripping about and following people around, begging for attention.”
I huffed. At least I smelled better than the dog.
Hamlet crept out of the castle, his keen gaze searching the deserted grounds. Trees loomed out of the dark, branches like claws. Bushes popped up out of nowhere just to trip me up. The moon peeked out from behind heavy, brooding clouds.
“That way.” When Hamlet paused, I pointed towards the narrow stairs up to the rampart. He let me take the lead, so I hurried up ahead of him, desperately trying to keep my feet from slipping on the wet stone and carrying me to my death. Now that would be embarrassing. You should know, when a best friend sees their best friend tumble to their death, the first priority is not catching them. The first priority is to laugh as hard as you can and most likely fall too because you’re guffawing too hard to stand. Hey, at least you die together.
“I see your guard friends.” Hamlet craned his neck around me as I carefully edged along the ramparts, determined not to fall.
“Yep.” I kept my eyes fixed on my feet.
“Hurry on up, won’t you?” Hamlet tapped my back. “Or I shall have to push you.”
I yelped and hurried up. All of a sudden it became much easier to walk on the rampart. Don’t you just love how encouraging and helpful best friends are?
“Ho, Horatio.” Marcellus trotted closer. “Greetings, my prince.”
“You ought to call me Hamlet.” The prince nodded at Marcellus.
“Oi,” grunted Bernado in greeting. He hadn’t budged from his seat at our arrival. The poor stool seemed about ready to crack under the man’s weight. It could definitely use a vacation.
“Tis midnight as of a minute ago.” Marcellus showed us his burnished old pocket watch, the one his father had given him.
We three strode back to Bernado and his overworked, underpaid stool. Hamlet’s gaze searched the dark for any sign of his father while Bernado gorged himself on some midnight pie.
“Hey,” I whispered to Bernado. “Have any extra?”
Bernado shook his head, jowls jiggling.
With a sigh, I dropped onto the ground and rubbed my stomach. My poor, empty stomach.
“There!” Marcellus jumped to his feet and pointed a shaking finger. He grabbed Hamlet’s sleeve in his excitement.
Everyone’s gazes followed Marcellus’s outstretched finger to the figure on the rampart. It glowed like a flickering lamp as it strode closer.
“Father,” Hamlet whispered. He took a step towards the ghost.
The figure bore armor and strode with power, despite the age lines that scored his face. His cloak fluttered behind him, though no breeze blessed the night. His white hair spilled out of his helmet like fleece out of an overturned basket, and his beard matched the description too.
The ghost approached us, then walked right by as if we didn’t exist. We spun to watch him, silenced by the awe—and more than a little fear—that the ghost commanded.
Bernado choked on his pie and completely ruined the moment with loud, wet coughs. He pounded his chest a few times, then took another bite.
The ghost stopped. He turned around. His eyes locked on Hamlet.
“Hammy.” I stood and seized Hamlet’s arm.
“It appears that he wishes me to follow him,” Hamlet murmured. He tugged his arm away from my grip and dared a few steps towards the ghost.
“No way,” I argued, snatching at him again. “It could be dangerous.”
Hamlet fixed me with sad eyes. “It is my father. I must.”
I sighed and released him. “If you die, it is not my fault.”
Hamlet chuckled, but it was too sad and weary to be a real laugh. He snagged Bernado’s lantern and trailed after the ghost, down the rampart and into the orchard.
We stood there, silent as new dawn. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.
“We going to follow him?” Bernado dusted the pie crumb from his beard.
“Oh no, yeah.” I walked ahead of the other two, eyes on Hamlet’s retreating figure. “For sure.”
If you enjoyed this chapter of Monarchy and Mayhem, be sure to comment below with your thoughts! And don’t forget to subscribe so you don’t miss a chapter!
Leave a Reply