Professor Layton and the Angel's Prophecy

The Bell Tolls

"Spectacular!" he gawped, reaching out to run his finger along her spine. "I wish I could study you." Silence shivered, but then the man seemed to loosen up. "But that's not what I am. At least, not anymore. You've been hurt by humans for far too long. You are a beautiful creature, and deserve so much more."

Silence felt like crying. It sounded so simple, coming from his mouth, yet sometimes all one needed was some kind words of encouragement from another to brighten their day, and sometimes, even that could change someone's world. What did she do to deserve these people?

"Come," Don Paolo proclaimed, skipping up the last flight of steps. "Let us find this beacon. Shouldn't be too hard, should it? I helped assemble them. At least, I think I did. Most of my memories are still fuzzy."

Silence had been unsure of her partnership with this man who was once so entrenched in the evil of her once-captor, but now she hovered alongside him with a smile that refused to fade. Perfect chaos lay all around them, yet for once she didn't feel so lost.

*****

"Come on, it's almost time," Emmy laughed, covering her mouth. She had to crane her neck to see Clive properly, and the sight of the young man on stage, holding a skull out before him was too much. They felt rather safe in the Globe. No one had seem them enter when Costillos gave his command, so as long as they weren't too loud, they were safe in their quest.

Clive had asked how Emmy knew the beacon was inside, and she had simply responded it was her gut telling her, and it had never let her down before. He wasn't too inclined to believe her, but they had no other choice. Time was running short, and their exploration of London landmarks amidst a sea of frozen millions was chilling to say the least, but now those frozen Londoners were searching for them, and sure enough, their numbers would prevail.

"I know," Clive grinned. "But when else do you get to go to the Globe Theatre on a secret mission to save London?"

"I'd presume never."

"We've got five minutes still. Enough time to finish this scene."

Emmy crossed her arms, regarding him curiously.

"Oh yeah, and what scene is that exactly?"

Clive's face furrowed in confusion, but then an answer popped into his mind.

"'Tis the scene in which I hold the skull of poor Yorick. But in this case, it is Costillos." Clearing his throat, he put on a theatrical air, holding up the skull as an actor of the Shakespearean play would. "Alas, poor Costillos! I knew him, Emmy: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath given me piggybacks a thousand times; and now, I can't forget his fine face! My..." Clive glanced at the script on the floor and frowned. "Gorge? What the heck does gorge mean?"

Emmy giggled, hoisting herself up on to the stage, accepting Clive's outstretched hand. Brushing herself off, she stared out among the balconies and breathed in the musty scent. This was history. They could not lose it.

"Gorge usually means to stuff oneself," she answered, moving over to rummage through the box of props. Producing a dagger, Emmy waved it about, swinging comically at first, and then seriously in some defensive and offensive jabs. Dropping the plastic knife back in the box, she then moved over to a nearby costume rack, trying on a realistic looking helmet and a furry jacket. "But in this instance, Hamlet is saying that his stomach turns at the thought."

Clive nodded approvingly.

"I didn't know you knew Shakespeare."

Emmy glanced over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling.