Staring down the wobbly uneven cobbled streets, Nick Bottom's townhouse provided quite the view. Though standing at the tallest apartment, it didn't quite clear the height of the one fortified building in the town, where I was told the majority of the women were kept for their own safety. Alongside the vampire guards. Nick and Starveling both shared an adjoining townhouse of multiple layers of apartments and studios, filled with boys and girls and an array of equipment and both raw and produced materials. From soaking cloth from the sheathed wool of a flock to the drying flaxen bundles attempting in vain to dry in the winter's sun on the balconies. Dyed fibres with the overwhelming stench of vinegar brought tears to my eyes, that I couldn't admire the array of colours strewn over the balcony fences. Scattered throughout the long studio were looms prepped for weaving and mannequins pinned in precarious needle pin torture for a new bodice to be made. The workers looked to both masters in guidance of their craft and art, and with patient, encouraging words they carried on in their work. The youths had been working since sunrise. The tradesmen were clearly the masters of their craft but weren't completely trusted with the town's youth, all older than twelve but none younger. I hadn't seen a single child since leaving the tavern with my newest allies. The black uniformed guard constantly watched us with renewed interest. Dressed in the darkest black leather jerkin and matching breeches and boots, a stark contrast to his honey blonde hair. I kept half an eye out as he made numerous rounds through the studios. Perplexed that the children didn't seem disturbed by his pompous presence, I kept my head down to avoid suspicion as my eyes wept at the laborious task.
"Don't take it too personally," Starveling whispered, having snuck Antonio and I through the back door to the tallest studio. Busying ourselves with cleaning equipment as the guard patrolled. "Sustainer Demetrius doesn't like working the day shift. But he does get to admire the view of the ladies, especially lady Hermia." The guard snarled from across the studio, head snapping in Starveling's direction. Even without seeing his eyes, such intense rage fired on us, in a warning not to test his patience.
With Antonio back to wearing his skinned glamour and our muddy shirts removed to clean equipment without Demetrius's suspicions, I fought the indignity of performing a workman's job. Nick was preoccupied in their stock room calculating all they needed to make up for their smuggling, hence our cover to mingle with the workers. Father would've died laughing if he saw me now, elbow deep in dyed vinegar to help a criminal enterprise. Some relief did cool my temper that no one here would pass on such an image to him. No one knew me. However, what was left of my identity, I knew that nobility resided within. The weaver finally returned clutching newly washed lien shirts, jerkins and ye olde faithful: breeches. I shuddered, craving for the familiar trousers that were far more comfortable, though they weren't practical for this winter chill. Nick waited for the opportune moment when finally, Demetrius descended the stairs out of sight but not of hearing, curtesy to the thin floorboards. Starveling nodded to a filled barrel of cool water, gesturing to wash quietly. Antonio didn't need to be told twice, practically jumping to remove such odour from his vulnerable skin. I hated cold bathing, but with little choice, I plunged my reluctant hands to start cleaning. My face was beginning to swell from Bianco's beating and smarting into a tight, red disfigurement along my jaw and eyes. Not to mention the sickening purple forming bruise conquering my wrist and hand.
"I'm Bottom, by the way," he whispered.
"Excuse me?"
"Nick Bottom. I'm the town's weaver and purveyor of fabrics," Nick explained, clapping the heels of his clogs together.
"I'm Roger and this is Antonio." I nodded to Antonio. "Sorry, Bottom?" I forced my mind to make sure that was the correct name.
Starveling hushed a chuckle. "Bottom's a sensitive soul, even as a kid. Nerves get the better of him."
"They don't." Nick was clearly insulted, by the violent blush.
"Then last year's accident wasn't stage fright?" Starveling joked.
"It was the crucial death scene of my character after a very long soliloquy and in my research, bodies make such sounds as miasma leaves the body upon death." A blushing Nick handed us coarse towels. Starveling mouthed that Nick had farted on stage. Perfect, my newest ally was a weaver with irritable bowel syndrome.
"So how we getting in?" Nick whispered, eager to change the subject.
Antonio's gaze held mine with a cock of a questioning brow. We nodded in agreement. "I can puddle jump us most of the way. But not into the actual palace. The border can't be entered unless one walks in holding onto me."
"You won't tire?" A small part of me shrivelled at the guilt for using Antonio this way, but needs must. Securing a random iron blade from a tableside into my street-stained breeches, it was perfectly reachable. Now I was armed and somewhat clothed. My fate had landed on wining heads. "Antonio, you lost consciousness the last time."
"I will never slow you down, Roger," Antonio promised, holding my shoulder close to him. "None of the water sources here are poisoned like Prospero's well, the vampires wouldn't risk their stock."
"How much water do you need?" Nick frowned.
Antonio nodded to the clean, fresh clothes in the weaver's hands. "Bag them up tight, travel will soak us. That way, we'll be presentable to the court without raising too much suspicion." Nick nodded in agreement, folding the clothing into a large leather satchel.
"What will you say, Nick?" Starveling urged his friend, pulling loose hair from his bushy ginger beard, anxious for an answer. "Please don't condemn us to public enemy number one. We had a good thing here; we can still tell the truth."
Nick frowned with a hard blush through his trimmed brunet beard. "I will get a vow of promise."
"A vow from a Goodfellow?"
Nick held out his hand, expectancy shone in his eyes. Starveling's answered grimace prompted Nick to glare harder. Fetching a small paper bag, filled and crumbled, Starveling handed it to Nick, reluctantly. "You shouldn't, Nick." Starveling mumbled. But Nick bested him by putting the paper bag into his satchel.
"When confronting a Goodfellow, I need all the confidence I can get." With a brief whisper and a nod from Nick, Starveling acknowledged and the descended stairs. Through the thin beam floorboards, the tailor had struck a conversation with the black jerkined guard, Demetrius. "Distraction." Nick winked leading our escape.
Reluctance made Antonio hesitate. "I need the well. The further we travel, the more water I need," Antonio explained, striding with purpose to the window's edge.
Below a crash of broken equipment sounded and a grumbling snarl. "That's the signal." Nick hurried us out of the studio, ordering his apprentices to not breathe of our disappearance.
"Signal?" I gasped after being shoved through an open second story window at the back of the townhouse. A moment of flightlessness assaulted my senses until I was caught by a bale of rotten hay slouched against the town house.
Nick chuckled, lowering himself from the window ledge and jumping into the hay beside me. "What did you expect? A whistle or bird call? Far too suspicious. An actor thinks outside of the stage, Roger."
I didn't wish to correct Nick in that he was a simple town's weaver, not an actor. Though I wasn't in any position to crush a man's humble dreams, even if my father had delt me that hand. A free life with Viola was the dream and he tarnished it. As a trio we scurried away from Nick's townhouse, sticking to the daylight by his suggestion. His clogs clashed to ring loudly in the square. The well was guarded by a multitude of townhouses framing the square, and from the sparse decorations, an event will happen here.
"Dare I ask your reasons for needing Antonio?" I threw at Nick, huffing for surplus breath.
"If I don't go today then my life will be forfeit." Nick shrugged.
"And this Robin fellow?"
"Don't say their name," Nick begged quietly. "And you? Why does a newcomer want inside the Fae Palace?"
I couldn't withhold such information from the weaver. Having already bestowed kindness, I at least owed him some explanation. "The man that murdered my sister is there. I'm going to kill him tonight." My heart roared at the image of Prospero bleeding out as I plunged my knife into his cold heart. Viola's would be at peace and my repentance served.
"You'll forgive me if I don't join you at your appointment," Nick mumbled with a shy smile. "I'll have my hands full with my own vice."
Nestled on the uneven cobbled square, a well dominated as the central feature and hardly anyone was about. The usual noises of a market filtered one of the ten foots and some passers-by barely gave us a look. Together, we stepped to the rim of the well. Inside was dark infinity.
"What's the palace like?"
"Lots of fae courtiers, competing for higher positions in Oberon's circle. The palace itself is a maze. Always hold onto me," Antonio insisted us both and, on his command, joined hands. "Don't let go of me or you'll drown." The warning was more for Nick than me.
Antonio held my hand tight as we jumped into dark infinity. I didn't need any warning to close my eyes, memory fresh from only yesterday. Burying my face into Antonio's neck, I shut out all the world and focused on his warm skin touching mine. Antonio was soon becoming my one physical contact for this world. My one luxury of something close to friendship. After the tumbling and pressure of water had finished assaulting us, we shot out of the watery ceiling that was above. Crashing through the water ceiling, I greedily breathed in the air and swam my way to the bank's edge. Spitting water out of my mouth, I found Antonio, crouched low and already recovered. His heart was drumming, his skin back to translucency. Grabbing hold, I crept to where Nick already was, gasping and soaking wet but alive. Shock widened his eyes as he looked around us. With cover of tall marshy vegetation, we strained to hear sounds of more men further away.
"A battalion's at the border, ahead of us," Antonio hissed, sinking down to our level. Though I wanted to peek my head through the grass, I didn't dare.
Nick bristled about beside me, covering his face and neck with a rag hood to shield his identity. Digging into the bag myself, I too put a hood on with remains of vinegar fumes blocking my nose. Antonio warned us to stay crouched, crawling through the marsh to get to the border. Swallowing down the indignity, my limbs fought against the sodden mud that wanted to sink us. When approaching footstep squelched through, we froze, half buried in the mud. Antonio shifted his glamour to be mortally skinned, as his natural translucency gave him away in the wet shrub. Low mumbles from a few voices and the trinkle of thin liquid gave away how close they were to us. Antonio held his hand, halting our breath. Mouthing twenty feet to us, the unspoken command to run was nodded between us. Once the splattering of water stopped and footsteps grew more distant, together we slogged through the mud.
Sprinting to the forest edge, holding tight to Antonio's hands, I was desperate to not relive last night's vampire attack. There was no change in pressure as we entered the fae realm, only that the air tasted fresher before. Ahead of us stood an impressive wood, lush trees, where flowers of all colour grew in abundance. Trees grew as they pleased, no path was trodden and no sign of humans' permanent scarring of the land. The marsh water we had exited from was from barren land a league wide separating the town to the forest, with flying insects patrolling its liquid borders. Guarding the trail to the palace was more wood and leafy vegetation, but I could hardly take notice, jogging through the distance. However, the sky was far duller than it had been before we entered the well. The day had already gone. Night was approaching like a siege.
"Nick, you okay?" I asked, whilst catching my breath from all the exertion.
"Yes." He opened his satchel, sighing in relief, pulling out some of the clothing to reveal that they weren't soaked. "I am now."
Antonio stood to his full height, taking off his glamour; organs glowed as he breathed the fresh air. "We're not far from the palace, you should change now before the guards see you."
I didn't need to be told twice, as the wet soiled clothes had turned itchy on my skin. Snatching the pile of clothes from Nick, I hurried over to the closest tree and stripped, and using a large leaf, I scrubbed viscously till all the muck had gone. Feeling eyes on me, the next moment, my new set of borrowed clothing was on. Turning back, Nick was finishing his shirt's knots and Antonio was looking ahead to keep watch. Nick nodded his head, signalling his readiness, and together determined, we walked through the thick glade. Unlike the stories around the mythical fae, no singing echoed through the woods. No enchanting magic bedazzled my eyes, no miniature woodland tiny people frolicked about in revelry. There was only pure, quiet nature.
"Do you know how close we are to the palace from the border?" I wondered, feet flaring an ache from all the extensive walking.
"Yes, another mile or so. The marshes have always been fought over," Antonio answered, pulling a low branch out of my path.
"So close."
"They've been squabbling over the border for twelve years." Nick shrugged off falling leaves and bark debris from old trees. "Politics not for the likes of us."
"You're sure this will work?"
"Yes, you'll cover as my young apprentice, Antonio is of course our guide, and we're going to my arranged appointment. The ruse will work, as I have letters of proof." Nick patted his leather bag. "We grab some enchanted silk, a few bottles of fairy bubbly on the way out, and hopefully meet back at the lake in time for a toast to my executive business decision." Nick rubbed at his mouth and winked, digging into the paper bag Starveling gave him, pulling out a slimy weed for the three of us. "Here, eat this." He handed the bag filled with soggy greens to both of us.
"What's this?" I fingered the strange weed.
"An illegal substance." Antonio narrowed his copper eyes at Nick who shrugged indifferently, chewing his weedy share.
"Starveling grows it for his sewing," Nick explained. "The fae know when someone lies, this stops them. It alters the taste of our words; they will believe us no matter what. It's called Weed Tongue, lasts for a couple of hours."
"Is it safe?" I asked.
"It's addictive," Antonio rushed his words.
Nick paled and gulped his fast. "Of course, I use it before my performances all the time, but you'll need the loo by sunset."
Fighting off the nausea, I popped the weed into my mouth and the sour, cold leaf slithered along my tongue and my cringing throat. "Whatever it takes."
"And you, Nick?" Antonio asked from ahead with a shy smile. "How did you attract the rare attentions of Robin Goodfellow?"
Nick stuttered in a fluster. "I don't know how. Goodfellow came to my studio and I was rehearsing my lines for the previous play. One thing led to another." Nick's cheeks suspiciously burned hotter.
"What's he like, this Robin?" I asked.
"Them," both Antonio and Nick corrected me.
"Them?"
"Goodfellows are one of the most powerful fae in Illyria, a gift from Void, their creator, to Illyrian's creations the fae," Antonio supplied. "They are neither female nor male, they're Goodfellows. One to serve and protect each fae."
"And handsy," Nick mumbled dreamily, his cheeks reddening through his trim, dark brunet goatee.
Remembering that Prospero's faithful servant Ariel was a Goodfellow, I stumbled both with my feet and mind. How would Ariel be dealt with when I get close to murdering their master. "Antonio, can you hold off Ariel?"
Antonio turned back to stare at me. "I will give all within my power to help you, Roger." I nodded in thanks, relief that I had a strong hand in this fight.
In a nutshell, I had an entire fae guard and impenetrable palace to break into. All I had at my disposal was one water fae and a weaver with bowel issues. Perfect. Using stealth and guile, we hurried through the wood, using each tree for coverage until we couldn't any further. Soon we came across a clearing, guarded to the teeth. The fae patrol's constant eyes defending the entry of a slim branched archway of thorns. I couldn't see beyond. Thick vines had grown as a curtain, blocking the view to see the palace.
"The Fae King has grown paranoid," Nick remarked as we hunched behind a tree, watching the guards patrol.
"Is this more guards than normal?"
"Yes."
Viola's face flashed in comfort, focusing my mind to what was at stake tonight. Her soul's eternal peace.
"Bow when I bow. Speak when spoken to. All eyes will be on you, mortals rarely go to Oberon's court," Antonio cautioned us. As a trio we made our way to the palace of Oberon as the sunlight died.