Editing DbS (section)

== TWENTY-SIX ==
⚇乂⚇

'''THOU HAST YEE’D THINE LAST HAW'''

THE SOUND CAME NEARER AND nearer, and I was not looking forward to my encounter with the pageboy, who had surely tattled on Paris and I’s duel. 

“Abigail–” I started, dehugging her. 

“I know,” she whispered, standing up shakily, the mud of freshly prepared grave thickly matted onto her dress. “We must hide.” And so, she walked behind the familiar bush and crouched down, beckoning me to come with her.

I did not have the time. The familiar voice of the page called to me. “You! Move not, lest I stab thee, O murderous fiend!” 

I promptly ignored him, shimmying up a tree about as quick as I had ever climbed. ''That was… incredibly quick! Well done, Nathan!'' my mind praised as I settled into a crook of the tree, the thick leaves hiding me from sight from most angles. 

Abigail looked up at me from her spot. “Ham– Nate, how were’st thee able to climb up there with such speed?” Her eyes were wide and a confused look was on her face.

“I climbed? Quickly?” 

She was unconvinced by this answer. “Surely there must be some sort of witchcraft! Tis not possible to climb up such a tree with such haste–” she stopped herself from talking as the sound of voices became louder and louder, until finally, the Watch came into the clearing.

“Where is he!?” cried one of them,- the large, tall, one that had yanked Romeo out from behind me earlier- looking around wildly. His minions followed in suit. 

“Come out thee, O boy!”

“Romeo, cowardish son of Montague, show yourself!”

“Come out thou FIEND!” 

Romeo was really getting a lot of pushback. But not for long. 

“MEN! LOOK WHAT I’VE FOUND!”

A stampede of green-clothed members of the Watch came over, inspecting Romeo’s fallen body.

“And say! He’s killed the Capulet child! Fair Juliet!”

Angry sounds came from the men. “We must take revenge on whomever did this! We’ve already found the slain Paris, whomever killed the heir to Montague and the heir to Capulet must be around here!”

And so, they set out to search. Meanwhile, I was just praying the page boy wasn’t anywhere around, because, as far as I was concerned he kind of hated my guts. Abigail shifted ever so slightly in the bushes, rearranging her foot so it wouldn’t fall asleep, and this, as you could probably expect from Shakespeare, caused an overly-loud rustle in the bushes.

''Hides, precious!'' It took a moment for me to realize that my brain had gone into Gollum mode, only with a Scottish accent. ''No. Stop. Quit. Go, leave. Now.'' 

''LEAVE AND NEVER COME BACK!'' I almost sighed at the stupidity of my own brain but remembered just in time that Shakespeare was dramatic. 

A cackle sounded from below me. It was the cackle of a young boy, and I, unfortunately, knew who it was. The page.

“The murderer hath been found, gentlemen!” ''Gentlemen? Such a young lad as yourself oughtn’t use a word fit for an older man!'' Alas, I did not understand my brain’s reasoning. 

Abigail “accidentally” stepped on his foot. 

“Ow!” cried the boy, letting her go for a second. 

“When in the course of human events, a young girl will ''not'' find good fortune in killing her own dear brother, ''nor'' will she find good fortune in killing her ''sister-in-law,'' whom he has newlywed, in other words, methink’st thou mind art the size of boiled mustard seed. Fair befall you, and good night!” The boy was very startled. Abigail, having finished her speech, disappeared into the bush. 

''Methinks… methinks the lady is out of our league, dear Nathan.'' I decided to dwell on my Scottish-speaking brain later. 

The page stepped back some, glaring at the bush. Finally, he screeched, “MEN! I HATH FOUND OUR MURDERER–.”

''Henceforth, we shall bite our thumb at this boy!''

''… Agreed.''

This time, when the page called, people rushed to his aid. Before they could yeet Abigail out of the bush, however, in came the jolly old Saint Nick. By which I mean Friar Lawrence. 

“Ho, hey! Men of the watch tis too late to be awake! Or should I say, too early?”

“Friar! Twas you who killed them? Here lies the county slain and Juliet bleeding, who hath lain here these two days bleeding! And here, you, the Friar, tremble, sigh, and weep. A spade and a mattock! Stay, here with the Montague girl.”

The Friar was very much so flustered. “I- I did nothing of the sort! I am a man sworn to God, I would never harm- nor kill!- another man!”

“Ah, but a woman is at stake.”

“The wound! See the wound!”

“Whose wound?” A deep voice sounded from the edge of the graveyard. Abigail, standing across from my tree, raised her eyes up to meet mine, giving whomever had spoken an even stare. 

He stood, fiery red hair catching the dawn light. Denaius, the one who was presently in an argument with the Friar dropped to one knee. 

“Prince Escalus, it’s an hono–”

The prince held up a hand. “Do not waste your words right now. We have important matters to discuss.” He turned to the page, who had a little smirk on his face as he watched the angry Abigail. “Page. Have you called the Capulets and Montagues?”

The page gave a slight tilt of his head. “Yes, your Highness.” ''He could not have gone! Twasn’t enough time!''

The prince nodded. “Well done–” the page glowed at his praise “-- we must wait until the two feuding–” he gave a vague gesture with his hand “--families get here to discuss the matter fairly.”

''Took long enough! That lily-livered scoundrel of a prince is finally playing fair!'' Oddly enough, my thoughts were turning more… American. That midwestern voice was coming back, slowly, but surely. My vocabulary had not, however, changed. 

The sound of a hysterical woman made the Prince look over in the direction of the entrance. “Ah. And so they hath arrived.”

Indeed they had. A woman in hysterics, wearing a blue dress came in, holding her husband’s arm. Her husband had a grim look on his face, and it was clear- at least to me- that he was trying to hold in some extreme emotion. Benvolio trailed in after the two, face unreadable, eyes looking about at all the members of the Watch, hand on an extra sword. 

''Tis not noble for Lady Montague to be blubbering in front of such noble company!'' The accent was back, at least for a moment. 

The Prince gave the three a slight nod, awaiting the Capulets’ arrival. It did not take long. Soon, in came the red-haired Lady Capulet with her pale face and slender neck, adorned with jewels, as if she had been awaiting all night to come, and had been getting ready. Beside her was her husband, walking stiffly, picking his steps carefully, as he had, presumably forgotten his cane at home. 

“Ladies,” the Prince addressed the women of the couples, nodding to both, “and Gentlemen. An atrocity hath been discover’d tonight, and it seems a child hath committed it.”

The woman in blue almost burst into tears again upon seeing Abigail standing there innocently. “Nay, Abigail t’would ne’er even dream of such a crime!”

The Prince gave her a pointed look before continuing. “But. We shall not continue with the bloodshed. …” He continued on with his speech, going on and on and on about the centuries of death and doom and destruction caused by the feuding families, blah, blah, blah, Shakespeare is almost unreadable, etc, etc.

As the Prince spoke, Benvolio quietly edged over to Abigail, who was in full sight of all the members of the Watch, and of course, the “feuding” couples. 

Abigail looked up at him for a second, then spoke something almost silently, and, since she was at a distance, I couldn’t really hear what she had said. Benvolio stooped down a little bit so that Abigail could whisper something to him.

She stood on tiptoe, and, cupping her hands around her mouth, said something in Benvolio’s ear very quickly. I gazed at the two with a bit of confusion and slight concern.

Benvolio’s face changed almost invisibly, and slowly he looked up to my tree, searching for me. His brown eyes caught onto my gray ones, and it was almost like he had read my mind. It was as if it just clicked, and he ''knew'' what had happened, almost instinctively so.