TOLLINS II: DYNAMITE TALES

“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.

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“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, like mythelf,” said Beryl firmly. She did not intend to be denied her part by a few lines of train track running round her teeth. Even Sparkler wilted against that diamond stare.

“Right, Juliet then,” he said at last. “Let’s see how you get on during the rehearsals.”

“Thank you, thir. You won’t regret it,” she said, beaming at him.

“Next!” Sparkler called. He watched impatiently as the High Tollin’s guards shuffled up. Sparkler repressed a groan. This was getting out of hand. It was true he’d been given the Great Hall to stage the performance, but in return, the High Tollin seemed to want everyone he knew personally to be in it. Sparkler resolved to be firm.

“Right. Which part would you like to audition for?” he asked.

“What’s in a name?” the thin guard bellowed suddenly. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet!”

“That’s a line by Juliet,” Sparkler said, searching his script. He had never seen the guards so nervous before. The thin one had taken a position with his eyes screwed shut, his arms outstretched and his red face tilted up to an imaginary audience.

“It is the east! And Juliet is the sun!” he roared.

“That bit’s from Romeo, I think,” Sparkler said, wincing. The guard seemed to be lost in a world of his own. His companion looked on with tears in his eyes, shaking his head in silent wonder.

“Arise, fair sun!” the thin guard shouted, drawing his new sword. Sparkler gaped as he waved it around his head. “And kill the envious moon!”

“Some confusion there, I’m afraid,” Sparkler said in the pause for breath. The guard opened his mouth for another line.

“Thank you! I’ve heard enough!” Sparkler said loudly. His tone seemed to reach the guard and he opened his eyes, beaming shyly.

“Was it all right, sah? I’ve been practising with Daryl here. He says I’ve got ever such good volume.”

“Well, yes,” Sparkler replied. “I can’t argue with volume. Volume, in fact, is the one thing no one could deny about your performance. However…”

“I wouldn’t mind a small part, sah,” the fat guard put in suddenly. Sparkler supposed this was Daryl, though he’d never heard his name before. He sighed to himself. It was the High Tollin’s Great Hall, after all. It was the only place he could find with a balcony.

“All right,” he said wearily. “You can both be in Romeo’s gang of Montagues and in the crowd scenes.” Daryl nodded to his thinner friend.

“I told you we’d get it, ’Erbert,” he said proudly.

“Next!” Sparkler called once again.

Finding Romeo was the real problem, of course. In the play, he was meant to be young and handsome. There were young and handsome Tollins, but the news that Beryl was to play Juliet had made them vanish faster than frost in summer.

To his frustration, Sparkler was left with just one Tollin lad, by the name of Pilford, who worked in the bakery. He was short and thin and his hair was too long, in Sparkler’s opinion.

“So you want to be Romeo, do you?” Sparkler said doubtfully.

“Don’t mind,” Pilford replied with a shrug. Sparkler peered behind him, but there was no one. Pilford was the queue.