Natasha Luepke - The Wolf Now Roams Among Fearless Lambs

“What will you do now?” Dun asks, surveying my loom.
“Start over,” I shrug. “But not until tomorrow. Let’s clean you up.”
Dun follows me to the kitchen.

As we take care of Dun’s scratches, she says, “Before you stop speaking again, tell me everything about yourself.”
I chuckle. “What would you like to know?”
Dun rolls her eyes. “Everything.” Her eyes stop their trip and fix on me, staring. I swallow.
“If I tell you about my past, you have to tell me some of yours,” I reply.
She nods. I sit across from her at the table and launch into as short and painless a history as I can: parents, siblings, destruction, relocation… Dun is greedy for information, often asking me to elaborate.
“You’re a hero,” she says when I am finished.
“I…I do what I have to.”
“Well, your life is far more interesting than mine. And really, it’s so late, we should both get to sleep.” She starts to get up from the table.
“Dun, wait,” I say, grabbing her hand. “You have to tell me: What is Elsinore? And what is this?” I pull out the book.
“Give that to me,” Dun says, reaching for it.
“Tell me.” Childish, I know, but I have longer arms and so can dangle it just out of Dun’s grasp.
“Not talking about it is the only way to keep the ghosts at bay.”
I tuck the book into the top of my dress. “Dun, a ghost pushed you out the window. I saw it.”
“Don’t you see? It was because if the book. If I can destroy the book, I can destroy the ghost.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She stares at me, as if I should know. “The power is in the written word.”
I lean back. “That’s just superstition.” Right? Even in this kingdom…?
Dun is on the verge of tears. “ ‘Elsinore’ is the name of the castle and the name of the town. The royal family stayed here. But then - the, the - the prince went insane and killed everyone. And now no one comes here, that’s why we’re the Town With No Name. Tax collectors don’t even come here.”
I am not sure what to say. “But what does the ghost have to do with you?”
Dun looks away. “That book you’re holding is my grandfather’s diary. The prince killed everyone but my grandfather. The ghost is angry with my family.” She lapses into silence and looks around the room. I do, too, and am surprised we have not been visited by the ghost. Finally, Dun pleads, “Give me the diary?”
I stare at her.
Dun shrugs, finally, a helpless gesture. “Then read. But please give it back to me so I can destroy it.”

I take it to the ladies’ chamber in the center of the castle. I build a small fire and take a seat on a faded chair. And finally the ghost appears. She kneels beside the chair, resting her arms on the armrest. Water begins to puddle on the floor. She wrinkles her brow and opens and closes her mouth. Finally, she smiles and opens her mouth once more.
“I tried to teach your mother to read.” Her voice is strong and human. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine that I was listening to a sixteen year old or eighteen year old. Or to Dun. “I wanted her to read this diary so she would know what had happened. No one knows what really happened.”
“Why do you want me to read this?” I ask.
She stares at me, her eyes becoming whole. “I think you can help me.”
Of course. Of course I can help her! If I ever return to Avon, I think I will become a recluse. But for now I open the diary. The faded name on the inside cover simply reads “Horatio”…

It takes a long time to get through each page. The early entries are about Horatio’s student life at University. I cannot figure out in what kingdom this university was located - but then, I gather this lies in the time before the Nine Kingdoms. Anyway, Horatio cannot decide what to do with his life. He enjoys his studies but is not sure if he wants to become a professor. And then a northern prince enters Horatio’s life.

“Today I met Prince Hamlet again. A prince and he decides to speak with me! I cannot imagine why; my father is only a petty aristocrat. And I am not Hamlet’s equal in any way. He is philosophical, eloquent, charming… I would not go so far as to say I love Hamlet, for what I feel is nothing so simple. Hamlet inspires me to be the best I can be. And as such, I suppose I want him to love me, to at least consider me warthy…

“Perhaps this is the answer to my ennui. I will devote myself to this prince, try to be useful to him in any way possible. I have spent so much time living for myself that I will try to live exclusively for someone else.

“Hamlet, I am yours.”

Both intelligent men, they become friends.

“Hamlet loves to play ‘what-if’ games. He’ll begin, ‘What would you do if…’ and then list some scenario. Generally, I try to be amusing and give answers that would quite implausible in our world.
“A royal messenger arrived at my small flat this afternoon. He had tried Hamlet’s more lavish residence and had been unsuccessful, hence his appearance here. Hamlet has been called home on royal matters. Hamlet refused to elaborate on what this could mean.
‘Let me come with you,’ I said.
‘Stay here,’ my prince replied. ‘You are much better at academics than I.’
‘But surely you will want a companion for the long trip north,” I argued.
Hamlet smiled at me. ‘I will be fine on my own, Horatio.’
“Hamlet hugged me good-bye, then informed the messenger they would have to return to his house for his luggage. I will get to the bottom of this, however; ascertain what has called my lord away.”

And, in a familiar move, Horatio embarks on a quest to find his friend.

“Today I have finally entered the kingdom of Old Hamlet, the land my friend will inherit. The skies are eternally gray; I cannot help but feel an all-consuming sense of death. Really, I am surprised that the road is not dotted with tombstones.

“Both grayness and graveness are accompanied by cold. Ice covers the road, the trees, and the air. I can feel it invade my body, slowly freezing my insides. I cannot imagine what a childhood in this place would do to a man.

“The only birds in the air are carrion crows. But there are flowers everywhere, and they are the only vestiges of life not encrusted in cold.”

I smile at Horatio’s description. And then I think of Dun. What was her childhood like in this place? My mother didn’t really care if she was here or in Rougefleur; this grayness seems almost a way of life.

“My first night in Elsinore. What I have seen thus far…’twould make a sane man crazy and a crazy man commit murder, of himself or someone else.

“I saw a ghost, as I visited with the castle guards. The ghost walked through the stone walls and was outfitted like a soldier. And had the visage of Old King Hamlet, newly dead. I made to speak with it, but it vanished. Before tonight, I considered myself a rational man. I believed in only what I could see - in trolls, fairies, dwarfs, giants, and talking animals. But ghosts, which few have claimed to see - ghosts I considered the only true legend in a land full of them.

“The faithful palace guards took me to who should have been Young King Hamlet; I expected to be led to a coronation or some other state function for the young king.

“But I was led to the end of a wedding celebration and the end of a coronation - for a different man.

“But for a moment, none of it mattered. I was with my friend again. What he told me later, what a mess his life has become; it chills my soul. But we are together again, so I can only think that everything will improve.

“My lord Hamlet, lost in his sadness, did not even recognize me at first. But then he was just as overjoyed to see me as I was to see him. He explained that his uncle had married his mother and claimed the throne; Hamlet was, understandably, heartbroken.

“Hamlet told me he still sees his father, in his mind. I informed him of my earlier meeting with the ghost. Hamlet insisted on seeing it himself. The ghost reappeared for us and bade Hamlet follow it. I could not convince him to stay back, that it might be a trick. When my lord returned, he was shaken. The ghost claimed to be Hamlet’s father and told the prince he’d been murdered by his brother - Hamlet’s uncle and the new king.”

I look up for a moment, giving my eyes a rest. I roll it from side to side, trying to work out a kink. My ghost, my helpful girl ghost, is standing next to the hearth. I shiver a little; my fire is not heating the room very well. The ghost beckons to me. As I get up to follow her, still clutching Horatio’s diary, I notice a notice a tea kettle and cup placed beside the fire.
The ghost directs me to the side of the room, pointing to one of the large rectangular things I had seen earlier throughout the castle. The outside is decorated with glazed tiles; they look dark green in the growing shadows.
“This is an oven,” she explains. Her voice is the cobwebs in the corners, the dust that settles on everything.
“An oven? For cooking?”
The ghost smiles, the bright half circle of descending darkness. “It is an old oven. For heating the room. Build a fire in here.”
“Ah, thank you,” I say. I place the book on my chair and do as she suggests.

She is staring at the diary when I finish and return to my seat. She reaches to touch it, but her fingers go through the book; she cannot make them solid.
“I tried to teach your mother to read,” the ghost says.
“My mother?” I echo.
The ghost nods. “Your grandparents and your mother were the last ones to leave the castle. I wanted her to find the diary…” She looks up at me. I try to look her in the eye, but find myself staring at the wall. “Ruin enough came to Horatio’s family, I suppose.”
I pick up the book and sit down. “What does this all have to do with me?” I say softly.
The ghost stares at me. “It has as much to do with you as it does Iduna. Your mother knew me in death…Your grandmother knew in me in life.”
Who can argue with that?

I settle back in, the room warming from the oven. If I finish this diary soon, I can help the ghost, perhaps helping Dun in the process and then I can go back to helping Lir…

“After the excitement of the previous night, as well as general fatigue from my journey, I had hoped - and expected - to sleep for most of the day. Hamlet, however, woke me shortly after dawn; shortly after I’d fallen asleep, truth be told. But Hamlet wanted to talk, and show me around the castle. And introduce me to Ophelia.

“Hamlet had spoken often of Ophelia while we were at University. He said that he could never be sure of his feelings for her, but he thought he loved her. I never said anything, but I think that is a sorry way to feel - how can one be unsure if they love someone? Love should take one over; that is what I think - and feel.

“My lord explained that it didn’t really matter; she was the councilor’s daughter: her birth not noble enough for marriage. But if given a choice, Hamlet had told me he would marry the girl, because they had grown up together.

“We encountered Ophelia early in the morning. She had already seen her brother off on his journey south; as such, her emotions were running high. Hamlet was a different man around her, different even than when we around girls in school. And to be sure, I could not be certain of Hamlet’s love, but I can be certain of his attraction.

“Ophelia is a beautiful girl - pale skin, a pleasing figure. Her blue eyes are the color of the sky in lands where the sun does shine. Her red hair is like a torch in the eternal gray of Elsinore. And she is witty but soft-spoken, as a woman should be.”

I look up from the book to see if the ghost is still in the room. I cast my gaze around the room, finally finding her by one of the main windows. A small puddle has formed at her feet.
“Ophelia?” I say. She merely nods; one of the flowers in her hair drops to the floor.

“Hamlet is a bit distracted when Ophelia is around, and as such, I must confess to feeling a little jealousy.

“But I cannot focus on that. I am here for my prince, to help him in any way I can. We are trying to trap his uncle; his uncle is trying to trap us. The King and Queen have hired as spies some old friends of Hamlet’s. Harmless enough, I think, but obviously they annoy and worry Hamlet.

“I am rather powerless to help him, though, and that is a feeling I hate. All I can really do is listen to Hamlet when he wants to talk; more often, however, he wants to be left alone and I am left to my own devices.”

I close my eyes for a moment.

“Hamlet decided to stage a play to capture his uncle.

“‘The plot of the play comes very near of the circumstances I told you of my father’s murder. Watch how my uncle reacts,’ Hamlet said to me.

“I took a seat in the back of the royal theater. Hamlet, however, left me alone, once more; he sat with Ophelia instead. I watched him whisper to her; about what I do not know. Romantic offerings perhaps. A promise to meet later; something that would once more leave me alone.

“As I said, I could not hear their words, but I could see their inclined heads. They looked as life should be - a boy and girl. No place for me.

“But then the king rose from his seat, calling for the lights. The audience was in a daze as the king stormed out.
‘Did you see that?’ Hamlet asked.
‘Aye, my lord,’ I had time to call after him as he left the theater.

“Ophelia was watching Hamlet leave as well. Her gaze shifted until she was looking at me. She held up a finger, asking me to wait. She joined me, looking troubled.
‘Horatio, I’m worried about Prince Hamlet,’ she said softly.
I nodded in reply; this prince was not the student I had known at University.
‘The things he says to me now…’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Do you know what is wrong with him?’
I do not want to reveal too much. ‘His father’s death and mother’s marriage still weigh heavily on his mind.’
She nodded. ‘I wish he would tell me.’ She looked down at her feet for a moment, then looked me in the eye. ‘I do love him. Take care of him, Horatio.’ Then she glided out of the room.
“I do not want to say that I feel as if I am competing with Ophelia. After all, what do I truly have to offer to the prince?

Hamlet, meanwhile, kills Ophelia’s father. He leaves the castle, accompanied by his friends-who-were-spies. Ophelia goes mad. The queen asks Horatio to watch over her.

“Jealous as I was of Ophelia, I did not wish her destruction. At least, I hope I did not. Now she spends her days singing songs and calling for her father.

“Spent her days. Ophelia is dead. And I…as hard as this is to write, I must write it…her death is my fault.

“She was picking flowers by the moat. I did not see how it happened, but she fell into the water. I could have saved her, but - I thought - well, the girl is mad. Hamlet does not love her; I’m not sure if he loves anyone. What kind of future does Ophelia have? So I…

“I cannot write; I am nearly weeping. I watched Ophelia drown. I watched her die and then I ran away. Hamlet must never know.

“I’ve let Ophelia die.”

“So Horatio’s love for Hamlet caused your death?” I ask the ghost. I can’t see her, but I’m sure she’s here somewhere. Finally she reappears in front of the hearth.
“Yes,” is all she replies.

Hamlet is distraught when he returns to Elsinore and gets into a fight with Ophelia’s brother at her grave.

“I watched these two men fight like children, both distraught with grief over the same woman. And really, it was because of me. With everyone focused on Hamlet and Laertes, I was able to successfully hide my own emotions.

“For those few minutes when I let Ophelia flail in the water, it truly seemed an act of - mercy. But now I cannot help but wonder what if…

“Through a confusing series of tricks, Hamlet was able to order the death of his former friends. He told this to me matter-of-factly. And now is weeping over Ophelia.

“I have not the stomach or heart for this. I should have become a reclusive scholar…”

“He’s really sorry for what he did,” I tell the ghost.
“It doesn’t matter,” she shrugs. “I’m still as dead.”
I do not think I can continue reading. My emotions are taxed. I rub my forehead, trying to alleviate a headache. “What happens, Ophelia?”
She kneels down, leaning once more upon the armrest. “Everyone dies. Between Prince Hamlet, my brother, and the king, there was no one of consequence left alive. Except Horatio.”
I flip furiously through the little book. How does it end?

“I promised my prince that I would live, that I would tell his story. I will dedicate my life to that end. I will remain here in Elsinore, and I will remember.”

“That’s it?” I say, snapping the book shut.
Ophelia crossed her arms. “Iduna can tell you what happened.”
I sigh, remove myself from the chair and head for the kitchen.

Dun is sleeping on her pallet when I arrive. I gently shake her awake.
“Oh, Clover,” she says sleepily. She reaches out as if to pull me closer. I cough and drag her into a sitting position. “What time is it?”
“Long after midnight, I suspect.” I look around the room, but Ophelia is nowhere to be seen. I shiver and decide to rebuild the fire while Dun wakes up.
I cannot decide how to phrase what I need to ask. “Dun, what…what did your grandfather do with his life?”
She lets out a derisive snort. “This was his life. No one visited here, but he kept it like a museum anyway. A few servants stayed on, but they left when my mother was a girl.”
I take a stick and draw designs in the ashes. “Do you know anything about those servants?”
Dun rolls her head from side to side. “Ummm…Not really. They were married, I guess; Mom said they had a daughter around her age.”
“Why did Horatio leave the castle in disrepair?”
She remains still for a moment. “He died, Clover. And I was the only one left.”
I stare at her. I had always assumed…a lot of things. “I’m sorry, Dun.”
She looks away and doesn’t say anything. I stand and remove Horatio’s diary from the folds of my dress. I hand it to her. “This is yours.”
She smiles, just a little. She stands, too, accepts the book, and hurls it into the fire.