"It's marvellous, Dorothy," smiled Michaela. "But why mustn't I say it aloud?"
    "Bad luck."
    "What?"
    "They say this tragedy's plagued by terrible happenings."
    "I didn't imagine you were so superstitious!" exclaimed Michaela in mock reproach.
    "I'm not," answered Dorothy, rolling up the billboard. "It's the tradition."
    "I see," she said, strolling towards Grace's Cafe. "It surely is a change from your usual standards, Dorothy. Last time it was Romeo and Juliet, and I remember you were so enthusiastic about romance and love!"
    "Well, there was a lotta blood in that one, too. An' I feel this tragedy is a love story, in a sense. My Lady'll be a woman to love."
    "You will play the Lady?" smiled Michaela.
    "It's the dream of every actress!" cried Dorothy happily.
    Daniel stuck out his head from the sheriff's office. "Lady? Actress?"
    "Got a lot of work this morning, eh, Daniel?" said Michaela.
    The sheriff grinned sheepishly. "Actually I have, yet..."
    Dorothy unrolled the billboard, repeating her warning.
    Daniel beamed. "Sure I won't say it aloud! Great idea, Dorothy. Hey, it starts tomorrow! I'm with you. Can I play Macduff?"
    Dorothy and Michaela stared. "You know the play?"
    "Yeah. Me an' Sully met a travellin' company once. They almost recruited us, but Sully was too shy."
    Michaela smiled knowingly.
    "Well, I don't know about Sully, but you're recruited now," said Dorothy. "Tomorrow after breakfast at Grace's. You'll play Macduff an’ help me find the star of the play. Will you be there too, Michaela?"
    "Gladly. I'll leave early, though. Tomorrow Colleen and Andrew arrive from Philadelphia, and I want to take them home in style."
    "Oh, Michaela, that's wonderful!" said Dorothy. "D’you think they'd like to take part in the play?"
    She laughed. "You're trying to pull everybody in, aren't you?"
    
    The day was clean and warm, almost spring-like but for the yellow leaves. The townsfolk had the pleasant surprise to find a brand-new entertainment just after breakfast. Dorothy had limited a square with some benches, and she sat with Michaela, book in hand, as the mayor of Colorado Springs faced Daniel, a fake sword in one hand and his lines in the other.
  "Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
    On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
    Do better upon them," spoke Jake.
    "Not bad," whispered Michaela.
    "Bitter enough, and he looks good, too," agreed Dorothy.
    "Will it be proper, in front of all those people?" wondered Teresa, standing behind her.
    "Turn, hell-hound, turn!" shouted Daniel, with a toss of his blond hair.
    "Hmmmm," commented Dorothy, not for the first time.
    Michaela elbowed her gently. "He's so enthusiastic about it. Give him time."
    "I'll drop a hint to him 'bout growin’ back his beard."
    Jake went on reading.
    "Better 'n Robert E, who was very good anyway," said Dorothy.
    "Ways better than Horace. We haven't tried Loren, though."
    "No, Loren must play Duncan. He's the only one who can do it."
    They followed the rest of the scene in silence. Jake went through his lines with growing gloom and repressed violence, lashing at the rather meek hero with his words, until he was almost hoarse with despair.
    "... And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'" He crossed his sword with Daniel's.
    Michaela and Dorothy clapped.
    Teresa was speechless. When Jake rejoined her, she got up and linked her arm through his. "You looked so unhappy."
    Jake smiled warmly. "It's just a play, honey. It's all make believe."
    "We'll call you back!" shouted Dorothy after him.
    "Are you sure you are all right?" insisted Teresa, walking away with Jake. It was her first taste of Colorado Springs' theatrical vein, and it was a wholly new experience for her.
    He put his arm around her shoulders. "Yes, I'm sure. I just thought back of all the times when, well, I was not very far from behavin' that way. Strikin' out at people an' seeing no way out." For a moment a shadow crossed his face. "But it's gone now. So gone that - I have no trouble pretendin' I'm like that."
    Teresa nodded, reassured. He bent down to kiss her.
    
    Dorothy scribbled in her notebook. "It seems we have found our ultimate Thane of Glamis."
    "We still have to see Hank," Michaela reminded her.
    "Ah, yes. Let's have a look at him, then we can all go to lunch."
    Hank was waiting on the side, browsing his lines with raised eyebrows. His reading lessons with Teresa had gone on, and he was making the most of it. "Hey, this sure is good!"
    The ladies traded a look. "All right, let's see what you got," said Dorothy.
    Daniel took up his sword and handed the other one to Hank. He took it as if he didn't know what it was.
    "When you're ready, gentlemen," called Dorothy.
    Hank remained with sword hanging at his side, so much that Daniel was beginning to be perplexed. At last he read his lines in a monotone.
  "Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
    On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
    Do better upon them."
    He turned his back to Daniel, and to the audience. Dorothy was about to correct him, then decided to see what was happening.
    "Turn, hell-hound, turn!" cried Daniel.
    Hank took his time in turning. Then looked at him through lowered eyelids.
    "Of all men else I have avoided thee:
    But get thee back; my soul is too much charged
    With blood of thine already."
    He made as if to walk away. Daniel was put off. He moved in front of him. By then he was beginning to learn his lines, with no need to read.
    "I have no words:
    My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain
    Than terms can give thee out!"
    Hank stopped for a moment.
    "Thou losest labour:
    I bear a charmed life, which must not yield,
    To one of woman born." With that he gave Daniel a solid push on the shoulder and walked past him. He did not stop. The sheriff looked at Dorothy, who urged him with her hands to follow him. Daniel was forced to close the gap fast, then grabbed Hank's shoulder and made him turn.
    "Despair thy charm;
    And let the angel whom thou still hast served
    Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
    Untimely ripp'd."
    Hank shook away his hand and stared at him. Then started circling him, slowly, as if looking at a strange object.
    "Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
    For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
    And be these juggling fiends no more believed,
    That palter with us in a double sense;
    That keep the word of promise to our ear,
    And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee."
    With this he turned away again.
    "Then yield thee, coward," shouted Daniel,
    "And live to be the show and gaze o' the time:
    We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
    Painted on a pole, and underwrit,
    'Here may you see the tyrant.'"
    As Daniel talked, Hank kept pacing like a caged tiger. He kept it on while he answered, barely looking at him.
    "I will not yield,
    To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
    And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
    Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,"
    and here he seemed to notice Daniel's existence, turning his fiery look on him and raising his voice,
    "And thou opposed, being of no woman born,
    Yet I will try the last." He started advancing on him, menacingly. "Before my body
    I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff,
    And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'" With a true war cry he threw himself against Daniel, forcing him back until the sheriff collapsed on a bench. Then he turned to the ladies, grinning widely. "Eh?"
    They sat with their mouths hanging open.
    "Gotta tell Jake," said Dorothy.
    Daniel got up and grabbed Hank's hand. "Congratulations! It seems we found our star."
    "Well, just a moment," exclaimed Dorothy, recovering quickly. "It's a hard part, Hank. You'll have a lot to do, you'll have to show a great range of emotion, an' then of course there's the monologue."
    "All right, the monologue," he said. "What does it say?"
    Dorothy cleared her throat. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow..."
    "Why, that's easy," shrugged Hank.
    
    After three days, Dorothy printed the complete cast, posting it before the Gazette.
    Michaela was there, ready to lend her support. "I'm sure you made the right choices."
    Dorothy looked pale. "Oh, Michaela... dreamed again of Daniel shoutin’ Turn, hell-hound, turn!"
    "Come on. He'll be all right."
    All the others were looking at the sheet of paper, elbowing each other.
    "I'll be King of Scotland," boasted Loren, smiling around with thumbs in his braces.
    "Not for long," countered Hank, who was the main focus of attention.
    "Ross?" read Jake. "Who the hell is Ross? I should have been the protagonist."
    Brian looked at the list, raising on tiptoe. "You see, Matt? We're both in it!"
    "I'll be the lawful king," said Matthew with a certain pride.
    "I'll be Robert E's son!" piped up his little brother.
    Daniel walked away, pleased, and reached the post office. "Hello, Horace! You been chosen too, you know? You'll be Lennox."
    Horace lifted his eyes from his papers. "Oh, hello, Sheriff. There's a telegram for you."
    He frowned. "Bad news?"
    "Well... see for yourself." Horace handed him the strip of paper.
    Daniel's frown did not disappear as he scanned the short text. "Not really bad news - but trouble for sure."
    He went out, thinking. Maybe there was some way out... Then he thought about what lay in the cluttered closets of the sheriff's office, and his heart sank.
    
    Daniel walked into Grace's Cafe, dejected. Most of the townsfolk were still gathered in front of the Gazette, but some people were having breakfast in the warm morning sun, as a very pregnant Grace ambled by, muttering something about people being blinded by the lights of the stage. Daniel noticed a couple sitting at a table under a tree, eating a rich breakfast with good appetite and talking happily: a handsome young lady and a US cavalryman.
    He smiled. "Mornin', ma'am, Sgt. McKay," he greeted them.
    "Sheriff Simon," they answered together. He noticed that they were holding hands, and that the table was full of flowers.
    "Celebratin' somethin'?"
    Alison nodded. "A month from our marriage."
    "Ah. Yes, of course."
    "Anythin' wrong, Sheriff?" asked McKay, noticing his glumness.
    "Nothin' bad," shrugged Daniel. "I... well..." As he looked at the sergeant, an idea struck him. "Would you like to take part in Dorothy's Halloween tragedy?"
    McKay stared at him. "Me?"
    "Yes."
    Alison was intrigued. "Now that would be a sight to see," she smiled.
    He looked at her, surprised. "But I've never acted before."
    "Come on. Not even in some play at school?"
    McKay thought about it. "Well, every child's played a tree or a lion or George Washington, but that ain't actin'."
    "You'd be great," she said, assuredly.
    "It's Macduff," added Daniel. "You get the final duel with Hank."
    "The final duel!" repeated Alison, fascinated.
    "With Hank?!" said McKay, lifting an eyebrow.
    "He's good," guaranteed Daniel. "Dorothy's an amazin' director. It'll be the best Halloween play this town has ever seen."
    "You seem very taken with it, Sheriff," added the sergeant with a smile. "Why you droppin' out?"
    Daniel showed him the telegram. "Federal inspector's comin' to the Territories at the beginnin' of November. He'll check that justice's administered in an orderly way. The sheriff's office, well, it's a mess. Not really my fault or Matthew's. It's just that we were never required to keep the paperwork in order, an' now I must straighten it out in less than two weeks. I even grew back my beard, an' now I can't rehearse my part. I'm sorry to lose it... yet I'd like you to do it."
    McKay still looked dubious.
    "I know you don't have much time for rehearsals either," insisted Daniel, "but it's just four scenes, it's not too long to learn."
    "It ain’t that," said the sergeant. "All this seems to me a special celebration by the Colorado Springs townsfolk. I don't think I belong among 'em." He and Alison exchanged a rueful look, as if that were a frequent topic for them.
    Daniel nodded. "I felt that way too, last Christmas, but it passed. You know, in a way it's up to you. If you do this, it's a step in the right direction."
    McKay was still looking at Alison. "I don't know." Then he turned to him. "I'll have a look at it, Sheriff. I'll tell you this evenin'."
    "Thank you, Sergeant." Daniel handed him the blurb Dorothy had printed for him.
    As he went away, Alison gave an expectant look at McKay. "I gather you're coming home this evenin’ too?"
    He pulled her hand closer. "I'd love to. I'll see if I can get out."
    "It was wonderful to have you here this morning," she whispered. "And last night."
    "Yes," he said softly. He couldn't stop looking at her, feeling her fingers entwined in his. He let her go, put down his napkin and gathered the plates on the tray to give a hand to Grace. Then he rose and gave his arm to Alison.
    They walked slowly towards his horse. "Maybe I'll drop by at the fort this afternoon," she said.
    McKay pressed her arm. "It's a long ride, Alison. I'll try to be back this evenin'. This tragedy thing's made me curious." He stopped before his horse and turned to his wife, embracing her. "An' I wanna be with you," he whispered.
    "We'll spend the night rehearsing your part, are you aware of it?" she smiled.
    He laughed softly in her hair. "Suits me." He kissed her. "I love you."
    "I love you too, Terence."
    It took a lot to leave his embrace and watch him put on his hat, mount his horse and ride away with a last nod to her.
    
    "No question," sneered Hank over dinner.
    "I'd play the part much better," said Jake ruthlessly. "I got more presence."
    "Seen enough of the Army," added Matthew, looking away.
    "Matthew's right," said Colleen. "They made too much damage around here." Looking at her, Andrew nodded.
    "Who needs him, anyway?" protested Loren.
    "Not that I have anythin' against him, but..." Horace scratched his head.
    "Daniel, why won't you play?" Brian begged him.
    Dorothy sighed. "Daniel won't play, period. Jake, just for saying that, you're stuck with Ross. Loren, I know it's awkward, but find me another Macduff who can both use a sword and learn his lines fast."
    "I could do it," proposed Robert E. "Banquo's easier to replace. His role's short, an' he doesn't have to fight."
    Michaela patted his hand. "Thank you, Robert E, but you're the best Banquo we could have. All that dignity and strength. Reverend, if we stage it carefully, maybe..."
    "Sorry, Doctor, but I object to beheadin' people," said Reverend Johnson sternly.
    Meanwhile all eyes had turned on the silent member of the table. Hank voiced everybody's thoughts. "Sully?"
    Sully, with Katie slumbering in his lap, lifted his head. He looked calmly around and said, "No."
    "Didn't I know," grinned Daniel.
    "You'd be wonderful," entreated Michaela. He turned to look at her. "All right, all right," she said hastily. "Guess not."
    Preston strolled by their table. "Looks like you've lost your Macduff," he said with a smile. "If you guarantee a suitable publicity on a regional scale and let me have a say in the management, for example setting a small admission fee, I could -"
    "No!" they chorused.
    "Enough," exclaimed Dorothy, slamming her hand on the table. "I'm the director. McKay's in. Live with it."
    Among the sighs and complaints of the others, Daniel bent towards her. "You did the right thing, Dorothy," he whispered.
    "I hope so," she said.
    
    "An' then we fight," said McKay, reading his blurb. "A thirty-seconds duel, so Miss Dorothy says, then I behead Hank an' salute Matthew. Matthew does his final speech. The end."
    "Not much indeed," said Alison, sitting opposite him against the rails of their brand-new four-post brass bed, sent as a wedding present by the Fort Lafayette garrison just two days before. "It should be easy to learn."
    "I obtained to extend my leave to tomorrow mornin'. They're havin' a full run-through of the text." He yawned.
    She pulled on her knees, hampered by her nightgown, and crawled up on all fours to him. "You'll do fine," she said, kissing him. "Now come on, tell me the truth. I know I haven't spilled the beans about the bed. How did Marlowe know we needed it?"
    "Reasoned about it, I s'pose."
    "But this kind of bed? Come clean, McKay."
    "All right. He got me drunk."
    Alison looked at him, astonished. "When?"
    "Let me think, I was about nineteen."
    "What?" she laughed.
    "Good memory, the colonel."
    "You mean you've been dreaming of a four-post brass bed since you were nineteen? A one-track mind, the Reverend is right!"
    "Well, I did plan to get married one day, an' this was the way I saw it."
    Alison shook her head in wonder, then kissed him again, tenderly. "All this reading made me thirsty," she said. "I'm going to get some water."
    "Stay. I'll go."
    He got up from the bed and went into the main room of the house. Alison watched him, smiling. By now he knew where things were. She heard the clank of the canter and the soft knocking of the cupboard doors. She sighed happily. She was not used anymore to the noise of someone around the house since her sister Susan had left. And McKay was definitely not her sister. Sometimes it was still awkward to live in such close proximity with a man. Theirs had been a hasty marriage, and they had not known each other much before it; yet he was accustomed to a simple and disciplined life, and this agreed well with her. He was self-sufficient, kept his belongings in strict order and respected turns in the outhouse. And of course he was the man who had changed her life with his love.
    McKay came back with a glass of water and sat down beside her. Before handing her the water he gave her a kiss, long and sweet.
    They drank from the same glass. "Would you like to read it once again before going to sleep?" Alison asked, noncommittally.
    "No," he answered, taking the glass from her to put it on the nightstand, then pulling her softly under the covers with him.
    
    Next morning everybody was present at the run-through. Most had seen only their part and had no idea of what happened in the rest of the play, so Dorothy filled them in. Everybody still read from their text and the thing went rather smoothly, up to the discovery of Duncan's death.
    McKay came out from the makeshift wings, sword in hand. "Oh, horror," he said, faintly cross.
    "Uh, Sergeant," Dorothy was quick to say. She called him on the side. "I think you should be, well, more emotional in this scene."
    "I'm doin’ my best," he answered. It was the first time they saw him wearing other than his uniform. Since he lived with his wife, he and Alison had bought some civilian clothes which he would not have needed, had he been always at the fort. Actually, with a blue shirt and faded denim trousers tucked into a pair of old boots, he did not look very different.
    "Sure you are," smiled Dorothy. "But just try to - to get more into it."
    "Maybe that's the problem. I know this is all about actin', but I just wouldn't react that way. Wouldn't run out screamin'."
    "What'd you do, then?" asked Dorothy. "I'm open to interpretations."
    McKay lowered his voice. "Don't wanna sound unpopular, but - I'd order to search the place an’ establish martial law."
    Dorothy smiled. "But this is Shakespeare, Sergeant."
    "What d'you mean?"
    "He appeals to our deepest emotions. You so sure you wouldn't react that way? Try to imagine... your commandin' officer, for example."
    "Colonel Marlowe?"
    "Yes, why not. What'd you do if you found him murdered?"
    "Murdered?!"
    "Yes," repeated Dorothy, in a ghostly tone. "Think about it. A man you respect an’ love, stabbed repeatedly, lyin' in a pool of blood..."
    McKay looked at her, aghast.
    "It's all right, Sergeant," Dorothy hastened to add. "It's just a play."
    "Right," he said, collecting himself. "I'll try to remember."
    Dorothy went back to her place near Hank, book in hand.
    "Let's admit it - Daniel was worse," whispered Michaela in her ear.
    "Maybe we can switch him to Ross," sighed Dorothy.
    
    "Not if you kill me."
    "Please, Jake!" exclaimed Dorothy. "You said you were better than him. I'm givin' you back the opportunity to play an important role!"
    "No."
    "But why?"
    They were standing at the margins of Grace's Cafe during a pause. "Just how stupid d'you think I am, Dorothy?"
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    "I ain't playin' a role that scared Sgt. McKay."
    "He wasn't scared!"
    "He blanched. I saw him. No way, Dorothy. As you said, I'm stuck with Ross, an' I'm glad of it!"
    
    By the first day of rehearsals without the text they had erected the stage, and soon Dorothy's beautiful red brocade curtain would be in place. Meanwhile the players could begin to acquaint themselves with the scenery. Book in hand, she stood in the wings, shouting directions, prompting forgetful players, generally crying on Michaela's shoulder.
    Jake, Matthew and McKay were on stage for the scene in England. Dorothy was almost beginning to relax. Jake had finally accepted his Ross, and Matthew was a proud and earnest Malcolm. The sergeant kept being downright awful in the scene of the murder, but he improved in the rest of the play. Maybe it was because he warmed up, or he simply wasn't happy with that scene. He'd even stood the slaughter of his whole family without falling into hysterics.
    "My wife kill'd too?" he was saying, eyes cast down.
    "I have said," answered glumly Jake.
    Matthew made a dismissive gesture and spoke flatly. "Be comforted:
    Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
    To cure this deadly grief."
    The sergeant stared at him a little, then went on with his lines as if he didn't exist, addressing Jake.
    "He has no children. All my pretty ones?
    Did you say all?"
    Matthew swung on him. "Dispute it like a man!"
    McKay shot back as if bitten. "I shall do so!"
    "Hey, hey, hey, what's happenin' now?" burst in Dorothy, rising. "An interestin' interpretation, but for God's sake, you're heartbroken, Sergeant, an' Matthew, you're a good an' sensitive lad tryin' to comfort him! Nobody's doubtin' anybody's manhood here! You two are lawful king an’ loyal follower, you shouldn't act as if you couldn't stand each other's sight!"
    "Need a pause," said Matthew, and stalked out of the stage. Michaela ran after him.
    Dorothy watched him go, appalled. "Now what was that all about?"
    McKay sighed, looked around and sat on a chest of costumes. Jake wandered away, congratulating himself for having refused such an unrewarding and trying role.
    Dorothy sat beside the sergeant. "Spit it out, man."
    "Matthew actually can't stand my sight," said McKay. "Because of Sully, the cave, the search  an' all. He never forgave me. An' I can't blame him."
    "Listen, everybody try to grow up, all right? If he acts like a child, this doesn't mean you have to do the same!"
    McKay looked at her, struck.
    "You've been livin' here for a month," added Dorothy in a softer tone. "It ain't easy for anybody. When I first came here with the intention of stayin', they tried to hang me."
    "What?"
    "For murderin’ my husband."
    "Had you?"
    Dorothy's eyes widened at his abruptness. "No! But I could have. He beat me."
    McKay's face darkened. "A man who doesn't hold his woman most precious in body an' soul doesn't deserve the name of husband."
    Dorothy smiled. "Soon you'll be talkin' in iambic pentameters. Come on, back to business."
    Matthew too was returning on the stage, sullenly, escorted by Michaela.
    "All right," called out Dorothy, "now everybody listen to me. In fact I thought it was a good idea, that of yours. Matthew, you're mad at the tyrant, an’ Sergeant, you're angry with yourself 'cause you haven't been able to protect your family. Use that rage, vent it. But not on each other. Right?"
    They nodded.
    "Back to the beginning, now."
    "You're a great director," Michaela whispered to Dorothy.
    She sighed. "Thank God Matthew doesn't play the lead role. He'd run McKay through."
    Michaela patted her arm. "Nobody says Hank won't."
    
    Daniel was sitting at his desk, head in hand, papers everywhere. Somebody knocked.
    "Come in," he said without lifting his eyes.
    Sgt. McKay looked inside. "Sheriff. How's it goin'?"
    "See for yourself. Managed to get from Jake the minutes of the latest trials. Most of the time they've been scribbled by Michaela. Now, Michaela writes wonderfully, but not when she's in a hurry. I told Jake I need a deputy. Says town council can't afford 'nother salary. I'll see what they answer when I repeat it to 'em in front of the federal inspector!"
    "Got a proposal."
    "Yes?"
    "I'll do it."
    "The deputy?"
    "The paperwork. I'm good at it. Nobody'll know. As long as you get back in the play."
    "Sorry, Sergeant, I can't."
    "You know what, I'll give a good clean-up to the place too."
    Daniel looked at him, astonished. "I can't accept that!"
    "Paint the door anew?" There was a note of despair in McKay's voice.
    Daniel got up and faced the sergeant. "Is it that bad?"
    "Yes!"
    "Seemed such an easy part."
    "I keep botchin' the murder scene, the lawful king of Scotland's out to kill me, an' I never can predict what Hank'll say next."
    Daniel smiled reassuringly. "From what I heard, it was the same with Romeo and Juliet. Has anybody lost his or her voice yet?"
    "No!"
    "You see? Piece of cake."
    Hands on his hips, McKay stared at Daniel. "Just tell me somethin'," he said. "How did you play that damn murder scene?"
    "Easy. I ran out screamin'."
    "Right," commented McKay.
    
    Dress rehearsal!
    They had shamelessly recycled the Romeo and Juliet costumes and props, so it was beginning to look like a very Renaissance Macbeth. They'd just discarded the fanciest hats and accessories. Robert E had fashioned a couple of breastplates to use in the battle scenes. Whoever owned a plaid blanket had been encouraged to lend it to the main players. Backstage, Loren was strutting around with a wonderful red plaid.
    "That's a Royal Stewart," noted Michaela.
    "That's my best blanket," grumbled Jake.
    "All right, all right, you'll have it back without a rent!" said Loren.
    Clad in a long woollen green tunic, Dorothy was eagerly watching the proceedings.
    "How's it going?" whispered Michaela, ready to play a gentlewoman in the costume of Juliet's nurse.
    "Hank keeps makin' up his lines," she sighed.
    "Come on. We still have a couple of days. It'll go well."
    They looked at the stage. Hank was actually getting to the bottom of his final speech without a glitch. Dorothy had informed McKay about Macbeth's tendency to ignore Macduff, and the two were hitting it off pretty well. Surely Hank made more sparks with him than with Daniel.
    "I warned 'em about Robert E's swords," Dorothy whispered to Michaela. "The point is blunt, but they're swords anyway. No body blows, I told 'em."
    "Remember, there's a doctor in the house," smiled Michaela. "Make that two, with Andrew."
    "I can't believe it... they're managin' to finish it!"
    McKay stood, sword in hand and one of Dorothy's knitted capes on his shoulders, feet firmly planted on the ground, defiantly calling Hank to fight with a gesture of his hand. The breastplates made them look quite martial. Hank, wrapped up in a crimson cloth which had originally been one of the Gold Nugget curtains, went convincingly through his lines.
    "... Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
    And thou opposed, being of no woman born,
    Yet I will try the last. Before my body
    I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, McKay!"
    "Macduff," prompted McKay in a whisper.
    "Has to rhyme with 'enough'," added Dorothy, hopelessly.
    Hank was unimpressed. "And damned be him that first cries 'Go away!'" He smiled smugly.
    "Well, that's not bad, actually," said Michaela encouragingly.
    Dorothy covered her eyes.
    
    The night had fallen. Muttering his lines one last time, Robert E was checking that his livery was in order before going to sleep. The forge was cold, the horseshoes were neatly lined on a shelf. Satisfied, he was about to turn back, when he saw somebody approaching.
    "Who's there?"
    "It's me."
    "Miss Dorothy! You should be goin' home to rest too."
    "Yes, yes, but first I need somethin', Robert E." Her eyes were lit up by a fiery determination. "Can you lend me an anvil?"
    "An anvil? Now?"
    "No, it's for tomorrow's performance."
    "I didn't know we needed an anvil."
    "You don't. Trust me."
    "All right... but it won't be easy to transport it."
    "Perfect."
    "You want the big one or the small one?"
    "Can you lift the small one? By yourself?"
    "Well... yes, if necessary, but..."
    "Splendid. Have somebody bring it backstage for tomorrow afternoon. Thank you, Robert E."
    Shaking his head, he watched her disappear in the night like a ghost.
    
    On the afternoon of October 31, 1873, a cold wind was blowing on the blasted heath.
    "Thank God we're all heavily clothed," mumbled Loren, backstage.
    "Be careful in the sleepwalking scene," Michaela warned Dorothy. She was dressed as a witch. "Throw a blanket on your shoulders. No bare feet."
    "Bare feet are essential for the scene!"
    "I forbid it."
    "Oh, Michaela, thank God this day has come. I keep havin' nightmares."
    "Not Daniel anymore, I suppose."
    "No. Sgt. McKay announcin' Oh, horror."
    Hank and Robert E were checking their equipment. Jake peered out of the heavy red curtain. "It's fillin' up nicely."
    McKay stole a glance outside - and froze.
    "Which of you have done this?" he muttered.
    "That's my line," drawled Hank.
    "No, that's my commandin' officer an' half the garrison!"
    A respectable representation from Fort Lafayette was taking their places among the audience. McKay was aghast recognising Colonel Marlowe, Corporals O'Malley and Winters, Sergeant Flaherty (Sergeant Flaherty!!!) and some hapless soldiers. Marlowe sat chivalrously beside a beaming Alison.
    McKay turned slowly from the curtain and glowered at Dorothy.
    "Well, there were boards all over the town, Sergeant," she said innocently.
    Jake tripped and swore under his breath. "Who put this damn anvil here?"
    "Walk around it," said Dorothy casually. "Ladies and gentleman, theatre's full. On your marks! Witches, you ready? There we go!"
    A roll of drums filled the meadow. The curtain lifted slowly, and everybody applauded. A very realistic wind whistled on the stage.
    The three witches entered the scene.
    Among the audience, Sully smiled. He exchanged a look with Cloud Dancing, sitting beside him. The Cheyenne was noting with surprise who the three barely recognisable actresses were.
    On the other side of Sully, Preston too made a quick calculation and shook his head. "Three of the loveliest ladies of Colorado Springs, dressed up in that manner?" Despite himself, he laughed under his breath. "How ironic."
    "When shall we three meet again
    In thunder, lightning, or in rain?" said Grace in an eerie contralto.
    "When the hurlyburly's done,
    When the battle's lost and won," answered Michaela imposingly.
    "That will be ere the set of sun," chimed in Colleen.
    Sully smiled again at the mettle of his friend, his wife and his daughter. Katie clapped her approval. All was going to be well.
    
    "So foul and fair a day I have not seen."
    Hank's entrance caused a stir in the public. His words were mirroring perfectly the way the afternoon was turning out. The sky was luminous, if cloudy, but the light was changing in an unpromising way, and the wind gave no respite. Macbeth and Banquo, wrapped up in their mantles, heads down, hilts and breastplates gleaming between the folds, looked extremely realistic.
    In the wings, Dorothy spied the heavens. What if it rained? The audience could take shelter under Grace's awning, but the stage was exposed.
    She sighed and lifted her shoulders. It was pointless worrying about it right then.
    
    The rain seemed to hold. The light was more and more ominous, and torches had been lit on the stage. Dorothy was still flustered by the dramatic dialogue with Hank, who had done his part most creditably. She wondered about the vulnerability he had let slip out. A tragedy now and then was very good for everybody, she was convinced.
    She returned her attention to the matter at hand. The wind was biting at her cheeks. On stage, Hank, McKay and Horace were talking about waking up King Duncan. Loren was backstage, already changing into the Third Murderer's clothes.
    At the end of his lines, McKay left the stage strolling into the wings and turned to check Horace and Hank for his cue to go back.
    "Goes the king hence to-day?"
    "He does: he did appoint so."
    "The night has been unruly..."
    "Ah, Sergeant, a word with you," called Dorothy sweetly.
    "Yes, ma'am?"
    She pointed to Robert E's anvil. "Would you please be so kind as to lift it?"
    McKay stared, as did all the others. "I can't do that!"
    "You're a strong an’ healthy lad. Come on."
    "But why?"
    "Because I'm the director. That's an order, Sergeant McKay!"
    "... some say, the earth
    Was feverous and did shake."
    "'Twas a rough night," said Hank, gloomy.
    McKay shook his head, bewildered. Then he grabbed the ends of the anvil. He bent his knees, clamped his teeth and managed to lift it a couple of inches from the ground.
    "My young remembrance cannot parallel
    A fellow to it," said Horace. It was McKay's cue.
    Dorothy checked the stage. "Now, please, Sergeant, put it down - softly: we can't have a thud."
    He complied, excruciatingly slowly. It did make a small thud, but the audience was unaware of it. They were looking at Hank and Horace, who stared at each other, waiting for McKay to reappear.
    "Yeah, beastly weather," said Hank.
    "Summer's really over," volunteered Horace.
    "Indeed it dost be."
     McKay was leaning forward, hands on his knees. Dorothy spied once again the stage and made a mental note that the Macduff player should always come in a little late, so as to make Macbeth suitably frantic. How callous I am, she thought gleefully. Then she let McKay out.
    The audience saw him stagger on the scene, red in the face, breathless, the portrait of a man in shock. He leaned his hand against one of the poles of the wings and panted out his lines.
    "O horror, horror, horror! (gasp) Tongue nor heart
    Cannot conceive nor name thee!"
    Alison had her hands clamped tight. She was bursting with pride. He had never been so good, so convincing, so true to life, in the rehearsals! His comrades were staring with admiration, commenting under their breath.
    "What's the matter?" cried Hank and Horace, sincerely enough.
    "Ring the alarum-bell." He glared at the wings. "Murder and treason!"
    In the wings, Dorothy smiled smugly.
    
    Michaela was fretting a little. She'd just played the second witch scene, and she had to double as the gentlewoman who waited on Lady Macbeth. She freed her ladylike clothes from under her witch's rags, and grabbed a brush and mirror. She knew that McKay had tried to coax Alison into the role and had received the same flat "No" she had got from Sully. Jake and Horace hastily kept donning and shedding black cloaks for their alternate roles as First Murderer and Second Murderer.
    Now Jake was back on stage as Ross, along with Matthew and McKay, for the dramatic England scene. Michaela looked at them, biting at her thumb's nail, plagued by misgivings. And yet the scene was working, and nobody had killed anybody else yet. Matthew ended his speech almost in a whisper, barely moving his upper lip, looking straight in McKay's face:
    "... Receive what cheer you may:
    The night is long that never finds the day."
    He stared at the sergeant just one moment more to let that sink in, then they made their exit.
    Michaela felt a small shiver. On the stage it was the fitting end to a very tight and impassioned scene. In real life those intense words spoke of defiant hostility. She sighed. She didn't need this right now.
    She checked once again her look in the mirror. Andrew had appeared at her side: he'd accepted to play the doctor in the sleepwalking scene.
    They heard a distant roll of thunder.
    "Just what we needed," complained Michaela.
    "Relax, Dr. Mike," smiled Andrew. "We'll make it in time."
    In the wings, Dorothy was standing in a long white gown, alone, eyes closed. She had a candle in her hand and was moving her lips slightly. Michaela looked down and was dismayed to notice she was barefoot. It was too late to stop her. She and Andrew were due on stage.
    They exchanged their lines. Then Dorothy came in, red hair curling down on her shoulders, face pale as the moon, eyes wide in the light of the torches.
    "Yet here's a spot,"  she whispered, rubbing her hands.
    "Hark! she speaks," said Andrew. "I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly."
    "Out, damned spot! out, I say!" Suddenly, stealthily, Dorothy looked around. "One: two: why, then, 'tis time to do't." She lifted her eyes as if darkness had suddenly fallen - and indeed it was not far from reality, as the afternoon grew late. "Hell is murky!" Then she became again the cunning schemer, addressing a ghost as impalpable as Banquo's. "Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?" And horror was back upon her. "Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him."
    A sudden flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder.
    "Do you mark that?" pointed out Andrew, a little shaky. Michaela too was beginning to feel very... very Halloween.
    "The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now?" It came out as a series of sobs. "What, will these hands ne'er be clean?" Once again, helplessly, she was forced by her guilt into her devilish frame of mind. "No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting."
    "Go to, go to; you have known what you should not," urged Andrew.
    "She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what she has known," whispered Michaela concernedly.
    "Here's the smell of the blood still." Dorothy fell on her knees, crumpling up, hiding her face with her hair. "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand!" She screamed.
    They were all gathered in the wings to watch her - Hank, Robert E, Matthew, Brian, Horace, Loren and McKay. "All right, lads," whispered Jake, "relax - now we can stink as much as we like, 'cause everybody'll remember her an’ nothing else."
    Among the audience, Cloud Dancing looked at the stage, hands on his elbows, astonished. He had just learned something new and fascinating. How one could be someone else, and recreate alien emotions with such eerie perfection, and then go back to one's self. For fun. Joy sprung in his heart as he realised there was no end to his wonderful voyage of discovery with Dorothy.
    
    Hank did not want to be outdone. Following her instinct once again, Dorothy had wanted to give him a wooden structure representing a castle rampart. He did exactly what she expected. He leaned on it as if on the bar of The Gold Nugget. She could easily imagine him with a cigar between his fingers, a glass before him, and a scantily-clad lady by his elbow.
    "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
    Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
    To the last syllable of recorded time,
    And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
    The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
    Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
    That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
    And then is heard no more: it is a tale
    Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
    Signifying nothing."
    Maybe it was the remaining tension of her sleepwalking scene, but tears started rolling down Dorothy's cheeks. Because she knew she'd made it. Nothing could ruin her play now.
    
    As Birnam Wood came to Dunsinane, it started to rain.
    People in the audience were blandly impressed. They all had hats and bonnets, and did not seem intentioned to move.
    "What do we do now?" whispered Dorothy, once again clothed and shod.
    "It's almost over," answered Michaela. "Anyway - we can't drag Hank away now. Anymore than I could drag your shameless, shoeless self away before!" she added with fake fury. Dorothy looked at her gratefully, sniffling.
    The spectators were beginning to seek refuge under the cafe's awning. Hank looked around through the rain.
    "Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
    On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
    Do better upon them."
    "Turn, hell-hound, turn!" shouted McKay, coming out already drenched from the wings.
    "Get lost, Macduff!" bellowed Hank.
    Dorothy covered her cheeks with her hands.
    Michaela put an arm around her shoulders. "Nobody noticed," she assured her.
    They spoke their lines - more or less - and started fighting. Thirty seconds, thought McKay. Then I push him in the wings and behead him.
    To his great surprise, he noticed that Hank was pushing him away from the wings. He exchanged with him a questioning look through the blades. Hank just raised his shoulders and grinned. All right, thought McKay, if I have to behead him here and now... He noticed just in time he was standing at the very edge of the stage.
    Hank lunged.
    Dorothy had been very clear: no body blows. Hank would have missed him. But twenty years of fighter's instinct had not passed in vain, and McKay jumped off the stage.
    He landed almost in the midst of the audience, bending his knees and managing not to roll to the ground. Hank dived after him. Clearly he had no intention of getting himself beheaded. They chased each other among the benches, while the last spectators fled in panic.
    "Great duel," commented Marlowe to Alison from under the awning. "That woman is a genius."
    Dorothy stood in the wings as Michaela was trying to drag her to a more sheltered place. "Thirty seconds, I told 'em," she kept repeating. "Thirty seconds!"
    Hank leapt onto one of the cafe's tables. McKay followed him, and they kept fighting precariously from one table to the other. Alison was not so sure any of this had been staged by Dorothy. People began cheering, mostly for Hank, though some had deduced the sergeant was the good guy and so had to win. The two jumped off the tables, McKay with the vague intention of steering Hank at least back towards the stage, where Matthew, Jake and the others were following the duel, astonished.
    They ran in the muddy aisle between the benches, exchanging two-handed blows. They were both out of breath. Hank stopped suddenly, tripped up McKay and sent him sprawling in the mud. The sergeant grabbed Hank's red mantle and dragged him down to splash beside him. Undeterred, Hank scooped up a handful of mud and threw it straight into McKay's face.
    The sergeant spluttered, and as Hank looked on with a grin he retaliated in kind. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he got up and picked up both swords.
    "Just a mo - not fair..." coughed Hank. McKay too was finding some difficulty in keeping a straight face. He obligingly waited for him to be able once again to see, then threw him his sword. Hank jumped up and hurled himself once again at him, but by now they knew they were about to overstep everybody's resistance - the public’s, the actors’, their own. As Hank lunged again, McKay grabbed his arm, then swung the sword and stopped it against Hank's throat. "I've just beheaded you," he whispered, "so you better be very still and quiet."
    "Right," conceded Hank finally, and crumpled in the mud.
    McKay staggered, turned in the pouring rain, fell beside Hank on one knee and lifted his sword at Matthew. "Hail, King of Scotland!" he cried. Then he waited for the very hurried speech of Malcolm to be over and for somebody to come and pick him up. Sure enough, as everybody applauded and cheered, he heard feet splashing in the puddles, and Alison threw her arms around him, pressing her warm lips to his as the rest of the cast lifted up Hank and Dorothy in triumph.
    
    The evening ended at the Gold Nugget.
    Hank had to offer a free round for everyone. Wrapped up in a blanket, he cheered himself up thinking that all the actors and actresses and the whole audience would not be content with just one glass and would go for two or three. Yes, after all it could be a good investment, he thought, wiping some more mud from his face.
    Loren, Horace, Robert E and Jake were raising such a ruckus singing and laughing that the thunder outside sounded very far away. The Quinn-Sully-Cooper-Cook family was having a quiet but warm celebration, and even Matthew was grinning. Nobody objected to the presence of the Fort Lafayette delegation, which was very subdued anyway, given the presence of the colonel in their very midst.
    Daniel spotted McKay at a table, wrapped in a blanket too, and joined him. "I knew you could do it! You were much better than me."
    McKay nodded gratefully. On his other side emerged Hank with two glasses and offered one to the sergeant. "Just to get away that damn taste of mud," he said smirking. McKay took it gladly, touched rims with him and drank.
    "Remember, you're not nineteen and you already own a four-post brass bed," said Alison in an affectionate warning, clinging to his other arm.
    All the rest were gathered around the brilliant director.
    Preston was amazed at the enthusiasm of both audience and critics. He just couldn't stop thinking what a great profit it would have been, had they let him have his way. "So, Dorothy," he said, "what is to be the next endeavour?"
    Dorothy blinked thoughtfully, opened her mouth and said something.
    "I beg your pardon?" asked Preston.
    "Hush, hush!" everybody called, and even the slightly tipsy ones shut up and turned to hear what she had to say.
    In the silence, she took a deep breath and said it again. Nothing came out.
    "Just as I feared, you lost your voice!" exclaimed Michaela, appalled.
    Dorothy touched gingerly her throat, looking around with an imploring stare.
    The hero of the day materialised with another glass. "Warm milk an' honey, Dorothy. With a li'l of Hank's Medicine." Hank glared at Cloud Dancing. "An' you better not protest!"
    The Cheyenne lifted his hands in a truce, watching warmly as Dorothy downed the concoction and her cheeks immediately lit up again.

    The End