Hamlet by John Marsden Page A

affection for Hamlet was deep and genuine, but much as they met on terms as equal as could be found between prince and commoner, Horatio had been aware from earliest childhood of the uncrossable social gulf between them. He could not help being flattered to be told that he was the closest to the popular and beautiful prince, the man who would one day be king.
    With a hand around Horatio’s shoulder, Hamlet walked him to the other end of the room. He spoke more confidentially. “Now, pay close attention. In a few minutes the actors will begin the play. There is a scene set in an orchard, and it portrays the murder of a king. I want you, when it comes to that scene, to study my uncle closely. Watch him with the eyes of your soul. I tell you this, Horatio: the ghost who visited me on that dreadful night brought me a story which may have come from the devil, as we speculated, for he told of a devilish act. I hope to find out some truth tonight. When my uncle sees the actors onstage, he may be looking at a mirror to the past. That is what we have to establish.”
    “Hamlet, I tremble to hear your words. You seem to be hinting at the unthinkable.”
    “You must think the unthinkable, old friend, as I have done since that night on the terrace.”
    So, there it was again, the reference to the event that was still veiled from Horatio. He stood, deeply troubled, and lost in thought. At heart he knew he had no choice but to do as his friend and royal master asked, but he feared the consequences. After a moment he gave Hamlet a little smile.
    “Very well, I will do as you say. I will watch the king so closely that if he steals anything during the play and I don’t see it, I’ll pay for whatever he stole.”
    “Well said, good friend. Treasonous, but witty. Quick, they are coming. To your place.”

Polonius led Claudius and Gertrude into the room, making sure all was ready for them. Ophelia followed close behind. The king was full of beer and cheer, beaming at Hamlet. “How is our nephew and our son?” he asked.
    “Why, I forgot to ask them, last time I saw them,” Hamlet said. “But I believe they would say that they were well, though perhaps a little empty from eating air stuffed with promises.”
    The king, determined not to be annoyed, smiled briefly, without humor. “I have nothing to do with that answer, Hamlet,” he said. “Those words are not for me; they are not mine.”
    “No, nor mine either, now,” Hamlet said. “They have left my body and my mouth and are gone. It may be that they have no owner at all.” He put his head around the side of the makeshift curtain and whispered into the darkness. “Are you ready?”
    “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”
    “Very good. Remember all that I told you.”
    “We will, Your Royal Highness.”
    Hamlet faced the audience again. At least sixty people from around the castle had gathered for the show. Mostly lords and ladies-in-waiting; the king’s cronies and Gertrude’s confidantes; old Voltimand, who had once been chancellor; Polonius with his children, Laertes and Ophelia; the inseparable Rosencrantz and Guildenstern; Reynaldo; Their Majesties’ secretaries and other high-placed court officials; a few army officers — most of them seemed uninterested, some were probably drunk, and a couple were undoubtedly deaf.
    In a corner at the back of the room, in darkness, stood those of the domestic staff who wished to attend: footmen, maids, kitchen hands, even a couple of young gardeners. Garath, their overseer, had let them go, but it was against his better judgment. To him, those who worked outside should stay outside, and those who worked inside could stay inside and get on with their games.
    Ophelia sat in the front row. Behind her, leering over her shoulder, was Osric, the lean young farmer, his tall frame pinched into a tight wooden chair. He was laughing immoderately at some quip of Claudius’s. “That’s rich, Your Majesty,” he called out. “Oh, that’s very