Kage Baker - The Dust Enclosed Here

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The Dust Enclosed Here

a short story by Kage Baker

"He never wore a red doublet in his life!"

Susanna had sounded outraged. Hastening to smooth her anger, the stranger's voice had followed: "An

you wish it painted, good lady, 'twill look best in red. Consider! 'Tis not the man you dress, but the

monument for posterity. And, Mistress Hall, Preeves and Sons have plied our trade this many a year and

we know what looks well in a memorial. Think of the dark church, ay, and the old wood, and this

splendid funerary bust gleaming from the shadows in -- gray? No, no, Mistress, it must be a goodly

scarlet, granting your dear father a splendor like the setting sun!"

Will's sun was setting. His son down below the horizon and he'd follow soon enough himself. He had

wadded the sheet between his fingers irritably, wishing they'd go have their hissed argument elsewhere.

No, no peace yet; Susanna had drawn back the curtain, letting in the blinding light while a shabby fellow

in a puke-colored coat peered at him, respectful as though he were already dead, and sketched in a

book the rough cartoon to impose on a marble bust blank.

"Christ Jesu," Will had muttered, closing his eyes. When he'd opened his eyes again, preparing to give

them his best offended glare, he was surprised to discover they were gone and it was night. Nothing but

low coals to light the room, with a blue flame crawling on them. And then the shadow had loomed against

the light, and he'd turned his head expecting it was John --

That was the last memory! The strange doctor who'd come for his soul, or at least it had seemed so. The

stranger had bent swiftly, thrusting something cold into his face. He'd felt a sharp pain in his nose and then

a tearing between his eyes, sparks of fire, fathomless darkness...

Will put his nervous hand up now to stroke the bridge of his nose, imagining he felt sympathetic pain.

There was no real pain, he knew. No real hand or nose, either, but if he thought about that for long he'd

panic again. Mastering himself, he paced the little tiring room (or what he pretended was his tiring room)

and waited for his cue.

Here it came now, the sudden green orb in his vision. He felt the pull and was summoned like the ghost

he was, through the insubstantial curtain into the light, where swirling dust motes coalesced into his

hologrammatic form.

"...so give a big welcome to Mr. William Shakespeare!" cried Caitlin gamely, indicating him with an

outflung hand as she stepped aside for him. She wore an antique costume, the sort of gown his

grandmothers might have worn. Three people, the whole of his audience, applauded with something less

than enthusiasm. He gritted his teeth and smiled brilliantly, bowed grandly with flourishes, wondering what

he'd ever done to be consigned to this particular Hell.

"God give ye all good day, good ladies, good gentleman!" he cried.

The lumpen spectators regarded him.

"Doth thou really be-eth Shakespeareth?" demanded the man, grinning, in the flat Lancashireish accent

Will had come to understand was American.

"As nearly he as cybertechnology may revive and represent, good sir!" Will told him, and Caitlin made a

face, her usual signal meaning: Keep it simple for the groundlings. He nodded and went on:

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Kage Baker - The Dust Enclosed Here

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