But by then Hamlet was lying on the floor, his head cradled in Horatio"s lap, his face beginning to contort as death went to work on him. "May heaven take care of Laertes," he said. "I will follow him soon enough. Oh, Horatio, I feel I have everything to say, and I know there is no time to say any of it. At least be sure to tell the world what you know. Tell my story fully and frankly, but try to find some virtue in me when you do."
A spasm shook him; he clenched his eyes and teeth, but soon it pa.s.sed. He hardly seemed to hear Horatio"s staunch statement: "I will follow you, beloved friend. There is wine in the gla.s.s yet."
But when Horatio reached for the fatal dregs, Hamlet pushed his arm away.
"Give me the cup," he begged. "Do not take that easy path. Stay in the world instead, and speak for me. I fear the reputation I will leave." He half sat up, racked by pain. "Horatio, I beg of you, forget your own pain awhile and defend my good name."
Horatio marveled that the bright and beautiful prince had come to this, caught up so intensely in his fear for the regard of history. But no sooner had the thought crept into his brain than Hamlet lay down again, whispering, "I suppose I am king of Denmark for these few brief moments. Let the crown pa.s.s to Fortinbras, Horatio." He raised his voice and shouted through the great hall, "I am Hamlet, King of the Danes, and I say the crown shall pa.s.s to Fortinbras."
"Your Majesty," Horatio murmured to him, "it shall be as you say. Fortinbras."
Hamlet coughed and cramped and coughed again, then whispered to Horatio, "The rest is silence."
Horatio held him for some minutes more. He could not tell when life left his friend. In time Voltimand tapped him kindly on the shoulder. "My lord," said the older man, "we have much to do. Our duties lie elsewhere now. It is over. We must prepare the kingdom for the news, send urgent messages to Fortinbras, and begin the funeral rites. My lord, come away."
Horatio sat there another long minute. A servant handed him a cushion, and he placed it under Hamlet"s head. He climbed awkwardly to his feet. He looked down at his friend"s body. "Good night, sweet prince," he said. "May flights of angels sing you to your rest."
John Marsden is the author of more than thirty popular and acclaimed novels, including the cla.s.sic Tomorrow series and the Ellie Chronicles. About Hamlet, he says, "What a guy! What a play! Hamlet"s father makes a mean enough ghost, but Hamlet"s done a good job of haunting my life. I read the play when I was sixteen, saw a film of it when I was seventeen, and haven"t been able to shake the story since. I loved writing this novel as a way of getting to know the mysterious Hamlet just a little better." John Marsden lives in Australia.
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