Part 44 "The Deliverance"

PART 44: THE DELIVERANCE
Transcript made & edited by jack

CWs: alcohol, high pitched ringing, panic attacks, discussions of injury, drowning, corpse desecration, knife violence

 

(BEGIN Part 44.)

 

(The sound of clinking cutlery and muted conversation, whispers, and mumbles.)

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Vic… Tenetta. (A high-pitched mechanical whine.)

 

(Applause. A guitar starts to strum.)

 

VIC TENETTA (crooning): ‘Why keep on breaking my heart… when it’s beating for you… only you… why do you toy with my dreams, they’re depending on you to come true…’ (Background singers join in, followed by more musical accompaniment.) ‘When you invaded my mind, you took over complete control…’

 

(A squeaking door. Footsteps.)

 

WAITER (whispering): And here is your Blood and Sand, Mr. Lester. (A tap of glass. The audience laughs.) Anything else?

 

ARTHUR: My, uh… I-I-I see. Thank you. (Applause. Confusedly.) I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This must seem incredibly odd. (Vic starts to sing again: still ‘Why Keep On Breaking My Heart’.) But… where am I?

 

WAITER: No. Not odd at all. You’re at The Waylay.

 

ARTHUR: The Waylay. A-And… (He sighs.) I’m sorry. (The audience laughs again.) It sounds terribly silly, but. H-How did I get here? 

 

WAITER: I’m… not entirely sure, you’d have to speak with Management about that. Now, if there isn’t anything else…?

 

ARTHUR: Is this…?

 

WAITER: Sorry?

 

ARTHUR (unsteadily): A-Am I… Is this… (He shifts in the seat. Whispering.) The Dark World?

 

(The waiter chuckles.)

 

VIC TENETTA (crooning): ‘Why keep on breaking my heart…’

 

WAITER: No. No, no. 

 

ARTHUR: Oh. Well, what is it, then?

 

WAITER (self-evidently): The Waylay. 

 

VIC TENETTA (crooning): ‘When it’s beating for you… only you…’

 

ARTHUR: Right. H-How long have I – ?

 

WAITER: I’m sorry, Mr. Lester.

 

ARTHUR: F-For what? (The audience applauds.) 

 

WAITER: Your drink will be here for you when you get back.

 

VIC TENETTA (from a distance): Thank you. (The audience applauds.)

 

ARTHUR: Back?

 

WAITER: Take care.

 

VIC TENETTA: Thank you.

 

ARTHUR: Get back from – ? 

 

(An otherworldly whoosh. Arthur gasps. A high pitched ringing noise, and Arthur screams in agony.)

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

YORICK: My King!

 

JOHN: Arthur, you’re alive! 

 

(Arthur screams continuously. John and Yorick’s voices become muffled.)

 

ARTHUR: What…(He makes noises of terror.) 

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

ARTHUR (breathless): Witch… she…

 

JOHN (panicked): I-It’s going to be okay.

 

YORICK: He fades again, my King!

 

JOHN: What? No, she… she…! (Arthur starts to hyperventilate. John briefly becomes muffled, before growing clearer. Unintelligible whispers are audible. His voice slowly distorts.) I-I’ll take care of you. (Heartbeat sound effect.) It’ll be okay. It’ll be fine. 

 

(‘Faroe’s Song’ starts. The heartbeats quiet. A long pause. Wood creaks. Arthur hums.)

 

JOHN: Good morning. 

 

ARTHUR (groggily): Ah. Hm. Morning. (He sniffs.)

 

JOHN: You’re… rising much easier, now. 

 

ARTHUR: Mhm. (Fabric shifting. He sighs.) Well, it’s been, what? Three days? Since I was stabbed. I figure by now you’re getting sick of my whinging. (He grunts in exertion.)

 

JOHN: Three days where you’ve barely stayed still, Arthur. Wounds take time to heal. 

 

ARTHUR: That they do. That they do. (Fast inhale.) Well! (A grunt of exertion. Wood squeaks.) I am growing tired of these walls. 

 

YORICK: Good morning, Master! (A whimsical tune begins.) My King! Did you slumber well?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, thank you, Yorick.

 

YORICK: And the witch’s bed. Does it still suit your –

 

ARTHUR: If there were any other option. Believe you me, I would have taken it.

 

JOHN: With your wound, you needed to give your body time to heal.

 

ARTHUR (sternly): I can heal in the sunlight just fine. It’s these stupid hallways.

 

YORICK: There are still many paths we have yet to try. I feel confident we will find the correct one today.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, yes.

 

YORICK: It is a deceptively complicated labyrinth.

 

JOHN: And pushing yourself yesterday! You spent nearly all day looking for a way out.

 

ARTHUR: And I’m just about ready to head back to the windmill.

 

JOHN (gruffly): And then what? You can’t climb. Yorick sewed up your stab wounds, but they’re likely to come undone if you don’t pace yourself.

 

ARTHUR: I know. You’re right. (He exhales.) Perhaps the witch sealed us in. (A slow piano melody begins.) One final curse. Like the stairs. 

 

YORICK: I don’t believe so, but it is a possibility. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): I must say. I’m glad you prefer the skull, Yorick. 

 

YORICK: I need not a body. 

 

JOHN (annoyed): Only a mouth.

 

ARTHUR: Uh. (He grunts in exertion. Shifting of fabric.) Okay. 

 

JOHN: That shirt is in tatters.

 

ARTHUR: Well, it’s the only one we’ve got.

 

YORICK: Not true.

 

(A whimsical tune begins.)

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

YORICK: There are plenty of clothes the witch has taken from her previous victims.

 

ARTHUR: What? Where?

 

YORICK: Behind the wall of roots, opposite her bed.

 

JOHN (angry): Why didn’t you say anything?

 

YORICK: You did not ask.

 

ARTHUR (sarcastically): Right, Yorick, my apologies. (John groans in frustration. Footsteps.)

 

YORICK: Accepted.

 

JOHN (groaning): Straight ahead. (The sound of stretching and snapping.)

 

YORICK: Did you dream last night, Master? 

 

ARTHUR: No. Dreamless slumber last night, thankfully. And still nothing from when I was… you know.

 

JOHN: Dead?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. 

 

JOHN: I don’t understand.

 

ARTHUR: Me neither. You remember the Dark World, even… even if you hid it from me.

 

JOHN (awkwardly): You’re not… keeping things… from…

 

ARTHUR: No, honestly. After she stabbed me, I… I mean… there may have been something, but… (He exhales.) I-It’s gone. I… I… truly. 

 

JOHN: The Dark World would not have faded so quickly.

 

ARTHUR: Which makes this all the more… terrifying, John. 

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR (quieter): Well, if… if there is no Dark World for me… when I die…

 

JOHN: Not when. If. 

 

YORICK: ‘When’ is correct, my King. (John scoffs.)

 

ARTHUR: If I die… does that mean there’s… nothing else? (‘Faroe’s Goodbye’ begins.) 

 

JOHN: The Dark World is not a place to yearn for.

 

ARTHUR (struggling): No, but… if it’s nothing, at all, i-if it’s just… emptiness. If all this just ends… i-isn’t that… worse? 

 

JOHN: I don’t know.

 

ARTHUR: A-And you… you know, having control, still, when I…

 

JOHN: I didn’t. I could still see, but I couldn’t control your hands or body. It was… dead. In the mines, when you had simply fallen unconscious, it was different. I had agency. Here, I… I was truly trapped. 

 

ARTHUR: Then I’ll have to stay alive, I guess.

 

YORICK: I feel confident, Master, that the Dark World will welcome you into its embrace soon enough.

 

ARTHUR (sarcastically): Thanks, Yorick. Where is the, uh…?

 

JOHN: Here, here. Here. A chest. It’s against the earthen wall behind this… (Something shifting.) Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: Right. (A click. Fabric shifting.)

 

JOHN: Hm. Filled with clothes, and… (Metal clicks.) Armor? Things the witch must have removed from her victims.

 

ARTHUR: Ah.

 

YORICK: My breastplate is in there.

 

ARTHUR: Your…?

 

JOHN: Breastplate? Here, here. On top. (Fabric and metal shifting.)

 

ARTHUR: What… is…?

 

JOHN: It’s a thick piece of metal to cover your torso. Leather straps hold it tight against your clothes. 

 

ARTHUR (tentatively): Look, I know this sounds foolish, but –

 

JOHN: Arthur, with the amount of times you’ve been stabbed, I think it would be foolish not to wear it.

 

ARTHUR: Agreed.

 

YORICK: As the Romans do.

 

JOHN: There are clothes underneath. (Fabric and metal shifting.) Some rather stately looking. There, there! That is a shirt and… pants. There.

 

ARTHUR: Alright. (He grunts in exertion. Fabric shifting.) Perhaps… Perhaps it’s because of the… talisman. There. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: Perhaps that’s why, you know, there’s nothing for me. Magics beyond this world knew that I would come back, or… or m-maybe erased my memory of what was beyond.

 

JOHN: You think?

 

ARTHUR (getting dressed): I don’t know. I feel… e-everything has led to the idea that… (Emotionally.) Well, fuck, John. If everything that ever existed, if, if when it dies… they all go to the Dark World, then… 

 

JOHN: You think she’s there. 

 

(A sad piano melody begins.) 

 

ARTHUR (with tears): She has to be. (He sniffs.) But if I’m not… (Fabric shifting.) If she’s waiting there… for me. (A shaky breath.) To see me again. 

 

JOHN: Yes. Perhaps the talisman. 

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): Empty platitudes.

 

JOHN: We genuinely don’t know. 

 

ARTHUR: You’re right. You’re right. 

 

JOHN: The time will come when we both find out. But that time is not now. We have many miles –

 

YORICK (interrupting): Many miles to go before we sleep.

 

(A whimsical tune begins.) 

 

JOHN: Yes. Thank you, Yorick. 

 

(Arthur chuckles. Wood squeaks.)

 

ARTHUR (woozy): O-Oh, uh.

 

JOHN: Take it easy, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Dizzy for a moment.

 

JOHN: You’re still –

 

ARTHUR: No, honesty, look. Three days is more than enough. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. Once I’m dressed. 

 

YORICK: As I said, the labyrinth holds an exit, I am sure of it.

 

ARTHUR: The windmill. 

 

JOHN (not this again): Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Look, we stack boxes, we find a rope! Here. She has to have something, I’m sure of it. We find a way up those stairs, and we head back through the tunnels to the windmill…

 

JOHN: Even if we could find a way back –

 

YORICK: I know the way.

 

(A whimsical tune begins.)

 

JOHN: Great. Even if we could… you are still only at a portion of your strength.

 

ARTHUR: John, I have spent three days in this hovel, resting, mending. I-I… I cannot spend a fourth. (Fabric shifting.)

 

JOHN: Alright. If you feel confident that you could.

 

ARTHUR: I do. It’s just a matter of whether… I should. Yorick seems equally confident about the hallways. (Fabric shifting.)

 

YORICK: I’m sure we’ll find our way today, Master. Do not lose hope. 

 

(Arthur sighs.)

 

JOHN: Now the breastplate. 

 

(Metal clicks, straps stretching. Arthur grunts in exertion.)

 

ARTHUR: There. How do I look?

 

JOHN: Less like a sore thumb.

 

YORICK (brightly): Harder to kill.

 

ARTHUR: I’ll take it.

 

(John sighs.)

 

JOHN: So. Try again at the maze or head back to the windmill? Keeping in mind, you just became dizzy while standing up. 

 

ARTHUR: You’re sure you can get us out this time?

 

YORICK: Absolutely, Master. 

 

ARTHUR: Fine.

 

JOHN: Thank you.

 

ARTHUR: Only because I can’t stand the notion of needing to rest once again if I hurt myself.

 

JOHN: Exactly. (The sound of rummaging. Arthur sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: Though, Yorick, you have changed your tune from thinking these halls may have an exit to being quite certain.

 

YORICK: I have grown.

 

ARTHUR: Alright, then. Assuming we won’t return here… (He grunts in exertion. Paper fluttering.)

 

JOHN: Still not going to read it? (‘Fatherhood’ begins to play.)

 

ARTHUR: No. I-It doesn’t feel… New York, Oscar, this… this letter… it-it’s so far away. It feels… wrong. 

 

JOHN: How so?

 

ARTHUR: I-I, I don’t know. Thinking about what’s behind us… all those people, all those moments that mattered… they’re all gone. T-They’re all…

 

JOHN (gently): Still to come. (Arthur chuckles.) They’ll still exist, have their lives…

 

ARTHUR: You’re right. But it still doesn’t feel like the right time. (Paper fluttering. The sound of rummaging.) Not yet, at least. 

 

JOHN: And the talisman? Still not wearing it?

 

ARTHUR: No. No reason to advertise what’s transpired here. After all you’ve told me, who knows what may come looking for us.

 

YORICK: Mother Darkness. (A slow piano melody begins.) 

 

ARTHUR (thoughtfully): Huh.

 

JOHN: If she’s even still alive.

 

YORICK: She most certainly is.

 

JOHN: But you don’t have any idea who she is, or –

 

YORICK (interrupting): As I’ve told you –

 

ARTHUR: If she is alive, and finds out we’ve killed her… daughter. (The sound of shifting rock.)

 

JOHN: We have six more bullets. 

 

ARTHUR: Hm. Well said.

 

YORICK: I doubt six would be enough. (A whimsical tune begins.) If Mother Darkness truly resurrected the hag without the use of –

 

ARTHUR (interrupting): That reminds me! (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: What?

 

YORICK: Remind you of what, Master?

 

ARTHUR: You mentioned yesterday that there was a bag here, a-a fabric – 

 

JOHN (perplexed): A bag? 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. (Sound of rummaging.) 

 

JOHN: There’s nothing of value in it. It’s barely large enough for Yorick’s head – (In realization.) Oh.

 

YORICK: Master?

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Don’t worry about it. Right, that’s everything. (Rummaging. Metal chains clanking.) Even if you can’t find the exit, Yorick, I’d rather sleep on the floor of the windmill before heading back here.

 

YORICK: Completely understand, Master. (A door creaks open.) You need not worry. I feel quite certain the key is in the statues.

 

(Arthur groans in frustration.)

 

JOHN: We’ve been over the statues!

 

ARTHUR (fed up): Multiple times! The serpent, the fawn, the headless rider, t-they don’t mean anything!

 

YORICK: I believe they are a key, nonetheless!

 

JOHN: Is this the prince or the Vanguard pushing to re-examine the statues? (Footsteps.)

 

YORICK: Neither. (A whimsical tune begins.) I am Yorick.

 

ARTHUR: Alright. The door.

 

JOHN: Here. (A door creaks open.)

 

ARTHUR: Alright. (Rocks shift. The lighter flicks.) Remind me, which way?

 

YORICK: The first left, then the first right. Straight past the two intersections, for now.

 

JOHN: What I mean to say… is are your theories about statues based on the prince’s experiences or the Vanguard’s?

 

YORICK: I know not what you mean, but the witch put the statues there for a reason. 

 

ARTHUR (pondering): Did she, though?

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR: Did she put them there for a reason? 

 

YORICK: Of course she did.

 

ARTHUR: R-Right, right, but I… I suppose I’m asking… (He sighs.) Well, what is the purpose of this labyrinth? Yorick, you said that she had many ways in and out of this hovel, right?

 

YORICK: Correct.

 

ARTHUR: And you believe we must’ve come through the back door?

 

YORICK: Possibly.

 

ARTHUR: Right, well. What is the purpose of this maze, then? Is it to confuse and bewilder those who get lost, i-it… is it meant to drive us mad? Like it has? 

 

JOHN: Perhaps her magic is still active. The stairs haven’t returned.

 

YORICK: The labyrinth would no longer be –

 

ARTHUR (interrupting): But if this maze is the entrance, the intended entrance, and was meant to obfuscate the way into her den to prevent anyone from finding her lair… sure, I can understand the complexity. But then why is it so difficult to find the way out?

 

JOHN (uncertainly): For those she’s trapped?

 

YORICK: A maze would be just as complicated from the exit as from the entrance, Master.

 

ARTHUR: Right, okay. Yeah. I-I suppose so, but. I don’t know, something feels… like we’re missing something. (Footsteps.)

 

YORICK: Perhaps… John is right. 

 

JOHN: Her magic is still active.

 

ARTHUR: What if it’s simpler than that?

 

JOHN (surprised): Simpler?

 

ARTHUR: Obviously, yes, she used magic. But look, her purpose to remove the stairs was for what? 

 

JOHN: To trap us.

 

ARTHUR: Right. To prevent us from leaving. It was a matter of removing something physical o-or at least something we perceived as physical to prevent us from escaping.

 

JOHN: Right. And the labyrinth… it too may have been altered.

 

ARTHUR: From what, we have no idea. For all we know, these halls could have led straight to the entrance and she shifted it knowingly to prevent any chance of our escape.

 

JOHN: And when she died…

 

ARTHUR: They remained. The magic no longer active, just… she failed to return it to its previous form.

 

YORICK: Conjecture, Master.

 

JOHN: So what you’re saying is…

 

ARTHUR: What I’m saying is a lot of guesswork, yes. (He exhales.) But what if there is no longer an exit? What if it’s not a matter of solving these statues because all of this is still just designed to keep us here?

 

YORICK: But the statues –

 

JOHN (interrupting): May very well be meaningless.

 

ARTHUR: Maybe. Look, you said multiple exits, right, Yorick?

 

YORICK: Indeed.

 

ARTHUR: So look. We know that the windmill is one. We hope that the labyrinth is one, but perhaps it’s sealed off. Maybe we should be… thinking about this from her perspective.

 

JOHN: What would serve her best?

 

YORICK: And what is that? 

 

ARTHUR (quietly): I don’t know.

 

YORICK: Right.

 

ARTHUR: Right.

 

YORICK (more urgently): Right!

 

ARTHUR: Oh, right, right. (He grunts in exertion.) She was ahead of us. 

 

(A slow piano melody begins.)

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: Do you think these walls are simply nothing to her? Like she could pass through any of them? 

 

JOHN: Well, if she could, why have a bridge or a staircase at all? (Arthur hums.) And why did she walk through the passage towards the prince when we first saw her? Why not just move through the stone itself?

 

YORICK: It would certainly be easier.

 

JOHN: She entered and exited that room through the same passage we did.

 

ARTHUR (thinking it through): Okay. Okay. For a moment, working on the hypothesis that she cannot pass through rock and stone, which admittedly is only a theory…. How did she get in front of me?

 

JOHN: Was she ever behind you?

 

ARTHUR: Ah, no, I suppose not. 

 

YORICK: She was in her room when you took the talisman.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: What?

 

YORICK: I heard her breathing behind the roots, watching!

 

JOHN (furious): Why didn’t you – !?

 

ARTHUR (stuttering briefly): Let it go. Let it go. She’s dead. (John snorts in fury.) Okay. So. She somehow… where did she stab me? Lead us there.

 

YORICK: Straight ahead. (Footsteps.) Here.

 

JOHN (simultaneously with Yorick): Here. (Arthur exhales.) The blood still stains the stone where you fell. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Hm. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: No, it’s… (He exhales. A slow piano melody begins.) You know, about how you dealt with her… and… what she told you and what it taught you about yourself. A-And you know… that I love you, too. And I couldn’t do this without you. 

 

JOHN: I know. 

 

ARTHUR: But I… I don’t recall if I told you… how proud I was of you. For finding your way, without me. Without anyone. It must’ve been difficult to… to fight for who you were. For who you are. 

 

JOHN: It was. 

 

YORICK (suddenly): He was not alone! 

 

(Both John and Arthur exhale. A whimsical tune begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Yes, Yorick.

 

JOHN: He’s right. (Arthur chuckles.) Thank you, Yorick.

 

ARTHUR: Anyway. Sorry. I’m getting distracted. Okay. Maybe instead of searching for the end to these walls, we must find the exit… in these walls. 

 

(‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

JOHN: You think?

 

ARTHUR: What’s around here, roughly?

 

JOHN: It’s another T-section, and a little bit further to what we call the north is another four-way intersection with the fawn statue.

 

YORICK: The fawn.

 

ARTHUR (recalling): Yes. Yes. 

 

YORICK: Is… perhaps… meaningless. 

 

JOHN: Come around, have you?

 

YORICK: With careful consideration, I suggest we investigate the wall here.

 

ARTHUR (confused): Well, which part, it’s just stone, I –

 

JOHN: I suppose… just feel around. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay. W-What are we looking –

 

YORICK: I believe my error – 

 

JOHN: Here, here.

 

YORICK: Was in believing that the specialness of the statues matterred, when… in fact…

 

ARTHUR: Well, h-hold… w-wait, wait a minute. 

 

JOHN: I-Is that…?

 

YORICK: If I were to hide a secret…

 

ARTHUR: What is this? (JOHN: This…) What am I touching?

 

JOHN: This isn’t stone.

 

ARTHUR: It feels different.

 

JOHN: This is wood! Knock it! Knock on it!

 

YORICK: It would be in the most mundane of places. 

 

(A hollow knock.)

 

ARTHUR: It’s hollow! (John gasps.) This is a door! (Thrilled.) Yorick, you did it! 

 

YORICK: Of course. As I said.

 

JOHN (sarcastically): So humble. 

 

(Arthur laughs. A whimsical tune begins.)

 

ARTHUR: I-I can’t see how it opens, but this is… this must be the exit. We just need to figure out h-how…

 

JOHN: I see a latch, here, between the wood and the stone. It’s – It’s – It’s painted, a-almost, disguised as part of the wall. (Yorick exhales. Arthur makes grunts of exertion.)

 

ARTHUR: I-I can’t reach, and there’s nothing to…

 

JOHN: The dagger! (The sound of rummaging.)

 

ARTHUR: Ah, yes! Yes!

 

YORICK: One moment, Master.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

YORICK: Consider that this door may open only for her.

 

JOHN: Why do you say that?

 

YORICK: There seems to be no handle or knob, as it were.

 

JOHN: Right, but the dagger! We can just wedge it open.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, it –

 

YORICK: It may break the dagger. 

 

ARTHUR (disappointed): Okay. Well, w-what do you suggest?

 

YORICK: If it only opens for her… we could retrieve a piece. 

 

(A slow piano melody begins.)

 

JOHN: A piece of her?

 

ARTHUR: Yorick. We dumped her body in the water, Yorick. I… 

 

JOHN: Arthur…

 

YORICK: If we retrieve her body from the water and remove a piece of her, it should allow us to use this door.

 

JOHN: Just use the dagger, Arthur. We don’t need to head back.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, Yorick, I…

 

YORICK: I urge you to consider, Master, that this may not be the only door between us and the exit. Perhaps the dagger will work here, but if the proper entrance is sealed and only opens for her… 

 

(Arthur sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: He’s right.

 

JOHN: You think there’ll be more doors?

 

ARTHUR: I think… if she is the key to opening this door, it would be wiser to have it than to brute force our way out.

 

YORICK: A wise decision, Master!

 

JOHN (annoyed): Enough. (Normally.) Fine. If you want to head back…

 

ARTHUR: I don’t want to. Believe me. But I… think Yorick has a good point.

 

JOHN: There is nothing to prove her dead body will open this. (A slow piano melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Honestly, and primarily, I mean about breaking the dagger. I am by far the least interested in back-tracking, but I’d rather rule out her presence  as being a factor before damaging our only weapon.

 

JOHN: It’s not our only weapon. We have the gun, and the rapier –

 

ARTHUR: The gun has a very limited lifespan and the rapier won’t do much good up close. Just… please.

 

JOHN: Yes, of course. I’m… just…

 

ARTHUR: I know, I know. We’ll be quick. (John sighs.)

 

YORICK: To our left, Master. (Footsteps start.)

 

JOHN: Why the latch?

 

ARTHUR: Hm?

 

JOHN: If the door opens with her presence, as he says…

 

YORICK: It must still prevent others from leaving. How do you presume a door remain locked? 

 

JOHN: That’s not what I –

 

ARTHUR: John has a point. Why a physical latch? Seems hardly necessary if the door itself is magical. Or at least responds to magic.

 

(A short pause.)

 

JOHN: Yorick?

 

YORICK: You comprehend very little about magic and its function. It is folly to assume a door cannot be opened magically simply because… it may also open without. 

 

ARTHUR: Why?

 

YORICK (grunting): Does the rotten muscle on this skull prevent you from believing I move these jaws with other means?

 

ARTHUR: But the muscle could still move your jaws.

 

YORICK: There are many reasons the witch may prefer multiple ways to pass through a door.

 

JOHN: Hm. (Falling silt.) Left again. 

 

ARTHUR: Regardless, I want this to be over quickly. 

 

JOHN: Right, here. So. What part are you going to cut off?

 

ARTHUR: I, uh…

 

YORICK: Might I suggest, her left hand?

 

JOHN: Her left?

 

ARTHUR: Sure.

 

JOHN: Why? 

 

(A short pause.)

 

ARTHUR: Why, Yorick?

 

YORICK: A hag’s left hand can be a powerful object. 

 

(Suspenseful music plays.)

 

JOHN: What do you mean, ‘can be’?

 

ARTHUR: What is your goal, here?

 

YORICK: My goal? To aid you in leaving this place, Master.

 

JOHN: Cut the bullshit.

 

ARTHUR: Is there another reason you want this hand? (Warning.) Yorick –

 

YORICK: There are a great number of things –

 

JOHN (cutting him off): Answer him!

 

YORICK: I do believe it will be of use to us.

 

JOHN: To escape? O-Or…

 

YORICK: I… cannot tell.

 

ARTHUR: Why not?

 

YORICK: I do not know.

 

JOHN: I don’t know, Arthur. Something feels… off about this.

 

ARTHUR: Agreed.

 

YORICK: The hand will be of use. This is certain. Only since defeating her has this become known to me. 

 

JOHN: What does that mean?

 

ARTHUR: He doesn’t know. Fine. (John sighs.) We’ll get the hand and then we’ll leave. (Determinedly.) No matter what. 

 

(Arthur grunts in exertion. A door squeaks open. Slow footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The pool is just ahead, the green water still and silent. Here. Here. 

 

ARTHUR: It didn’t move much when we dragged her in, did it?

 

JOHN: No.

 

ARTHUR (sarcastically): Wonderful. Ah, well, where is she, anyway? Can we use something to pull her body out of the –

 

JOHN: She’s no longer on the surface.

 

ARTHUR: No?

 

YORICK: She sank.

 

ARTHUR (sarcastically): Great. (Normally.) Well. 

 

(The splashing of water.)

 

JOHN: Careful. 

 

ARTHUR (noises of disgust): I’m just going to… drag her body back to shore. Ugh. (More water splashing.)

 

YORICK: Would it not be wiser to – (Yorick is drowned out under the water. Only bubbles and quiet muttering are audible. A whimsical tune begins.)

 

JOHN: Well, thank God for that. (Yorick stops chattering.)

 

ARTHUR: Anything?

 

JOHN: Nothing. You… may need to… look below the surface. (Arthur makes a noise of disgust.) The green water’s reflecting the torchlight within the cavern. It’s difficult to see beneath.

 

ARTHUR: God damn it. (He inhales and splashes below the water.)

 

JOHN: Okay. It’s clearer, within. I can see the water. It grows… deeper. The brown, rocky walls of the pool dive down toward the bottom, and, uh… I see her! At the bottom! 

 

(Water splashing. Arthur surfaces, gasping for air.)

 

ARTHUR: She’s down there?

 

JOHN: Yes! Yes, she’s down th – 

 

ARTHUR: Okay. (He inhales sharply and goes under.)

 

JOHN (quickly): But! Arthur! (He grunts in frustration.) Arthur. Jesus, be quick. Swim, deeper. As fast as you can. The bottom is quite far away. She’s… along the bottom, tangled up in… black weeds. Her hair in thin, floating strands surround her… frozen in place. A sickening visage of the dead. K-Keep going. You’re almost there.

 

Her… Her hand. The left one, is up. Rising out from the black weeds. Upstretched, as if reaching for the surface, I… I don’t think you can bring her back to the shore. She’s too tangled. You’ll need to – (A flurry of bubbles.) Yes! Yes. A little more. Here, here. Here! That’s her hand. Lop it off at the wrist. Cut. Okay. (Repeated underwater thumps.) Keep a steady pace, you’re doing well. 

 

(The thumps continue. A slow piano melody begins.) 

 

The dancing light from above… catches the dead white of her eyes. (An underwater cracking noise. Unintelligible whispers begin.) It gives the appearance that her eyes are… moving. Slowly studying us. Watching those who took her life, brutally… mangled her corpse… y-you, you’re almost done. (Shakily.) Just k-keep going. (A final, louder crack.) There, there! We’re done. (A flurry of bubbles.) Swim back up, and… (Sounds of muted distress begin.) Arthur! Arthur, swim! What are you – (John gasps.) Fuck. 

 

Arthur, the weeds! The black weeds! They’re… They're around your ankle! (Suspenseful music begins.) Cut them! Quickly! More, Arthur! (Muted snapping noises.) More are wrapping around your feet. (Distressed.) Your legs… Arthur, your arm! Cut, Arthur! We can’t… you’re unable to cut them fast enough. More are shooting up from the bottom, latching themselves onto us! (In horror.) They’re pulling you down! Down towards… her! 

 

(More muted sounds of distress.) No! No. These aren’t weeds, Arthur. They look like… veins, like from the membrane in the cavern, below the windmill! The bottom, Arthur… deeper! (A flurry of bubbles.) There, there, Arthur, before you, the bottom! Feel it! This is what was in the tunnels! Cut it! Yes, Arthur! Cut through the membrane, Arthur! (Straining.) Just a little… more! 

 

(Water crashing, like a waterfall. Arthur screams as John makes noises of fear. They all land with a noise of impact, including Yorick. John and Arthur gasp for air. Arthur spits.)

 

(In victory.) Yes, Arthur! (They gasp for air.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, we’re… (Insects buzz.) We’re outside. 

 

(Birds chirp. ‘Bitter Sweet City’ begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Oh?

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

(Arthur and John begin to laugh. Yorick joins in a stilted manner and they laugh harder, before pulling themselves together. Arthur spits.)

 

JOHN: We’re sitting in a muddy, wet pile, beneath trees. Tall and green. Taller than I’ve ever seen. The forest… surrounds us. The wind slowly moving through the trees. The late afternoon cuts perfect shadow stencils from the leaves above. The ground is… soft. Wet, but… fresh smelling. It’s beautiful, Arthur. We… We really are here. (Arthur sighs.)

 

ARTHUR (gently): England. Not the way I thought we’d get here. (He chuckles.)

 

JOHN: The forest crests down, slightly. The rolling green hill leads to the edge of a massive field. I see a dirt road not far away. We should head for it. 

 

ARTHUR: And head where?

 

JOHN: Castle Kerringford, remember? I told you, she mentioned that castle by name when talking about –

 

ARTHUR: Right. About those who worshiped the Old Gods. (John makes a noise of agreement.) And if we get there and if it matches the vision that we had through the Glass of Leng –

 

JOHN: Then we found our destination. Either way, it’s the best lead we have right now.

 

ARTHUR: Agreed. (He sucks in air.) But the road, I-I don’t know. I don’t know how wise it would be to take the road just yet. Perhaps sticking to the trees, parallel, would be… safer. No?

 

YORICK (cheerfully): And slower!

 

JOHN: I suppose. But if the road is the most direct route, who knows? Maybe we can even find a sign. Or someone to point the way. 

 

ARTHUR: Look, I hear you. But the woods are the safer bet, and I-I’d rather stay away from people for the moment. Least until we’re dry.

 

JOHN: Very well.

 

ARTHUR: Hm.

 

YORICK: A wise choice, Master! Her children will have more difficulty spotting us from within the woods.

 

ARTHUR: Jesus.

 

JOHN (overlapping): Her children? Why didn’t you –

 

ARTHUR (angrily): Yorick… lead with the information that would be best to know to keep us alive! (John huffs.) Always. 

 

YORICK: I will do my best. (Arthur sighs and shifts.)

 

ARTHUR (pained): Ah.

 

JOHN: Arthur. What’s wrong? 

 

ARTHUR: The, the… tumble. (He breathes heavily.) I may have pulled my… stomach. (John makes a noise of surprise.)

 

JOHN: Fuck.

 

ARTHUR: I-It’s alright, it’s alright. I just need to… take a look.

 

YORICK: I believe you are bleeding, again.

 

ARTHUR (quickly): It’s fine, it’s fine. We’re out, once again.

 

JOHN (emphatically): Take a moment, and –

 

ARTHUR: I will, I will. Just let me… get out of this… (Squelching noises.) What is…? What did we fall out of?

 

JOHN: We’ve been thrust out of a passage: a small opening in the wall of this large hill. (A slow piano melody begins.) The windmill must be… upon it. Behind us, somewhere. 

 

ARTHUR: Like a chute.

 

JOHN: Just to your right. There’s a log there. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay. (Squelching footsteps.)

 

YORICK: Wait! (Arthur sighs.) The hand! Master!

 

JOHN: The hand.

 

ARTHUR: Oh. Right. (Squelching footsteps. A grunt of exertion.)

 

JOHN: What a waste that was. 

 

ARTHUR: We’re out, I don’t care how. 

 

JOHN: Here, here. The log. (Arthur sits and sighs.) Let’s see… you’ll need to rem – (Metal clicking and scraping.) Yes.

 

ARTHUR: Oh, this breastplate is going to be a pain. (He audibly winces.)

 

JOHN: I imagine it helped quite a bit while tumbling through the water.

 

ARTHUR: Fair point.

 

JOHN: Though… (More clicking. Metal clanging.) Its heraldry may cause problems.

 

ARTHUR: Heraldry?

 

JOHN: Hm. It bears a… a mark.

 

YORICK: The prince’s mark! The heraldry of Aravel.

 

JOHN: Prince… Aravel?

 

YORICK: Prince Warin of Aravel. 

 

ARTHUR: Prince Warin. I-I don’t…?

 

YORICK: It is a title of courtesy only.

 

ARTHUR: Okay. (Metal clanging.) How bad?

 

JOHN: A few stitches have broken, but the wound is still largely closed. I’d recommend adding a few more stitches while we have a moment.

 

ARTHUR: If you’re okay with it.

 

JOHN: Of course.

 

ARTHUR: Right. (Fabric rustling, the click of a metal tin.) This… breastplate is… it’s a bit of a cause for concern then, no? (Metal clicking.) Perhaps we can… I don’t, I don’t know. Hide it, or…?

 

YORICK: I believe that would hinder our efforts.

 

JOHN: The prince was already killed.

 

ARTHUR: Plus, we don’t know anything about him.

 

YORICK: I do!

 

ARTHUR (sarcastically): Yes, and you’re so forthcoming with information.

 

YORICK: Thank you.

 

ARTHUR: Eh, that wasn’t…

 

JOHN: We should not plan to visit Kerringford while posing as this man. 

 

ARTHUR: Agreed. Well. Actually… 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: I mean, yes. (Fabric stretching.) Pretending to be him is… relying on Yorick for the dribs and drabs of information. It isn’t wise, but… the prince would at the very least stand a better chance at entering a castle over a… an unaffiliated traveler.

 

JOHN: I suppose.

 

YORICK: Additionally, he is expected at the castle.

 

JOHN (shocked): What?

 

ARTHUR: The prince…?

 

YORICK: Yes! Castle Kerringford. It was his destination.

 

(Arthur stutters in shock.)

 

JOHN (furiously): Why? How – ?

 

YORICK: He was interrupted during his travels. (A whimsical tune begins.) An accident on the road. The witch retrieving his body for her children.

 

JOHN: He –

 

ARTHUR (to John): I-I know –

 

JOHN: He is int – (He groans in frustration.) 

 

ARTHUR: I know. We both know what he’s going to say, though. Look, this is just going to keep happening. Clearly the onus is on us to prompt him. (He breathes heavily.) 

 

JOHN: Yorick. Why was the prince heading to Castle Kerringford?

 

YORICK: An invitation to the castle. The host was not known to the prince. (A mysterious tune begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Had he… had you been to the castle before?

 

YORICK: No. The prince was not aware why his attendance was requested, nor the intention of the visitation. However, his curiosity was… piqued.

 

ARTHUR: Very well. 

 

JOHN: The Glass of Leng, the witch mentioning it by name… 

 

ARTHUR: It’s all pointing to the castle.

 

JOHN: Well, at least we’re not stumbling around in the dark, looking for where to start.

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Speak for yourself.

 

JOHN: There. You’re done.

 

ARTHUR: Thank you. (Fabric stretching and shifting, metal clanging.) Okay. We travel the woods to Kerringford. Any idea how far it was before the accident, Yorick?

 

YORICK: To my understanding, we were still quite a fair distance away. Perhaps half a day’s travel.

 

(John sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: By cart.

 

JOHN (glumly): Which means we have miles to go. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. (John sighs. Gently.) But think of how far we’ve come. (‘Bitter Sweet City’ begins.) 

 

JOHN: You’re right. 

 

(Arthur grunts in exertion.) 

 

ARTHUR: Okay! We’ll keep the road to our left, try and keep an eye for when it might turn off, and… and do our best.

 

JOHN: And if a sign does show up…(Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: We’ll head down and try to read it. Hope we can find our way to Kerringford safely.

 

JOHN: Right.

 

YORICK: Master! Before you leave. (Arthur exhales.) I have decided on what I want. 

 

ARTHUR (confused): What you want?

 

JOHN: What?

 

YORICK: King. You had promised me whatever I wanted, should I help you. I believe I have decided. 

 

ARTHUR: What is he talking  – ?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. What –

 

YORICK: Do you not recall? You offered me whatever I wanted to trust you.

 

JOHN: I… (He sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: John?

 

JOHN: He’s right. Before the witch could hear me… while she dragged you back to the slab… I told Yorick… that I may have to lie to her, to manipulate her. I asked him to trust me. And in return… 

 

ARTHUR: You would give him whatever he wants.

 

JOHN: We would.

 

YORICK (pleased): Yes! 

 

ARTHUR: Alright. (He clears his throat.) All things considered, I suppose that’s a fair deal. What do you want?

 

YORICK: I wish… to have the hag’s hand. 

 

JOHN: Her hand?

 

ARTHUR: Why?

 

YORICK: That is of my concern. In this request, I would have access to it. Additionally, you would aid me in using it however I see fit, and… however I choose to alter it. Without question. 

 

ARTHUR: Alter it? Yorick.

 

JOHN: How do you intend to ‘alter’ it?

 

YORICK: This… is my request.

 

ARTHUR: Without knowing why.

 

YORICK: Knowing why is not part of my request.

 

JOHN: That’s…

 

YORICK: Not part of the deal. This is my request. Will you honor it?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. I mean, what choice do we have, really?

 

YORICK: Thank you!

 

JOHN: I’m sorry.

 

ARTHUR: It’s fine. You did what you had to do. I don’t blame you.

 

JOHN: Still, I-I…

 

ARTHUR: You thought you were going to lose everything. And you were right. You made the right call. We’re just… honoring that deal. (Footsteps.) Alright, Yorick. It’s yours. You… own it. What will you have us do to it?

 

YORICK: For the moment, nothing. Perhaps at nightfall, your aid will be requested.

 

(John scoffs.)

 

ARTHUR: Very well.

 

JOHN: That doesn’t seem far off.

 

ARTHUR: Then I suppose we should… get moving.

 

JOHN: I suppose so. (Footsteps.)

 

YORICK: Thank you, The Dies Irae.

 

JOHN: The Dies… (He grunts.)

 

ARTHUR: You called us that before. You said that was our… title. What does it mean?

 

YORICK: Day… of Wrath.

 

JOHN: Day of Wrath?

 

ARTHUR: Why is that our title?

 

YORICK: You will see. 

 

JOHN (softly): Hm.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): I… let’s just go. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The forest, for the most part, is open. The floor is covered in a thin layer of grass, but the trees are far apart, and the – (Crackling branches. Arthur and John gasp.)

 

ARTHUR: Is that – (An owl hoots.) 

 

YORICK: The owl! It returns.

 

(The owl screeches.)

 

ARTHUR: Alexander! (He laughs. ‘Bitter Sweet City’ begins. Joyously.) How did you find us?

 

JOHN: It must have heard us!

 

ARTHUR (through laughter): The windmill must only be behind us on the hill! I…I can’t believe it! What are you doing out here?

 

JOHN (vindictively): I thought you said owls were nocturnal.

 

ARTHUR: Only some! Perhaps I was wrong about him. (The owl screeches.) Hey, Alexander, hey! 

 

JOHN: What use are we to him? (Arthur chuckles.) I don’t understand why he would –

 

YORICK: Perhaps he sees us as food.

 

(A whimsical tune begins.)

 

JOHN (genuinely): Could be!

 

ARTHUR: Owls don’t eat people, boys. 

 

YORICK: Of course.

 

JOHN: Right. 

 

(The owl calls intermittently.)

 

ARTHUR: I-I for one am glad you’re here, Alexander. Between this one never shutting up and this one always with me… I appreciate a companion who seems to enjoy the silence. 

 

YORICK: Which am I?

 

JOHN (quietly): Take a guess. 

 

ARTHUR: I think he’ll follow us, no? I-I don’t know, maybe-maybe we can find something for him –

 

JOHN: Arthur, let’s not be waylaid by this fucking owl. Please. 

 

(A slow melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Right, right, yes, I… I… 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR (thoughtfully): Nothing. I-I… I don’t understand, the…

 

JOHN: What don’t you understand?

 

ARTHUR: I-I… I remember… something. 

 

JOHN: Remember? From where? When?

 

ARTHUR: The word you just said. ‘Waylaid’.

 

JOHN: Yes?

 

ARTHUR: I… I was… I was… I was waylaid. I-I was… there was a… h-h-hold on. What was that?

 

JOHN: What was what? (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: G-Give me a moment. There was… I was… I was… somewhere. John, I-I was somewhere! I-I don’t –

 

JOHN: After you died?

 

ARTHUR: Yes! Yes, but… it wasn’t the Dark World. I-It wasn’t…

 

JOHN: You’re sure?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Yes… I remember asking. 

 

JOHN: Asking? There were… others, there? 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, many. They were all around me, I-I think… standing… no, s-sitting. 

 

JOHN (stupefied): You could see?

 

ARTHUR: I… I don’t recall. (Footsteps.) I-I… there was… (He exhales.) I could hear people all around me. They were… eating, drinking, a-and there was music that… music, John, I remember the music. It was… It was a band, or a man singing a song, I-I never heard it before, I… i-it felt… (Overwhelmed.) J-Jesus!

 

JOHN: What else?

 

ARTHUR: A waiter. He told me I was at the Waylay. He said I… I wasn’t in the Dark World, a-and I… I don’t remember. I think he told me to speak with someone. Was it a dream? Maybe? I-It felt… real, but…

 

JOHN: A dream, Arthur?

 

YORICK: You were dead, Master. One does not dream in death.

 

ARTHUR: So what does that mean? Yorick? 

 

YORICK: I… know nothing of this. I hold a place in the Dark World and this one. I have not heard of this… ‘Waylay’.

 

ARTHUR: John?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. It doesn’t sound familiar. (Footsteps.) But… you’re sure you don’t remember anything else?

 

ARTHUR: I think… I think the waiter… ordered me a Blood and Sand.

 

JOHN: You ordered a Blood and Sand?

 

ARTHUR: No. No, actually, it was waiting for me.

 

JOHN: Someone knows your drink order.

 

ARTHUR: I suppose. I suppose someone does. (He takes a deep inhale.)

 

JOHN: Perhaps more will come back to you.

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): Perhaps.

 

JOHN: Shall we?

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Let’s. 

 

JOHN: This way. (Arthur exhales. Footsteps.) The road is to our left. Let’s see how far we can get before needing to find a spot… to rest for the night.

 

ARTHUR: Agreed.

 

(Rustling leaves. An owl hoots, and crackling branches.)

 

(A click, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 44.)