Free Day of Deliverance by Johnny O'Brien Page A

Fanshawe rummaged through the papers and drew out a sheath of ink-blotted papers. “Here we are.”
    Jack thumbed through the pages to find what he was looking for – Act III, Scene I – early on. Jack scanned the page. He knew the words he was looking for off by heart, so even in Fanshawe’s unfortunate scrawl he should be able to spot them.
    He muttered to himself, reading down the list of names, “Polonious, then the king, then Polonious… this should be it… and then… Dave?”
    Jack looked up at Fanshawe. “Dave?”
    “Yes – David – one of the main characters in this tragedy.”
    “Hold on, you’ve called him David…?”
    “That is his name.”
    “Not Hamlet.”
    Fanshawe nodded thoughtfully. “Well, Jack, certainly ‘Hamlet’ has a certain ring to it… Yes – you’re right… Hamlet… I like it! In fact now you mention it ‘Dave’ does not sound right at all! Let’s make it Hamlet. Much more, er, Danish . Providential!”
    Jack began reading the great soliloquy – one of the most famous passages in the English language. But they weren’t the words he remembered or expected:
    To be, or not to be; ay, there’s the point
    To die, to sleep, is that it? Yes – that’s it;
    No, to sleep, to dream. Ay marry, and off we go…
    Jack could hardly bear to read on. It was complete rubbish. “It’s gobbledegook.”
    “Yes – I agree,” Fanshawe said. “I don’t know what that word means, Jack, but I certainly agree with you – it is certainly one of my favourite passages… certainly gobbledegook.”
    Jack murmured, “It’s Shakespeare, but not quite as we know it.”
    “Harry – can I suggest a couple of changes… for example, why not try the following?”
    Jack closed his eyes and recited the words that he knew so well:
    “To be, or not to be: that is the question:
    Whether ’tis nobler in the mind…”
    Jack completed the famous speech that he had rehearsed so much for the school play. Fanshawe looked at Jack with an expression of complete and utter awe.
    “You have a gift… a gift of genius… a gift from heaven itself. How…?”
    Jack smiled, “Oh I guess I’m a bit like you, Fanshawe, you know, a knack with words.”
    Fanshawe’s eyes were agape. “But this is truly incredible… you have talent my boy… providential talent.”
    Jack blushed. He knew he probably should not have done it. “Really, it’s nothing.”
    But before Jack could say anything, Angus stuck his head through the curtains at the rear of the wagon.
    “You guys going to be long? ’Cos we got a problem. A big problem.” 

Bandit Country
    There was something feral about the three men who stood on the track in front of them. Their faces and clothes – rags more like – were filthy. It was as if they had emerged from the undergrowth of the surrounding forest and were in some way part of it. Two of them brandished large wooden clubs, and the third a long knife. It was this third man who spoke through a toothless mouth.
    “We don’t want much…” he said. “Just everything you’ve got.”
    Trinculo was shaking and the bells on his hat started to tinkle.
    “We have nothing,” Fanshawe announced bravely, puffing out his chest.
    But no sooner had the words come from Fanshawe’s mouth than the ringleader wielded his great wooden club. It cut through the air and caught Fanshawe hard on the side of his thigh. Fanshawe wailed and collapsed to his knees, whimpering.
    “We haven’t time for this… Stave, search the cart… Butcher and me will see what this lot have on them.” He immediately reached down to Fanshawe’s neck and yanked off a thin silver chain and cross that hung there. “That’ll do nicely for a start.”
    Fanshawe sobbed louder.
    Suddenly, Fanshawe’s small wooden chest was thrown from the back of the cart and Stave jumped out after it.
    “I found this.”
    He booted the chest which flew open and Fanshawe’s precious papers scattered across the muddy ground.
    Fanshawe wailed