something about the crescent moon for February and April that he was missing.
Christ, he felt desperate.
“Tell me what you know,” Markham whispered.
But the stars only twinkled back with the eyes of Vlad himself.
There was no mercy them. None at all.
Chapter 13
The General unchained the drifter and let his naked body drop from the ceiling. He had been hanging upside down for almost a day and a half now—more than enough time for his veins to empty into the floor drain in the corner of the workroom.
The General had gutted the drifter and sawed off his head immediately upon his return to the farmhouse—sealed everything up in a garbage bag and buried it behind the old horse barn along with the remains of the first drifter. But the General hadn’t had time to fully prepare the second drifter until now. His day-life at the university and the big push toward the opening of
Macbeth
was taking up a lot of his time. However, all that would change once
Macbeth
opened on Thursday. His role would then be complete and he’d be able to focus on the most important parts of the equation.
Then again,
Macbeth
was part of the equation, too. A template of 9:3 or 3:1, depending on how you looked at it. Just part of the formula encoded in Elizabethan doublespeak and secret messages. Shakespeare understood the equation of 3:1 back then. Three Witches, three prophecies, threespirits—lots of threes to the one general Macbeth. But whereas Shakespeare wrote his equations on paper, the Prince wrote his in the stars
3:1 or 9:3, depending on how you looked at it.
It was right there in the stars.
The workroom had an old slop sink and spigot, to which the General’s grandfather had once upon a time attached a rubber hose. The General turned on the water and hosed off the remaining blood from the drifter’s body. And when he was clean, he dragged him to the center of the room and patted him dry with a towel. Then the General picked up the drifter’s corpse and carried it into the Throne Room.
The doorway was almost complete.
The General dressed the body in a set of white robes much like his own. He’d stolen them from the Harriot costume shop. Indeed, the Harriot theatre department had provided the General with everything he needed to accomplish his work. At first he thought he’d been drawn there because of his mother; thought he was following the path she would’ve taken had she lived. But soon after he landed the work-study job under Jennings, the General understood that he had been directed there by the Prince.
Yes, that was all part of the equation, too.
And when the drifter was ready, the General seated his headless body on the throne. The General had washed the robes and scrubbed down the throne itself with Pine-Sol, but the rotting stench of the first doorway still lingered. No matter. He had grown accustomed to it. After all, in order to be a general, one had to grow accustomed to the smell of death.
The General made the final touches on the drifter’s position—posed his hands and draped his sleeves over the arm-rests—and when he was satisfied, he slid the shelf back into place. The shelf was painted gold, too, and fit seamlessly into a slot in the back of the throne. Attached to the front of the shelf was a wooden panel onto which the General hadcarved a pair of doors. And once in place, the entire unit fit over the drifter’s torso like a pair of golden shoulder pads.
All the body needed now was its head.
That had been one of the messages he discovered in
Macbeth—
perhaps, one could argue,
the most important
of all the messages—but the General only recognized it a few months ago, after he was asked to design the trap for the set. The trap that opened into Hell.
Macbeth
’s message about the head was actually pretty obvious if you knew what to look for. An
armed Head
is how the First Apparition is described—which, of course, was Shakespeare’s depiction of the Prince, the greatest of all
Christ, he felt desperate.
“Tell me what you know,” Markham whispered.
But the stars only twinkled back with the eyes of Vlad himself.
There was no mercy them. None at all.
Chapter 13
The General unchained the drifter and let his naked body drop from the ceiling. He had been hanging upside down for almost a day and a half now—more than enough time for his veins to empty into the floor drain in the corner of the workroom.
The General had gutted the drifter and sawed off his head immediately upon his return to the farmhouse—sealed everything up in a garbage bag and buried it behind the old horse barn along with the remains of the first drifter. But the General hadn’t had time to fully prepare the second drifter until now. His day-life at the university and the big push toward the opening of
Macbeth
was taking up a lot of his time. However, all that would change once
Macbeth
opened on Thursday. His role would then be complete and he’d be able to focus on the most important parts of the equation.
Then again,
Macbeth
was part of the equation, too. A template of 9:3 or 3:1, depending on how you looked at it. Just part of the formula encoded in Elizabethan doublespeak and secret messages. Shakespeare understood the equation of 3:1 back then. Three Witches, three prophecies, threespirits—lots of threes to the one general Macbeth. But whereas Shakespeare wrote his equations on paper, the Prince wrote his in the stars
3:1 or 9:3, depending on how you looked at it.
It was right there in the stars.
The workroom had an old slop sink and spigot, to which the General’s grandfather had once upon a time attached a rubber hose. The General turned on the water and hosed off the remaining blood from the drifter’s body. And when he was clean, he dragged him to the center of the room and patted him dry with a towel. Then the General picked up the drifter’s corpse and carried it into the Throne Room.
The doorway was almost complete.
The General dressed the body in a set of white robes much like his own. He’d stolen them from the Harriot costume shop. Indeed, the Harriot theatre department had provided the General with everything he needed to accomplish his work. At first he thought he’d been drawn there because of his mother; thought he was following the path she would’ve taken had she lived. But soon after he landed the work-study job under Jennings, the General understood that he had been directed there by the Prince.
Yes, that was all part of the equation, too.
And when the drifter was ready, the General seated his headless body on the throne. The General had washed the robes and scrubbed down the throne itself with Pine-Sol, but the rotting stench of the first doorway still lingered. No matter. He had grown accustomed to it. After all, in order to be a general, one had to grow accustomed to the smell of death.
The General made the final touches on the drifter’s position—posed his hands and draped his sleeves over the arm-rests—and when he was satisfied, he slid the shelf back into place. The shelf was painted gold, too, and fit seamlessly into a slot in the back of the throne. Attached to the front of the shelf was a wooden panel onto which the General hadcarved a pair of doors. And once in place, the entire unit fit over the drifter’s torso like a pair of golden shoulder pads.
All the body needed now was its head.
That had been one of the messages he discovered in
Macbeth—
perhaps, one could argue,
the most important
of all the messages—but the General only recognized it a few months ago, after he was asked to design the trap for the set. The trap that opened into Hell.
Macbeth
’s message about the head was actually pretty obvious if you knew what to look for. An
armed Head
is how the First Apparition is described—which, of course, was Shakespeare’s depiction of the Prince, the greatest of all
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