Calponia stared at the dead man. He stared back. The two held one another's gaze until the dead man blinked and Calponia spun for the waste bucket, dry heaving while Cesario awkwardly patted her back.

After contending with Sanguinheim's laboratory of horrors and the flesh puppet zealots, she thought she could handle Mack's voo-doo-hooey on the unfortunate sod sprawled on the floor. She did handle it, right up until the man rose off the floor like a B-horror movie monster, a grisly smile gaping across his neck that closed with an audibly wet plop as his head jerked up. Making direct contact with his empty eyes with the tipping point.

"Cal, would you mind stepping into the other room," said Mack. "You're making him nervous."

She lifted her face out of the trash can long enough to stare at him. Mack shrugged. "The dead sense curses, and yours tends to shout across the planes of existence."

That was a piece of information to explore later. Calponia took a few wobbly steps towards the small semi-separated room near the door, grateful for Cesario's arm around her waist.

"I'll keep you company," said Cesario.

"Don't they need you to find out what happened?"

Cesario eased them both on the sette. "I know my contact was murdered. That puts us in a delicate position here. Uh, Cal, you have a bit of vomit in your beard." She produced a neatly folded handkerchief from her pocket. "Careful you don't jostle it too much. Your disguise is already looking...precarious."

Calponia winced, dabbing at the offending facial hair as carefully as she could manage. The patch of hair fell into her lap like a dead wet mouse.

"Saints above," Cesario sighed, "let me." She pulled a jar of the adhesive paste she'd used on Calponia earlier, obviously expecting something like this to happen. "This stuff is supposed to be waterproof. It normally lasts for hours without re-application."

"Hello, my name is Calponia and I am the exception to the rule," said Cal, fighting not to wince as Cesario slathered more of the glue on her face. It itched like crazy.

"Looks like your skin is having a reaction as well," said Cesario, clearly apologetic.

"Is it really?" Calponia shoved her hands under her thighs to keep from scratching. She glimpsed Mack through the door, tapping two fingers against the corpse's forehead. The dead man squawked and coughed, his gravelly voice rumbling through the room. She felt her gorge rise, and turned her head before her stomach caught up to the sight of the dead man speaking through that gaping throat wound. She breathed hard through her nose.

"I admit, I expected something more elaborate than poking the body to bring it to life," said Cesario, appearing unaffected by the situation. "Whenever Prospero performs great magics, there are spoken words, arm waving, and all manner of ceremony."

Truthfully, Calponia expected something more 'ceremonial' as well instead of Mack leaning over the body and prodding it in the chest while saying 'Oi, wake up.' Even Lady Agatha raised a brow from her spot by the window. And boy, did that corpse wake right up.

Calponia took a breath. "Prospero, that's an unusual name. Only heard it used in Shakespeare--"

Cesario stiffened, lips forming a tight white line. "That bloody charlatan."

Cal blinked, the pieces abruptly clicking into place. "Holy shit, no way."

Cesario glanced at her, incredulous and angry. "Is the flaming cesspit still alive?" The venom in the woman's voice shocked her more than the question. It took Cal a moment to process what she asked.

"Alive? Shakespeare's been dead for hundreds of years. But he was here? He visited Arden?"

"Hundreds of years," Cesario murmured, leaning back on the sette. Her expression was unreadable, a chaotic tumble of emotions punctuated by her fingers tapping against her thigh. "Hundreds of years but you've still heard of him?"

"Um, yeah, everyone's heard of Shakespeare. I had to read a bunch of his plays in school," said Calponia, watching Cesario's eye twitch. "Something the matter?" She asked with caution.

"Dead, he's dead," said Cesario, her knuckles flared white as her fingers curled into a fist.

"I'm....sorry?" Calponia flinched when the other woman looked at her.

"I wanted to kill him," said Cesario, her voice deceptively calm for such a statement.

"You wanted to kill Shakespeare? Why?" Honestly, Calponia couldn't think of a better response to such a declaration. It wasn't every day she met someone with a personal vendetta to the 'greatest bard that ever lived' as one high school English teacher called him.

Cesario released a shaky breath, relaxing her hands flat on her knees. "He's a liar," she said, clearly struggling with something. "A deceiver."

"What did he lie about?" Calponia knew history had a tendency to fudge a few facts, specially with someone as iconic as Shakespeare. Toss in a separate dimension like Arden, who knew what the heck was truth from fiction. She'd heard all manner of rumors and hearsay about the man and his works, but Cesario's anger seemed personal, very personal.

"Everything," she said.

Calponia leaned forward, unable to disguise the wonder from her voice. "You knew him?" Cesario appeared to maybe be in her mid thirties, though the facial hair did make it hard to gauge her age. She was also clearly displeased by Calponia's question, which indicated she really did know Shakespeare well enough to hate him for some great offense. Just how compressed was the passage of time on Arden? And what the hell did Shakespeare do here? Mack leaned around the corner.

"I need you two out here." he said, eyeing Calponia with concern. "If you can stomach it."

She swallowed hard. "I will if it's important."

"That's my apprentice," said Mack ducking back out of sight.

Calponia let the fuming Cesario go ahead of her, which gave her a moment to compose herself before re-entering the room. Mack stood, legs braced, arms folded with his back to the door. Lady Agatha still kept vigil by the window, though her attention was clearly split on the animate corpse in the middle of the room. 

If Calponia thought preparing herself would help settle her nerves for the sight of that lifeless body bobbing and weaving in place, she was wrong, oh so wrong. She paused, scrunching her face as she ordered her stomach to knock it off. The corpse noticed her, releasing a tremendous sigh that made the skin of his neck wound flap together. The sound and gesture had a morbidly comic effect that chased away her nausea with an abrupt laugh.

Calponia clapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry, that was terribly inappropriate."

"So is a woman with a beard," snarled the corpse, pointedly glaring at her.

Oh, right, she was the obvious drag show here. Calponia fought the urge to run her hands over her reglued facial hair, certain a stiff breeze would knock it off.

"Be nice, she's had a rough day," said Mack.

The corpse sniffed, which had the unfortunate effect of producing another unflattering wet noise from his throat wound. "She's having a bad day? Which one of us still has a pulse?"

"She does carry the béte noir," piped up Lady Agatha.

The corpse paused, tilting his head that made the wound an oozing leer. "Alright, you win."

Calponia threw up her hands. "How does everyone but me know what the béte noir is?"

"The Earth realm is terribly sheltered, Cal," said Mack, "Now, according to our unfortunate acquaintance Rosencrantz here, this tavern has been compromised. He claims someone was waiting for him when he got here. Someone who slit his throat without saying a word." Mack nodded. "Must have known something important, Rosy."

Calponia perked up at the name. She definitely remembered Rosencrantz, a minor character from Hamlet, though she was sure that character died off screen. Wasn't there a whole movie about it? Where did Cesario fit in? She looked sidelong at the silent woman, running through the Shakespeare character gallery she could recall. It'd been years since she read most of them, though, for a few, she'd admittedly read the cliff-notes. It didn't help that a great deal of Shakespearean heroines ended up dead, unless it was a comedy. There was one play that heavily featured cross-dressing.

"What did you know that was worth your life?" Mack's question derailed her off kilter train of thought. Calponia shuffled her feet, feeling ridiculous for her mind drifting at a time like this.

The corpse shifted, his expression distressed as his hands traced around the wound that took his life. "Nothing. Everything. I know many names worth dying for," he said, his empty eyes straying to the silent Cesario. "Names worth killing for."

Mack tugged on his beard. "But not to the Inquisitors. Not to the person behind them. It was something else. Something you saw or overheard. Something your murderer knew that you knew."

"I already told you, nothing unusual," the corpse snapped.

"Why are you lying, Rosencrantz?" Cesario spoke softly, but the man flinched as if she shouted. He lifted his hands in a pleading gesture. It was how Calponia saw the other wound.

"What is that?" She took a step forward and found herself barred by Mack's arm.

"Stay back," he said. He sounded calm enough, but Lady Agatha's hand went to the hidden hilt of her sword. Mack took a step forward and grabbed the corpse's hand. He turned the palm up, revealing the symbols carved into his flesh. Calponia knew they were in trouble when Mack's jaw clenched.

"I'm sorry," said Rosencrantz.

"You couldn't help it," said Mack. "Lady Agatha, please escort Cal and Cesario from this establishment."

"What's happening?" Cal felt a jolt of panic at  the strong implication Mack wouldn't be coming with them.

"Prospero's children," said the corpse, "They're in the catacombs."

Mack shook his head. "What did you really know, Rosy?" He jerked his head at the lady knight. "Get them out of here, now!"

Lady Agatha shook her head. "There is nowhere to run, Mack." She drew her sword and backed away from the window.

Rosencrantz's grip shifted to grab Mack, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. Whatever the corpse said made his shoulders tense.

"I thought as much," said Mack.

The corpse collapsed in on itself, liquefying in seconds to splatter across the floorboards. A few drops of the doubly departed Rosencrantz seeped into Calponia's authentic period shoes. She gaped at the puddle, horrified.

"Was he supposed to do that?"

"No," said Mack, pivoting to snag her around the waist as masked zealots burst into the room through the door and window. The room flooded with a fresh wave, surrounding them. Mack, Lady Agatha, and Cesario backed into each other, forming a tight circle with Calponia at its center.

"I can fight," Calponia whispered.

"Between the béte noir and these close quarters, you would end up getting yourself or one of us killed," said Mack. "Most likely all of us."

"Fair point," she frowned at the masked zealots crowded around them. "Why aren't they attacking?"

"They're waiting for their handler," said Lady Agatha, her sword up and ready.

On cue, he appeared, the very same Inquisitor Calponia knocked on his ass in the street. He sauntered into the room, cool and calm until he caught sight of her behind the others.

"You," he sneered. He drew back with a sniff, tugging on his robes as he composed himself. Pale eyes shifted to Mack. "Come quietly, Keeper of the Ways and we shall let your companions live."

"No, you won't," said Mack with a harsh bark of laughter. "Now, where is your puppet master?"

The Inquisitor didn't rise to the bait as he circled them, observing each other them in turn. Sizing them up. Calponia sank down, shifting her stance as his eyes lingered on her. His gaze felt like hundreds of tiny insects crawling along her skin.

"Seize the Keeper and the youth, kill the rest."

Calponia barely registered his words when the zealots rushed them. Three of them tackled Mack while more swung at Cesario and Lady Agatha with wickedly curved knives. The two held their own, with the knight's sword and Cesario wielding any loose piece of furniture she could swing. Their defense wouldn't hold out for long. They were horribly outnumbered, the zealots would overwhelm them at any moment. She had to do something.

"Cal, look out!"

Arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her as the sickly scent of rot flooded her nose.

"No! Off!" Cal writhed, fighting against the hold with everything she had. Bodies flew through the air as Mack rose to his feet, displaying a surprising amount of strength as he snagged a zealot and swung it like a sack into the group surrounding the two women. Cal kicked against the floor and felt her feet slip in the Rosencrantz puddle. Her stomach lurched as the momentum threw both her and the zealot holding her off balance. They teetered, tipping back, tipping further back. Cool air hit her face as she realized they were tipping right out the open window.

"Crap," Calponia grumbled. Gravity dragged them over the low window ledge. She braced herself for the impact, curling her body inward as the zealot hit first. His body smashed against the cobblestones, creating a fleshy cushion for her to land. It still hurt like the dickens, vibrating up through her frame hard enough to make her back teeth rattle. She rolled off the now squished zealot, groaning in pain while trying not to think about the wetness seeping through her clothing, all over her backside. After this was over and they got back to the Edgewise, she was going to soak in the tub for a week.

Stifling a few more groans, she crawled to her feet, the fighting still audible from above her. She hobbled toward the front of the building and drew up short at the pikes leveled at her face.

"Halt!"

Calponia stared down the glinting blade and shaft to the burly man who held it; a city guard, she guessed, by his muck streaked uniform.

"What do we have here?" Another guard stepped forward, part of a larger group milling on the street outside the tavern. Streets that were now littered with zealot bodies. The guard had been busy.

"Bad night to be walking the streets, lad," said the new guard, frowning at her. "Looks like you had a rough go."

She could only imagine what she looked like after falling out the window and flattening a body beneath her. She held up her hands, keenly aware she had no weapon and no back up. "Please, sir, my friends, we were ambushed--"

"Ambushed? Where?"

She turned, pointing up to the window she'd 'exited'. "Up there." She couldn't hear the fighting anymore. Were they still going? Or did the zealots over take them? "They need help, please--"

"Wait, if you got ambushed in the tavern, why are you out here?"

"I fell out the window--"

"You fell out the window?" The guards exchanged a wide eyed look. Calponia sighed through her nose, feeling her mustache flutter against her mouth.

"They need help. They are under attack--" This time she stopped as an expression of horror and disgust crossed both their faces. Something tickled at the collar of her shirt. She absently brushed it, worried as the lead guard's face darkened into an ugly anger. Her fingers caught on something hairy and sticky. Calponia chanced a look down, to find her fake mustache clinging to her fingers.

"Oh."

The lead guard grabbed her, his hands rough as he twisted her arms behind her back. "You're under arrest, you filthy little tramp."