the flowerseller dreamed he was back at school with the mountebank, and they had resolved to murder the headmaster, mr shakespeare.
the mountebank and the flowerseller were best friends and they had had their hearts set on playing the lead roles in the school play of romeo and juliet.
even though it was a stupid play written by mister shakespeare himself, and not nearly as good as the play the mountebank had written, entitled lancelot and guinevere.
the mountebank was going to be the greatest poet and playwright the world had ever known, and the flowerseller was going to be the greatest actor and actress.
but now this fool, this mediocrity of a country schoolmaster, was bent on shattering their dreams before they could even begin to blossom!
not only was he insisting on putting on his own wretched play instead of the mountebank’s masterpiece, but he had given the lead roles to the two coolest kids in school, the scarlet pimpernel and christopher “kit” marlowe. two talentless pretty boys!
the mountebank and the flowerseller resolved to murder mr shakespeare even if it meant their own ruination.
before they even began to devise a plan for the murder, they wrote and memorized speeches to make on the gallows.
the mountebank’s speech was in sonorous prose, the flowerseller’s in sprightly couplets.
when they finished reading them to each other they realized they were hungry, and decided to visit mrs white, the cook, in the kitchen.
mrs white usually lent them a friendly ear, and let them sample her famous chocolate biscuits fresh out of the oven. and if she was not baking biscuits, she let them scrounge a ham or a beefsteak.
the mountebank and the flowerseller began to descend the long, winding, narrow stairs down to the kitchen.
the staircase was also the north sea, and they met many intrepid adventurers, pirates, whales, and walruses on their way, all of whom wanted to stop for a bit of gossip about school politics - in which mr shakespeare never appeared to good advantage - and about the coming racing season at ascot.
then they were imprisoned in a castle with voltaire and schopenhauer and mr gladstone and woody wilson the hobo king.
who gave them conflicting advice about how to escape and what to do when they did. all four of the prisoners were old bores who told the same stupid stories over snd over.
there seemed to be no escape. the door to the dungeon opened and the empress eugenie appeared holding a baby tiger in her arms and holding a lantern high.
how did she open the door? the flowerseller wondered. and hold the lantern with one hand and the tiger with two?
suddenly they found themselves in the kitchen with mrs white. but she was palavering with her crony, the school usher ben jonson, and did not notice them.
ben jonson was a bit of a bully and the mountebank and the flowerseller avoided him when they could.
he and mrs white were arguing again about their favorite topic - riemann’s hypothesis. ben jonson consistently claimed to be on the verge of proving it, but without providing any details, and mrs white just as consistently mocked his claims…
there was a plate of freshly baked cream tarts teetering on the edge of the big kitchen table…
the mountebank disappeared.
the flowerseller crept up to the table on all four fours and reached for the cream tarts. though he would have been satisfied with a chocolate biscuit.
suddenly riemann himself appeared.
he cried out - 1 plus 1/2 plus 1/22 plus 1/222 plus 1/2222 …!
the castle and the school and the inn on the road to the wicked city began to fill rapidly with water…
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