with agony. The guards stepped forward, caught his wrists, and pulled them down to his sides.
I turned away but could hear him calling after me as Marcellus escorted me to the royal couple, who had walked ahead to the reception room.
Claudius was sitting while Gertrude paced. She stopped when I came toward them. “My dear, sweet Ophelia,” she said, her arms outstretched.
I stopped where I was, unwilling to accept her embrace.
Self-consciously she put her arms by her side. Gertrude’s face had been wiped, though traces of the mascara lingered. She tried to force a smile on her face, but it looked more like a grimace. “We’re sending Polonius to the morgue, but it will remain a secret. Only one of our men will work on him.” Before I could ask why, she continued. “This must all remain a secret.”
“I’m sorry, did you say ‘secret’?” I asked.
She nodded, and I asked why.
Smoothing the stray hairs that had escaped her French knot, she explained, “We have had so many tragedies and scandals lately. I simply do not think the public is ready for another.”
“The public or you?” I attacked.
She let out a little outraged harrumph.
“After thirty years of service to you, are you saying that my father will not have a state funeral?” My voice rose dangerously.
“I’m afraid not, dear. At least not right away,” she said, and before I could continue, she clacked toward Claudius. When she was safely at his side, she laced her fingers together and added, “Darling, I am so sorry that your father’s death cannot be made public.”
The word cannot irked me as much as being called “darling.” I asked, “What’s your plan, then? To say my father is on vacation?”
Gertrude shot a shocked look at Claudius, as if I had guessed their carefully conceived plan. She nodded and sat down primly. “Something along those lines.”
Anger flashed through me again. “Are you crazy or just a—”
Marcellus cleared his throat. My head snapped to look at him over my shoulder, but he was staring at the chandelier. I thought he might have shaken his head slightly, but I couldn’t say for sure.
I felt dizzy again but certainly didn’t want to sit next to Gertrude or Claudius. There was a chair a fair distance from Claudius, so I headed for it slowly. I sat on the edge and looked out the window. The city was covered in a layer of smog, which seemed oddly fitting.
“Is someone at least going to get my brother?” I asked, still studying the skyline.
“I don’t think so,” replied Claudius.
I whipped my head around. “What?”
Claudius puffed himself up. “When we said secret, we meant secret.”
“Where are you going to bury my father? Someone will notice, even if it’s just me at the cemetery.”
“We’re not going to bury him,” Claudius explained in a low voice.
I shuddered, unable to imagine what they planned. My mind raced to horrible possibilities, so I was compelled to ask, “What are you going to do?”
Gertrude said to Claudius, “She doesn’t need the details.” Then she turned her strained sympathy my way. “My dear, it will all happen eventually.”
“He has a plot… next to my mother. He’s supposed to be buried there.”
“In due time,” said Claudius.
I wanted to walk over and grab him by his ridiculous, short beard, which I was sure he thought made him look younger, and whack him in the face. “You’re sick. I want Laertes.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Gertrude said.
“Just send a plane for him!”
Claudius stood and folded his arms. “No.”
“Damn it. Why?”
Claudius crossed to the window. “The fewer outside contacts the better. The pilots and stewardesses have confidentiality agreements, but you never know. He does not need to come right away.”
I had two choices: find something to throw at them or go home. My limbs felt too heavy to grab the vase on the table next to me, so I headed for the elevator. “I’m going to call my brother,” I announced.
Marcellus blocked my way. “No, Ophelia,” he said gently.
Claudius shouted, “No outside contact!”
“Not until you have recovered from your shock,” Gertrude added.
I whipped back around. “You can’t keep me here like a prisoner!”
Claudius said, “Actually, we can.”
“Sweetheart…” began Gertrude.
“Don’t you dare call me that!”
She turned away and walked to the window, tapping the pane rapidly with her red nails.
“Phee,” Hamlet called out desperately as the guards crossed him through the reception room toward his bedroom. “You saw Claudius in the garden that day. You know I’m right!”
“Wait!” Gertrude called to the guards, lifting her hand.