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'Ah!' he said, drawing his sword. 'Bismarck! Your aggressive stance against Denmark is at an end. Prepare ... to die!'
The conflict resolution talk had obviously affected him deeply. Bismarck, unmoved by the sudden threat to his life, drew a pistol.
'So! Battenberg you finish behind my back, yes?'
And they might have killed one another there and then if Mum and I hadn't intervened.
'Hamlet!' I said. 'Killing Bismarck won't get your father back, now, will it?'
'Otto!' said Mum. 'Killing Hamlet won't alter the feelings of the Schleswiggers, now, will it?'
I took Hamlet into the hall and tried to explain why sudden retributive action might not be such a good idea after all.
'I disagree,' he said, swishing his sword through the air. 'The first thing I shall do when I get home is kill that murdering uncle of mine, marry Ophelia and take on Fortmbrass. Better still, I shall invade Norway in a pre-emptive bid, and then Sweden and — what's the one next to that?'
'Finland?'
'That's the one.'
He placed his left hand on his hip and lunged aggressively with his sword at some imaginary foe. Pickwick made the mistake of walking into the corridor at that precise moment and made a startled plooock noise as the point of Hamlet's rapier stopped two inches from her head. She looked unsteady for a moment, then fainted clean away.
'That conflict management specialist really taught me a thing or two, Miss Next. Apparently, my problem was an unresolved or latent conflict — the death of my father — that persists and festers in an individual — me. To face up to problems we must meet those conflicts head on and resolve them to the best of our ability!'
It was worse than I thought.
'So you won't pretend to be mad and talk a lot, then?'
'No need,' replied Hamlet, laughing. 'The time for talking is over. Polomus will be for the high jump, too. As soon as I marry his daughter he'll be fired as adviser and made chief librarian or something. Yes, we're going to have some changes around my play, I can tell you.'
'What about building tolerances between opponents for a longstanding peaceful and ultimately rewarding coexistence between the conflicting parties?'
'I think he was going to cover that in the second session. It doesn't matter. By this time tomorrow Hamlet will be a dynamic tale of one man's revenge and rise to power as the single greatest king Denmark has ever seen. It's the end of Hamlet the ditherer and the beginning of Hamlet the man of action! There's something rotten in the state of Denmark and Hamlet says. . . it's payback time!'
This was bad. I couldn't send him back until Mrs Tiggy-Winkle and Shgakespeafe had sorted his play out, and in this state there was no saying what he was capable of. I had to think fast.
'Good idea, Hamlet. But before that I think you might like to know that Danish people are being insulted and maligned here in England, and that Kierkegaard, Andersen, Branner, Blixen and Farquitt are having their books burned.'
He went quiet and stared at me with dumbstruck horror in his eyes.
'I am doing what I can to stop this,' I went on, 'but—'
'Daphne's books are being burned?'
'You know of her?'
'Of course. I'm a big fan. We have to have something to do during those long winters at Elsinore. Mum's a big fan, too -although my uncle prefers Catherine Cookson. But enough talk,' he carried on, his post-prevarication non-hesitative brain clicking over rapidly, 'what shall we do about it?'
'Everything h
inges on us winning the Superhoop tomorrow, but we need a show of force in case Kaine tries anything. Can you get together as many Danish supporters as you can?'
'Is it very important?'
'It could be vital.'
Hamlet's eyes flashed with steely resolution. He picked his skull off the hall table, placed a hand on my shoulder and struck a dramatic pose.
'By tomorrow morning, my friend, you will have more Danes than you know what to do with. But stay this idle chitter-chatter; I must away!'
