"Where's the Hertz office?"
"Next to Gate 16."
"Thanks!"
The moment he picked up his luggage, Yu Myeong headed for the rental car office.
After a series of procedures, he was handed a set of keys bearing the Peugeot emblem. He tossed his suitcase into the trunk, smiling at the sight of Miho sitting proudly in the passenger seat.
The car wobbled a little as he adjusted to driving on the opposite side of the road, but soon left the airport behind and merged onto the highway stretching northwest.
England, indeed.
People called it not the country where the sun never set, but the country where the sun never rose.
Dark clouds hung endlessly above the long highway.
Raindrops splashed intermittently against the windshield.
Yu Myeong turned on the radio.
Static crackled briefly before Amy Winehouse's husky, jazzy voice filled the car.
"I don't understand you.
But you make me cry.
Won't you at least give me a goodbye kiss?"
Come to think of it, Amy Winehouse wouldn't die of acute alcohol poisoning until 2011.
She was still alive now, still pouring her soul into music somewhere.
{Aren't you tired? Driving the moment you arrive?}
What's there to be tired about? I spent twelve hours being treated like royalty.
{That's true. Why'd you rent a car anyway?}
Stratford upon Avon.
Miho made a strange expression and didn't respond.
Assuming she naturally wouldn't know the place, Yu Myeong elaborated.
It's Shakespeare's hometown. Where he was born, raised, spent his final years, and was buried. One of the places I've always wanted to visit most.
{Why?}
Because it's Shakespeare.
William Shakespeare.
A name that required no further explanation.
The representative playwright of Renaissance England.
The author of thirty-seven plays.
Beyond the commonly cited Four Great Tragedies and Five Great Comedies, he maintained a prolific career throughout his life.
He was already the most celebrated playwright of his age while alive.
After death, he became more than famous.
He became history itself.
There was even a story that Queen Elizabeth once said:
"I could surrender England.
But I could never surrender Shakespeare."
You know Shakespeare's works, of course. But have you ever heard much about his life?
{Tell me.}
For Miho's benefit, Yu Myeong continued.
Shakespeare was born in Stratford upon Avon. When he was fourteen, his family fell on hard times and he had to leave school. At eighteen he married Anne Hathaway, who was eight years older than him. After having three children, he left his hometown at twenty-one. Then he disappeared from the historical record and suddenly reappeared as a famous playwright in London.
{Hmm...}
*There are so few surviving records that Shakespeare's life is practically a mystery. We know where he was born. We know he married. We know he became extraordinarily successful as a writer. And we know he returned to Stratford and died there.
But when it comes to personal details—his personality, friendships, hobbies—there's almost nothing. There's even a saying that every biography of Shakespeare consists of five percent fact and ninety-five percent speculation.*
Miho's fluffy ears twitched.
Some people even argue that Shakespeare was actually a team of multiple authors. Their reasoning is that the immense knowledge of legends and folklore, the philosophical depth, and the sheer variety of styles make it difficult to believe one person wrote everything. Apparently even the writing style differs significantly from work to work.
Miho suddenly started squirming uncomfortably.
But I don't think so.
{Why not?}
*The original texts are written in Early Modern English, and I'm not a linguist, so I can't judge stylistic differences. But the sharp insight running through all the works, the forms and expressions that were centuries ahead of their time, and above all the ability to write plays that are genuinely entertaining...
When I look at those things, I feel a single mind behind them.
Maybe ordinary people simply couldn't comprehend a genius of that magnitude.*
Miho finally snapped.
{S... stop it.}
Hm?
{I'm amazing, sure, but hearing someone praise me to my face like that is embarrassing.}
"...Huh?"
Yu Myeong nearly drifted out of his lane.
Often described as the most beautiful parish church in England.
Green leaves swayed in the damp air beneath the cloudy sky.
Unable to bear the weight of accumulated rainwater, they fell one by one onto ancient gravestones.
Yu Myeong wandered through the beautiful cemetery searching for Shakespeare's grave, only to discover that it wasn't outside at all.
It was inside the church.
Why would they put a grave inside a church?
{Because he was timid. He was worried someone would damage it.}
Yu Myeong laid flowers he had purchased nearby.
Two white lilies.
One from an acting student who admired Shakespeare.
The other from an old friend.
Miho's faint bluish form drifted down onto the grave and gently stroked it as if offering a greeting.
Only then did she seem willing to talk.
{I was young back then too. I think I only had six tails at the time...}
She had once said that a tail appeared roughly every hundred years spent faithfully pursuing her spiritual path.
Six tails meant she had been around six hundred years old.
Was it a contract like mine?
{Nope. You're the first human I've ever seen with life energy as weak as yours. Mine with him... was a different kind of contract.}
What kind?
{Three possessions per work.}
Yu Myeong was stunned.
The claim was difficult to believe.
Then again, considering what had happened to him, he couldn't exactly dismiss it.
{I met him when he was twenty. I was staying in this country back then.}
So you weren't always in Korea?
{Of course not. How long has Korea even had a serious theatrical tradition? During the Renaissance, this part of the world was much more fun.}
Fair point.
{And William was timid even then.}
According to Miho, she witnessed what was almost a suicide attempt.
Or perhaps not even that.
More like a timid struggle.
The River Avon flowed through Stratford.
On its bank stood a young man who had removed his shoes.
He gingerly dipped his toes into the water.
Then immediately jumped backward in shock.
"The... the river's too cold. Maybe I'll come back in spring."
"...Hello?"
"Gah! A... a talking fox!"
Back then, Miho hadn't looked like a baby fox.
She had manifested as a silver fox nearly as tall as a person's waist.
The moment she spoke to him, he fainted on the spot.
{He was really timid. Good thing urban foxes were common in England. Otherwise he might've died of a heart attack.}
That bad?
According to Miho, he deeply disliked his wife.
From morning until night she complained about everything and treated him like a child.
Being married at eighteen to a woman eight years older than him felt overwhelming.
On top of that, he was depressed by the prospect of spending his entire life trapped in a rural village.
That despair had driven him to thoughts of death.
And so Miho offered him a contract.
"I'll give you wealth. Fame. Freedom from this village."
"...What's the price?"
"You just have to lend me your body occasionally."
At that point, Yu Myeong remembered that Shakespeare had actually worked as a supporting actor in the King's Men.
But if you were the one acting, shouldn't Shakespeare have been an incredible actor too?
{I told you. He was timid. Once I started standing out as an actor in the company that performed his plays, he nearly cried. He kept worrying someone would figure it out. So I stayed hidden and only possessed him occasionally for performances in small rural theaters.}
Three possessions per work. Was that really a fair trade?
The rules of the spirit world supposedly required contracts to be equitable.
Could the opportunity to possess someone really balance out becoming the Shakespeare remembered by history?
Miho answered simply.
{It wasn't a bad deal for me either.}
Of all forms of human vitality, she had chosen the spiritual path most strongly connected to performance.
She loved acting.
But she also loved creating entertaining theater.
The wealth and fame generated by the plays belonged to Shakespeare.
Yet the act of writing and sharing stories belonged partly to her as well.
That was why the exchange had been considered equal.
{He was timid, but he was a good friend. He was so afraid someone might ask questions about his plays that he couldn't answer that he rarely left the house. That's probably why so few records remain.}
I see...
As they exited the church, Yu Myeong slipped a fifty-pound note into the donation box.
The priest standing nearby blinked in surprise.
So how long were you together?
{About twenty-five years, by human reckoning.}
Why did you leave?
{We disagreed... over his final work. And his first true work of his own.}
His final work.
The Tempest.
After offering that cryptic explanation, Miho fell silent.
Step.
Step.
Leaving the church behind, they followed the stone wall until they reached the River Avon.
The water flowed with quiet dignity.
Five hundred years ago, it had likely looked exactly the same.
Leaning against the riverside wall, Yu Myeong gazed toward the bank where Miho and Shakespeare had first met.
Hamlet.
Macbeth.
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Romeo and Juliet.
As You Like It.
The Merchant of Venice.
Richard III.
He had traveled here seeking traces of countless masterpieces.
Instead, he discovered something astonishing.
Those traces were resting beside him even now.
A spirit utterly obsessed with acting.
Once again, he was reminded why he had come on this journey.
Just Go in one hand.
Lonely Planet in the other.
{Why two guidebooks?}
For accommodations.
He had deliberately chosen not to make reservations in advance.
There was always a risk of finding everything booked during peak season.
But he wanted the freedom to stay wherever he wished, for however long he wished.
Most nights would probably be spent in hotels.
Still, he wanted to experience hostels as well.
According to Ji Yeon, hostels naturally led to friendships through shared meals and activities.
One thing he intended to avoid, however, was places popular with Korean travelers.
He was always grateful to fans.
Always happy to meet them.
But he couldn't spend his entire vacation holding impromptu fan meetings.
This trip wasn't about actor Yu Myeong.
If I take the places listed in Lonely Planet and remove the ones recommended by Korean guidebooks, that should leave accommodations with fewer Korean visitors, right?
{That's actually clever.}
He called several reasonably priced hotels listed in Lonely Planet, checked availability, and booked one.
Then he marked the address on a map and pulled out a compass.
A compass. Isn't it amazing how much the world can change in just fifteen years?
{Didn't people say Google Maps made overseas travel ridiculously easy?}
...Where'd you hear that?
{A line from a story before you regressed.}
After checking into a small local hotel overlooking the River Avon, the two headed back out.
The town square.
The rain had finally stopped, and people were beginning to fill the area again.
They sat down in a corner and ate a meal that was somewhere between a late lunch and an early dinner.
Fish and chips.
And, naturally, Guinness.
{Waaah! Th-this is good!}
They say Guinness in England tastes ten times better than Guinness in Korea. And Guinness in Ireland tastes ten times better than the English version. Didn't you try it five hundred years ago?
{Back then... I didn't drink beer.}
Had she still been an underage fox spirit?
While Yu Myeong pondered that question, Miho manifested only her snout from inside his summer jacket and continued gulping beer.
Gradually, the sun began to set.
An accordion player started performing on one side of the square.
And over there—
An old magician was entertaining a small crowd.
Yu Myeong walked to a corner of the plaza and sat down.
Then he removed the cap he was wearing and placed it on the ground.
Miho smiled knowingly and landed atop it like a small prisoner perched on a platform.
{So you were planning to do it after all. Street performance. What are you going to perform?}
Yu Myeong tilted his head and looked at her.
You decide.
{Huh? You want a mission?}
No. I want you to go into my body and perform.
Miho froze.
Completely.
In the middle of summer.
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