Shortland is slumped at his desk. King Dick is sitting painfully in an upright chair, staring off into the distance. Neither has spoken; they have sat in silence for many minutes. Eventually, Shortland moves some papers.
SHORTLAND: Well, then. I hope you don’t mind coming back here, it’s been a … (clears his throat) it’s been a bad time. (The King looks at Shortland but says nothing.) You have probably heard there is to be an inquiry. Rear Admiral Sir Josias Rowley and Captain Schomberg from HMS York are on their way to, er, investigate the matter. I am sure they will wish to speak to you.
KING DICK: Really. And what would be the point of that?
SHORTLAND: The truth, Mr Crafus, the truth. We all need the facts.
KING DICK: You mean your facts. You mean white facts. British facts. And in this tale of woe, they most likely ain’t gonna be the same as black facts, or even American facts.
SHORTLAND (flabbergasted): No, sir, they are the same. Facts are facts. We must agree on this, or all is lost.
KING DICK: All is already lost, Captain Shortland. If you don’t see that, you don’t see nothin’. But tell me your facts, anyways. I’ll see how you do.
SHORTLAND (unnerved): Well, let me see now. (Finds the right papers.) Nine men died as a result of the … melancholy occurrence of April sixth, and thirty-seven were injured. I have the names here, if you wish—
KING DICK (waving his hand): I know these names. And the men you buried secretly to keep them figures low?
SHORTLAND: That didn’t happen.
KING DICK: Sixty-three dead, Captain Shortland.
SHORTLAND: That isn’t true.
KING DICK: And the wounded men who hid in their own prisons, too scared to come out? How many o’ them never made it out again?
SHORTLAND: I don’t know the answer to that, I’m afraid. That is why there will be an inquiry. They will look at the facts, then deliver their verdict.
KING DICK: Justifiable homicide.
SHORTLAND: I’m sorry?
KING DICK: S’already the verdict. Your coroner and his jury of farmers have said so. ‘Justifiable homicide,’ they said.
SHORTLAND (shaking his head): No, that was the inquest. So that the burials could take place.
KING DICK (his eyes closed, his voice quieter): The burials. The burials of our friends, our shipmates, our comrades. The burials you conducted without us.
SHORTLAND: It is the way of things. It is the custom.
KING DICK (eyes open, angry): Yes, it is. It is ‘the way of things’ that killed my people! It is ‘the way of things’ that put us in Four in the first place! It is ‘the way of things’ that makes you think you can keep prisoners-of-war, when there is no war.
SHORTLAND: As you know, your government’s ships will be here in the next few days …
KING DICK: And when I get home, it will be ‘the way of things’ that keeps people like me separate. The way you liked it here. The way they like it there. We might be free, we might be enslaved, but we’ll still be separate. It seems neater that way.
There is another silence between them, Shortland lost in thought, the King waiting for him.
SHORTLAND: Your Romeo and Juliet was first class, I thought. (He waits for a reaction but, when there is none, continues.) I have had cause to think deeply on it these last days. We never saw the last few scenes, of course. So I have read the last pages myself. I found it … uncomfortable reading, Mr Crafus, I don’t mind telling you.
KING DICK: Because?
SHORTLAND: You know full well. The family heads, Montague and Capulet, they mourn their loss. They realize what they had amongst them but, by then, it is too late. Proud men, both of them, but blind. And it is their neglect that allows the tragedy to unfold as it does.
KING DICK: That is one reading of it …
SHORTLAND: That is my reading of it. (Another pause.)
KING DICK: Has Mrs Shortland returned?
SHORTLAND (sadly): I’ll not speak of it.
KING DICK (nods): And the search for Mr Snow and Mr Hill?
SHORTLAND: I called it off. God knows where they got to and, frankly, they are someone else’s problem now. I have enough of my own. (He gathers his papers.) Where will you go, Mr Crafus? When you’re back in America, what will you do?
KING DICK (standing slowly from the chair): Are you a Christian man, Captain Shortland?
SHORTLAND (taken aback): I used to think so. Church of England, but … Why …
KING DICK: Do you believe in heaven?
SHORTLAND: Now I think of it, between us, no, I don’t think I do.
KING DICK: We built your village church to a god you don’t believe in?
SHORTLAND (shrugs): It would appear so.
KING DICK: So you don’t think I’ll see Mr Jackson and Mr Haywood again?
SHORTLAND (reluctantly): No, I don’t think you will. I’m sorry …
KING DICK: I jus’ been singin’. We had our own service, seein’ as you didn’t let us bury our own. So we sang. It was a comfort.
SHORTLAND: I’m sure it was.
KING DICK (eyes shut, sings softly):
Farewell, dear friends, again farewell;
Soon we shall rise to thee,
On wings of love our stars will cross,
Through all eternity.
The King nods at Shortland, then walks from the room.