“Yes. Out here you need money to live.”

“I’ve got lots,” said Hamlet generously. “You should have some of mine.”

“Somehow I don’t think fictional kroner from an unspecified century will cut the mustard down at the First Goliath—and put the skull away. They aren’t generally considered a fashion accessory here in the Outland.”

“They’re all the rage where I come from.”

“Well, not here. Put it in this grocery bag.”

“Stop!”

I screeched to a halt. “What?”

“That, over there. It’s me!”

Before I could say anything, Hamlet had jumped out of the car and run across the road to a coin-operated machine on the corner of the street. I parked the Speedster and walked over to join him. He was staring with delight at the simple box, the top half of which was glazed; inside was a suitably attired mannequin visible from the waist up.

“It’s called a WillSpeak machine,” I said, passing him a shopping bag. “Here—put the skull in the bag like I asked.”

“What does it do?”

“Officially it’s called a ‘Shakespeare Soliloquy Vending Automaton, ’ ” I explained. “You put in two shillings and get a short snippet from Shakespeare.”

“Of me?”

“Yes,” I said, “of you.”

For it was, of course, a Hamlet WillSpeak machine, and the mannequin Hamlet sat looking blankly out at the flesh-and-blood Hamlet standing next to me.

“Can we hear a bit?” asked Hamlet excitedly.

“If you want. Here.”

I dug out a coin and placed it in the machine. There was a whirring and clicking as the dummy came to life.

“To be, or not to be,” began the mannequin in a hollow, metallic voice. The machine had been built in the thirties and was now pretty much worn out. “That is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind—”

Hamlet was fascinated, like a child listening to a tape recording of his own voice for the first time. “Is that really me?” he asked.

“The words are yours—but actors do it a lot better.”

“—Or to take arms against a sea of troubles—”

“Actors?”

“Yes. Actors, playing Hamlet.”

He looked confused.

“—That flesh is heir to—”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well,” I began, looking around to check that no one was listening, “you know that you are Hamlet, from Shakespeare’s Hamlet?”

“Yes?”

For it was, of course, a Hamlet WillSpeak machine, and the mannequin Hamlet sat looking blankly out at the flesh-and-blood Hamlet standing next to me.

“—To die, to sleep, to sleep—perchance to dream—”

“Well, that’s a play, and out here in the Outland, people act out that play.”

“With me?”

“Of you. Pretending to be you.”

“But I’m the real me?”

“—Who would fardels bear—”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Ahhh, “ he said after a few moments of deep thought, “I see. Like the whole Murder of Gonzago thing. I wondered how it all worked. Can we go and see me sometime?”

“I . . . suppose,” I answered uneasily. “Do you really want to?”