I sit here in Helsingor to record, not the gilded tale I announced to the Court in the presence of young King Fortinbras, but the true metal of those few and savage days that changed the Danish dynasty. I write of the deadly play of Court actors and the many lies and deceptions, the swirls of confused mist on parapets and Throne Rooms, the blasts of corrupt smoke and the endless mirrors reflecting in the stone cold halls at Helsingor. I record as truly as my sight and memory, those frail reeds will allow, the shadows and broken mirrors of ambition, the false costumes worn by the Court, the hidden daggers, whispered factions, treacherous smiles and intrigues which surrounded Prince Hamlet and his actor’s role in the tragic events. I intend to record, as my own part revealed to me, the semblance of truth in this mist of rumour and gossip concerning the deadly affair. But I employ this probity only as best I can to part the curtain of fog and reveal the dissembling masks, dig into the various antic dispositions, and uncover the true roles behind the staged scripts.