Wil Ogden - The Nightstone

“No,” Pantros smiled. “They can't even afford real clothes.” The two men dressed in a gaudy patchwork and had masks hanging around their necks.

“Me and Yarel are clowns,” The man said, suddenly. His voice trembled with anger or fear; Pantros couldn’t decide which. “We were on our way to a job. People pay us to act stupid and silly; dressing silly helps. I guess we won't be making that poor girl's birthday party tonight. I think you killed Yarel.” He reached towards his friend but seemed reluctant to actually touch him.

Yarel had a four-pointed hat with bells on each point. The bells were not jingling, though the fat clown was clearly breathing.

“Nah,” Bryan chuckled. “I didn't even break his nose. He will have a headache when he wakes up, but will be fine after a day or two.”

“Could you take a message to the manor district for me?” The skinny man asked. “Could you tell Lord Dane that we got waylaid and won't be able to make his daughter's party?”

“Sure, we could,” Pantros said. “It's the least…”

Bryan put his hand on Pantros’ chest, interrupting him. “I have a better idea.”

“No, Bryan,” Pantros said. “We already decided that we are not going to rob the poor clowns.”

“No, but we could be clowns.” Bryan suggested.

“Okay, you might be funny looking,” Pantros mused, “But that’s where your capability for entertaining humor ends. Not everyone thinks it’s funny to throw scuppers through walls.”

“Everyone at Therl’s laughed.” Bryan said.

“Everyone at Therl’s had just spent half the year at sea.” Pantros said. “They’d laugh at a horse sneezing.”

“Are we going to do this clown thing or not?”

“We’re going to deliver their regrets.” Pantros declared firmly. “That’s all we are going to do.”

“Pan,” Bryan leaned in close to whisper, “We have a pass into a noble’s party. Think about it.”

Pantros thought about it, cocking his head. He couldn’t believe Bryan had arrived at the idea first. “Bryan, remember what I said about you thinking?”

“It’s bad?” Bryan said.

“Yeah, remember that,” Pantros said. “But, if you accidentally stumble upon a great idea once in a while, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Does this mean I’m back on full shares?” Bryan asked.

“For now,” said Pantros.

“Because I thought up a great idea?” Bryan asked.

“No, because I haven’t given you any money, yet,” Pantros said plainly.

The two men walked along the streets in the red mist. The larger of the two wore a belled four-pointed hat and a purple, orange and pale green tunic that didn't quite look long enough.

The smaller man wore a red and white-checkered tabard and a long pointed hat that nearly hung to the ground behind him. A plume of pink and purple tassels erupted from the point of the hat. “I’ve reconsidered; this is the dumbest idea you have ever had,” muttered Pantros, his voice seething.

“Did you really want to tell some poor little girl that her clowns wouldn't be there for her birthday?” Bryan asked.

“No,” Pantros shrugged. “I always thought of you as the one who didn't care about other people feelings. I figured you would tell her. I’ve got to say, I liked you better when you didn't show your caring side.” Tugging the point of his hat over his shoulder, he wiggled the bell before his eyes. “At least this isn’t the dumbest thing we’ve done this year.” Pantros tried to sound sarcastic.

“Pummeling sailors is one thing,” Bryan said seriously. “Breaking children's hearts is just mean.”

“Ah,” Pantros rolled his eyes, but he nodded in agreement. “You sure you don’t want to just go get the gold and buy that sword?”

“Nah, the sword will still be there tomorrow,” Bryan spoke through one of those smiles that made Pantros believe they would somehow find more trouble than they could handle. “Besides, from the look of that crowd, I may not need to break your stash after my half cut tonight.”

“Let’s hope,” Pantros threatened lightly. “If it’s not then this silly stuff won’t have been worth it.”

Most days, the wind blew from the west across Ignea, keeping the fumes from the volcano away from the city. Every few years a freak weather pattern will bring the ash of the volcano down on the city. Anywhere in the city, there would be a buildup of ash along the corners and crevices; anywhere in the city but the neighborhood they stood in. Polished white marble streets wound between the large manses of Ignea's nobles. Supposedly, there were a hundred houses that jointly made up the city's ruling council but Pantros had never heard of them meeting. He occasionally heard of fighting between the guards of one house and a rival or the sailors who worked for a house start a nasty bar brawl with sailors from another house. A given block in this neighborhood would hold from one to four manses with walled grounds and guards patrolling the perimeters. The nobles, with their money and influence, lived in a different world than the dockside Pantros usually knew.

“I think this is it,” Bryan pointed to a brightly lit manse with gentle harp music drifting from the courtyard. A line of richly dressed nobles were queued by guards at the gate who checked the invitations. The guards wore puff-and-slash doublets in black and red. The guests wore gowns and doublets of their own houses colors. Each guest also wore a mask or carried a small mask on a stick. The masks were as ornate and colorful as the garb.

“Fine,” Pantros gave up protesting. “So, we are going to go in, and dance around and stick our tongues out?”

“I hadn't thought that far ahead,” Bryan admitted. “I guess people won’t laugh long at the outfits alone. Hey, don't blame me; you’re the brains. I just punch people.”

“Yeah, right,” Pantros sighed. Covering his face with both hands he let out a long slow breath. “This is what we are going to do: A mock sword fight. I'm sure we can make it silly.”

“Can't you just juggle and flop around?” Bryan asked. “Neither of us has a sword.”

“But we know how to use them,” Pantros mentioned. “We practice a few times a week with those old spits out behind the inn. Dale told me we are pretty amazing to watch. Making it a little silly shouldn't be hard. I can jump over some of your swings and bounce around you and make you look like an oafish ogre.”

“So I get to be the butt of the jokes?” Bryan looked at Pantros skeptically.

“This was your idea,” Pantros said. “And I never learned to juggle.”

“I bet they would like to watch us throw daggers back and forth,” Bryan suggested. It was something they did when they helped out with the dishes at the inn: throw breakables to each other, daring them to miss. It had evolved to sharp objects in the previous two years.

“We can do that,” Pantros agreed. “Okay, here's the show plan. We start by tossing stuff to each other through the crowd. Involve the audience, Sheillene, one of the regular bards at the inn, taught me that. We can even play keep away with some of their accessories, like ornamental walking sticks and large jewelry, but we have to give it all back. Then we can move on to food and finish with knives and then when we get to swords we can move into the mock fight. For that we should probably clear a space.”

“Yeah, got it,” Bryan said. “This might be fun.”

“I doubt it,” Pantros shook his head as he walked up to the guards.

The Guards sent them to a small area behind the manse where they waited with the other entertainers for the night. Six acrobats were practicing a standing human pyramid while an animal trainer was brushing the mane of heavily chained lion.