Christopher Moore - Fool

“He is a philosopher,” said Lear. “I will talk with him.”

“Poor Tom O’Bedlam, is he,” said Tom. “Eater of tadpoles, cursed and damned by demons.”

Kent looked to me and I shrugged. “Both mad as cat herds,” said I. I looked around for the old woman as a witness, but she was gone.

“Well, snap to, majesty, I bring news from France,” said Kent.

“Hollandaise sauce, excellent on eggs?” I inquired.

“No,” said Kent. “More urgent.”

“Wine and cheese complement one another nicely?” I further queried.

“No, you rasp-tongued rascal, France has landed an army at Dover, and there’s rumor they’ve forces hidden in other cities around the British coast, ready to strike.”

“Oh, well, that does trump the wine and cheese news, then, doesn’t it?”

Gloucester was trying to pry Tom off King Lear, but having a hard time doing so while keeping mud off his cloak. “I’ve sent word to the French camp at Dover that Lear is here,” said Gloucester. “I’ve made the case to the king’s daughters to let me bring him in from the storm, but they will not relent. Even in my own home my power has been usurped by the Duke of Cornwall. Regan and Cornwall have taken command of Lear’s knights, and with them, my castle.”

“We come to bring you to a hovel at the city wall,” said Kent. “When the storm breaks, Gloucester will send a cart to take Lear to the French camp at Dover.”

“No,” said Lear. “Let me talk to my philosopher friend in private.” He pawed at mad Tom. “He knows much of how life should be lived. Tell me, friend, why is there thunder?”

Kent turned to Gloucester and shrugged. “He’s not in his right mind.”

“Who can blame him?” said Gloucester. “After what his daughters have done—his very flesh rising up against him. I had a beloved son who conspired to murder me, and just the thought of that nearly drove me mad.”

“Do you nobles have any reaction to hardship besides going bloody barking and running off to eat dirt?” said I. “Hitch up your bollocks and get on with it, would you? Caius, what of Drool?”

“I left him hidden in the laundry, but Edmund will find him when his mind turns full to the task. Right now he is distracted by trying to avoid the sisters and conspiring with Cornwall.”

“My son, Edmund, he is still true,” said Gloucester.

“Yes, right, milord,” said I. “And mind you don’t trip on the honeysuckle sprouting from his bum when you next see him. Do you have means to get me into the castle without Edmund knowing I’m there?”

“I suppose. But I take no commands from you, fool. You are but a slave, and an impudent one at that.”

“You’re still angry over my jesting about your dead wife, aren’t you?”

“Do the fool’s will!” boomed Lear. “His word is as mine.”

A slight breeze then would have knocked me off my feet, so shocked was I. Oh, there was still madness glowing in the old man’s eyes, but so was the fire of his authority. A feeble, babbling wretch one moment, the next a dragon deep inside the old man barked fire.

“Yes, your majesty,” said Gloucester.

“He’s a good lad,” said Kent, by way of easing the bite of Lear’s command.

“Nuncle, bring your naked madman and let us go with Gloucester, to this hovel by the city wall. I’ll retrieve my nitwit apprentice from the castle and off we’ll be to meet up with the bloody frog King Jeff at Dover.”

Kent rubbed my shoulder. “A sword in support then?”

“No, thank you,” said I. “You stay with the old man, get him to Dover.” I pulled Kent over by the fire and bade him bend down so I could whisper in his ear. “Did you know that Lear murdered his brother?”

The old knight’s eyes went wide, then narrowed as if he were in pain. “He gave the order.”

“Oh, Kent. Thou loyal old fool.”

We entered Castle Gloucester in stealth, which does not suit me, as you might guess. I am better suited to entering a room with a series of somersaults, a clack-stick, rude noise, and a “top o’ the mornin’ to ye, tossers!” I’m fitted out in bells and puppets, for fuck’s sake. All this sneaking and subterfuge was wearing on me. I followed the Earl of Gloucester through a secret hatch in the stable and into a tunnel that passed under the moat. We waded through a foot of cold water in the dark, making for a slosh in my step as well as a jingle. I’d never fit Drool through the narrow passage, even if I could chase the dark with a torch. The tunnel opened through another hatch in the floor of the dungeon. The earl took his leave in the very torture chamber where I had met Regan.

“I’m off to arrange the passage for your master to Dover, fool. I still have a few servants who are true to me.”

I felt indebted to the old man for helping me into the castle, especially given his former bitterness toward me. “Steer clear of the bastard, your grace. I know he is your favored son, but not rightly so. He’s a villain.”

“Don’t disparage Edmund, fool. I know your conniving ways. Only last evening he stood with me in protest against Cornwall’s treatment of the king.”

I could tell Gloucester about the letter I’d forged in Edgar’s hand, about the bastard’s plan to usurp his brother, but what could he do? Likely he’d storm into Edmund’s quarters and the bastard would murder him on the spot.

“Right, then,” said I. “Be careful, my lord. Cornwall and Regan are a four-fanged viper, and if they should turn their venom on Edmund, you must let him go. Do not come to his aid, lest you, too, are scratched with poisonous pricks.”

“My last true son. Shame on you, fool,” said the earl. He scoffed and hurried out of the dungeon and up the stairs.

I thought to prevail upon one god or another to protect the old man, but if the gods were working in my favor, they would continue unbidden, and if they opposed, there was no need to alert them to my cause. It pained me, but I took off my shoes and hat and tucked them into my jerkin to still the bells. Jones had remained back at the hovel with Lear.

The laundry lay in the lower levels of the castle, so I made my way there first. The laundress with the aforementioned knockers of the smashing persuasion was hanging a basketload of shirts by the fire when I entered.

“Where’s Drool, love?” I asked.

“Hidden,” she said.

“I know he’s bloody hidden, otherwise asking would have been superfluous, wouldn’t it?”

“Just want me to give him up, then? How do I know you’re not out to kill him? That old knight who brought him here said not to let anyone know where he was.”

“But I’m here to get him out of the castle. Rescue him, as it were.”

“Aye, you say that, but—”

“Listen, you bloody tart, give up the git!”

“Emma,” said the laundress.

I sat down on the hearth and rested my head in my hands. “Love, I’ve spent the night in a storm with a witch and two raving nutters. I’ve a brace of wars to see to, as well as the summary violation of two princesses and consequent cuckolding of a pair of dukes. I’m heartbroken, aggrieved for the loss of a friend, and the great drooling lummox that is my apprentice is evidently wandering the castle in search of a mortal chest wound. Pity a fool, love—another non sequitur may dash my brittle sanity to splinters.”

“My name is Emma,” said the laundress.

“I’m right here, Pocket,” said Drool, standing up in the great cauldron. A pile of laundry on his head had been concealing his great empty melon as he lurked in the water. “Knockers hided me. She’s a love.”

“You see,” said Emma. “He keeps calling me Knockers.”