Christopher Moore - Fool

“What of the king’s men, his knights and guards? In the barracks?”

“Nah,” said the yeoman. “Castle guard was a dog’s breakfast until Captain Curan came down from Gloucester. He’s got a noble-born knight as captain of every watch and the old guard man for man with any new ones. Crashing huge camps of soldiers outside the walls, forces of Cornwall to the west and Albany on the north. They say the Duke of Albany is staying with his men at camp. Won’t come to the Tower.”

“Wise choice, with so many vipers about the castle. What of the princesses?” I asked Bubble. Although she seemed never to leave her kitchen, she knew what was going on in every corner of the fortress.

“They ain’t talking,” said Bubble. “Taking meals in their old quarters they had when they was girls. Goneril in the east tower of the main keep. Regan in her solar on the outer wall on the south. They’ll come together for the midday meal, but only if that bastard Gloucester is there.”

“Can you get me to them, Bubble. Unseen?”

“I could sew you up in a suckling pig and send it over.”

“Yes, lovely, but I did hope to return undiscovered, and trailing gravy might draw the attention of the castle’s cats and dogs. Regrettably, I’ve had experience with such things.”

“We can dress you as one of the serving lads, then,” said Squeak. “Regan had us bring in boys instead of our usual maids. She likes to taunt and threaten them until they cry.”

I regarded Bubble with steely recrimination. “Why didn’t you suggest that?”

“I wanted to see you sewed up in a suckling pig, you oily rascal.”

Bubble has struggled with her deep affection for me for years.

“Very well, then,” said I. “A serving boy it is.”

“You know, Pocket,” said Cordelia, age sixteen. “Goneril and Regan say that my mother was a sorceress.”

“Yes, I’d heard that, love.”

“If that’s so, then I’m proud of it. It means she didn’t need some mangy man for her power. She had her own.”

“Banished then, wasn’t she?”

“Well, yes, that or drowned, no one will really say. Father forbids me to ask about it. But my point is that a woman should come to her power on her own. Did you know that the wizard Merlin gave up his powers to Vivian in exchange for her favors, and she became a great sorceress and queen, and put Merlin to sleep in a cave for a hundred years for his trouble?”

“Men are like that, lamb. You give them your favors and next thing you know they’re snoring away like a bear in a cave. Way of the world, it is.”

“You didn’t do that when my sisters gave you their favors.”

“They did no such thing.”

“They did, too. Many times. Everyone in the castle knows it.”

“Vicious rumors.”

“Fine, then. When you have enjoyed the favors of women, who shall remain nameless, did you fall asleep afterward?”

“Well, no. But neither did I give up my magical powers or my kingdom.”

“But you would have, wouldn’t you?”

“Say, enough talk of sorcerers and such. What say we go down to the chapel and convert back to Christianity? Drool drank all the communion wine and ate all the leftover host when the bishop was ousted, so I’ll wager he’s blessed enough to bring us into the fold without clergy. Burped the body of Christ for a week, he did.”

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

“Curses! Discovered!” exclaimed the puppet Jones. “That’ll teach you, you sooty-souled snake. Have him whipped, princess.”

Cordelia laughed, liberated Jones from my grasp, and clouted me on the chest with him. Even when she was grown she bore a weakness for puppety conspiracy and Punch-and-Judy justice.

“Now, fool, speak truth—if the truth in you hasn’t died starving from your neglect. Would you give up your powers and your kingdom for a lady’s favor?”

“That would depend on the lady, wouldn’t it?”

“Say me, for example?”

“Vous?” said I, my eyebrows raised in the manner of the perfectly fucking French.

“Oui,” said she, in the language of love.

“Not a chance,” said I. “I’d be snoring before you had time to declare me your personal deity, which you would, of course. It’s a burden I bear. Deep sleep of the innocent, I’d have. (Or, you know, the deep sleep of the deeply shagged innocent.) I suspect, come morning, you’d have to remind me of your name.”

“You didn’t sleep after my sisters had you, I know it.”

“Well, threat of violent, post-coital death will keep you on the alert, won’t it?”

She crawled across the rug until she was close then. “You are a dreadful liar.”

“What was your name?”

She clouted me on the head with Jones and kissed me—quickly, but with feeling. That was the only time.

“I’d have your power and your kingdom, fool.”

“Give me back my puppet, thou nameless tart.”

Regan’s solar was bigger than I remembered it. A fairly grand, round room, with a fireplace and a dining table. Six of us brought in her supper and set it out on the table. She was all in red, as usual, snowy shoulders and raven hair warmed to the eye by orange firelight.

“Wouldn’t you rather lurk behind the tapestry, Pocket?”

She waved the others out of the room and closed the door.

“I kept my head down. How did you know it was me?”

“You didn’t cry when I shouted at you.”

“Blast, I should have known.”

“And you were the only serving boy wearing a codpiece.”

“Can’t hide one’s light under a bushel, can one?” She was infuriating. Did nothing surprise her? She spoke as if I’d been sent for and she’d been expecting me at any moment. Rather took the joy out of all the stealth and disguise. I was tempted to tell her she’d been duped and Drool-shagged just to see her reaction, but alas, there were still guards who were loyal to her, and I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have me killed as it was. (I’d left my knives with Bubble in the kitchen, not that they’d help against a platoon of yeomen.) “So, lady, how goes the mourning?”

“Surprisingly well. Grief suits me, I think. Grief or war, I’m not sure which. But I’ve had good appetite and my complexion’s been rosy.” She picked up a hand mirror and regarded herself, then caught my reflection and turned. “But, Pocket, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, loyalty to the cause and all. With the French at our bloody doors, thought I’d come back to help defend home and hearth.” It was probably best we not pursue the reasons why I was there, so I pressed on. “How goes the war, then?”

“Complicated. Affairs of state are complicated, Pocket. I wouldn’t expect a fool to understand.”

“But I’m a royal, now, kitten. Didn’t you know?”

She put down her mirror and looked as if she might burst out laughing. “Silly fool. If you could catch nobility by touch you’d have been a knight years ago, wouldn’t you? But alas, you’re still common as cat shit.”

“Ha! Yes, once. But now, cousin, blue blood runs in my veins. In fact, I’ve a mind to start a war and shag some relatives, which I believe are the prime pastimes of royalty.”

“Nonsense. And don’t call me cousin.”

“Shag the country and kill some relatives, then? I’ve been noble less than a week, I don’t have all the protocol memorized yet. Oh, and we are cousins, kitten. Our fathers were brothers.”

“Impossible.” Regan nibbled at some dried fruit Bubble had laid out on the tray.

“Lear’s brother Canus raped my mother on a bridge in Yorkshire while Lear held her down. I am the issue of that unpleasant union. Your cousin.” I bowed. At your bloody service.

“A bastard. I might have known.”