Fool (10 page)

“’Ello,” said the giant face, sounding Cockney and a little drunk.

“Hello, large and steamy face,” said I.

“Fool, Fool, you must save the Drool,

Quick to Gloucester, or blood will pool.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, this one rhymes, too?” said I to the witches. “Can’t a bloke find a straightforward prose apparition?”

“Quiet, fool!” snapped Sage, who I was back to thinking of as Warty. To the face, she said, “Apparition of darkest power, we’re clear on the
where
and the
what,
but the fool was hoping for some direction of the
how
variety.”

“Aye. Sorry,” said large steamy face. “I’m not slow, you know, your recipe was short a monkey hip.”

“We’ll use two next time,” said Sage.

“Well, all right, then…

“To reverse the will of a flighty king,

Remove his train to clip his wings.

To eldest daughters knights be dower,

And soon a fool will yield the power.”

The steamy face grinned.

I looked at the witches. “So I’m to somehow get Goneril and Regan to take Lear’s knights in addition to everything else they have?”

“He never lies,” said Rosemary.

“He’s often wildly fucking inaccurate,” said Parsley, “but not a liar.”

“Again,” said I to the apparition, “good to know what to do and all, but a method to the madness would be most welcome as well. A strategy, as it were.”

“Cheeky little bastard, ent ’e?” said Steamy to the witches.

“Want us to put a curse on him?” asked Sage.

“No, no, the lad’s a rocky road ahead without adding a curse to slow him.” The apparition cleared his throat (or at least made the throat-clearing noise, as, strictly speaking, he had no throat).

“A princess to your will shall bend,

If seduction in a note, you send,

And fates of kings and queens shall tell,

When bound are passions with a spell.”

With that, the apparition faded away.

“That’s it, then?” I asked. “A couple of rhymes and we’re finished? I have no idea what I’m to do.”

“Bit thick yourself, then, are you?” said Sage. “You’re to go to Gloucester. You’re to separate Lear from his knights and see that they’re under the power of his daughters. Then you’re to write letters of seduction to the princesses and bind their passions with a magic spell. Couldn’t be any clearer if it was rhymed.”

Kent was nodding and shrugging as if the bloody obviousness of it all had sluiced through the wood in an illuminating deluge, leaving me the only one dry.

“Oh, do fuck off, you grey-bearded sot. Where would you get a magic spell to bind the bitches’ passion?”

“Them,” said Kent, pointing rudely at the hags.

“Us,” said the hags in chorus.

“Oh,” said I, letting the flood wash over me. “Of course.”

Rosemary stepped forward and held forth three shriveled grey orbs, each about the size of a man’s eye. I did not take them, fearing they might be something as disgusting as they appeared to be-desiccated elf scrotums or some such.

“Puff balls, from a fungus that grows deep in the wood,” said Rosemary.

“In lover’s breath these spores release

An enchanting charm you shall unleash

Passion which can be never broken

For him whose name next is spoken.”

“So, to recap, simply and without rhyme?”

“Squeeze one of these bulbs under your lady’s nose, then say your name and she will find your charms irresistible and become overwhelmed with desire for you,” explained Sage.

“Redundant then, really?” said I with a grin.

The hags laughed themselves into a wheeze-around, then Rosemary dropped the puff balls into a small silk pouch and handed it to me.

“There’s the matter of payment,” said she, as I reached for the purse.

“I’m a poor fool,” said I. “All we have between us is my scepter and a well-used shoulder of pork. I suppose I could wait while each of you takes Kent for a roll in the hay, if that will do.”

“You will not!” said Kent.

The hag held up a hand. “A price to be named later,” said she. “Whenever we ask.”

“Fine, then,” said I, snatching the purse away from her.

“Swear it,” she said.

“I swear,” said I.

“In blood.”

“But-” As quick as a cat she scratched the back of my hand with her ragged talon. “Ouch!” Blood welled in the crease.

“Let it drip in the cauldron and swear,” said the crone.

I did as I was told. “Since I’m here, is there any chance I could get a monkey?”

“No,” said Sage.

“No,” said Parsely.

“No,” said Rosemary. “We’re all out of monkeys, but we’ll put a glamour on your mate so his disguise isn’t so bloody pathetic.”

“Go to it, then,” said I. “We must be off.”

ACT II

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.

–
King Lear,
Act I, Scene 4

TEN – ALL YOUR DREAD

PLEASURES

The sky threatened a dismal dawn as we reached Castle Albany. The drawbridge was up.

“Who goes there?” shouted the sentry.

“’Tis Lear’s fool, Pocket, and his man at arms, Caius.” Caius is the name the witches gave Kent to use to bind his disguise. They’d cast a glamour on him: his beard and hair were now jet black, as if by nature, not soot, his face lean and weathered, only his eyes, as brown and gentle as a moo cow’s, showed the real Kent. I advised him to pull down the wide brim of his hat should we encounter old acquaintances.

“Where in bloody hell have you been?” asked the sentry. He signaled and the bridge ground down. “The old king’s nearly torn the county apart looking for you. Accused our lady of tying a rock to you and casting you in the North Sea, he did.”

“Seems a spot o’ bother. I must have grown in her esteem. Just last night she was only going to hang me.”

“Last night? You drunken sot, we’ve been looking for you for a month.”

I looked at Kent and he at me, then we at the sentry. “A
month
?”

“Bloody witches,” said Kent under his breath.

“If you turn up we’re to take you to our lady immediately,” said the sentry.

“Oh, please do, gentle guard, your lady does so love seeing me at first light.”

The sentry scratched his beard and seemed to be thinking. “Well spoken, fool. Perhaps you lot could do with some breakfast and a wash-up before I take you to my lady.”

The drawbridge thumped into place. I led Kent across, and the sentry met us by the inner gate.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” the sentry said, directing his speech to Kent. “You wouldn’t mind waiting until eight bells to reveal the fool’s return, would you?”

“That when you’re off watch, lad?”

“Aye, sir. I’m not sure I want to be the bearer of the joyous news of the wayward fool’s arrival. The king’s knights have been raising rabble round the castle for a fortnight and I’ve heard our lady cursing the Black Fool as part of the cause.”

“Blamed even in my absence?” said I. “I told you, Caius, she adores me.”

Kent patted the sentry on the shoulder. “We’ll escort ourselves, lad, and tell your lady we came through the gate with the merchants in the morning. Now, back to your post.”

“Thank you, good sir. But for your rough clothes, I’d take you for a gentleman.”

“But for my clothes, I’d be one,” said Kent, his grin a dazzle amid his newly-black beard.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, would you two just have a gobble on each other’s knob and be done with it,” said I.

The two soldiers leapt back as if each was on fire.

“Sorry, just having you on,” said I, as I breezed by them and into the castle. “You poofters are such a sensitive lot.”

“I’m not a poofter,” said Kent as we approached Goneril’s chambers.

Midmorning. The time in between allowed us to eat, wash, do some writing, and ascertain that we had, indeed, been gone for over a month, despite it seeming only overnight to us. Perhaps that was the hags’ payment? To extract a month from our lives in exchange for the spells, potions, and prognostication-it seemed a fair price, but bloody complicated to explain.

Oswald sat at a scribe’s desk outside the duchess’s chambers. I laughed and wagged Jones under his nose.

“Still guarding the door like a common footman, then, Oswald? Oh, the years have been good to you.”

Oswald wore only a dagger at his belt, no sword, but his hand fell to it as he stood.

Kent dropped his hand to his sword and shook his head gravely. Oswald sat back down on his stool.

“I’ll have you know that I’m both steward and chamberlain, as well as trusted adviser to the duchess.”

“A veritable quiver of titles she’s given you to sling. Tell me, do you still answer to toady and catch-fart, or are those titles only honorary now?”

“All better than common fool,” Oswald spat.

“True, I am a fool, and also true, I am common, but I am no common fool, catch-fart. I am the Black Fool, I have been sent for, and I shall be given entry to your lady’s chambers, while you, fool, sit by the door. Announce me.”

I believe Oswald growled then. A new trick he’d learned since the old days. He’d always tried to cast my title as an insult, and boiled that I took it as a tribute. Would he ever understand that he found favor with Goneril not because of his groveling or devotion, but because he was so easily humiliated? Good, I suppose, that he’d learned to growl, beaten down dog that he was.

He stormed through the heavy door, then returned a minute later. He would not look me in the eye. “My lady will see you now,” he said. “But only you. This ruffian can wait in the kitchen.”

“Wait here, ruffian,” said I to Kent. “And make some effort not to bugger poor Oswald here, no matter how he should beg for it.”

“I’m not a poofter,” said Kent.

“Not with this villain, you’re not,” said I. “His bum is property of the princess.”

“I’ll see you hanged, fool,” said Oswald.

“Aroused by the thought, are you, Oswald? No matter, you’ll not have my ruffian.
Adieu.”

Then I was through the doors, and into Goneril’s chambers. Goneril sat to the back of a great, round room. Her quarters were housed in a full tower of the castle. Three floors: this hall for meeting and business, another floor above it would have rooms for her ladies, her wardrobe, bathing and dressing, the top would be where she slept and played, if she still played.

“Do you still play, pumpkin?” I asked. I danced a tight-stepped jig and bowed.

Goneril waved her ladies away.

“Pocket, I’ll have you-”

“Oh, I know, hanged at dawn, head on a pike, guts for garters, drawn and quartered, impaled, disemboweled, beaten, and made into bangers and mash-all your dread pleasures visited on me with glorious cruelty-all stipulated, lady-duly noted and taken as truth. Now, how may a humble fool serve before his hour of doom descends?”

She twisted up her lip as if to snarl, then burst out laughing and quickly looked around to make sure that no one saw her. “I will, you know-you horrible, wicked little man.”

“Wicked?
Moi?”
said I in perfect fucking French.

“Tell no one,” she said.

It had always been that way with Goneril. Her “
tell no one,”
however, applied only to me, not to her, I had found out.

“Pocket,” she once said, brushing her red-gold hair near a window, where it caught the sun and seemed to shine as if from within. She was perhaps seventeen then, and had gotten in the habit of calling me to her chambers several times a week and questioning me mercilessly.

“Pocket, I am to be married soon, and I am mystified by man bits. I’ve heard them described, but that’s not helping.”

“Ask your nurse. Isn’t she supposed to teach you about such things?”

“Auntie’s a nun, and married to Jesus. A virgin.”

“You don’t say? She went to the wrong bloody convent, then.”

“I need to talk to a man, but not a proper man. You are like one of those fellows that Saracens have look over their harems.”

“A eunuch?”

“See, you are worldly and know of things. I need to see your willie.”

“Pardon? What? Why?”

“Because I’ve never seen one, and I don’t want to seem naive on my wedding night when the depraved brute ravages me.”

“How do you know he’s a depraved brute?”

“Auntie told me. All men are. Now, out with your willie, fool.”

“Why my willie? There’s willies aplenty you can look at. What about Oswald? He may even have one, or knows where you can get hold of one, I’ll wager.” (Oswald was her footman then.)

“I know, but this is my first, and yours will be small and not so frightening. It’s like when I was learning to ride, and first father gave me a pony, but then, as I got older…”

“All right, then, shut up. Here.”

“Oh, would you look at that.”

“What?”

“That’s it, then?”

“Yes. What?”

“Nothing really to be afraid of then, was there? I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It’s rather pitiful if you ask me.”

“It is not.”

“Are they all this small?”

“Most are smaller, in fact.”

“May I touch it?”

“If you feel you must.”

“Well, would you look at that.”

“See, now you’ve angered it.”

“Where in God’s name have you been?” she said. “Father’s been a madman looking for you. He and his captain have gone out on patrol every day and well into the evening, leaving the rest of his knights to wreak havoc on the castle. My lord has sent soldiers as far as Edinburgh asking after you. I should have you drowned for all the worry you’ve caused.”

“You did miss me, didn’t you?” I cradled the silk purse at my belt, wondering when best to spring the spell. And once she was bewitched, how exactly would I use the power?

“He was supposed to be in Regan’s care, but by the time he moves his bloody hundred knights all the way to Cornwall it will be my turn again. I can’t abide the rabble in my palace.”

“What does Lord Albany say?”

“He says what I tell him to say. It’s all intolerable.”

“Gloucester,” said I, offering the very model of a non sequitur wrapped in an enigma.

“Gloucester?” asked the duchess.

“The king’s good friend is there. It’s mid-way between here and Cornwall, and the Earl of Gloucester daren’t deny the request of the dukes of both Albany and Cornwall. You wouldn’t be leaving the king without care, yet you wouldn’t have him underfoot, either.” With the witches’ warning about Drool in danger there, I was determined for all the drama to descend on Gloucester. I sat down on the floor near her feet, held Jones across my knees, and waited, both I and the puppet wearing jolly grins.

“Gloucester…” said Goneril, letting a bit of a smile seep out. She really could be lovely when she forgot she was cruel.

“Gloucester,” said Jones, “the dog’s bollocks of western bloody Blighty.”

“Do you think he’ll agree to it? It’s not how he laid out his legacy.”

“He won’t agree to Gloucester, but he’ll agree to go to Regan’s by way of Gloucester. The rest will be up to your sister.” Should I have felt myself a traitor? No, the old man brought this on himself.

“But if he doesn’t agree, and he has all these men?” She looked me in the eye now. “It’s too much power in the hands of the feeble.”

“And yet, he had all the power of the kingdom not two months ago.”

“You’ve not seen him, Pocket. The legacy and banishment of Cordelia and Kent was just the beginning. Since you went away he’s gotten worse. He searches for you, he hunts, he rails about his days as a soldier of Christ one minute, then calls to the gods of Nature the next. With a fighting force of that size-if he should feel that we’ve betrayed him-”

“Take them,” said I.

“What? I couldn’t.”

“You have seen my apprentice, Drool? He eats with his hands or with a spoon, we dare not let him have a knife or fork, lest the points imperil all.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Pocket. What of Father’s knights?”

“You pay them? Take them. For his own good. Lear with his train of knights is like a child running with a sword. Are you cruel to relieve him of deadly force, when he is neither strong enough, nor wise enough to wield it? Tell Lear he must dismiss fifty of his knights and their attendants and keep them here. Tell him they will be at his beck and call when he is in residence.”

“Fifty? Just fifty?”

“You must leave some for your sister. Send Oswald to Cornwall with your plan. Have Regan and Cornwall make haste to Gloucester so they are there upon Lear’s arrival. Perhaps they can bring Gloucester into the fold. With Lear’s knights dismissed, the two whitebeards can reminisce about their glory days and crawl together to the grave in peaceful nostalgia.”