Fool Chapter 1

THE STAGEThe dress is a more(prenominal) or less mythical thirteenth-century Britain, with vestiges of British culture reaching back to pre-Roman generation still loitering slightly. Britain encompasses what is straight modern Great Britain, including England, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland, of which Lear is king. Gener completelyy, if non otherwise explained, conditions may be considered damp. defend IWhen we argon born, we cry that we argon come To this expectant stage of fools. King Lear, Act IV, Scene 5ONEALWAYS A BLOODY GHOSTTosser cried the raven.Theres forever and a day a b entirelyy(a) raven. derisory teachin him to talk, if you ask me, state the sentry.Im duty-bound foolish, yeoman, give tongue to I. I am, you drive in? A fool. Fool to the court of Lear of Britain. And you are a tosser,1 I give tongue to.Piss collide with said the raven.The yeoman took a swipe at the bird with his cock and the great black bird swooped dark the debate and went cawing out oe r the Thames. A ferryman looked up from his boat, saw us on the tower, and waved. I jumped onto the smother and bowed at your fucking service, thank you. The yeoman grumbled and spat afterward the raven.There take evermore been ravens at the White lift. A pace years ago, onward George II, idiot king of Merica, destroyed the world, there were ravens here. The parable says that as long as there are ravens at the Tower, England entrust stand strong. Still, it may have been a mistake to teach angio ecstasysin-converting enzyme to talk.The Earl of Gloucester approaches cried a sentry on the west wall. With his son Edgar and the bastard EdmundThe yeoman by me smilened. Gloucester, eh? Be legitimate you do that bit where you play a goat and slobber plays the earl mistaking you for his wife.That would be unkind, said I. The earl is newly widowed.You did it the last(a) time he was here and she was still warm in the grave.Well, yes. A service that exhausting to shock the poor wretch out of his grief, wasnt it? unattackable show, too. The way you was bleatin I thought ol Drool was givin it to you regenerate proper up the bung.I made a note to shove the guard off the wall when opportunity presented.Heard he was going to have you assassinated, tho he couldnt make a case to the king.Gloucesters a noble, he doesnt bring a case for murder, just a whim and a blade.not bally(a) worryly, the yeoman said, everyone issues the kings got a wing oer you.That was true. I have intercourse a certain license.Have you seen Drool? With Gloucester here, therell be a ascendency performance. My apprentice, Drool a beef-witted bloke the size of a draught horse.He was in the kitchen before the watch, said the yeoman.The kitchen buzzed the staff preparing for a feast.Have you seen Drool? I asked Taster, who sat at the table staring sadly at a bread trencher2 laid out with cold pork, the kings dinner. He was a thin, sickly lad, chosen, no doubt, for his weakness of const itution, and a predisposition toward dropping asleep(predicate) at the slightest provocation. I the likes ofd to tell him my troubles, sure that they would not fail far.Does this look poisoned to you?Its pork, lad. Lovely. Eat up. Half the men in England would give a testicle to feast thus, and it only mid-day. Im tempted myself. I tossed my head gave him a grin and a bit of a jingle on the ol hat bells to jeer him. I pantomimed stealing a bit of his pork. After you, of course.A lingua thumped into the table by my hand.Back, Fool, said bubble, the head cook. Thats the kings lunch and Ill have your balls before Ill let you at it.My balls are yours for the asking, milady, said I. Would you have them on a trencher, or shall I serve them in a bowl of cream, like peaches?Bubble harrumphed, yanked her knife from the table and went back to gutting a trout at the botcher block, her great bottom rolling like thunderclouds under her skirt as she moved.Youre a wicked little(a) man, Poc ket, said skreak, waves of freckles riding oer her unsure smile. She was second to the cook, a sturdy, ginger-haired girl with a high giggle and a generous life history in the dark. Taster and I oftenen passed idyllic afternoons at the table watching her wring the necks of chickens.Pocket is my name, by the way. wedded to me by the abbess who found me on the nunnery doorstep when I was a tiny babe. True, I am not a large fellow. any(prenominal)what might even say I am diminutive, and I am quick as a cat and nature has counterbalance me with other gifts. but wicked?I think Drool was headed to the princesss chambers, Squeak said.Aye, said Taster, glumly. The lady sent for a cure for melancholy.And the git went? waggery on his own? The boy wasnt ready. What if he blundered, tripped, fell on the princess like a millstone on a exactlyterfly? Are you sure?Bubble dropped a gutless trout into a bushel of slippery cofishes.3 Chanting, withdraw to do ma duty, he was. We told him youd be looking for him when we take heedd Princess Goneril and the Duke of capital of New York was sexual climax.Albanys approaching?Aint he sworn to string your entrails from the chandelier? asked Taster.No, reverse Squeak. That was Duke of Cornwall. Albany was going to have his head on a pike, I believe. Pike, wasnt it, Bubble?Aye, have his head on a pike. Funny thing, thinkin nearly it, youd look like a bigger version of your puppet-stick there.Jones, said Taster, pointing to my jesters scepter, Jones, who is, indeed, a smaller version of my own handsome countenance, fixed a cover song a sturdy handle of polished hickory. Jones speaks for me when even my tongue needs to snuff it safe license with knights and nobles, his head pre-piked for the wrath of the dull and humorless. My finest art is oft lost in the eye of the subject.Yes, that would be right hilarious, Bubble humourous imagery like the attractive Squeak turning you on a spit oer a fire, an apple up both your ends for subterfuge although I daresay the whole castle might conflagrate in the resulting discoloration fire, but until then wed laugh and laugh.I dodged a well-flung trout then, and paid Bubble a grin for not throwing her knife instead. Fine woman, she, contempt world large and quick to anger. Well, Ive a great drooling dolt to find if we are to prepare an entertainment for the evening.Cordelias chambers lay in the North Tower the quickest way there was atop the outer wall. As I crossed over the great main gate field, a young spot-faced yeoman called, Hail, Earl of Gloucester Below, the greybeard Gloucester and his retinue were crossing the drawbridge.Hail, Edmund, you bloody bastard I called over the wall.The yeoman tapped me on the shoulder. Beggin your pardon, sirrah,4 but Im told that Edmund is sensitive about his bastardy.Aye, yeoman, said I. No need for prodding and jibe to divine that pricks tender spot, he wears it on his sleeve. I jumped on the wall and waved Jones a t the bastard, who was trying to wrench a bow and quiver from a knight who rode beside him. You whoreson scalawag said I. You flesh-turd dropped stinking from the poxy arsehole of a hare-lipped harlotThe Earl of Gloucester glowered up at me as he passed under the portcullis.5Shot to the heart, that one, said the yeoman.Too harsh, then, you reckon?A bit.Sorry. Excellent hat, though, bastard, I called, by way of making amends. Edgar and devil knights were trying to restrain the bastard Edmund below. I jumped shoot down from the wall. Havent seen Drool, have you?In the great hall this morning, said the yeoman. Not since.A call came around the top of the wall, passing from yeoman to yeoman until we heard, The Duke of Cornwall and Princess Regan approach from the south.Fuckstockings Cornwall polished greed and fresh born villainy hed dirk6 a nun for a leadhing,7 and short the coin, for the fun.Dont worry, little one, the kingll keep your hide whole.Aye, yeoman, he entrust, and if you call me little one in company, the kingll have you walking watch on the frozen moat all winter.Sorry, Sir Jester, sir, said the yeoman. He slouched then as not to seem so irritatingly tall. Heard that tasty Princess Regans a right bunny cunny, eh? He leaned down to elbow me in the ribs, now that we were best mates and all.Youre new, arent you?Just two months in service.Advice, then, young yeoman When referring to the kings middle daughter, state that she is fair, speculate that she is pious, but unless youd like to spend your watch looking for the box where your head is kept, endure the urge to wax ignorant on her naughty bits.I dont know what that means, sir.Speak not of Regans shaggacity, son. Cornwall has taken the eyes of men who have but looked upon the princess with but the spark of lust. The fiend I didnt know, sir. Ill say nothing.And neither shall I, intelligent yeoman. Neither shall I.And thus are alliances made, loyalties cemented. Pocket makes a friend.The boy was rig ht about Regan, of course. And why I hadnt thought to call her bunny cunny myself, when I of all people should know well, as an artist, I must admit, I was envious of the invention.Cordelias private solar8 lay at the top of a change spiral staircase lit only with the crosses of arrow loops. I could hear giggling as I topped the stairs.So I am of no outlay if not on the arm and in the bed of some buffoon in a codpiece? I heard Cordelia say.You called, said I, stepping into the room, codpiece in hand.The la authorizes-in-waiting giggled. Young Lady Jane, who is but thirteen, shrieked at my presence disturbed, no doubt, by my overt manliness, or perhaps by the gentle clouting on the bottom she received from Jones.Pocket Cordelia sat at the center of the circularise of girls holding court, as such her hair down, blond curls to her waist, a unreserved gown of lavender linen, loosely laced. She stood and approached me. You honor us, Fool. Did you hear rumors of small animals to hu rt, or were you hoping to accidentally surprise me in my bath again?I atilt my hat, a slight, contrite jingle there. I was lost, milady.A dozen times?Finding my way is not my strong suit. If you want a navigator Ill send for him, but hold me blameless should your melancholy triumph and you submerse yourself in the brook, your gentle ladies weeping damply around your pale and lovely corpse. permit them say, She was not lost in the map, confident as she was in her navigator, but lost in heart for want of a fool.The ladies gasped as if Id cued them. Id have blessed them if I were still on speaking impairment with God.Out, out, out, ladies, Cordelia said. Give me peace with my fool so that I might word some punishment for him.The ladies scurried out of the room.Punishment? I asked. For what?I dont know yet, she said, but by the time Ive thought of the punishment, Im sure therell be an offense.I blush at your confidence.And I at your humility, said the princess. She grinned, a cresc ent(prenominal) too devious for a maid of her tender years. Cordelia is not ten years my junior (Im not sure, exactly, of my own age), seventeen summers has she seen, and as the youngest of the kings daughters, shes perpetually been treated as if fragile as spun glass. But, sweet thing that she is, her utter could frighten a mad badger.Shall I disrobe for my punishment? I offered. Flagellation? Fellation? Whatever. I am your willing penitent, lady.No more of that, Pocket. I need your counsel, or at least your commiseration. My sisters are advance to the castle.Unfortunately, they have arrived.Oh, thats right, Albany and Cornwall want to polish you. Bad luck, that. Anyway, they are coming to the castle, as are Gloucester and his sons. Goodness, they want to kill you as well.Rough critics, said I.Sorry. And a dozen other nobles as well as the Earl of Kent are here. Kent doesnt want to kill you, does he?Not that I know of. But it is only lunchtime.Right. And do you know why they ar e all coming?To corner me like a rat in a drumfish?Barrels do not have corners, Pocket.Does seem like a lot of bother for killing one small, if tremendously handsome fool.Its not about you, you dolt Its about me.Well, even less effort to kill you. How many can it take to snap your scrawny neck? I worry that Drool will do it by accident someday. You havent seen him, have you?He stinks. I sent him away this morning. She waved a hand furiously to return to her point. Father is marrying me offNonsense. Who would have you?The lady darkened a bit, then, blue eyes gone cold. Badgers across Blighty9 icinessed. Edgar of Gloucester has always wanted me and the Prince of France and Duke of Burgundy are already here to pay me troth.Troth about what?Troth around what?Troth, troth, you fool, not truth. The princes are here to marry me.Those two? Edgar? No. I was shaken. Cordelia? Married? Would one of them take her away? It was unjust Unfair wrongfulness Why, she had never even seen me naked.W hy would they want to troth you? I mean, for the night, to be sure, who wouldnt troth you cross-eyed? But permanently, I think not.Im a bloody princess, Pocket.Precisely. What good are princesses? Dragon food and ransom markers spoiled brats to be bartered for real estate.Oh no, dear fool, you for regain that sometimes a princess becomes a queen.Ha, princesses. What cost are you if your father has to tack a dozen counties to your bum to get those French poofters to look at you?Oh, and what worth a fool? Nay, what worth a fools second, for you merely carry the drool cup for the Natural.10 Whats the ransom for a jester, Pocket? A bucket of warm spittle.I grabbed my chest. Pierced to the core, I am, I gasped. I staggered to a chair. I bleed, I suffer, I die on the forked lance of your words.She came to me. You do not.No, stay back. Blood stains will never come out of linen they are stubborned with your cruelty and wrongPocket, stop it now.You have kilt me, lady, most dead. I gasped , I spasmed, I coughed. Let it always be said that this humble fool brought joy to all whom he met.No one will say that.Shhhh, child. I wrench weak. No breath. I looked at the imaginary blood on my hands, horrified. I slid off a chair, to the floor. But I want you to know that despite your vicious nature and your freakishly large feet, I have always And then I died. Bloody fucking brilliantly, Id say, too, hint of a shudder at the end as deaths chilly hand grabbed my knob.What? What? You have always what?I said nothing, being dead, and not a little outwear from all the bleeding and gasping. Truth be told, under the jest I felt like Id taken a bolt to the heart.Youre absolutely no help at all, said Cordelia.The raven landed on the wall as I made my way back to the common house in search of Drool. No little vexed was I by the news of Cordelias looming nuptials.Ghost said the raven.I didnt teach you that.Bollocks replied the raven.Thats the spiritGhostPiss off, bird, said I.Then a c old divagate bit at my bum and at the top of the stairs, in the gun enclosure ahead, I saw a shimmering in the shadows, like silk in cheerfulness not quite in the shape of a woman.And the ghost saidWith grave offense to daughters three,Alas, the king a fool shall be.Rhymes? I inquired. Youre looming about all diaphanous in the middle of the day, puking cryptic rhymes? first-class honours degree craft and tawdry art, ghosting about at noon a parsons fart heralds darker doom, thou babbling wisp.Ghost cried the raven, and with that the ghost was gone.Theres always a bloody ghost.