Fool Chapter 20

ACT IVAs flies to wanton boys, be we to the gods. They kill us for their sport. King Lear, Act IV, Scene 1, GloucesterTWENTYA PRETTY LITTLE THINGDrool and I slogged through the algid rain for a day, across hill and dale, over unpaved heath and roads that were bantam more than muddy wheel ruts. Drool touch a jaunty aspect, remarkable considering the dark doings he had except escaped, exclusively a light spirit is the blessing of the idiot. He took to tooshieho allowabile and splashing gaily through puddles as we traveled. I was deeply burdened by wit and aw arness, so I prove sulking and grumbling remedy suited my mood. I regretted that I hadnt stolen horses, acqui ruddy oilskin cloaks, found a fire-making turnout, and remove Edmund before we left. The latter, among many rea countersigns, because I could non ride upon Drools shoulders, as his pricker was still raw from Edmunds beatings. Bastard.I should say hither, that after just about years in the elements, the first Id spent t here(predicate) since my time with Belette and the traveling mime troupe many years ago, I determined that I am an in inlet fool. My lean form does not fend off stale well, and it influencems no better at shedding water. I fear I am too absorbent to be an outdoor fool. My singing persona turns raspy in the c obsolete, my japes and jokes lose their subtlety when cast against the wind, and when my muscles are slowed by an unkind chill, even my juggling is shit. I am untempered for the tempest, contrastive for a storm better fit for fireplace and featherbed. Oh, fiery booze, doting readt, warm tart, where art thou? measly, cold scoop shovel, a drowned and wretched ass is he.We traveled in the dark for miles before we smelled meat-smoke on the wind and descry the orange light of an oil-skinned window in the distance.Look, Pocket, a house, tell Drool. We give the gate sit by the fire and maybe pee-pee a warm supper.Weve no m wizy, lad, and nothing to tr ade them.We trade em a jest for our supper, the same(p)s of we d mavin before.I can think of nothing amusing to do, Drool. chance is out of the question, my fingers are too stiff to work Joness talk string, and Im too weary even for the simple telling of a tale.We could just submit them. They might be kind.Thats a blustery bag of tempest toss, innit?They might, insisted the hoodlum. burp in one case bound me a pie without I ever jested a thing. scarce give it to me, out of the kindness of her heart.Fine. Fine. We shall prevail upon their kindness, merely should that fail, prepare yourself to love in their brains and take their supper by force.What if theres a lot of em? Aint you going to friend?I shrugged and gestured to my fair form Small and weary, lad. Small and weary. If Im too wonky to perform a puppet show, I think the brain-bashing duties get out, by necessity, fall upon you. Find a sturdy stick of firewood. at that place, theres a woodpile over there.I dont wa nt to bash no brains, verbalize the stubborn nitwit.Fine, here, take one of my daggers. I handed him a knife. Give a good dirking to anyone who requires it.At that point the door opened and a wizened form stepped into the gateway and raised a storm lantern. Who goes there?Beggin pardon, sirrah, give tongue to Drool. We was wondering if you take a good dirking this evening?Give that to me. I snatched the dagger recent from the git and fitted it into the sheath at my hold up.Sorry, sir, the inseparable jests out of turn. We are face for some shelter from the storm and perhaps a hot meal. Weve unaccompanied bread and a little cheese, but we will share it for the shelter.We are fools, tell Drool.Shut up, Drool, he can see that by my kit and your empty gaze. condescend in, Pocket of Dog Snogging, say the bent figure. soul your head on the doorjamb, Drool.Were buggered, tell I, pushing Drool through the door ahead of me.Witches three. Parsley, Sage, and rosemary. Oh no, not in the Great Birnam Wood where they are loosely kept, where one might fairly expect to encounter them, but here in a warm cabin off the road in the midst of the Gloucestershire villages of Tossing Sod and Bongwater Crash? A flying house, perhaps? Its rumored that witches are apprehensive of such structures.I thought you was an old man but you is an old woman, utter Drool to the hag who had let us in. Sorry.No p ceiling, please, verbalise I, afraid that one of the hags might confirm her gender by lifting her skirts. The lads suffered fair to middling of late.Some stew, verbalise the crone Sage, the warty one. A small behind hung over the fire.Ive seen what you assemble in your stew.Stew, stew, true and blue, verbalize the tall witch, Parsley.Yes, please, said Drool.Its not stew, said I. They call it stew because it rhymes with bloody blue, but its not stew.No, its stew, said Rosemary. Beef and carrots and the lot.Afraid it is, said Sage.Not bits of bat wing, midsection of l echer, s stooltbreads of newt, and the lot, therefore?A few onions, said Parsley.Thats it? No magic powers? No apparitions? No curse? You appear out here in the middle of nowhere nay, on the very fringe of the ticks knickers that sucks the ass of nowhere and youve no agenda except to feed the Natural and me and give us a chance to chase the chill?Aye, thats about it, said Rosemary.Why?Couldnt think of nothin that rhymes with onions, said Sage.Aye, we were right fucked for spell casting once the onions went in, said Parsley.Truth be told, beef put us against the wall, didnt it? said Rosemary.Yeah, fief, I suppose, mused Sage, rolling her good eye toward the ceiling. And teef, although strictly speaking, that aint a tight-laced rhyme.Right, said Parsley. No telling what kind of dodgy apparition youll elevate you cock up the rhyme like that. Fief. Teeth. Pathetic, really.Stew, please, said Drool.I let the crones feed us. The stew was hot and rich and mercifully devoid of amphibio us and corpse bits. We broke out the pass aside of the bread Curan had given us and shared it with the witches, who produced a jug of fortified wine and poured it for all. I change both wrong and out, and for the first time in what seemed days, my clothes and place were dry.So, its going well, therefore? asked Sage, after wed each had a couple of cups of wine.I counted out calamities on my digits Lear stripped of his knights, civil war among his daughters, France has invaded, Duke of Cornwall murdered, Earl of Gloucester blinded, but reunited with his son, who is a raving loony, the sisters enchanted and in love with the bastard Edmund I shagged em proper, added Drool.Yes, Drool boffed them until both walked unsteady, and, lets see, Lear wanders across the moors to find sanctuary with the French at Dover. Handfuls of happenings.Lear suffers, then? asked Parsley.Greatly, said I. Hes nothing left. A great heyday from which to fall, being king of the realm reduced to a wanderi ng beggar, gnawed from the inside by regret for deeds he did long ago.You feel for him, then, Pocket? asked Rosemary, the greenish, cat-toed witch.He rescued me from a cruel master and brought me to live in his castle. Its hard to hold hatred with a full stomach and a warm hearth.Just so, said Rosemary. Have some more wine.She poured some dark liquid into my cup. I sipped it. It tasted stronger, warmer than before.Weve a gift for you, Pocket. Rosemary brought out a small leather box from behind her plunk for and opened it. Inside were four precise gemstone vials, two red and two black. Youll be needing these.What are they? My vision began to blur then. I could hear the witches offices, and Drool snoring, but they seemed distant, as if down a tunnel.Poison, said the witch.That was the last I perceive from her. The room was gone, and I found myself sitting in a tree near a quiet river and a stone bridge. It was autumn, I could tell, as the leaves were turning. Below me a lady fri end of perhaps 16 was washing clothes in a bucket on the riverbank. She was a tiny thing, and I would shake up thought her a child by her size, but her figure was quite womanly perfectly proportioned, just a size smaller in scale than most.The lady friend looked up, as if she heard something. I followed her gaze down the road to a column of soldiers on horseback. Two knights rode at the head of the train, followed by perhaps a xii new(prenominal)s. They rode under my oak tree and paused their horses on the bridge.Look at that, said the heavier of the two knights, nodding toward the girlfriend. I heard his voice as if it were in my own head. Pretty little thing.Have her, said the other. I knew the voice immediately, and with it I saw the face for who it was. Lear, junior, stronger, not nearly so grey, but Lear as sure as Id ever seen him. The hawk nose, the crystal-blue eyes. It was him.No, said the younger man. We need to postulate York by nightfall. Weve no time to find an inn.Come here, girl, called Lear.The girl came up the bank to the road, keeping her eyes to the ground.Here barked Lear. The girl hurried across the bridge until she stood only a few feet from him.Do you know who I am, girl?A gentleman, sir.A gentleman? I am your king, girl. I am Lear.The girl fell to her knees and stopped breathing.This is Canus, Duke of York, Prince of Wales, son of King Bladud, brother to King Lear, and he would return you.No, Lear, said the brother. This is madness.The girl was trembling now.You are brother to the king and you may use up whom you want, when you want, said Lear. He climbed off his horse. Stand up, girl.The girl did, but stiffly, as if she were refreshing for a blow. Lear took her chin in his hand and lifted it. You are a pretty thing. Shes a pretty thing, Canus, and she is mine. I give her to you.The kings brothers eyes were broad and there was hunger there, but he said, No, we fall innt time Now boomed Lear. Youll have her nowWith that Lea r grabbed the front of the girls frock and ripped it, exposing her breasts. When she tried to cover up he pulled her arms away. Then he held her and barked commands while his brother raped her on the panopticly stone rail of the bridge. When Canus had finished and fell breathless between her legs, Lear shouldered him aside then lifted the girl by the cannon and threw her over the rail into the river.Clean yourself he shouted. Then he patted his brothers shoulder. There, shell not haunt your dreams tonight. All subjects are property of the king, and mine to give, Canus. You may have any woman you want except one.They mounted their horses and rode away. Lear hadnt even looked to see if she could swim.I couldnt move, I couldnt cry out. All during the attack on the girl I felt as if Id been lashed to the tree. Now I watched her crawl bleak from the river, her clothes in tatters behind her, and she curled into a ball on the riverbank and sobbed.Suddenly I was whisked out of the tree, like a feather on an errant wind, and I settled on the roof of a two-story house in a village. It was market day, and everyone was out, going from cart to cart, knock back to table, bargaining for meat and vegetables, pottery and tools.A girl stumbled down the street, a pretty little thing, perhaps sixteen or cardinalteen, with a tiny babe in arms. She stopped at every booth and showed them the babe, then the villagers would reward her with rude laughter and send her to the next booth.Hes a prince, she said. His flummox was a prince.Go away, girl. Youre mad. No wonder no one will have you, tart.But hes a prince.He looks to be a drowned puppy, lass. Youll be lucky if he lives the week out.From one end of the village to the other she was laughed at and scorned. One woman, who must have been the girls mother, simply turned away and hid her face in shame.I floated overhead as the girl ran to the rim of town, across the bridge where shed been raped, and up to a compound of stone bu ildings, one with a great soaring steeple. A church. She made her way to the wide double door, and there, she lay her baby on the steps. I recognized those doors, Id seen them a thousand times. This was the entrance to the abbey at Dog Snogging. The girl ran away and I watched, as a few minutes later, the doors opened and a square-shouldered nun bent and picked up the tiny, squalling baby. Mother Basil had found him.Suddenly I was at the river again, and the girl, that pretty little thing, stood on the wide stone rail of the bridge, crossed herself, and leapt in. She did not swim. The green water settled over her.My mother.When I awoke the witches were gathered around me like I was a sumptuous pie just out of the oven and they were ravenous pie whores.So, youre a bastard then, said Parsley.And an orphan, said Sage.Both at once, said Rosemary.Surprised, then? said Parsley.Lear not quite the kind old codger you thought him, eh?A royal stag bastard, you are.I gagged a bit, in response to the crones collective breath, and sat up. Would you back off you disgusting old cadaversWell, strictly speakin, only Rosemarys a cadaver, said the tall witch, Parsley.You medicateged me, put that nightmare vision in my head.Aye, we did drug you. But you was just looking through a window to the past. There was no vision except what happened.Got to see your dear still, didnt you? said Rosemary. How engaging for you.I had to watch her raped and driven to suicide, you mad hag.You needed to know, little Pocket, before you went on to Dover.Dover? Im not going to Dover. I have no desire to see Lear. Even as I said it I felt fear run down my spine like the tip of a spike. Without Lear, I was no longer a fool. I had no purpose. I had no home. Still, after what he had done, I would have to find some other means to make my way. I can rent out Drool for plowing fields and hoisting bales of wool and such. Well make our way.Maybe he wants to go on to Dover.I looked over to Drool, who I tho ught to still be asleep by the fire, but he was sitting there, staring at me wide-eyed, as if someone had frightened him and hed disregarded how to talk.You didnt give him the same potion you gave me, did you?It was in the wine, said Sage.I went to the Natural and put my arm around his shoulder, or, as far around as I could reach, anyway. Drool, lad, youre fine, lad. I knew how horrified I had been, with my superior mind and under stand of the world. Poor Drool must have been terrified. What did you wicked hags show him?He had a window on the past just like you.The great oaf looked up at me then. I was raised by wolfs, said he. vigor can be done now, lad. Dont be sad. Weve all things in our past we were better not remembering. I glared at the witches.I aint sad, Drool said, standing up. He had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the roof beams. My brother nipped at me cause I didnt have no fur, but he didnt have no hands, so I throwed him against a tree and he didnt get up.Youre but a pathetic dimwit, said I. You cant be blamed.My mum only had eight teats, but after that there was only seven of us, so I got two. It were lovely.He didnt really seem that bothered by the whole experience. Tell me, Drool, have you always cognize you were raised by wolves?Aye. I want to go outside and have a wee on a tree, now, Pocket. You want to come?No, you go, love, Im going to stay here and shout at the old ladies. Once the Natural was gone I turned on them again. Im finished doing your bidding. Whatever politics you want to point Ill have no more part of it.The crones laughed at me in chorus, then coughed until finally Rosemary, the greenish witch, calmed her breath with a sip of wine. No, lad, nothing so sordid as politics, were about vengeance pure and simple. We dont give a weasels twat about politics and succession.But youre evil incarnate and in triplicate, arent you? said I, respectfully. One must give due.Aye, evil is our trade, but not so deep a darkness as polit ics. Better occupancy to dash a suckling babes brains upon the bricks than to boil in that tawdry cauldron.Aye, said Sage. Breakfast, anyone? She was stirring something in the cauldron, I assumed it was the leftover hallucination wine from the night before.Well, punish, then. Ive no taste left for it.Not even for revenge on the bastard Edmund?Edmund? What a storm of suffering that blackguard had loosed upon the world, but still, if I never had to see him again, couldnt I forget about his ruin?Edmund will find his just reward, said I, not believing it for a second.And Lear?I was angry with the old man, but what revenge would I have on him now? He had lost all. And I had always known him to be cruel, but so long as his cruelty didnt unravel to me, I was blind to it. No, not even Lear.Fine, then, where will you go? asked Sage. She pulled a ladle of steaming liquid from the pot and blew on it.Ill take the Natural into Wales. We can call at castles until someone takes us in.Then youl l disregard the Queen of France at Dover?Cordelia? I thought bloody jailer froggy King Jeff was at Dover. Cordelia is with him?The hags cackled. Oh no, King Jeff is in Burgundy. Queen Cordelia commands the French forces at Dover.Oh bugger, said I.Youll want to take them poisons we fixed for you, said Rosemary. Keep them on you at all times. A need for them will present itself.