2023-08-04
I: The Circus
The King had assembled his whole court. Fifty lords with fifty-one ladies (my, that was a surprise!) on their arms. A few dozen knights and senior advisors, carefully disarmed in the familiar game: where is the blade hidden today? The answer for eight was in their boots, for five their shirts, and for one somewhere considerably morecreative. Also present are the senior Disciples, the King’s harem in their half veils, myself, and a few stone busts. In the stone were the likenesses of the royal line, whom the King has outlived.
Elana was the first, and the wisest. Graceful and clever, with a tongue that stabbed. She was my favourite, the only one willing and able to play my games. Let me tell you, there is no better feeling than having an accompanist. When the ambassador to Belsh arrived, it was her who told me his secret. The King was upset at first, when I produced a pair of the man’s favourite clamps, but he saw the opportunity for blackmail. Elana transitioned some five months ago, into a smear on the cobblestones. Let me tell you, not many jokes could be made at that funeral; they all seemed to fall flat.
Then there was Rosk, the second born, who was everything his sister was. Except for the intelligence, wisdom, and appreciation for speech. Come to think of it, he was mostly good at hitting things. Many times, the boy went for me. My favourite was the one when he succeeded. You would’ve winced at the sight of that shiner. The King had me on a lot of very nice painkillers. The boy would have made a great king, perhaps of a boxing club or a tavern or something. Unfortunately for him, vomit choked him out before someone else could.
Third was Derrick. Not as clever as Elana, and none of the charm. But he was ten times as ambitious, and a meticulous planner. If Elana was the only one willing to play my games, he was the only with games for me. I still recall, clear as day, the time he replaced the juggling swords with real ones. It was a good thing the King was not in his chair that night, or both of us would’ve lost heads. First the King, then the Jester. Unfortunately, Derrick beat both of us to it. The castle was old, we all knew that. It had secret passages, and not all of them were friendly. He should have known the one into the women’s bath-house was trapped, I sure did.
Each one of them was a potential regent. And now each one of them was dead. Their own mother, the best parts of all of them, went not long after Derrick’s birth, and that’s the one time I failed the court. The one time that I ran out of steam. I just couldn’t do it. Entertainment all seemed to dry up, jokes wouldn’t come, and the japes couldn’t even be massaged out. The puns sat salty in my mouth, and the quips left a smell in the air. Physical comedy wasn’t even a spasm. There’re only so many times you can get hit in the nads, for work. Precisely when the King needed his Jester the most, said Jester could not help his King. The man who had taken a small boy, sickly and pale, from the gutter. Then fed him and hit him in the nads. It cut me all up inside, I tell ya, to have a court so quiet you can hear the knifes scrap the porcelain. It was the kids that helped me out of it, ages five, three, and zero. Old enough to miss their momma, but young enough to move on quickly. Within six months Elana could smile again, and Rosk stopped asking to see mother. Derrick had his wet nurse, and a teet’s a teet, so no complaints from him. As their mood picked up, mine followed. And as mine did, so too did the courts. It was joked later that the King had considered executing his entertainment, just so he could feel something again. Thankfully, new material started to flow, and I was saved.
But now those who had rescued me were gone. And again, the King’s face sat drooped and grey.
Presumably, all of this was why the court was assembled, and why the busts looked down on us all from the dias, alongside the King who now stood. With a grave expression, he looked down on the court and opened his mouth. The busts then disintegrated. The King, without turning, closed his mouth. Then he fell over, on account of the quarrel that had appeared in his stomach. He certainly lost that argument.
II: The Clowns
It was an hour later, before everything was in check. The guards had reacted quickly, a gratifying show of their competency, so carefully and expensively worked on. The King’s guard were raised from birth for complete loyalty and utter discretion. A mythos now completely ruined by the King’s apparent murder. The place had been locked down, Lords and attendants silenced, and harem pushed into the corner. They threatened to crowd out the healers, otherwise, and it wasn’t the King’d head that needed help at that point. Or his head.
When the King was announced dead, the big twelve stepped up to run the show. Eleven big lords, each of them prouder than the last. Each with their own ills, and their own uses. Attached, almost like a particularly nasty pimple, was the seniormost disciple, named Propriety, supposedly closest to God. In other words, the proudest of them all. Someone who had built their pride castle from sand, rather than inherited one of bricks. Sure enough, their immediate focus was on finding the weapon. And sure enough, they found three. Elana’s had fired a bolt into the throne, and it remained there like some strange massager. Rosk’s was the one that killed the man, positioned a few steps forward from the big chair. Derrick’s had gone off to the side, wedging itself into the floor in front of the harem. Dedicated, even in death.
Sure enough, their next focus was on finding the blame. And here I was, on the other side of the dais. Standing still and holding my face neutral. A convenient goat to scape. Somebody on which to hang their sins when whip and scare off into the wilds. If by whip, you mean tickle with the rack and then whip. And if by the wilds you mean the latrines or perhaps a cosy oubliette, then used as a latrine. God knows I’ve done enough to annoy each of them. Brick castles are stronger than sand ones, but not by much when they’re built on sand.
***
“The court is in session, God will bear witness for the deeds of today,” Propriety preached. “Calling forth for evidence for the murder of our King, and of his children.”
They hadn’t chained me at least. Though to say the number of blades very close to my nads wasn’t concerning would be a lie. Usually, they’re a lot smaller. More like spoons, really.
“I have evidence!” called a voice and stepped forward the chief archivist. A surly woman, who hated my guts. “He was present that day when Elana fell from my window. The only other one who went through the main door!”
“He was there when Rosk died! Passed out under the table. Thought he was drinking the same brew, but it turned out he had a private barrel!” a knight man called from the crowd. Rosk’s friend, the only one with the same lack of brains, but without the redeeming qualities. Truly, gifted.
I counted to five in my head, and was surprised when the third accusation didn’t come. Usually they knew how to tim—
“He was in the baths! I think!” one of the harem members cried out, the one formerly a man. A few others then confirmed.
Each accusation drew the same rumours from the crowd, and the same gasps. Each one seemed hardly surprising to the twelve. I wondered to myself when would be best to speak. Probably before the stonemason—
“I have testimony to give!” a broad man, seemingly appearing from nowhere called. Just like the chief archivist, the knight, and the harem, he was a little out of place in the crowd. Not enough to cause problems, but enough that those with half a brain would know what’s what.
“—Let me guess!” I cut in, shouting to gain the initiative. The obelisk seemed to be caught out, upset that I had stolen his thunder. “I was the one who helped you sculpt the busts, being the one who knew their visages best. And during that time, I must have fit in secret crossbows, with a secret mechanism…”
I gently pushed my foot into the board below. The dias had been constructed of timber, a necessity given the main chamber had originally lacked a raised platform. And sure enough, the timber below my foot flexed, and on the other side of the dias, a series of wooden pins pushed up slightly, peeking out from inside the rubble piles.
“I, uh,” the stonemason said lamely, before shrinking away.
I look at the twelve then. This was very clearly a set-up. Someone must have finally figured out the secret and was trying to capitalise. First eliminate the heirs, then the crowned man, and blame the man in the mask. A three-part plan. But who was behind it all?
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court!” I yell out to the room. “Surely you see how obvious this all is?! Moments after the King’s untimely end, I am caught with my pants down. And three reputable sources happen to be here, despite the lack of invitation.”
“Jester. What is precisely that you are saying?” one of the twelve asks, playing the game. I size him up and immediately discount him. Too clever. He knew how to get what he wanted from the King, with minor concessions. No way he would want the crown for himself, or to give it to another. I then discount another seven. Three had heirs secretly pledged to the King’s own, and so had lost big in the recent months. The other four were either also too stupid or too smart to make a play. That left three lords and the Disciple.
Bertis, Enist, Listier, and Propriety.
Brute, Angular, Slouch, and God’s man.
III: The Show
I pitched my theory to the chamber. Pushing my luck, I then asked for more room. The guards obliged and gave me room to pace, a few escorting the seven innocent lords away from the remainder, now stone-faced. It was a mistake to try this in my room, in front of a crowd. Court Jester is one of two jobs that need to own the room, and you don’t serve for two decades by being bad at it. At least, not without being bad enough to be funny again.
“Lord Bertis, do you remember the last time you came to court? And why?”
“Six years ago, Jester. To propose a marriage between my daughter, Lisser, and the King’s son, Rosk.”
“Do you remember what I said?”
The lord’s face reddened. His next words came quiet, and venomous.
“Not at all.”
“It’s a good thing I do, then!” I laugh to the crowd. “Princess Elana informed me that Lady Lisser Bertis already had a consort. I presented her with a bouquet at the beginning of the night. Then, as Lord Bertis stood to make his proposition, I set it alight. I said don’t worry, I’m not the first to de-flower her.”
Bertis went for his sword then, but thankfully he had given it up at the door.
“Lord Enist, when did you last come to court?” I pivoted, aiming away from the brute and towards the youthful angular man. Controlled, but still angry beneath the façade.
“Five months ago,” he said, almost managing to sound bored. A real talent, for a young man.
“Did you enjoy my hospitality?” I ask, mockingly, then watched as the clever in the room did the sums. The lord had arrived for an audience the day after Elana’s death, but Rosk had kept the news from him. Come time for dinner, the King was in mourning and unreachable. So, I put on the dress and played the King’s role. The lord’s first time in court, he had no idea something was wrong until the King apparently threw a cream-pie onto his face. I have never seen someone so terrified at a cream-pie.
“How about you, Lord Listi—”
“Two years ago. I brought food that caused the King great personal discomfort through flatulence, and you rigged my privy so that I would fall in.”
Slouch was heavy enough to break a privy with certain modifications, advised by Derrick. I nodded, smiled, and turned to Propriety.
“Propriety. Will you tell the crowd why you hate me?”
The disciple looked me up and down and sneered in disgust.
“This man is a sinner, first class. Never have I seen such a wretched fool. One who would so carelessly throw away all the laws God has given us. But petty sin aside, this man is rotten to the core. He manipulated the heirs to the last, training them all to trust him, so he could strike! Only the King is permitted to spend so much waking hours with the heirs. And yet, this one seemed to never stop. If he was not entertaining—” he seemed to spit this word “—then he was with one of them. Working them towards their untimely end. Make no mistake my lords, and ladies! This here is a villain, a sinner, and a demon! One who killed them and now our King for his own evil ends.”
The righteous uproar, honest and earnest, had the man red in his face and his chest heaving. Pure religious anger. I heaved a sigh of relief, internally, and discounted him. He too was an idiot. So, then, the three-lord conspiracy: kill the heirs, kill the crowned man, then blame the jester and get him killed. But, if they knew the big secret, then they wouldn’t have done it in that order. It just wouldn’t make sense. So, the secret was intact. They didn’t want me dead because they knew who I was, they wanted me dead because they hated me. How refreshing.
I laughed and carefully stepped from my outer clothing, shook my hair loose from the headband and removed my own mask. With a wave, the guards came to attention, and I ascended my throne. I looked on the room, sitting in silence, in shocked realisation.
“Now, my lords. You have a choice. You can make your confession and get a quick death, or not and don’t. Further, someone close Propriety’s mouth.”
TCDH 
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