Fool - By Christopher Moore Page 0,11

must see to this letter. Tomorrow Edgar goes on to Barking to deliver the letters of credit and I'll return to Gloucester with my father. I'll let the letter slip to him then, so his anger has time to fester in Edgar's absence."

"Quick, before I waste parchment, promise you'll not let Edgar marry Cordelia."

"Fine, fool, promise you'll not tell anyone that you ever penned this letter, and I will."

"I promise," said I. "By the balls of Venus."

"Then, so do I," said the bastard.

"All right, then," said I, dipping my quill in ink, "although murder would be a simpler plan." I've never cared for the bastard's brother Edgar, either. Earnest and open-faced is he. I don't trust anyone who appears so trustworthy. They must be up to something. Of course, Edmund hanging black-tongued for his brother's murder would make for a festive chandelier as well. A fool does enjoy a party.

In a half-hour I had crafted a letter so wily and peppered with treachery that any father might strangle his son at the sight of it and, if childless, bastinade his own bollocks with a war hammer to discourage conspirators yet to be born. It was a masterpiece of both forgery and manipulation. I blotted it well and held it up for Edmund to see.

"I'll need your dagger, sir," said I.

Edmund reached for the letter and I danced away from him. "First the knife, good bastard."

Edmund laughed. "Take my dagger, fool. You're no safer, I still have my sword."

"Aye, which I handed you myself. I need your dagger to razor the seal off that letter of credit so I may affix it to this missive of ours. You'll need to break it only in your father's presence, as if you yourself are only then discovering your brother's black nature."

"Oh," said Edmund.

He gave me the knife. I performed the deed with sealing wax and candle and handed the blade back with the letter. (Could I have used one of my own knives for the task? Of course, but it was not time for Edmund to know of them.)

The letter was barely in his pocket before Edmund had drawn his sword and had it leveled at my throat. "I think I can assure your silence better than a promise."

I didn't move. "So, you lament being born out of favor, what favor will you court by killing the king's fool? A dozen guards saw you come in here."

"I'll take my chances."

Just then the great chains that ran through my room began to shake, rattling as if a hundred suffering prisoners were shackled to them rather than a slab of oak and iron. Edmund looked around and I scampered to the far side of the room. Wind rushed through the arrow loops that served as my windows and extinguished the candle I had used for the sealing wax. The bastard spun to face the arrow loops and the room went dark, as if a cape had been thrown over the day. The golden form of a woman shimmered in the air at the dark wall.

The ghost said,

"A thousand years of torture rule,

The knave who dares to harm a fool."

I could only see Edmund by the glow of the spirit, but he was moving crablike toward the door that led out onto the west wall, reaching frantically for the latch. Then he threw the bolt and was through the door in an instant. Light filled my little apartment and I could again view the Thames through the slits in the stone.

"Well rhymed, wisp," said I to the empty air. "Well rhymed."
Chapter 4
FOUR

THE DRAGON AND HIS WRATH[18]

"Don't despair, lad," I said to Taster. "It's not as grim as it looks. The bastard will stay Edgar and I'm relatively sure that France and Burgundy are buggering each other and would never let a princess come between them - although I'll wager they'd borrow her wardrobe were it not guarded - so the day is saved. Cordelia will remain in the White Tower to torment me as always."

We were in an antechamber off the great hall. Taster sat, head in hands, looking paler than normal, a mountain of food piled before him on the table.

"The king doesn't like dates, does he?" asked Taster. "Not likely he'll eat any of the dates that were brought as gifts, right?"

"Did Goneril or Regan gift them?"

"Aye, a whole larder they brought with them."

"Sorry, lad, you've work ahead, then. How it is you're not as fat as a friar, with all you're required to