Fool - By Christopher Moore Page 0,13

pillars that supported the vault. Fools do not have a place at the table. Most times I served at the foot of the king, providing quips, criticisms, and brilliant observations through the meal, but only after he had called for me. Lear had not called for a week.

He came into the room head up, scowling at each of his guests until his eye lit on Cordelia and he smiled. He motioned for everyone to sit and they did.

"Edmund," said the king, "fetch the princes of France and Burgundy."

Edmund bowed to the king and backed toward the main entrance of the hall, then looked to me, winked, and motioned for me to come join him. Dread rose in my chest like a black serpent. What had the bastard done? I should have cut his throat when I'd had the chance.

I sidled down the side wall, the bells on the tips of my shoes conspicuously unhelpful in concealing my movement. The king looked to me, then away, as if the sight of me might cause rot on his eye.

Once through the door Edmund pulled me roughly aside. The big yeoman at the threshold lowered the blade of his halberd an inch and frowned at the bastard. Edmund released me and looked bewildered, as if his own hand had betrayed him.

(I bring food and drink to the guards when they are on post during feasts. I believe it is written in the Obfuscations of St. Pesto: "In nine cases out of ten, a large friend with a poleax shall truly a blessing be.")

"What have you wrought, bastard?" I whispered with great fury and no little spit.

"Only what you wanted, fool. Your princess will have no husband, that I can assure, but even your sorceries won't keep you safe if you reveal my strategy."

"My sorceries? What? Oh, the ghost."

"Yes, the ghost, and the bird. When I was crossing the battlement, a raven called me a tosser and shat on my shoulder."

"Right, my minions are everywhere," said I, "and you're right to fear my canny mastery of the heavenly orbs and command of spirits and whatnot. But lest I unleash something unpleasant upon you, tell me, what did you say to the king?"

Edmund smiled then, which I found more unsettling than his blade. "I heard the princesses speaking amongst themselves about their affections for their father earlier in the day, and was enlightened to their character. I merely hinted to the king that he might ease his burden with the same knowledge."

"What knowledge?"

"Go find out, fool. I'm off to fetch Cordelia's suitors."

And he was away. The guard held the door and I slipped back into the hall and to a spot near the table.

The king, it seemed, had only then finished a roll call of sorts, naming each of his friends and family at court, proclaiming his affection for each, and in the cases of Kent and Gloucester, recalling their long history of battles and conquests together. Bent, white-haired, and slight is the king, but there is a cold fire in his eye still - his visage puts one in mind of a hunting bird fresh unhooded and set for its kill.

"I am old, and my burdens of responsibility and property weigh heavily on me, so to avoid conflict in the future, I propose to divide my kingdom among younger strengths now, so I may crawl to the grave light of heart."

"What better than a light-hearted grave crawl?" I said softly to Cornwall, villainous twat that he is. I crouched between him and his duchess, Regan. Princess Regan: tall, fair, raven-haired, with a weakness for plunging red velvet gowns and another for rascals, both grievous faults had they not played out so pleasurably for this teller of tales.

"Oh, Pocket, did you get the stuffed dates I sent you?" Regan asked.

And generous to a fault as well.

"Shhhhhh, bunny cunny," I shushed. "Father is speaking."

Cornwall drew his dagger and I moved along the table to Goneril's side.

Lear went on: "These properties and powers I will divide between my sons-in-law, the Duke of Albany and the Duke of Cornwall, and that suitor who takes the hand of my beloved Cordelia, but so I may determine who shall have the most bounteous share, I ask of my daughters: Which of you loves me most? Goneril, my eldest born, speak first."

"No pressure, pumpkin," I whispered.

"I have this, fool," she snapped, and with a great smile and no little grace, she made her way around the outside of the round table