Fool - By Christopher Moore Page 0,3

I mean, for the night, to be sure, who wouldn't troth you cross-eyed? But permanently, I think not."

"I'm 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 forget that sometimes a princess becomes a queen."

"Ha, princesses. What worth 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 fool's second, for you merely carry the drool cup for the Natural.[10] What's 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 guilt..."

"Pocket, 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 grow 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, I'd say, too, hint of a shudder at the end as death's chilly hand grabbed my knob.

"What? What? You have always what?"

I said nothing, being dead, and not a little exhausted from all the bleeding and gasping. Truth be told, under the jest I felt like I'd taken a bolt to the heart.

"You're 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 Cordelia's looming nuptials.

"Ghost!" said the raven.

"I didn't teach you that."

"Bollocks!" replied the raven.

"That's the spirit!"

"Ghost!"

"Piss off, bird," said I.

Then a cold wind bit at my bum and at the top of the stairs, in the turret ahead, I saw a shimmering in the shadows, like silk in sunlight - not quite in the shape of a woman.

And the ghost said:

"With grave offense to daughters three,

Alas, the king a fool shall be."

"Rhymes?" I inquired. "You're looming about all diaphanous in the middle of the day, puking cryptic rhymes? Low craft and tawdry art, ghosting about at noon - a parson's fart heralds darker doom, thou babbling wisp."

"Ghost!" cried the raven, and with that the ghost was gone.

There's always a bloody ghost.
Chapter 2
TWO

NOW, GODS, STAND UP FOR BASTARDS![11]

I found Drool in the laundry resolving a wank, spouting great gouts of git-seed across the laundry walls, floors, and ceiling, giggling, as young Shanker Mary wagged her tits at him over a steaming cauldron of the king's shirts.

"Put those away, tart, we've a show to do."

"I was just giving 'im a laugh."

"If you wanted to show charity you could have bonked him honest and there'd be a lot less cleaning to do."

"That'd be a sin. Besides, I'd as soon straddle a gateman's halberd as try to get a weapon that girth up me."

Drool pumped himself dry and sat down on the floor splay-legged, huffing like a great dribbling bellows. I tried to help the lout repack his tackle, but getting him into a codpiece against his firm enthusiasm was like trying to pound a bucket over a bull's head - a scenario I thought comical enough to perhaps work into the act tonight, should things get slow.

"Nothing stopping you from givin' the lad a proper cleavage toss, Mary. You had 'em out and all soaped up, a couple of jumps and a tickle and he'd have carried water for you for a fortnight."

"He already does. And I don't even want that thing near me. A Natural, he is. There's devils in his jizm."

"Devils? Devils? There's no devils in there, lass. Chock full o' nitwits, to be sure, but no devils." A Natural was either blessed or cursed, never just an accident of nature, as the name implied.

Sometime during the week, Shanker Mary had gone Christian on us, despite being a most egregious slut. You never knew anymore who you were dealing with. Half the kingdom was Christian, the other half paid tribute to the old