Read Fool for Free Online

to the empty air. “Well rhymed.”

FOUR – THE DRAGON AND HIS
    WRATH
    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 eat, is beyond me.”
    “Bubble says I must have a city of worms living up my bum, but that ain’t it. I’ve a secret, if you won’t tell anyone-”
    “Go on lad, I’m hardly paying attention.”
    “What about him?” He nodded to Drool, who was sitting in the corner petting one of the castle cats.
    “Drool,” I called, “is Taster’s secret safe with you?”
    “As dim as a snuffed candle, he is,” said the git in my voice. “Telling a secret to Drool is like casting ink in the night sea.”
    “See there,” said I.
    “Well,” said Taster, looking around as if anyone would want to be in our miserable company. “I’m sick a lot.”
    “Of course you are, it’s the bloody Dark Ages, everyone has the plague or the pox. It’s not like you’re leprous and dropping fingers and toes like rose petals, is it?”
    “No, not sick like that. I just vomit nearly every time I eat.”
    “So you’re a little chunder-monkey. Not to worry, Taster, you keep it down long enough for it to kill you, don’t you?”
    “I reckon.” He nibbled at a stuffed date.
    “Duty done, then. All’s well that ends well. But back to my concerns: Do you think France and Burgundy are poofters, or are they, you know, just fucking French?”
    “I’ve never even seen them,” Taster said.
    “Oh, quite right. What about you, Drool? Drool? Stop that!”
    Drool pulled the damp kitten out of his mouth. “But it were licking me first. You said it was only proper manners-”
    “I was talking about something completely different. Put the cat down.”
    The heavy door creaked open and the Earl of Kent slipped into the room, as stealthy as a church bell rolling down stairs. Kent’s a broad-shouldered bull of a fellow, and while he moves with great strength for his grandfather years, Grace and Subtlety remain blushing virgins in his retinue.
    “There you are, boy.”
    “What boy?” said I. “I see no boy here.” True, I only stand to Kent’s shoulder, and it would take two of me and a suckling pig to balance him on a scale, but even a fool requires some respect, except from the king, of course.
    “Fine, fine. I just wanted to tell you not to make sport of feebleness nor age tonight. The king’s been brooding all week about ‘crawling unburdened to the grave.’ I think it’s the weight of his sins.”
    “Well, if he weren’t so dog-fuckingly old there would be no temptation toward mirth, would there? Not my fault, that.”
    Kent grinned then. “Pocket, you would not willfully hurt your master.”
    “Aye, Kent, and with Goneril and Regan and their lords in the hall there’ll be no need to jest geriatric. Is that why the king has kept company only with you this week, brooding upon his years? He hasn’t been planning on marrying off Cordelia then?”
    “He’s spoken of it, but only as part of his entire legacy, of property and history. He seemed set on a course to hold the kingdom steady when I last left him. He bade me leave while he gave private audience to the bastard,