by Hugo Damas
They yelped. A couple even screamed.
The Circus Freak just laughed.
He opened his eyes again and then his arm, still technically standing upside down, only now he was balanced on his face and neck. “Tadaaaaa!!”
“I say!” one of the women yelled out, disturbed, “this is no entertainment, this is a freak show!”
“I agree!” Another said, “stop this horror or leave, jester!”
The Circus Freak smiled inwardly, and also at them. He brought his hand down and pushed himself slightly up, then down again so he could use the ground as support to loosen his neck, with another loud crack.
“Ahhh!” Women screamed, and men too.
“LEAVE!” One of them yelled, a true knight in shining armor.
“My sirs and ladies!” The Circus Freak yelped, standing up in a jump, serious and preoccupied. “I do apologize if I have disturbed you! My, this is such a dishonor.”
“A jester speaks of honor?” The man asked, accusingly.
“Ha! Now that’s a joke I can entertain!” Another said, chuckling derisively.
“I cannot stand this!” The Circus Freak acted, deliberately and to exaggeration. “What have I done to you on this joyous of days!?” He turned their back to them. “I will take my life!” He grabbed his head, it was time for his key trick.
“What?!” One said.
“NO!” A crowd yelled, pleading.
The Circus Freak closed his eyes and turned his head around in a snap. The entire breadth of both tables froze in one collective spinal-induced whimper, chorusing one single shriek that emphasized nothing but pure, sweet shock. And then utter silence.
After the two seconds in which everyone was too stumped to react, the Circus Freak opened his eyes wide and began to laugh.
He laughed and laughed, cackled, hugging himself even in an attempt to show that his sides were hurting. They weren’t, but he wanted to portray it.
Boy that had been so fun!
Then Hugo noticed he wasn’t laughing alone.
With his voice trickling out, he turned his head while turning his body to look at the king. The king was smacking the table, pointing at him and laughing like a madman.
Hugo really didn’t even notice how his smile whimpered into a straight, very confused face. And no wonder, he had never felt that way before.
For the first time in his life, the Circus Freak himself was taken aback.
“This Jester is hilarious!” the king remarked, joyfully. “What other tricks do you have? Show me!”
He was being invited to do his best. This man, too used to being on top of the world, seemed to think the Circus Freak was merely an entertaining experience.
No, the king was going to be an entertaining experience, not him. Hugo did the foot trick again, but the king liked it. He did a handstand and then spun around, leaving his hand as it was, hearing the delectable whimpers of his watchers, but they were, alas, drowned out by the king’s laughter.
In fact, the people weren’t getting to the king, but rather the other way around. Trick by trick, more people joined the king. The laughter was relaxing them, or at the very least, motivating them to pretend they saw the humor in it all.
Hugo’s mood worsened more and more. That over-inflated fun-loving laughter was drilling into his eardrums like a drilling headache. He became angrier and angrier, but in the middle of all his movements and tricks, it was hard to tell how angry his grin was turning.
The Circus Freak didn’t have to be experiencing that humiliation, he didn’t have to be in that party in the first place. He could take off and go steal the thing he was there for at any time, but the experience was too uncanny. He had never not been scary, he had never been hilarious unless he meant to be funny, and he didn’t. Not right then.
He needed the people to feel unsafe and uneasy, to fear his unpredictability and what he was capable of. The king had countered that. It was his fault. If the Circus Freak could get to him…
“And now check this out!”
The Circus Freak jumped onto the table, landing with feet in-between two platters. He cartwheeled forward, then flipping and spinning, performing his acrobatics masterfully, without touching a dish, a platter or even spilling a drink.
“Ooooh!” They clapped, amazed. He didn’t care that he was helping them feel at ease again, he wanted to get in the king’s face.
The Circus Freak front-flipped in the air to land at the edge of the table, intending to sit down right in front of the king. Nearly on his lap.
He felt something push him off the air, however. It completely shoved him back and made him lose control of his aerial maneuver. The Circus Freak landed on the hardwood table, on top of a half-eaten platter. Hugo felt the food squashed by his back as he rebounded and went tumbling away. He rolled across the table, making a huge mess and giving everyone even more pronounced entertainment.
He opened his eyes to the sound of roaring laughter. Of mocking giggling. A man to his side had saved a cup of wine and was drinking while snickering, and a woman to his other side was balking her make-up off at the Circus Freak’s silly antics. He saw the king sitting back down again, laughing at him while clapping his hands.
The king had shoved him off the air.
“The jester thought to take my lap!” the king mocked.
“It’s not such a simple thing, taking my husband’s lap,” said the woman sitting at his left.
Hugo’s eyes grew dark, darker than his make-up. He grinned dangerously, not even pretending to be smiling. It was hungry, a wide and hungry grin.
“STOP LAUGHING!” The Circus Freak demanded.
Hugo kicked the man who had saved a cup, silencing the entire table before the slob event hit the ground, unconscious.
The Circus Freak stood up on the table, shoulders arched in challenge.
I am not funny, his stance clearly said, I am unknown.
It was his last resort and the one that had never failed to make it clear to everyone that they were not safe. Not by a long shot.
The king’s laughter died down, but not with any concern over the new development. It just relaxed, as if to take a pause to breathe properly.
“Haa…what’s the matter, jester?” the king asked, filling a beautifully adorned cup half-way with mead. “I thought laughter was the true salary of your passion.”
“I do not live for your amusement,” Hugo said, amidst a growl.
“What do you live for, then?” The king asked, pausing to take a sip of his drink. He smiled knowingly and added, “Circus Freak?”
The King knew who he was.
For the first time, the Circus Freak thought to analyze the king properly.
He was the warrior, no doubt, seeing as he was wearing chain mail under his informal clothing and he had a sword and shield at each of his sides, ready to use. A sturdy beard covered half his face, and it was as blonde as his head of hair, which was curly and cut so as to not cover his eyes while still stretching down to the base of his neck. He looked younger than he likely was, and the blonde was near white, so much so that he probably had gray hairs posing as blonde.
The King was looking amused, exuding a sense of power and safety that was contagious and made everyone feel safe. The whole table was now watching the exchange, while the rest of the enormous hall carried on with the noise of the party, not having noticed any of what was transpiring.
“Tell me, Jester,” the king said, taking another sip of his drink. His back was insultingly relaxed against his chair. “What have you come to steal?”
Hugo replied without hesitation. “Your safety. Your comfort. Your ego and self-righteousness.”
“You do not even know me,” the King pointed out.
“I’ve met kings,” he said with his huge grin, unimpressed. The Circus Freak arched further, taking a position that betrayed a clear intention to lunge at any moment.
The king remained unimpressed.
“None like me, apparently, or you wo
uld think better of trying to disturb me with your little antics. And what are you doing? You leer at me as if to attack? You have no weapons, clown, nothing but the silly guile of a thief who knows nothing other than to avoid real confrontation.”
“Ha!” The Circus Freak chuckled. “Unlike you! Such a big warrior, riiight?” His voice was mocking. “Fought in big boy wars, sliced off some big boy arms and slashed open some big boy throats. Dismemberment and decapitation! Pain and suffering, you’ve seen it all, you’ve done it all! There’s nothing I can show that will be new to such a big mighty so hardened a warrior.”
The king chuckled and shrugged, leaning a drink forward, as if toasting to his words. “Well said.”
“Been there, done that,” the Circus Freak said with a huge grin, obviously sarcastic.
It didn’t affect the king. “You have it,” he said with confidence.
The Circus Freak laughed, straightening up, leaning back to seem a bit dismissive. Then, entertained, he let his voice wind down to a crawl.
“Oooh…I’m gonna slap ya in the face, oh righteous of right. And then, I’m gonna find your room and steal your diary.”
The king’s face darkened, the amusement suddenly and abruptly lost to him.
“Jester…”
“And then the SHADOW CONCLAVE!” He stood upright and opened his arms in declaration. “It will make you fight the Beasts!”
“The what?” Someone said. “The shadow conclave?”
Nobody could decipher the Circus Freak’s words, but the king could. His air of levity and safety was all but gone.
“Think better of your threats, clown. As insulted as you are by my laughter, I promise you do not want to see me frown,” the king warned.
The Circus Freak laughed. Now it was him laughing at the King.
“That was a great rhyme, oh king!” Hugo pointed out.
The noblest of nobles opened his eyes in the realization that he had indeed rhymed. Flustered, his face turned serious, his upper lip taking the recognizable m-shape that angry men liked to make when they wanted to be intimidating.
“Whatever this shadow conclave is, they thought wrong to trust in you, Freak. GUARDS,” the king yelled. “ARREST HIM!”
The order boomed out of his voice. It was a new tone of voice, and a new volume. With it, the entire hall became aware of the commotion and silence hit and settled, reaching even the mice scampering about. It was the voice of a leader of men.
The Circus Freak couldn’t be happier. He had done it, everyone was flustered and worried. He was back in charge.
Hugo cackled, placing his hands on his waist, even if only the right one actually made it there. The left sleeve hung down next to his leg, disappointed. “So you don’t know what the Shadow Conclave is either, eh? Guess we’re more alike than I thought.”
“SEIZE THAT JESTER, I SAID!”
The Circus Freak dove forward. He flipped his way across the table, dodging the one or two swords that were unsheathed in time to try and slash at him.
“You insult me!” the king yelled.
Hugo caught a glance of the king standing up, sword and shield brandished. The shield rammed against him with full force, bouncing him back. He actually lost tabs on his sight because of that, as well as hearing and touch and even smell.
They came back with the sensation of falling, instants before landing on the ground. The Circus Freak had tumbled all the way across the massive dinner table, falling at the intersection with the other two, which spread diagonally away.
Hugo stood up surrounded by the two tables and licked blood off his busted lip, smiling expectantly as five or six warriors climbed over the tables to advance on him.
“You have made a grave error!” One of them shouted.
He laughed in response.
The first warrior advanced towards him, thrusting at his belly. He spun and the blade performed a thin cut on his clothes, hardly even drawing a drop of blood. The spin continued, pushing the sword a tad aside before leading his fist to the man’s temple.
His eyes rolled back into the dream state while his body all but dropped.
The Circus Freak lifted one of his legs as well as his arm, holding a fighting stance which made the king squint his eyes with interest. Analyzing .
The warriors were sluggish. They were unprepared for battle in both body and equipment. They had some weapons here and there, but they were not armored, they had no helmets, and some of their weapons were simply the eating utensils.
In the silence of expectation, brought upon by the befuddlement of one of their own having been knocked out with one swift movement, the Circus Freak started humming a common circus song.
“Lalala…” It had an immediate effect, goading another man to leap at him.
Meanwhile, the sober knights -- armored and armed, and actually ready to fight someone else -- were making their way through the crowd of watchers and over the tables.
The Circus Freak shoved his left foot in the man’s face, startling him. The warrior cleaved at the foot, but it moved out of his way and lunged through the other side. During the two seconds in which the man was disoriented, Circus Freak shuffled his supporting foot and balanced the weight of his body in a pull and push movement that delivered a good deal of force to his thrusting kick, which he sunk into the man’s stomach.
The warrior bent over reflexively, so the Circus Freak switched feet and leaned down, to bring his fist on the man’s head and avoid another sword slash that went over his back, missing. While he was at it, his substitute foot rose behind him to connect its heel with that attacker’s groins.
“Aahhoww!” The warrior grabbed at his family jewels, bowing with the pain.
The Circus Freak laughed mid-singing, because he was still humming the circus jingle, and stood up.
Another warrior, holding a knife and a fork, came at him. It was hilarious. He dodged the thrusts and the swipes, parrying them with one-handed smacks until he used a dodge to swipe the woman’s feet off balance. The Circus Freak used that opening to jab at her nose.
“Augh!” She grabbed her nose, but he relentlessly used that opening to grab on to her hair and pull her head down to meet a rising knee.
“Laaaaa!” the Circus Freak yelled with the strike, singing along.
The properly armored knights, three of them, had finally made their way into his proximity. But they held their positions, surrounding him.
“You fight like an oriental,” the king asserted.
The Circus Freak looked over to the king inquisitively. “Fight? I’m not fighting.”
“Martial arts. Right? You’re practiced, but it won’t save you this day,” the king said.
“I dunno what you’re blabbering about, you haven’t seen me fighting.” Hugo grinned. “I’m just dancing.” And then resumed his singing.
The Circus Freak was trying to be creepy, but in a way, he was simply relaying what he had been told. It was true that whatever that was, he had learned in the lands of the Orient. A country he couldn’t spell, from people whose lifestyle he could barely understand. He had seen some interesting feats he had never thought to perform before, like lifting your whole body on one finger, or sleeping on nails, or doing a handstand on nails. They were really obsessed with being comfortable on nails for some reason.
Hugo chuckled. They really wanted to get nailed.
The Circus Freak started emulating every exercise he saw them do. Eventually, he was caught, and they sought to eject him, but pacifists can never get anything done if other people don’t want them to. With all their feats of strength, they were pacifists, so not one of them was willing to go far enough in a fight to get him to leave.
No, they couldn’t get rid of him. Instead, they hated him, which was fine by him, he continued learning anyways.
The point was that they had told him that his movements held no meaning. He copied their form, but not their spiritual mumbo-jumbo, and their breathing and nerves control and philosophies and what
not, so while he might move like they did, the moves would never carry the force they should.
In essence, the Circus Freak would never really be executing the martial art, they had said. He would just be dancing.
Of course, that very accurate reference to his joke was lost on everyone who heard it in that room, but why would he care? Who makes jokes for other people’s sake, anyway?
The Circus Freak’s body flowed like a liquid, shaping itself to avoid the thrusts and swings of his attackers, waiting for the opportunity to strike out for the king. The man had not moved an inch other than to sit back down on his dinner throne.
The Circus Freak landed with his remaining hand on the ground and pushed into a perfect land on the table’s ledge with his left foot. He stepped off that and ran across the table, licking his lips in excitement.
“Stop him!” said a noble-wart.
“Stop the clown!” yelled another.
The king said nothing. He but watched in stoic appreciation, calmly standing up, planning to again use his shield. That suited Hugo just fine.
This time, he didn’t use acrobatics to get to the king. Instead, the Circus Freak danced. No cartwheels and flips, just moving the limbs out of the way, letting the flow of ever-continuous movement pass through the obstacles pushed into his way. Like swords, an arrow, plates of food, even yells.
“By the gods!” exclaimed some blue-blooded drama-queen.
“STOP HIM!” screeched another.
The king’s facial features became evident once again as the Circus Freak danced into close range.
The shield pushed against the Circus Freak, but this time, he stepped around. He slapped the side of the shield with one abrupt and incisive smack and used the force of that hit to spin his body around the shield and out the table.
The king was a tall man, taller than Hugo by an entire bust, which worked out to his advantage. The Circus Freak finished the spin with his arm fully outstretched, long enough to slap the king’s face.
Beyond satisfied, the Circus Freak landed in an agile twirl, sniveling uncontrollably as his spin slowed to a stop, to face the entire hall and bask in his achievement.
At last, he had caused the greatest of reactions! The crowd was silenced. Duly freaked out.