Fortune's Fools

by Paul Tomlinson

  Gosling left the body hidden behind the bushes and stepped out, finding himself face to face with the bear-headed man, whom Grimwade had sent to verify the killings.

  “That was not one of them,” Gosling explained. “I was just testing my blade.” He scurried away, embarrassed.

  Tall black iron stands held numerous candles around the hall. Huge chandeliers held thousands more candles overhead. The air was already warm and hazy. Perfumes and food smells filled the atmosphere, along with the babble of conversation. Continuous lines of servants brought out food to load the two long tables which ran the length of the hall on each side. Between them, a juggler and an acrobat clumsily entertained anyone who cared to spare them a glance.

  At the end of the room, raised on a dais above the general hubbub, Captain Sheldrake and a number of the town’s other officials and their wives sat at a separate table. The Skullsplitter hung on the wall above them. A chair in their midst sat empty, awaiting the arrival of the widow, Lady Julianne.

  Sheldrake hurled a chicken leg at the juggler. He laughed when it bounced off the man’s head, distracting him and causing him to drop one of the painted wooden clubs.

  On a balcony above and behind the dais, a group of musicians appeared to be tuning their instruments, or it could have been that they were playing a melody imperfectly. Whichever, they suddenly fell silent as a pair of uniformed Guardsmen appeared and took up positions on either side at the bottom of the main staircase.

  Julianne paused at the top of the stairs, as Doran had instructed her. Let them take in the sight of you from a distance, he had advised. Let them see the simple black dress and the veil, and your slightly aloof bearing: look down on them, as if they are little more than a group of actors there for your amusement alone. Then descend the stair slowly, make them wait.

  The hall remained in silence as she stepped onto the stone floor at the foot of the stairs and moved to take her place on the dais. She stood a moment before her chair.

  Let them wait in silence a moment before you speak.

  She waited.

  “Let there be music and feasting,” she said loudly.

  There was loud applause, some cheering, and Julianne took her seat.

  Win them over through the talents of your chef. Speeches and plans can come at a later date: for now, get them used to the sight of you at the head of a table. Let them know of your generosity, and they will be more likely to lend an ear when you request their attention later.

  People began to eat, needing little bidding to attack the displays of food around them. And if any thought the music was a little hesitant and unrehearsed, they were too engrossed to comment.

  Half an hour into the meal, eating stopped, if only briefly. From outside the main door to the hall came a sudden and very loud crash. The diners paused to listen.

  “I did not trip you purposefully,” a voice said loudly. “It was an accident. And even were it not, you deserve such indignity. It is only a small amount of blood, you have plenty more. If I had meant to injure you, I would have made a far better job of it. You are not about to make some mindless attempt at revenge, are you?”

  There was a loud smack!

  A figure flew through the hall doorway, tumbled end over end in a clumsy somersault, and landed heavily on the floor, face down, between the two tables of diners.

  The man stood, dusting off his clothes, seemingly unaware of the diners around him. He was dressed in white shirt and black breeches, and his dark hair was tied back in a ponytail by a black velvet ribbon. His face was painted white, with black-rimmed eyes and mouth exaggerated in dark red.

  “If you think I am going in there to assist you in entertaining those flabby-faced dignitaries and their over-dressed mistresses, you are sadly...” Anton looked slowly left and right. He laughed nervously. “... mistaken, for I intend to amuse these fine people instead. Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the castle,” he said, awkwardly. “Why so quiet? You would think that the guest of honour had died.” He slapped his hand to his mouth, realising what he had said. Some among the audience tittered at the tasteless joke. He turned to the door and spoke in a loud stage whisper: “Get in here now! If you leave me to face these people alone, I will cut off your ears when next you sleep!”

  A second figure appeared between the tables, a white-faced clown in deep-red leggings and boots and white shirt. His hair shone red-gold in the candlelight. He leaped high into the air, somersaulted and landed lightly on his feet. Immediately he leaned into a series of cart-wheels that took him the length of the hall and then back to his dark-haired partner.

  “Ah, this looks much more like it,” Sheldrake said, nudging Julianne with his elbow.

  Anton pulled a silk square from his belt and fastened it as a blindfold on Edison. He took hold of Edison’s shoulders and turned him round and round, until he staggered, dizzy and disorientated.

  Edison, blindfolded, wandered giddily back and forth, arms outstretched. Anton leaped around, close at hand, then further away, calling Over here... No here... Here... as the other stumbled around trying to locate the source of the voice.

  The dark-haired clown appropriated the helmet and pike of a Guardsman and performed an exaggerated march down the room, to laughter from the crowd. Pausing, the clown examined the pike, tested the point and found it sharp. His exaggerated smile expanded several notches and he tip-toed up behind Edison.

  Stabbed sharply in the rump, the auburn-haired clown yelped. He leapt into the air, hands clutching his injured buttock. The other clown pantomimed laughter and the crowd joined in with the real thing.

  Edison moved to take off his blind-fold, but his companion whacked him over the head with the shaft of the pike. The stunned clown wandered around drunkenly, but did not go down. Anton whacked him again, and this time his companion was laid out on the floor, unconscious.

  “He is my friend, he claims. Hah!” Anton said. “There is a certain lady – She has caught mine eye, I told him. She is beautiful as dawn light on daffodils, I said. But I am afraid to approach her. She is a goddess, and I am an ass. You lack courage, my ‘friend’ told me. If you do not have the confidence to approach her, you do not deserve her.

  “I felt forced to agree, so spent a day building my courage, fortifying it with the best part of a jug of wine. Then, when I did feel so brave as to take on the whole of the Guard, I dressed in my finest, and set off to seek out she who made my heart flutter like caged butterflies. And I did find her, sitting upon this friend’s knee!” Anton kicked the unconscious Edison. “His courage comes in ample supply, obviously, for he has two mistresses already, and now he has charmed my own lovely.

  “Your skin is akin to milk, he said in her ear. Your flesh tender and unblemished as a peach. Your lips are sweet cherries, and your hair is pure honey. I did expect him to draw out a spoon and consume her on the spot! A green-eyed monster sat upon my shoulder and whispered in my ear. Kill him! Smite his head from his shoulders, and it will then be your lap filled with this luscious dessert, my envy told me.

  “My jealousy drove me to plot his murder. I thought hard upon the perfect method for his dispatch. How might one murder a man and not be hanged for the crime? What is the perfect method? It is obvious, of course. Poison! Have we not seen the method demonstrated recently within these very walls? Torrance, Captain of the Guard lies poisoned, and his killer is not caught. The perfect crime. Or I might stab him in the back, and still avoid punishment, as Lord Eòghan’s murderer has done. Indeed, it seems that any assassin might go unpunished in Sangreston.

  “With these thoughts in mind, I have prepared a special draught, a goblet of wine which contains sufficient distillation of venom to knock down a bullock that did catch only a whiff of it. I will offer him the wine to refresh himself when he wakes. I have the goblet placed... here.” Anton indicated an empty space on a table. He looked around, alarmed. “Wait, sir, that wine is poisoned!”

  Anton leaped up onto the dais and snatched the
goblet from Sheldrake’s hand.

  Sheldrake sprayed the mouthful of wine he had taken, all over the table and himself, his expression concerned.

  “Is this the one I marked with an ‘X’?”

  Anton tipped up the goblet to examine its base, emptying its contents into Sheldrake’s lap. He leaned close so that Sheldrake might recognise him, winked when it was obvious that the man had done so.

  Sheldrake blanched.

  “‘Tis not the one,” Anton said. He tossed the goblet aside and leaped from the dais.

  “Is something wrong, captain?” Lady Julianne asked.

  “No, no. Just a touch of indigestion, I think.” Sheldrake smiled weakly.

  Anton approached a man on one of the other tables who was drinking from his own goblet. He took the goblet from the man’s lips. “Do you feel at all queasy?” Anton asked.

  The man shook his head.

  “Does your tongue blacken and swell, burning as if it is on fire?”

  No.

  “Do your entrails coil about themselves as if they are turned to eels?”

  Again the man shook his head.

  “Good, then this wine is not poisoned.”

  Anton drained the goblet, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He belched. Then he suddenly grabbed his throat, his eyes wide and tongue lolling from his open mouth. He made loud retching noises, staggered, knees bent.

  The man whose wine he had drunk looked aghast.

  Anton straightened, shook himself. “It is a trifle young, do you not think?” he asked the man, who nodded dumbly.

     

   

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  “Excuse me, do you happen to know where one might find relief?”

  The voice was close to his ear. Startled, Gosling turned and found himself staring into the face of a clown. “Relief from what?” the assassin asked. He noticed that the clown was clutching the crotch of his pantaloons and dancing from foot to foot. “Ah, I see your problem. Allow me to show you the way.”

  Gosling led the clown up a flight of stairs and into a large deserted chamber.

  “Which door?” the unsuspecting clown enquired.

  Gosling took a length of rope, looping it around the clown’s neck and knotting it. He released the rope from its wall stay, and the clown was whisked up into the air, as a heavy chandelier fell to the ground. Gosling looked up, watching the man dance in the air. Eventually the costumed figure was still, save for a twitching leg and a trickled of urine.

  Grimwade’s man entered. “Where?” he asked.

  Gosling cut the chandelier’s rope, and the clown crashed to the ground directly in front of the startled henchman.

  The bear knelt and lifted the clown’s mask. He looked up, shaking his head. “I think this is the undertaker’s son-in-law.”

  Gosling shrugged sheepishly. “At least his wife will get a discount.”

  Anton whirled the pike around in his hands, in faster and faster circles, throwing it up above his head, candle-light flashing from the blade. It stopped suddenly, and the clown drew back his arm and hurled the pike like a spear in the direction of the dais.

  The crowd gasped.

  The pike embedded itself in the wall, swaying just two feet above Captain Sheldrake’s head, and only a short distance below the stunned musicians on the balcony.

  “Music!” the clown shouted. “This gathering might be part wake, but there is no need for this hall to be a mausoleum!”

  The band struck up a tune, hesitantly at first, but quickly finding their way into it.

  Edison gave a shrill whistle, gaining everyone’s attention. He was standing on the dais behind Captain Sheldrake. He waved the blindfold and pointed down at the captain’s head.

  “Excellent! We have another player for our game!” The dark-haired clown rubbed his hands.

  Sheldrake made to decline, but Lady Julianne urged him to his feet to take part, as did the more vocal element of the crowd. Sheldrake was blindfolded and led out onto the floor. He was turned around and around and around until he was genuinely giddy, then pushed forwards.

  “Over here. Not there, here. Here...” Anton somersaulted and then leaped above the captain, rapping him on the head with his knuckles as he passed over him.

  Edison handed his companion a sword. Anton swished it in front of the captain. Poked him with it. The captain backed away, raising his hands to remove the blindfold. The crowd booed its disapproval, and the clown slapped his hands away.

  Edison crouched down behind the captain, tripping him as Anton forced Sheldrake backwards with close swipes of the sword.

  Helping Sheldrake to his feet, Anton unfastened the captain’s belt. His breeches fell about his ankles. Anton pinched the captain’s buttock. Sheldrake stumbled forward, kicking aside his breeches. The crowd roared with laughter.

  Anton regarded Sheldrake’s legs and made appreciative gestures. He produced a skirt from the front of his shirt and wrapped it around the captain’s waist. A padded bosom on a yoke was added by Edison to complete the captain’s humiliation.

  “Pardon me, may I have the pleasure of this dance, m’lady?” Anton asked. He whirled the ‘lady’ around, twisting and turning abruptly to the music. The crowd left off eating to clap along in time to the music, drowning Sheldrake’s curses and threats.

  Around and around they danced, covering the whole of the floor. The music stopped and the clown held his lady close, swept her off her feet and kissed her on the cheek.

  Then, as the giggles died: “Forsooth, this lady is in need of shaving!” The clown pulled away the blindfold. “Eegad! ‘Tis a man! What kind of deviance is this, sir?”

  He let go of the captain, who fell on his back on the littered floor.

  “Music!” Anton called. “Let there be dancing and merriment.” He took the hand of one of the young serving girls. “Are you too a young lad in disguise?” he asked. He touched a hand to her breast. “Ah, relief,” he called loudly. “They are real!”

  The girl blushed.

  “Come dance, follow my lead.”

  Several young couples, with little social standing to jeopardise, joined the clown and the girl to dance. Others who had grown tired of eating, saw the fun the youngsters were having, and quickly joined them.

  Captain Sheldrake stood to one side, pulling on his breeches, his face dark with rage.

   

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Gosling stepped out into the castle courtyard to take advantage of the cool air. He pulled off his rabbit head and set it on the little wall surrounding a large water trough. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a clown disappearing into the shadows by the stables. Gosling drew his sword and hurried after him.

  He came upon his white-faced victim urinating against a wall. Gosling sprang forwards, stabbing sharply with his blade, just as the clown adjusted his garment and stepped aside. The assassin’s sword struck the stone wall, jarring his arm to the shoulder, and snapping the blade in two.

  “Shit!”

  The clown wandered drunkenly away, unaware.

  Gosling grabbed the shovel from a manure pile and hurried to catch up with his prey. There was a dull sound, part hollow thud, part metal ringing. It was repeated again and again, until it finally became a quieter, wetter sound.

  Gosling tore the clown’s mask free. “Too old!” he wailed. Gosling looked skywards, asking the gods what he had done to deserve such fate. “I admit that there might be some unremembered sin in my past for which I never properly atoned, but I beg you not to punish me for it tonight, of all nights.”

  Gosling returned to the courtyard to retrieve his own mask, and discovered a clown, leaning over the trough, vomiting loudly.

  “I would advise you to avoid the mussels,” the clown said, voice slurred, his expression pained. He dipped his head again and emptied another stream of vomit into the water.

  “Thank you for the advice,” Gosling said. The assassin moved up behind the man
and placed a hand on the back of his neck, forcing his head down into the water. Eventually the man stopped struggling.

  “The one by the stables is Alden Gallagher, a merchant,” said Grimwade’s man, approaching from that direction. “And this one,” he said, hauling the dripping corpse up by the collar of his costume, “is the gate-keeper’s nephew, Thomas.”

  Gosling picked up the head of his costume and jammed it down to hide his scowl. He stomped off towards the main entrance as quickly as his over-size shoes would allow. He white tail bobbed up and down in the gloom.

  The assassin re-entered the main hall just as a party of four clowns arrived together, laughing loudly.

  “Oh, fuck!”

  Anton smiled to see Grimwade’s choice of costume: a black and white feathered representation of a magpie. A collector of beautiful things. His shape and uneven gait gave him away, of course.

  “Good evening, Mr. Grimwade,” Anton said.

  “Ah, Anton, still here?” Grimwade said, then hurried away.

  Anton shrugged. He had heard that the hunchback had spent some part of the evening in a meeting with Lady Julianne. In treating her with respect now, he had laid the foundation for a successful relationship, and would be reaping the rewards before any of his rivals even realised a woman was equal to the task of governing the region.

  The auburn-haired clown appeared at Captain Sheldrake’s side, pressed a knife against his ribs.

  “Make no move, captain. Now that we have the party going, you can slip away un-noticed. There is someone who would speak with you out on the terrace. Leave your men to enjoy the celebrations, you do not need them to face one man.”

  The clown escorted the captain to the door onto the terrace, pressing close behind him.