THIRTEEN
A NEST OF VILLAINS
Edmund. Edmund would have to be dealt with, forces turned on him, and I fought the urge to find the black-hearted fiend and thread one of my throwing daggers between his ribs, but a plan was already in place, or one of sorts, and I still held the purse with the two remaining puffballs the witches had given me. I swallowed my anger and led Drool into the castle.
“’Lo, Pocket! Is that you, lad?” A Welsh accent. “Is the king with you?”
I saw the top of a man’s head sticking through the stocks set in the middle of the courtyard. His hair was dark and long and hung in his face. I approached and bent down to see who it was.
“Kent? You’ve found yourself a cruel collar.”
“Call me Caius,” said the old knight. “Is the king with you?”
The poor fellow couldn’t even look up.
“Aye. On his way. The men are stabling their horses in the town. How came you to be in the stocks?”
“I tangled with that whoreson Oswald, Goneril’s steward. Cornwall judged me the offender and had me thrown in the stocks. I’ve been here since last evening.”
“Drool, fetch some water for this good knight,” said I. The giant loped off to find a bucket. I walked around behind Kent, patted him lightly on his bottom.
“You know, Kent, er—Caius, you are a very attractive man.”
“You rascal, Pocket, I’ll not be buggered by you.”
I smacked his bottom again, dust rose from his trousers. “No, no, no, not me. Not my cup of tea. But Drool, now he’d shag the night if he wasn’t afraid of the dark. And hung like an ox, that one is. I suspect you’ll extrude stools untapered for a fortnight once Drool’s laid the bugger to ya. Supper’ll dump through you like a cherry pit out a church bell.”
Drool was returning now carrying a wooden bucket and a dipper across the courtyard.
“No! Stop!” shouted Kent. “Villainy! Violation! Stop these fiends!”
Guards were looking down from the walls. I scooped a dipper of water from the bucket and threw it in Kent’s face to calm him. He sputtered and struggled against the stocks.
“Easy, good Kent, I was just having you on. We’ll get you out of there as soon as the king arrives.” I held the dipper for the knight and he drank deeply.
When he finished he gasped, “Christ’s codpiece, Pocket, why’d you go on like that?”
“Pure evil incarnate, I reckon.”
“Well, stop it. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m working on the fit,” said I.
Lear came through the gatehouse seconds later, flanked by Captain Curan and another older knight. “What’s this?” asked the king. “My messenger in stocks! How came this to be? Who put you here, man?”
“Your daughter and son-in-law, sire,” said Kent.
“No. By Jupiter’s beard, I say, no,” said Lear.
“Aye, by St. Cardomon’s scaly feet[35] I say, aye,” said Kent.
“By the flapping foreskin of Freya, I say, bugger all!” said Jones.
And they looked at the puppet, confident on his stick.
“Thought we was swearing by whatever we could come up with,” said the puppet. “Do go on.”
“I say no,” continued Lear. “’Tis worse than murder, to treat a messenger of the king so. Where is my daughter?”
The old king stormed through the inner gate, followed by Captain Curan and a dozen other knights from his train who had come into the castle.
Drool sat down in the dirt, splay-legged, his face even with Kent’s, and said, “So, how’ve you been?”
“I’m in the stocks,” said Kent. “Locked like this overnight.”
Drool nodded, starting a string of his namesake down his chin. “So, not so good, then?”
“Nay, lad,” said Kent.
“Better now that Pocket is here to save us, innit?”
“Aye, I’m a rescue in progress. Didn’t see any keys in there when you were getting the water?”
“No. No keys,” said Drool. “They’ve a laundress with smashing knockers works by the well sometimes, but she won’t have a laugh with you. I asked her. Five times.”
“Drool, you mustn’t just go asking that sort of thing without some prelude,” said I.
“I said [please],” said Drool.
“Well done, then, glad you’ve kept your manners in the face of so much villainy.”