“Thank you, kind sir,” said Drool in Edmund the bastard’s voice, pitch-perfect, dripping with evil.
“That’s un-bloody-settling,” said Kent. “Pocket, think you could see about liberating me? I lost feeling in my hands a good hour ago and it won’t go well for holding a sword if they have to be cut off from gangrene.”
“Aye, I’ll see to it,” said I. “Let Regan vent some venom on her father, then I’ll go see her for the key. She quite fancies me, you know?”
“You’ve weed on yourself, ain’t ya?” said Drool, back in his own voice, but with a bit of a Welsh accent, no doubt to comfort the disguised Kent.
“Hours ago, and twice since,” said Kent.
“I does that sometime in the night, when it’s cold or it’s too far to the privy.”
“I’m just old and my bladder’s shrunk to the size of a walnut.”
“I’ve started a war,” said I, since we seemed to be sharing privacies.
Kent struggled in the stocks to look at me. “What’s this? From key—to wee—to, ‘I’ve started a bloody war,’ without so much as a by-your-leave? I’m bewildered, Pocket.”
“Aye, which concerns me, as you lot are my army.”
“Smashing!” said Drool.
The Earl of Gloucester came himself to release Kent. “I’m sorry, good man. You know I would not have allowed this, but once Cornwall has set his mind…”
“I heard you try,” said Kent. The two had been friends in a former life, but now, Kent, lean and dark-haired, looked younger and more than a measure dangerous, while the weeks had weighed like years on Gloucester. He was near feeble, and struggled with the heavy key to the stocks. I took it from him gently and worked the lock.
“And you, fool, I’ll not have you chiding Edmund for his bastardy.”
“He’s no longer a bastard, then? You married his mother. Congratulations, good earl.”
“No, his mother is long dead. His legitimacy comes from the treachery of my other son, Edgar, who betrayed me.”
“How so?” I asked, knowing full well how.
“He planned to take my lands from me and hasten me to the grave.”
This was not what I had written in the letter. Certainly, the lands would be forfeit, but there had been no mention of murder of the old man. This was Edmund’s doing.
“What have you done to anger our father?” said Drool, pitch-perfect in Edmund’s voice.
We all turned and stared at the great oaf, the wrong-sized voice coming from his cavernous mouth.
“I have done nothing,” said Drool in another voice.
“Edgar?” said Gloucester.
Indeed, it was Edgar’s voice. I tensed at what might come next.
“Arm yourself and hide,” the bastard’s voice said. “Father has it in his mind that you have committed some offense, and he has ordered guards to seize you.”
“What?” said Gloucester. “What dodgy magic is this?”
Then the bastard’s voice again: “I have consulted the constellations, and they foretell of our father going mad and hunting you—”
At that point I clamped my hand over Drool’s mouth.
“It’s nothing, my lord,” said I. “The Natural is not right in his mind. Fever, methinks. He mimics voices but not intent. His thoughts are a jumble.”
“But those were the very voices of my sons,” said Gloucester.
“Aye, but only in sound. Only in sound. Like a jabbering bird is the great fool. If you have quarters where I might take him—”
“And the king’s most favored fool, and abused servant,” added Kent, rubbing at the rash on his wrists left from the stocks.
Gloucester considered a moment. “You, good fellow, have been wrongly punished. Goneril’s steward Oswald is less than honorable. And while I find it a mystery, Lear does love his Black Fool. There’s an unused solar in the north tower. It leaks, but it will be out of the wind and close to your master, who will have quarters in the same wing.”
“Aye, thank you, good lord,” said I. “The Natural needs tending. We’ll wrap him in blankets then I’ll run down to the chemist for a leech.”
We hustled Drool into the tower and Kent closed the heavy door and bolted it. There was one cathedral window with cracked shutters and two arrow loops, all set in alcoves, with tapestries pulled aside and tied to allow in the little light. We could see our breath in the winter air.