Fool(65)
“What if a child was running down the stairs?” I said. “Awkward explaining to Gloucester why his beloved toddler grandson was wearing a yard of Sheffield steel through his gizzard.”
“Gloucester doesn’t have a grandson,” said Cornwall, surprised, I think, that he was engaged in this discussion.
“That doesn’t diminish the need for basic weapons safety.”
“But I’m here to slay you.”
“Moi?” said I, in perfect fucking French. “Whatever for?”
“Because you are shagging my lady.”
There was a great bellow from the tower room, followed by a female feral screech. “Was that pain or pleasure, would you say?” I asked.
“Who is in there?” Cornwall raised his sword again.
“Well, it is your lady, and she is most certainly being shagged, by the bastard Edmund of Gloucester, but prudence would have you stay your blade.” I laid Jones across the duke’s wrist and pushed his sword hand down. “Unless you care nothing for being King of Britain.”
“What are you on about, fool?” The duke very much wanted to do some killing, but his ambition was trumping his bloodlust.
“Oh ride me, you great, tree-cocked rhinoceros!” screamed Regan from the next room.
“She still says that?” I asked.
“Well, usually it’s ‘tree-cocked stallion,’” said Cornwall.
“She does get good wear out of a metaphor.” I put my hand on his shoulder for comfort. “Aye, a sad surprise, for you, I’ll wager. At least when a man, after looking into his soul, finally stoops to fuck a snake, he hopes at least not to see pairs of boots already lined up outside her burrow.”
He shook me off. “I’ll kill him!”
“Cornwall, you are about to be attacked. Even now Albany prepares to take all of Britain for his own. You’ll need Edmund and the forces of Gloucester to prevail against him, and when you do, you’ll be king. If you go in that room now, you will kill a horn-beast, but you will lose a kingdom.”
“God’s blood,” said Cornwall. “Is this true?”
“Win the war, good sirrah. Then kill the bastard at your leisure, when you can take your time and do it right. Regan’s honor is, well, malleable, is it not?”
“You’re sure about this war?”
“Aye. It’s why you need to take Lear’s remaining knights and squires, just as Goneril and Albany took the others. And you mustn’t let Goneril know you know. Even now your lady is assuring Gloucester’s allegiance to your side.”
“Really? That’s why she’s shagging Edmund?”
It hadn’t occurred to me until I’d said it, but it really did work quite nicely. “Oh yes, my lord, her enthusiasm is inspired by her fierce loyalty to you.”
“Of course,” said Cornwall, sheathing his sword. “I should have seen it.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t kill Edmund when it’s over,” said I.
“Absolutely,” said the duke.
When Cornwall was gone and some time after the first bell had rung for the watch, I knocked on the door and peeked my head in.
“Lord Edmund,” said I. “There’s a stirring in the duke’s tower. Perhaps you should say your farewells.”
I held Regan’s storm lantern at the crack of the door so she could find her way out, and a few moments later she stumbled out of the solar with her gown on backward, her hair in knots, and a slick of drool running in a river between and over her breasts. Overall, in fact, she looked quite slippery.
She was dazed and limping in a way that seemed she couldn’t quite figure which side to favor, and she was dragging one shoe by its strap around her ankle.
“Lady, shall I get your other shoe?”
“Sod it,” she said, waving drunkenly, or what seemed like drunkenly, almost falling down the stairs. I steadied her, helped her get her gown turned around, swabbed her down a bit with her skirt, then took her arm and helped her down the stairs.
“He’s quite a bit larger close up than he appears across the room.”
“That so?”
“I shan’t sit down for a fortnight.”
“Ah, sweet romance. Can you make it to your quarters, kitten?”
“I think so. You’re clever, Pocket—start thinking of excuses for Edmund if I’m not able to get out of bed tomorrow.”
“My pleasure, kitten. Sleep well.”