Fool(73)

 

“Where’s Drool, love?” I asked.

 

“Hidden,” she said.

 

“I know he’s bloody hidden, otherwise asking would have been superfluous, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Just want me to give him up, then? How do I know you’re not out to kill him? That old knight who brought him here said not to let anyone know where he was.”

 

“But I’m here to get him out of the castle. Rescue him, as it were.”

 

“Aye, you say that, but—”

 

“Listen, you bloody tart, give up the git!”

 

“Emma,” said the laundress.

 

I sat down on the hearth and rested my head in my hands. “Love, I’ve spent the night in a storm with a witch and two raving nutters. I’ve a brace of wars to see to, as well as the summary violation of two princesses and consequent cuckolding of a pair of dukes. I’m heartbroken, aggrieved for the loss of a friend, and the great drooling lummox that is my apprentice is evidently wandering the castle in search of a mortal chest wound. Pity a fool, love—another non sequitur may dash my brittle sanity to splinters.”

 

“My name is Emma,” said the laundress.

 

“I’m right here, Pocket,” said Drool, standing up in the great cauldron. A pile of laundry on his head had been concealing his great empty melon as he lurked in the water. “Knockers hided me. She’s a love.”

 

“You see,” said Emma. “He keeps calling me Knockers.”

 

“It’s a compliment, love.”

 

“It’s disrespectful,” she said. “My name’s Emma.”

 

I will never understand women. The laundress, it would seem, dressed in a manner that accentuated, indeed, celebrated her bosoms—a tightly cinched waist pushing bits up until they bloomed out of a swooping neckline—yet a chap notices and the lady takes offense. I will never understand it.

 

“You know he’s a complete nitwit, don’t you, Emma?”

 

“Just the same.”

 

“Fine. Drool, apologize to Emma for saying how smashing her knockers are.”

 

“Sorry about your knockers,” said Drool, bowing his head so his laundry hat dropped back into the drink.

 

“Satisfied, Emma?” I asked.

 

“I suppose.”

 

“Good. Now, do you know where Captain Curan, the commander of King Lear’s knights might be?”

 

“Oh yes,” said Emma. “Lord Edmund and the duke consulted me this morning on all the military matters, as they are wont to do—me being a laundress and having access to all the best bloody tactics and strategies and the lot.”

 

“Sarcasm will make your tits fall off,” said I.

 

“Will not,” said she, her arm going to a support position.

 

“It’s a known fact,” I said, nodding earnestly, then looking to Drool, who also nodded earnestly and said, “It’s a known fact,” note for note in my voice.

 

“That’s bloody spooky.” Emma shuddered. “You lot can get out of my laundry.”

 

“Very well, then,” said I. I motioned for Drool to climb out of the cauldron. “I thank you for looking after the Natural, Emma. I wish there were something I could—”

 

“Kill Edmund,” she said.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“The son of a guild builder were going to marry me before I came to work here. A respected man. Edmund took me against my will and bragged about it in the village. My lad wouldn’t have me then. No one worth his salt will have me, except the bastard, and him whenever he wants. ’Tis Edmund who commanded that I wear this low frock. Says he’ll set me out with the pigs if I don’t give him service. Kill him for me.”

 

“But lass, I’m just a fool. A clown. A small one at that.”

 

“There’s more to you than that, you black-hatted rascal. I’ve seen them wicked daggers at your back, and I can see who’s pulling the strings round this castle, and it ain’t the duke or the old king. Kill the bastard.”

 

“Edmund beated me,” said Drool. “And she do have smashing knockers.”

 

“Drool!”

 

“Well, she do.”

 

“All right, then,” said I, taking the laundress’s hand. “But in time. We’ve things to accomplish first.” I bowed over her hand, kissed it, then turned on my heel and padded barefoot out of the laundry to set history.

 

“Heinous fuckery,” Drool whispered to the laundress with a wink.

 

 

 

I hid Drool in the gatehouse among the heavy chains that I had used for my escape when I pursued Lear into the storm. Getting the lummox up on the wall and to the gatehouse undetected was no small task, and he left a dripping trail on the stones until we gained the castle exterior, but the guard was light in the tempest, so most of the way we went across the top of the walls unseen. My feet felt as if they’d been set in ice by the time I came back in to a fire, but there was no other way. Drool in the tight space of the secret tunnel, with his fear of the dark was not something I would wish on an enemy. I found a woolen blanket and wrapped the lout in it to await my return.