THE FOOL - by: Will Ritter, 2003
Our story begins on a dusty road, as all too many
stories do, I suppose. The year is, to be expected,
long ago, and the land, far away . Along the dusty
road travels a young man know as Simon Festilo to his
friends, but his friends are all far, far behind him
now. All but one, that is, which is entirely the
reason for his journey in the first place: Abrianna, a
young, radiant woman whose raven black hair and
graceful fingers had reached into him and tickled his
heart with their dance. Coincidentally, those fingers
had also reached into the pockets of a certain Lord
Evellon as they danced, and while their practiced,
delicate motions were the envy of every other Gypsy,
they had not been quite enough to dupe the wrathful
Lord. Enraged at her trickery, but softened by her
beauty, he had not killed the girl, but instead taken
her prisoner to Castle Evellonshire.
Thus had begun Simon’s quest to rescue his love.
The word ‘quest’, thought Simon, is somewhat
misleading. Danger and excitement, to be sure, were
essential components to a quest. Bravery, also, and
obstacles were certainly supposed to be involved. So
far: dust. Many miles and countless hours of dust were
all Simon could speak of his quest to this point. But
then, he considered, when somebody tells his story
once his quest is over, they can open with, “Our story
begins on a dusty road...,” which is always an
excellent beginning.
Spirits buoyed somewhat by this thought, he marched
on toward the dusty horizon ahead. By the last light
of that very evening’s sunset, Simon watched the
towers of Evellonshire creep into view over a broad
hill. He would, by mid-afternoon the very next day,
reach his destination at last. Simon settled himself
against the dusty roots of a dusty tree and fell
asleep wondering what on earth he was to do tomorrow.
In the morning, he wondered the same thing... faster,
but with equally minimal success.
Inside the little town within the castle walls, Simon
began to inquire about the Lord. He asked merchants
and children and every manner of passer by how he
might see the lord in person. Inevitably, the response
was the same, or close to it.
“Are you bleedin’ daft or only most th’ way loony?
Lor’ Evellon won’t see anyone whose not in his court -
and even a good ‘alf of them he throws out when he’s
feelin’ ‘specially nasty!”
And so it went until Simon stumbled upon a man who
gave him a rather spectacular idea. Dressed in a faded
red and yellow tunic, split down the middle, along
with stockings of alternately matching hues, the man
was sitting in a heap on the steps of a tavern. Simon
posed his question and was greeted with the usual
answer. The strange man, however, concluded defiantly,
“and I should know!”
“But how is it you come to know, sir?” asked Simon,
“Have you seen the Lord’s foul mood first hand?”
The man snorted and nodded, clearly disoriented by
drink. “I’m just lucky he decided to send me out of
the court, he’s been known to do worse to the clowns
who don’t amuse him.” He gave the ragged, three-point
hat beside him a halfhearted pat. It jingled politely
in response. Simon thought for a moment, considering
the small palmful of coins in his pouch.
An hour later, Simon found himself scrubbing off his
new clothing in a small stream. To his pleasure,
beneath the dirt of time, there remained the bright
sunny yellows and deep crimsons of a Jester’s costume.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Our tale lurches awkwardly forward now, nearly a year
since Simon’s arrival. I will give your eyes a moment
to adjust, as the contrast between the bright outdoor
sun and the dark stone passageway must be rather
extreme. I think I shall take that time to let you
know that, using the slight-of-hand and showmanship
learned from years of gypsy life, Simon has worked his
way into performing for the Court. Rather than
confront the Lord prematurely, he decided to hold his
position until such time as he would be able to find
and rescue Abrianna. This effort has proven fruitless,
unfortunately, due largely to the fact that the vast
majority of Simon’s performances have ended with the
Lord’s command to have him jailed immediately.
“Come on, then, keep moving... no funny stuff.” The
guard’s face was square-jawed and thick with stubble.
“Unless I’m much mistaken, Joshua, that was the very
reason I was sent down here tonight in the first
place.”
The guard smiled momentarily, and then, with a hushed
voice, “Just lemme keep up appearances, would ya,
Simon.” They moved around a corner and down the last
spiral stairwell, “I can’t afford to get in trouble
again, I got family to think of you know!”
“Know? Josh, who helped you build the extra room for
Emily when Mary was carrying your youngest? How is
Little Jonas Brigg doing, these days, anyway? Been an
age since I had a chance to come visit.”
“Fine, they’re all fine, o’ course - but Mary’d have
my skin if I stopped comin’ home regular. She’s
already worried about your neck, the way you’ve been
catching it lately. Do try to be more careful man, I
mean it. Well, here we go, your master bedroom.” He
swung open the iron bar door and stepped aside for
Simon.
“You know as well as I, I’ve got nothing to do with
that Royal you-know-what’s temperament. You’re the
most honorable guard on the fleet and he’d have you
in shackles as soon as me. I think he selects it the
way he does because it just wouldn’t work to have me
leading you down flights of stairways and locking you
away all the time. People would start to talk.” He
grinned at the guard, who smiled back and shook his
head knowingly. With a metallic clank, the door
latched shut and the two bade each other goodnight.
Simon leaned on the windowsill again, as he had done
countless nights before. He pressed his head against
the bars until he could only just see the sky above
the courtyard. He found himself wondering, idly, if
anyone ever actually visited that courtyard, besides
the gardener, that is. He pulled back and slid himself
down to the straw heap that constituted a bed in his
little cell. Once again he silently cursed his rash
decision to take the Jester’s role. Once again he
thought about how he would convince the Lord to let
him leave. His quest had been in vain, all those
months ago. Perhaps his lady had been released as soon
as they had arrived, perhaps all this time she had
been back with the Gypsies, dancing and singing while
he foolishly juggled for noblemen, pathetically
produced handkerchiefs and coins for ladies and lords
of high fashion. He could not help but feel he was
more than playing a role, and that he must truly be a
fool to have kept up this act so long.
Simon closed his eyes and tried to remember the words
to his favorite songs back home.
...over the laughing Baybella’ Brook,
through ripening corn an’ hay,
if e’er y’ listen, if e’er y’ look
The faeries all flitter and play.
But be careful, be wary, be warned, be wise
For the Faeries are fickle as feathers,
They’ll let you go see ‘em with innocent eyes
an’ then lure y’away forever!
He smiled to himself. With his eyes closed he could
hear Abrianna’s voice in the back of his mind, see her
singing the old ditty. He tried to recall another...
something about a hunter out late, and a fox... or
perhaps the fox was out late... but Simon found he
could not for his life recall the words. He realized,
abruptly, that it was because his ears were still
following the faerie tune. He could not get it out of
his head. He froze.
...With thistledown hair as fair as it gets
and wings made of starlight and dew...
His eyes jolted open and in a moment he was standing,
ears straining at the thin, barred window.
...Their beauty defies being captured by nets,
For their beauty is capturing you!
The singing stopped abruptly as the echoing of a
metal gong reverberated off of the stone walls of the
courtyard. From her window Abrianna squinted down into
the darkness of the courtyard below her, it was too
far down and too dim to make out anything.
“Hello?” She called at last, “Whose down there?”
“Abrianna!” Simon cried up at the darkness,
“Abrianna!”
“That name,” she said after a pause,”is mine. I was
looking for one I did not know.”
“Abrianna! It’s me! It’s Simon!”
“Simon!” Her heart beat suddenly faster. Rushing out
of her room and down the stairwell, she burst into the
courtyard below. “Simon? Is it really you after all
this time!” She thought for a moment, “You know it has
been quite a long time, Simon! What have you been
doing? I can’t just pick the locks to rooms with
twenty bloody guards you know!” She strained her eyes,
scouring the garden her for any sign of him, “Where
are you, anyway? And are you carrying a gong about
with you?”
Simon reached up absently and rubbed his brow where
he had collided with the bars, “Never mind the, er,
the gong... I’m in a dungeon cell, Abrianna! I’ve been
searching for you these many months, acting as a
simple jester to Lord Evellon! Finally I found you and
I can whisk you away from here!”
There followed a long, pregnant silence.
“How?” She responded at last.
There followed a second long, pregnant silence.
Simon, meanwhile, thought faster than he had ever
before, and even as he did, a master plan formed
before his mind’s eye.
“Can you meet me at my window tomorrow night?” He
called up to her.
“Well, Yes, yes certainly, but what good will come of
that? The walls about the courtyard are far too steep
to scale, Simon. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Not to run, Abrianna,” he replied, “I will tell you
my plan, but it must remain absolutely secret! Until
then, get your rest, my love, you will be free soon
enough!”
And with that, Simon retreated to his cell to
complete his plans.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The following day, Simon performed more masterfully
than ever before. He drew coin after coin from the
ears of dignitaries, made a small red handkerchief
become a significantly larger red handkerchief (both
torn from the lining of his own, worn tunic), and then
turned both into a small bouquet of flowers (purloined
from the nearest bush to Simon’s cell window). For his
grand finale, he borrowed a ring from a visiting land
lord, carefully palming it in his left hand while
apparently clutching it in his right. With a dramatic
incantation he threw, in its place, a handful of flour
into the fire. The flour had taken a great deal of
persuasion to coax out of one of the scullery maids
and had eventually cost him one of the few coins he
had remaining. The resulting whoosh of flame, however,
more than made up for the difficulty of obtaining it,
and the court applauded merrily.
As the clapping began to subside, and before his Lord
had an opportunity to speak, Simon addressed the
court. Rising slowly and dramatically from his bow,
eyes fixed on Lord Evellon, he began, “My Lord, and
all my good Lord’s court. I have but tickled your
palate with trinkets of so called ‘magic’.” He began
to walk, with slow, even steps around the court. “But
if you would like to see true sorcery, I am prepared
to show you all the extent of my power. Tomorrow, at
this very hour, if my Lord should so desire, I will
astound every one of you with a display of the magical
arts so potent it will change the lives of every man
and woman present here!” Here he paused, and turned
again to Evellon, who sat transfixed.
“Yes, yes certainly!” The lord finally bellowed,
falling again into his booming, commanding voice, “By
my word, boy, you shall perform it this night, even!
This very night!”
But Simon smiled, “No my Lord, Tomorrow, for I
require certain... circumstances for my performance,”
Lord Evellon scowled, clearly stuck between the urge
to punish the man for insolence and the excitement of
seeing true magic. “What... circumstances?”
Simon’s little, cunning smile remained, and he began
to pace again, “Firstly, the moon, my lords and
ladies, shall be full tomorrow night. This makes that
night ripe with magic. Second, I shall need to prepare
myself, for what I am about to do is no simple task,
and third,” Simon stopped and, once again, stared
evenly into Lord Evellon’s eyes, “I require a maiden
of unsurpassed beauty. You must find a foreign woman
with eyes dark as forests, hair black as a raven’s
wing, and a voice pure as silk. She appeared to me in
a dream, you see, and if you can not find her, and
find her soon, the time will pass and I will be unable
to perform at all.”
The lord laughed, “I already know precisely where to
find your maiden, fool, she’ll be here at my side come
this hour tomorrow! Your show, however, had best make
me forget about your infernal insolence!” He now
grinned at the chance to, once again, “Cast him to the
dungeon, Guard!” And with the all-too familiar command
spoken, he Hrum-humphed and sat back in his chair to
watch Joshua escort Simon out of the court.
In the narrow passageway, once they had moved down a
few stairwells and around a few turns, the guard
turned to look at Simon. “Well, mister Simon the ruddy
Sorcerer, what part of “try to be more careful” made
you think it wise to line yourself up for the
gallows?! You’d better have a blooddy brilliant trick
up your sleeve now, makin’ him wait for you! He’ll
have your head whatever you do! An’ all that after
what might well have been the first performance in
weeks to keep you out of the dungeons!”
Simon patted him on the arm, “Not to worry Josh, I’ve
got big plans for tomorrow, even you might get a
promotion if you play it right at the right time. I do
need you to do something for me, though. Take these,”
and he handed the confused guard all of his remaining
coins and a belt pouch stitched crudely of the same
red cloth lining as his handkerchiefs, “and get the
maids to fill this with flour and spices,”
“These are your coins, though, Simon,” he said
aghast, “You use these in every performance, pullin’
them out of people’s hair and the like! You can’t get
rid of these!”
“Won’t need ‘em after tomorrow,” Simon replied, “and
for you,” and he pulled out the ring, lifted from the
landlord earlier, “this should raise a good lot of fat
for the family larder; tell Mary it’s with my
compliments.”
“What have you got planned, friend?”
“I can’t tell you, Josh, for your good. If this blows
up in my face, I don’t want you to have any part in
it. Your hands are clean. Just wait until tomorrow,
you’ll know what to do.”
A few hours later, silent as the night itself,
Abrianna crept up to Simon’s window. “Simon!” she
called in a hoarse whisper, “I’m here, but Evellon’s
just been to see me! He wants me to accompany him to
court tomorrow, and he’s angry... what have you done,
Simon?”
“You are to go with him, Abrianna. I’ll explain,”
Simon moved to the window, reaching out his hand to
brush the face of the woman he had longed for all
these countless nights. “I’ll explain everything.”
And in the dark courtyard window, in hushed whispers,
he did. When he had revealed all of his plan to her,
she lay down upon the courtyard grass and kissed him
through the bars of his cell window. And Simon, the
Fool, the Sorcerer, knew everything was going to be
perfect.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In court the next day, every nobleman and lady was
quieter than usual. The normal conversations went on
in murmurs, or, more often, were replaced by talk of
the magician jester. Lord Evellon sat in his customary
throne, but now beside him a smaller throne, almost as
ornately decorated as the Lord’s, sat Abrianna. As
dinner plates were replaced with dessert platters, the
murmur slowly ran down to complete silence. The Fool
had entered the court hall.
Simon’s eye’s had a glint to them no one in the court
had ever seen before. Abrianna, herself, would have
barely recognized him if she had not been helping him
rehearse the look only hours ago. He was not wearing
his Jester’s cap, and his hair fell over his brow and
cast dangerous shadows on his eyes. He walked very
deliberately up the hall and stopped directly in front
of Lord Evellon. He bowed deeply and turned to
Abrianna. He looked at her for a long while, as if
seeing her for the first time. Finally he took her
hand and gave it a polite, if grandiose kiss. Abrianna
looked briefly mildly surprized, but dropped her hands
to her lap upon his releasing them and attempted to
uphold a courtly lack of emotion. Simon then turned to
Lord Evellon and faintly smiled, nodding his approval.
He then walked purposefully, grandly, in front of the
great fire. He faced the court and bowed, ever so
slightly.
Without any further introduction (indeed he needed
none, every eye in the room was glued to his form) he
began to chant an incantation under his breath. His
head remained bowed, eyes closed. His hands in fists
began to raise up from his sides, ever so slowly, ever
so slightly. His incantations became louder and louder
until he was speaking them as clearly as he had
addressed the court the day before. He opened his eyes
and his head moved up to stare directly at Abrianna.
The slightest smile just might have played on his
lips, but a moment later her yelled the final word of
an incantation and threw his hands backwards. The fire
exploded in crackling flame and Simon lurched forward
as if an invisible string had tied itself about his
waist. He stayed there, bent over on his knees for a
long, drawn out moment. And then Abrianna stood.
Abrianna held out her own arms as if examining her
skin. She held one hand in a powerful, triumphant fist
as she turned the other hand over back and forth
gazing at it... and then a familiar wry smile played
across her face, and she looked up. “Behold!” she
cried in a booming voice, “The transference of body
and mind, mind and body! Such power is beyond the
wildest imagination of most sorcerers, and beyond the
capabilities of those few who can comprehend it. I,
alone, have mastered this sorcery, Lords and Ladies,
and I alone reveal it to you today!”
Simon slowly unbent at the waist. His back
straightened and he, too, examined his arms, his
hands, and, more frantically, patted at the rest of
his body, clutching at last, his face.
“What...” he stammered, voice cracking audibly, “What
have you done?!”
The court was, to say the least, speechless. That is,
until the sea of murmured confusion and whispered
speculation erupted across the hall. Abrianna drank in
the reaction, pacing, purposefully about the court.
She stopped just ahead of the Lord and smiled. “This,”
she held up a hand grandly, “is true sorcery. Your
maiden is there, kneeling by the fire, and I have
taken her form.”
Simon stood, slowly, shaking slightly. His expression
was now one of complete bewilderment and awe, as well
as an unmasked terror. “You can put us right, can’t
you?” he questioned, voice again threatening to break
mid-sentence.
Abrianna laughed, “I can, girl, of course I can,” and
she strode over to stand face to face with Simon.
“Though I can’t say I would entirely mind hanging on
to your body a while. It’s been a long time since I’ve
seen my own, and it seems I’ve let it fall into
disrepair. Yours offers to be much more...
entertaining.”
Simon Squeaked painfully and gasped, “You wouldn’t!
Put us right this instant!”
Abrianna bowed her head ever so slightly and began to
mutter under her breath. A moment later she threw her
fist-hand toward the fire and it exploded in another
quick round of crackles and flames. Her knees buckled,
suddenly, beneath her and she fell to her knees.
Simon seemed to catch his breath, filling his lungs
before calling out “Ahhhh! I am invigorated! It has
been more than a year since last I used such power!
The Lord looked at him suspiciously. “Did you - - was
that real, what you just did?” he asked at length.
“As real as magic can be,” replied the Fool, with a
wry smile.
“Girl!” Evellon yelled, “Girl! Did you really just
swap bodies with this fool?!”
Abrianna had only just come back to her feet,
checking her arms and feeling her cheek bones, “Y..yes
my lord,” she responded, nodding absently. Her face
wore a look of awe and relief.
The Lord looked skeptical still, “You’ll have to
prove yourself, Fool, or you won’t be so lucky as the
dungeon, this time.”
And this was what Simon was waiting for.
Chanting commenced, and Simon’s eyes did not move
from Lord Evellon. His voice reached audible speaking
volume, but he did not stop. Eyes glued to Evellon’s,
Simon was nearly yelling when he flung both hands
behind him again and the hearth erupted violently with
flame and sparkling embers and a hissing crackle. In
silhouette, Simon doubled over a second time, falling
back.
When the Lords and Ladies of the court recovered
their senses, surrounded by wafting traces of burnt
cardamom and cloves, they first noted Simon, sitting
squarely on his rear end. He sat rubbing his neck and
gazing, wide eyed, at his own hand. Their eyes quickly
moved to Lord Evellon. Evellon, while looking mildly
surprized, merely patted his own robes and looked up,
perplexed.
Before he could utter a word Simon stood and boomed,
“By my word, boy, this is magic!,” He looked at Lord
Evellon in amazement. “You’ll not stay in the dungeon
tonight! Well, well! Hum-hurumph!” And he proceeded to
look about at the court.
Evellon sat, continuing to look perplexed, his brow
furrowing deeper with each passing moment, “What are
you on about, boy?” he said finally, in a menacing
growl. “What’s your game here?”
Simon’s smile fluttered out for a moment, the
hesitantly it came back in, “Oh, heh, I see, our
little magic fool is having a joke with us. Very
funny, boy. Change us back now... change us right,
fool!”
Lord Evellon’s face became suddenly appalled.
Comprehension dawned. “I can do no such thing and you
know it!” he bellowed.
“Refuse to?” bellowed Simon back, a remarkably close
voice match to the fuming Lord. “You refuse me!? Throw
him in the dungeon, Guard!”
Evellon blanched, “Throw me?! Don’t you dare! Throw
him in the dungeon!”
Joshua looked at Lord Evellon. He looked at Simon. He
then tried, with every ounce of strength he had within
him, not to smile from ear to ear as he said firmly,
“I know my Lord anywhere, whatever trickery that
Sorcerer fool might cause. You’re coming with me!” And
Evellon found the blade of an expertly sharpened sword
leading out of the hall, into a dim stone passageway
and down several spiral stairwells.
“That insolent... Hurumph!” declared Simon, taking a
seat on the throne. “I trust,” he eyed the court with
a scowl, “you will continue to answer to me, until I
can force that accursed Fool to turn me back?!” The
court nodded their assent. “Good!” and Simon smiled,
the broad smile of one whose quest is finally over. He
flashed a look at Abrianna, “Then I would like to make
an announcement. My lady and I are to be wed at once!”
And they were, there, that very week, in the royal
court. Everyone murmured about how they liked Lord
Evellon much better ever since the wizard boy switched
his body. Captain Joshua Brigg was appointed head of
the guard (for his level-headed handling of the jester
mix-up), and when the royal couple declared that they
were to embark on a prolonged honeymoon, it was Joshua
who nobly accepted the responsibilities as acting Lord
of the castle. And so it came to be that Simon Festilo
and his love, Lady Abrianna, made their way home in
their royal carriage, along a particularly dusty road.
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