Fool Chapter 9

baseb altogether clubTOIL AND TROUBLESo why is it that we are going to Great Birnam Wood to look for witches? asked Kent as we made our way across the moor. in that respect was only a slight breeze but it was spread over cold, what with the mist and the gloom and my despair over King Jeff. I pulled my woolen cape some me. bally(a) Scotland, give tongue to I. Albany is possibly the darkest, goest, coldest all-fired crevice in all of Blighty. Sodding Scots.Witches? reminded Kent.Because the bloody touching told me Id find my answers hither.Ghost?The girl stalk at the White Tower, keep up, Kent. Rhymes and riddles and such. I told him of the grave abuse to daughters tierce and the madman rising to lead the blind.Kent nodded as if he under(a)stood. And Im along becauseBecause it is dark and I am small.You superpower have asked Curan or one of the others. Im reticent about witches.Nonsense. Theyre just like physicians, only without the bleeding. zipper to fear.In the day, w hen Lear was still Christian, we did not do well by witches. Ive had a cartload of curses cast on me. non very effective, though, were they? Youre child-frighteningly old and still strong as a bull.I am banished, penniless, and live under the threat of death upon discovery of my name.Oh, good point. Brave of you to come, thence.Aye, thanks, lad, but Im not feeling it. Whats that light?T present was a fire ahead in the wood, and figures moving around it.Stealthy, now, good Kent. Let us spectre up silently and see what is to be seen before revealing ourselves. Now, creep, Kent, you crashing great ox, creep.And with but two travel my strategy revealed its flaw.Youre jingling like a coin purse possessed of fits, tell Kent. You couldnt creep up on the deaf nor dead. Silence your bloody bells, Pocket.I placed my coxcomb on the ground. I fill outing leave my hat, but Ill not take off my shoes well surrender all stealth if Im riot from trodding tender-footed across lizards, thorns, h edgehogs, and the lot.Here, then, tell Kent, pulling the remains of the pork shoulder from his satchel. Dampen your bells with the fat.I raised an eyebrow quizzically an unappreciated and overly subtle gesture in the dark then shrugged and began working the suet into the bells at my toes and ankles.There I shook a pegleg to the satisfying sound of nothing at all. forrardCreep we did, until we were just outside the halo of firelight. Three bent-backed hags were walking a slow circle around a large caldron, dropping in twisted bits of this and that as they chanted. Double, double, toil and troubleFire burn, and cauldron bubble. Witches, whispered Kent, paying tribute to the god of all things bloody fucking obvious.Aye, state I, in plaza of clouting him. (Jones stayed behind to guard my hat.) Eye of newt and toe of frog,Wool of bat and tongue of dog,Adders fork and blind-worms sting,Lizards leg and owlets wing,For a charm of powerful trouble,Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. T hey double-bubbled the chorus and we were readying ourselves for another write of the recipe when I felt something brush against my leg. It was all I could do not to cry out. I felt Kents hand on my shoulder.Steady, lad, its just a ditch.Another brush, and a meow. Two of them now, licking my bells, and purring. (It sounds much pleasant than it was.) Its the bloody pork fat, I whispered.A third feline joined the gang. I stood on one foot, trying to hold the other above their heads, but while I am an polished acrobat, the art of levitation still eludes me thus my ground-bound foot became my Achilles heel, as it were. One of the fiends sank its fangs into my ankle.Fuckstockings say I, somewhat emphatically. I hopped, I whirled, I made disparaging remarks toward all creatures of the feline aspect. Hissing and yowling ensued. When at last the cats retreated, I was sitting splayed-legged by the fire, Kent stood next to me with his sword drawn and ready, and the three hags stood in r anks across the cauldron from us.Back, witches state Kent. You may curse me into a toad, but theyll be the last words out of your mouths while your heads are attached.Witches? tell the first witch, who was greenest of the three. What witches? We are but minuscule washerwomen, making our way in the wood.Rendering laundry service, humble and good, give tongue to witch two, the tallest.All it be, is as it should, said witch three, who had a wicked wart over her right eye.By Hecates27 night-tarred nipples, stop rhyming said I. If youre not witches, what was that curse you were bubbling about?Stew, said Warty.Stew, stew most true, said Tall.Stew most blue, said Green.Its not blue, said Kent, looking in the cauldron. More of a br profess.I inhabit, said Green, but brown doesnt rhyme, does it, love?Im looking for witches, said I. rightfully? said Tall.I was sent by a ghost.The hags looked at one another, then back at me. Ghost told you to bring your laundry here, did it? said Warty.Yo ure not washerwomen Youre bloody witches And thats not stew, and the bloody ghost of the bloody White Tower said to seek you here for answers, so can we get about it, ye gnarled knots of erect vomitus?Ah, were toads for sure now, sighed Kent.Always a bloody ghost, innit? said Tall.What did she look like? asked Green.Who? The ghost? I didnt say it was a she What did she look like, fool? snarled Warty.I suppose I shall pull through my days eating bugs and hiding under leaves until some crone drops me in a cauldron, mused Kent, leaning on his sword now, watching moths dart into the fire.She was ghostly pale, said I, all in white vaporous, with fair vibrissa and She was fit,28 though? asked Tall. Lovely, you might even say?Bit more transparent than I care for in my wenches, but aye, she was fit.Aye, said Warty, looking to the others, who huddled with her.When they came up, Green said, State your business, then, fool. Why did the ghost send you here?She said you could help me. I am fool to the court of King Lear of Britain. He has sent past his youngest daughter, Cordelia, of whom I am somewhat fond hes given my apprentice fool, Drool, to that blackguard bastard Edmund of Gloucester, and my friend taster has been poisoned and is quite dead.And dont forget that theyre going to hang you at dawn, added Kent.Dont concern yourselves with that, ladies, said I. About to be hanged is my consideration quo, not a condition that requires your repair.The hags huddled again. There was much whispering and a bit of hissing. They skint their conference and Warty, who was the apparent coven leader, said, That Lears a nasty piece of work.Last time he went Christian a score of witches were drowned, said Tall.Kent nodded, and looked at his shoes. The Petite Inquisition not a high point.Aye, we were a ex spelling them all back to life for the revenge, said Warty. Rosemary here still seeps pond-water from the ears on damp days, said Tall.Aye, and carps ate my small toes while I was pond-bottom, said Green.Her toes thus gefilted,29 we had to seek an enchanted puma and take two of his for replacement.Rosemary (who was Green) nodded gravely.Goes through shoes in a fortnight, but theres no check witch to chase a squirrel up a tree, said Tall.Thats true, said Rosemary.Beats the burnings, though, said Warty.Aye, thats true, said Tall. No amount of cat toesll fix you if youve all your bits burnt off. Lear had him some burnings as well.Im not here on behalf of Lear, said I. Im here to correct the madness hes done.Well, why didnt you say so? said Rosemary.Were ceaselessly keen on sending a bit of the mayhem Lears way, said Warty. Shall we curse him with leprosy?By your leave, ladies, I dont wish the old mans undoing, only the undoing of his deeds.A simple curse would be easier, said Tall. A bit o bat spittle in the cauldron and we can have him walking on prorogue feet before breakfast. Make him quack, too, if youve a shilling or a freshly-strangled infant for the service. I just wishing my friends and my home back, said I.Well, if you cant be persuaded, let us have a consult, said Rosemary. Parsley, Sage, a outcome? She waved the other witches over to an old oak where they whispered.Parsley, Sage, and Rosemary? said Kent. What, no Thyme?Rosemary wheeled on him. Oh, weve the time if youve the inclination, handsome.Jolly good show, hag said I. I liked these crones, they had a fine-edged wit.Rosemary rolled her good eye at the earl, lifted her skirts, aimed her withered bottom at Kent, and rubbed a palsied pair of pincers over it. Round and firm, good knight. Round and firm.Kent gagged a little and backed aside a hardly a(prenominal) steps. Gods save us Away you ghastly carbuncled tartI would have looked away, should have, but I had never seen a green one. A weaker man might have plucked out his own eyes, but being a philosopher, I knew the sight could never be unseen, so I persevered. bound off on, Kent, said I. Beast-shagging is th y calling and thou surely have been called.Kent backed into a tree and half cold-cocked himself. He slid down the trunk, dazed.Rosemary dropped her skirts. Just having you on. The crones cackled as they huddled again. Weve a proper toading for you once the fools business is finished, though. A moment, pleaseThe witches whispered for a moment, then resumed their march around the cauldron. Nose of Turk, and Tartars lips,Griffin spunk and knave hips,Mandrake rubbed with tiger nads,To divine undoing for the old king mad. Oh bollocks, said Sage, were all out of knave around hips.Parsley looked into the cauldron and gave it a stir. We can make do without them. You can substitute a fools finger.No, said I.Well, then, get a finger from that comely hunk of man-meat with the bootblack on his beard he seems ridiculous enough.No, said Kent, still a tad dazed. And its not bootblack, its a clever disguise.The witches looked to me. Theres no counting on accuracy without the monkey hips or foo ls finger, said Rosemary.I said Let us make do and gallantly bugger on, shall we, ladies?All right, said Parsley, but dont blame us if we bollocks-up your future.There was more soul-stirring and chanting in dead languages, and no little bit of wailing, and finally, when I was about to doze off, a great bubble rose in the cauldron and when it burst it released a cloud of steam that create itself into a giant face, not unlike the tragedy mask used by traveling players. It glowed against the blurry night.Ello, said the giant face, sounding Cockney and a little drunk.Hello, large and viscid face, said I. Fool, Fool, you moldiness save the Drool,Quick to Gloucester, or blood give pool. Oh, for fucks sake, this one rhymes, too? said I to the witches. Cant a bloke find a straightforward prose dark?Quiet, fool snapped Sage, who I was back to thinking of as Warty. To the face, she said, Apparition of darkest power, were clear on the where and the what, but the fool was hoping for some direction of the how variety.Aye. Sorry, said large steamy face. Im not slow, you know, your recipe was short a monkey hip. Well use two next time, said Sage.Well, all right, thenTo reverse the will of a flighty king,Remove his train to clip his wings.To eldest daughters knights be dower,And soon a fool will yield the power. The steamy face grinned.I looked at the witches. So Im to somehow get Goneril and Regan to take Lears knights in addition to everything else they have?He never lies, said Rosemary.Hes oft wildly fucking inaccurate, said Parsley, but not a liar.Again, said I to the apparition, good to know what to do and all, but a method to the madness would be most welcome as well. A strategy, as it were.Cheeky little bastard, ent e? said Steamy to the witches.Want us to put a curse on him? asked Sage.No, no, the lads a rocky road ahead without adding a curse to slow him. The apparition cleared his throat (or at least made the throat-clearing noise, as, strictly speaking, he h ad no throat). A princess to your will shall bend,If seduction in a note, you send,And fates of kings and queens shall tell,When bound are passions with a spell. With that, the apparition faded away.Thats it, then? I asked. A couple of rhymes and were finished? I have no idea what Im to do.Bit fat yourself, then, are you? said Sage. Youre to go to Gloucester. Youre to separate Lear from his knights and see that theyre under the power of his daughters. Then youre to write earn of seduction to the princesses and bind their passions with a magic spell. Couldnt be any clearer if it was rhymed.Kent was nodding and shrugging as if the bloody patency of it all had sluiced through the wood in an illuminating deluge, leaving me the only one dry.Oh, do fuck off, you grey-bearded sot. Where would you get a magic spell to bind the bitches passion?Them, said Kent, pointing rudely at the hags.Us, said the hags in chorus.Oh, said I, letting the flood wash over me. Of course.Rosemary stepped for ward and held forth three shriveled grey orbs, each about the size of a mans eye. I did not take them, fearing they might be something as disgusting as they appeared to be desiccated elf scrotums or some such. pant balls, from a fungus that grows deep in the wood, said Rosemary. In lovers breath these spores releaseAn enchanting charm you shall let outPassion which can be never brokenFor him whose name next is spoken. So, to recap, simply and without rhyme? gormandise one of these bulbs under your ladys nose, then say your name and she will find your charms irresistible and become overwhelmed with proclivity for you, explained Sage.Redundant then, really? said I with a grin.The hags laughed themselves into a wheeze-around, then Rosemary dropped the puff balls into a small silk pouch and handed it to me.Theres the matter of payment, said she, as I reached for the purse.Im a poor fool, said I. All we have between us is my scepter and a well-used shoulder of pork. I suppose I could wait while each of you takes Kent for a roll in the hay, if that will do.You will not said Kent.The hag held up a hand. A price to be named later, said she. Whenever we ask.Fine, then, said I, snatching the purse away from her.Swear it, she said.I swear, said I.In blood.But As quick as a cat she scratched the back of my hand with her ragged talon. Ouch Blood welled in the crease.Let it drip in the cauldron and swear, said the crone.I did as I was told. Since Im here, is there any chance I could get a monkey?No, said Sage.No, said Parsely.No, said Rosemary. Were all out of monkeys, but well put a glamour on your mate so his disguise isnt so bloody pathetic.Go to it, then, said I. We must be off. coiffe IIHow sharper than a serpents tooth it is to have a thankless child. King Lear, Act I, Scene 4