The Jester: Performance (2)
Episode 17: Command Performance
The Harvest Festival was drawing to a close, and Dance had the palace audience in the palm of his hand. Red did, too, as her two songs were received with cheers of adoration. Whenever she came forward to assist the jester in any way, however small, the crowd sat up. She had a talent for drawing every eye to her, making each observer believe she was performing just for them. Her charisma made his job so much easier.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if there are any here,” Dance said, jumping onto a nearby table, making the three cloth horns on his cap wave wildly, “I would end tonight’s performance with some magic!” The expected sounds of heightened interest for his finale met his ears. “You like that, eh?” They did, their applause ringing off the rafters. “Good! Red and I will attempt to cut someone in half and put him back together right before your eyes!”
Exclamations of shock sounded throughout the audience. “What? You don’t think I would be just as good at unification as I am at bifurcation?” That elicited only a few nervous laughs, probably from the handful of people in the room who knew what he meant.
“Perhaps King Alfons would like to volunteer?” This time, everyone gasped, and various shouts of denunciation came from all corners of the room. A few cried, “Traitor!”
Shaking his head, arms crossed, Dance just stood still until they quieted down. “I expected better from you well-educated blue-bloods. You are quite the dim-witted audience. No sense of humor. You know that, don’t you?” An angry growl rumbled through the room. The patricians of Margonne were not used to being spoken to this way. Dance quickly glanced toward the king, who wore a delighted grin. He did not seem to mind the jester insulting his highborn subjects, many of whom were his relatives.
“I’m sorry, lord and ladies, but I’m right,” Dance said. “You have no appreciation for cutting humor.” The unexpected punchline got a mix of boos and laughter, and the royal brothers at the head table made it clear they enjoyed the jester’s humor.
“Let me just ask this so we’re clear,” he said in the face of the boos. “You do realize I am a jester, right? I don’t wear these silly clothes to be taken seriously. I jest. Never, ever take a jester seriously. Please. It’s insulting. We are easily offended. We have feelings, too.” He wiped his eyes and pretended to blow his nose noisily into a handkerchief he had withdrawn from a pocket in his wild, patchwork shirt.
Returning the handkerchief to his pocket, he said, “I must have allergies to something here. Excuse me. I suddenly feel a sneeze coming on.” He tried to hold it off and then sneezed massively into his quickly redrawn handkerchief.
“Someone is sabotaging my act,” he said, sounding angry and affronted. He made a show of looking around everywhere—under tables, behind curtains, into the mouth of a water pitcher, and even behind a guard’s back as he stood against a wall. Dance shrugged and then sneezed exaggeratedly.
Stopping mid-stride as he returned to the stage, Dance turned slowly and looked at the audience, tapping his temple. “You know, dear people, it just occurred to me that I only sneeze so explosively when in the presence of cats.” He sneezed again, this time so hard that the handkerchief flew several feet away. “That’s it! This calls for an investigation!”
Walking onto the stage, he stopped at the small, covered table standing at its center. He took off his jester’s cap and examined it thoroughly, plunging his hand into it and feeling around the inside. “Empty. Well, you can never be sure.”
Pointing skyward with his index finger and looking like he just had a brilliant idea, he stomped over to the head table and handed it to King Alfons. “My lord, would you please check my hat for me? Frankly, between you and me, when I look at this crowd, you’re the only one I can trust to give me a straight answer. Any cats in there, by any chance?”
The king turned it over and looked inside, then shook it and turned it over, handing it back. “No cats, Dance,” he said seriously.
“Thank you!” Dance said with a sweeping bow. “That’s what I had concluded as well.” He turned back to the audience, saying, “His Majesty and I are in accord on the matter. The cap contains no cats.” As he stepped toward the stage, he sneezed again, nearly falling over.
“All right! Who’s hiding the cat?” he asked the spectators, eyes narrowed as they swept the crowd.
Many in the audience looked around, and a few said, “Not me!” and “Must be a palace cat!”
Dance hurled the cap onto the table and stood staring at it in a thinker’s pose. He checked his pockets, feeling around for several long moments, his eyes scanning the ceiling as he dug here and patted there. “I think they’re empty.” Digging a little deeper, he said, “No, wait. There’s something here.” He then proceeded to pull out a key, several pieces of string, four rocks, a feather, a small book, two coins, three short sticks, a ring, a penknife, a comb, six nuts of various kinds, a large button, a silver necklace, a shoe buckle, three taffy candies (one of which he unwrapped and ate appreciatively while the audience laughed), another handkerchief (pink and very lacy, clearly a woman’s), and finally, a length of ribbon that took nearly a minute to draw out. “No cats!” he shouted in triumph when he was finished. Then he sneezed.
Brows furrowed, he inspected the cap again and put it back down, frowning. He patted himself down, goosing himself and slapping his own hand. “Shame on you!” The audience roared. He took off both shoes, looking inside and making a face like a skunk had just sprayed him. Flinging them behind him, he unbuttoned his shirt, looking inside, sniffing, and nearly fainting. Recovering from his swoon, he began buttoning his shirt again. And sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed, blowing his nose on the lady’s handkerchief this time.
Appearing exhausted from all the sneezing, Dance looked with hatred at the cap and turned away. He looked back at it and turned away again. “There’s something suspicious about my hat,” he said. “My eye keeps coming back to it. Wait! Is that cat hair?” Sneaking up on it, he reached inside and pulled out a kitten! The audience laughed and cheered. “I was right!” he shouted and sneezed. He gave the kitten to a pretty, dark-haired young woman in the front row. “Please hold him for me, my dear. As far away as possible. Many thanks.”
He capered back to the hat, congratulating himself for solving the mystery, when he suddenly stopped. He put his hand to his ear. He and the audience clearly heard a soft meow. He gave the audience a look of shock, and they laughed. Dipping his hand back into the cap, he came out with another kitten. He did the same with his other hand and took out a third kitten. He put them gently under his arm and pulled out a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and a seventh kitten! “Why, I had a whole litter in there!” He handed kittens out here and there to ladies in the audience until they were all gone.
Rushing back to the table, he picked up his cap, looked into it, and felt inside. “Woohoo! No more kittens!” He jammed it back on his head and danced around the stage in glee. Turning back to the audience, he flung his arms wide and bowed extravagantly to the audience. He motioned for Red to come forward, and they bowed and curtsied together to thunderous applause, making their exit to a standing ovation.
A note:
Of course, Mardans could not conjure kittens—certainly not seven of them! He had an accomplice, a particular young man from Blayne, who endured sitting under the small table for the entire performance, keeping kittens quiet, and handing them to Mardans through a cleverly disguised hole in the tabletop and a removable panel on the crown of the jester’s cap. Knowing the trick takes all the joy out of it, doesn’t it?
Great show!