The Jester: Brothers (1)

Episode 3: A Big Favor

In the end, after Tiena worked her magic through back channels, the parties agreed Alfons would await Mardans at midnight in the back room of the Bull Bison, an inn that lay in a seedier section of Palisade’s Third Level. He was instructed to order a drink at the bar and wait until fetched by one of the king’s retainers. Mardans wondered why the king was insisting on so much subterfuge, but he just shrugged it off as what kings do.

He knew the inn—called the Double B by its patrons—but had never given it his custom. When in want of a beer or maybe something a little stronger, he preferred cleaner, safer establishments on the Second Level, but he had visited some unsavory taverns in recent months while traveling the length of Osegra with the troupe and was no worse for the experience. His kind of inn also featured musical entertainment, which he had never heard of the Double B offering. He was willing to consider that it had improved its image and clientèle while he had been away over the last year.

This late at night, the empty streets were dark, lit only by an infrequent lamp or torch burning above the entrance to an establishment still open. Cricket and cicada songs shrilled loudly around him, masking the quiet hubbub leaking from the few taverns and inns with customers. Keeping to the shadows cast by the light of a partial moon, Mardans hurried across the occasional splashes of light like a racing cloud. He slipped unnoticed under the inn’s brief gabled portico and silently through the door.

A few customers glanced over at him, but most continued staring into their drinks. More people filled the room than he had expected. Small booths lined the two walls on either side, and the space between them was crowded with small tables and their chairs. Patrons filled about half of the seats and all but two stools at the bar. He passed along the right-hand side by the booths and sat heavily on a barstool as if bone tired.

The young, straw-haired barmaid, dressed in a low-cut blouse and short skirt covered by an apron, smiled wanly at him, looking as tired as he was pretending to be. “What can I get you, sir?” she called from the other end of the bar. She finished serving the elderly man in front of her and sashayed over.

He returned an imitation of her smile. “I should be home and sleeping in my bed, but my work keeps me out.” He sighed. “Do you have any good brandy? It would make a pleasant nightcap, I think.”

She barked a short laugh. “We have brandy, but I don’t know if anyone calls it good.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take it. I’m probably too tired to notice—or care.”

“I’ll see what we’ve got in the back,” she said over her shoulder as she moved away.

Mardans looked around and discovered that none of the inn’s patrons was watching him. Everyone was focused on his own problems or trying to forget them. Turning back, he hunched over his elbows on the bar, looking like several other world-weary men in the room. Unless he started dancing on the bar, not a soul would pay him a moment’s heed.

The barmaid returned a few minutes later carrying a snifter and an old, dusty bottle, which appeared to be full. She pulled the cork and poured him a finger, setting the bottle beside the glass. He handed her a few coins, more than twice the price of a full bottle of good brandy.

Her eyes widened. “Sir, that’s far too much!” she whispered.

“Nonsense,” he said, one side of his mouth turning upward. “I always appreciate exceptional service. Buy yourself something nice.” He swirled the amber liquid, taking a sip and savoring it. The brandy was far better than he had expected. “Where’d you find the good stuff? This is good.”

She giggled. “The owner has a stash in the cellar. He hasn’t touched it in years. Must’ve forgotten about it. It’ll be our secret.”

Mardans smiled again and took out another coin. “Here,” he said, pressing it into her palm. “Just in case the boss suddenly wants a glass of the good stuff. I wouldn’t want you getting into trouble on my account.”

She thanked him profusely and even curtsied before checking on her other customers. When she came around again a little later, he asked for another glass “for a friend, if he ever shows,” and she brought it out on her way to fill someone else’s order. Alfons’ bulky manservant took that opportunity to step out of the shadow of a short hallway nearby and signal him over.

Downing the last of his brandy, Mardans grabbed the bottle and the two snifters and followed him into the hallway. The retainer rapped softly on the door and entered, holding the door for Mardans and bowing as he came through.

Alfons, tall, blond, and pale of skin, stood beside a dining table and, upon seeing Mardans, came forward with an outstretched hand. When he saw that his half-brother’s hands were full, he laughed heartily. “You brought libations! Excellent!”

Mardans put the bottle and glasses down and shook the proffered hand, pulling Alfons into a hug and slapping his back. It felt right to renew the relationship and dispose of his anger. “It’s good to see you, Alfons! It’s been years and years! I don’t have to call you ‘Sire’ and ‘my lord’ and all that, do I? It would seem strange.”

The king laughed again. “No, of course not! Not in private, anyway. You are my brother. As much as the Dowager Queen wants to keep you out, the rest of us consider you a member of the family. We grew up with you. But to her, you were just ‘that woman’s issue.’”

Mardans laughed. “My, your mother has a way with words!” he said after a moment. “But I’ve been called worse, as you may expect. I take no offense anymore. I’m proud of my heritage, even if the world thinks it illicit.” He poured a drink for Alfons and one for himself. Lifting his glass, he said, “Here’s to family, separated for a time but never sundered.” He and the king downed the brandy in a swallow.

Alfons motioned to a seat, and they settled into the comfortable leather chairs. Mardans refilled the glasses as Alfons looked uncertain about how to begin. The king straightened the cuffs of his plain white shirt and picked up the snifter, rubbing the rim of the glass with a finger, a distant, unfocused eye staring into the liquor. Mardans waited, crossing his legs and taking judicious sips from his glass.

Finally, Alfons spoke, his voice serious, deep, and resonant. “As my note to your mother mentioned, I must ask you for a big favor. When the event we must discuss occurred, you immediately came to mind. I think you are the only person who can do what needs done.” He stared at Mardans expectantly as if all his hopes hung on his half-brother’s assent.

Mardans grinned. “I have not felt this appreciated in a long time. Tell me what happened.”

The king cleared his throat. “Well, the events themselves are rather simple to tell. Ten days ago, the custodian of the Grand Gallery—it’s now old Rasmus’ son, Bergen—requested an urgent audience first thing in the morning. He came in about as pitiful as I’ve ever seen him, looking as if he wanted to jump from the cliffs into the river. He could barely speak. But, with patience, we got out of him that Margonne’s Dagger was missing. The lock on the door to the Grand Gallery had been forced, and the thief had cut the glass on the display case. Whoever it was took the dagger and its sheath and got clean away. Nothing else was stolen. No one saw or heard anything. All precautions and protocols, ineffective as they proved, had been followed.”

The king finally took a sip of the brandy and put the glass on the table. “Ah! One other thing: The thief left a note on vellum in the display case. It read, ‘You do not deserve this. I do.’”

“Wow!” said Mardans. “That’s a daring theft! Walked right into the palace and out again, leaving a cheeky note! Brazen!”

Alfons pursed his lips. “It has reminded us how vulnerable we are. The family is on edge. And I will admit, I am shaken.”

Mardans knew what his brother was thinking and feeling. Alfons had always been dutiful and intent on being a worthy king, which he knew was his place due only to the luck of his birth to the former King and Queen of Margonne. Now he doubted he was conscientious enough. He had let Margonne’s Dagger be stolen, hadn’t he? He needed consoling, but that could wait.

“Nothing since then?” Mardans asked. “No other thefts? No notes or taunts? No other clues?”

Alfons shook his head. “Just silence.”

“So, what exactly do you need me for?” Mardans wanted the king to spell it out for him. This was no time to make assumptions.

“I want you to recover the dagger, of course!” Alfons replied with a little heat, his face reddening. “You are the first person who came to mind once we began to consider what to do. You were always good at solving puzzles and finding things. I thought you would have the mind to work all this through and figure out who took it and where it is.”

“Those were just games!” Mardans objected. “Child’s play. I’ve never tried to solve such a serious matter. I’d be out of my depth.”

“Lirens and I don’t think so,” Alfons said, referring to their other brother. “I asked Margo and Carla, too, and they thought keeping it secret and in the family would be best. They remember your skills as I do. And you’re Tiena’s son. Something must have rubbed off.”

“So that’s why we are meeting here of all places so late at night,” Mardans said, nodding. “It’s all coming together now.” He rose and walked the length of the table and back and again.

“We thought your long absence from court would benefit the search,” Alfons interjected into his thoughts. “Not many people anymore know you as a grown man or even how you’re connected.”

Mardans stopped and looked at the king. “Are you thinking that I hire on as a porter or guard or something and sneak around the palace in my off hours?”

Alfons shrugged and then nodded. “Something like that.”

“Unbelievable!” Mardans exclaimed. “Why don’t you just task the palace guard with finding it?”

“We have,” the king replied defensively. “They did a top-to-bottom search of the entire palace and found nothing. The captain has apologized for failing me every day since the theft. He’s even offered to resign. His guards took the break-in hard. They are embarrassed it happened on their watch. The captain even dismissed the ones on duty that night for dereliction of duty, but I had him call them back to service. They followed their training and their orders. Apparently, the thief is exceptional at his work.”

“Or he had inside help—or both,” Mardans said, finishing his brother’s thought. “I get it. You want the palace guards to keep on blundering about looking for the dagger while I go in incognito and quietly figure out who’s behind the robbery.”

“Something like that,” Alfons repeated. “I have already increased the guard, so adding another would not raise any eyebrows if you want to take that route.”

“Wait! Hold on!” Mardans said, holding out a halting hand. “I haven’t said I will do it yet.”

“But you must, Mardans,” the king said, a stricken look covering his well-favored but usually serious face. “I don’t have anyone else to turn to, who I can trust.”

“It sounds like the dagger means a lot to you,” Mardans said.

“No,” Alfons replied, “not really. I mean, yes, the dagger is a treasure, but what it represents means more to me. It stands for the kingdom’s trust in me as a ruler, even Margonne’s trust in his heirs to rule justly and preserve what he founded. I take that seriously. As neglectful as he was, Father ground duty into me constantly, and I will not fail him or Margonne or the Kingdom. I need to get that dagger back because it is a symbol of those worthy things. You must help me restore it, restore my confidence.”

“The note the thief left,” Mardans said, nodding in understanding. “That’s what really got to you.”

“Like a stomach punch,” his brother agreed. “I’m not deserving of my office. That hurts.”

Mardans began pacing again. “It’s a clue,” he said after a minute, one finger shaking in the air, “and it’s a mistake. That note reveals more about whoever is behind the theft than he imagined. It is someone you know and who knows you well. He knows what words would hurt you and perhaps make you act rashly. He’s toying with your emotions, hoping you’ll self-destruct or at least behave like you’re unworthy, proving to everyone you are unfit to sit on the throne. He probably thought he was being subtle, but he has narrowed the list of suspects considerably.”

When Alfons did not respond, he stopped pacing and gave him a questioning look. The king had a smile on his face. “What’s so funny?” Mardans asked.

“You are,” Alfons said. “Your mouth says you don’t want to get involved, but your mind is already burrowing into this case as if you’ve already decided to take it on. Which is it?”

“You know how I like puzzles,” Mardans said, grimacing, one hand holding the top of his head.

“And you have little to do with your time, or so I’ve heard,” the king said. “You can live in the palace, eat good food, meet beautiful women, and solve a mystery in your spare time. What’s not to like?”

Mardans stared at him for a full minute, his mind sorting advantages from disadvantages into columns of his internal register. His eyes came back into focus, and he said, “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’ll do it my way.”

---

A few notes:

The Bull Bison Inn is nothing special as far as such places go, but the name recalls the historic fact that great herds of bison once roamed over the vast plains of Leitan, now the Kingdom of Margonne. The Leitani built their society around these herds. In recent decades, the herds have shrunk considerably and are confined to cattle ranches. Mardans worked on one of these ranches before joining a traveling entertainment troupe.

According to the Taurani calendar, which counts from the day they landed on the shores of Osegra near Satele, the present year is 1160 AL (After Landing). King Alfons is 26 years old and has only been on the throne for a year. He still feels unsure of himself, and the theft of Margonne’s Dagger has greatly undermined his flagging confidence.

This episode mentions Margo (Margonna) and Carla, who are Alfons’ and Lirens’ full sisters, both older than the boys. Margo is a duchess, having married Duke Mortimor, and Carla is a countess, married to Count Forsette. While they spend time at court, they, for the most part, live in their husbands’ holdings far to the west and north of Palisade.

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