The Jester: More Than a Jester (3)
Episode 41: "Confrontation"
Mardans groggily came to his senses. The sack over his throbbing head momentarily disoriented him, and when he wrestled it off, he could still see nothing. Wherever he was, it was pitch black. By touch, he felt around his prison, finding rough stone walls and a stout door close around him. Bits of detritus lay strewn over the rough floor. He reckoned his cell was an empty closet, just big enough for him to lie full length.
Steadying his breathing, he tried to replay his capture in his mind, and his situation slowly began to make sense. He recalled being clouted, carried, and contemptuously tossed away like a ratty old rug. His attackers had not even thought him worth binding. Formosis must feel confident.
Fear spiked through him when he discovered his whip was gone. I must have dropped it when that thug slugged me, he thought, growling inside. The Prophetess’ words kept repeating themselves: “Don’t forget your whip.” What does it mean that I lost it? Will Formosis escape? Has all this been a fool’s errand that ends with my death?
He forced himself to think about something else. I can’t let fear drive my thinking. I am not without my wits, right? So, I should try to escape. Resolved, he stood, finding he was otherwise unhurt. He felt sore, but his recent encounters with fists and walls had broken no bones. His headache would last a while, but despite it, his mind seemed clear enough. That’s good news. Good thing I have a hard head, as Mother always says.
Remembering his knife, he checked his boot. Remarkably, it was still there, and feeling better, he left it there until he needed it. His pockets contained precious little else: a couple of keys, a whistle, a few coins, and some Satelen taffies. How’s that for being prepared for anything?
Finding a door handle, he pushed, but the door was locked or latched. He put his shoulder to the door and shoved himself against it, but it gave only slightly. In frustration, he put his whole body into the next shove, and a satisfying crack of wood split the air. Another push broke the latch, and he was free of the closet, stumbling amidst tumbling wood splinters into the room beyond.
This room was also dark, but as he emerged, the corner across from him began to glow brighter as a figure sitting on a fine, almost throne-like chair slowly turned up the wick of an oil lamp. A swift glance right and left revealed to Mardans his two black-clad assailants watching him with flat, homicidal eyes. They were Tanjari, each a few inches taller and many pounds heavier than Mardans. He stepped toward a bare, heavy oak table dominating the center of the room. Neither moved to stop him.
“Mardans! Or should I say, ‘Dance’? As always, quite the dramatic entrance.” The man in the chair rose in an affected, regal manner. The theatrics tried to cover the fact that he was not an imposing figure, standing a few inches shorter than Mardans, who also outweighed him substantially. In fact, without the affectation of nobility, Formosis typically appeared birdlike, his jerky movements unconsciously mimicking the gawky motions of marshland fowl. His nose looked too long for his face, and his Adam’s apple protruded from his thin neck, bobbing noticeably whenever he swallowed, making him appear nervous. His straight, lanky brown hair flowed unfashionably long to the middle of his back, where he had tied it with a gray ribbon.
“In the flesh,” Mardans said, giving a theatrical bow. “Otherwise known as Lieutenant Sam Tinetta of the Palace Guard.”
“So many guises,” Formosis tut-tutted, shrugging off his expensive fur-lined cape and folding it over the arm of his chair. Underneath, he was dressed all in black like his guards. “How do you do it? I have a hard time just being myself.” He laughed at his own joke.
Mardans smiled. “They are all me—just different parts of me. I comfortably wear all my identities.”
“And the rescuer of the royal family?” Formosis asked, a smoldering look in his eyes and an edge in his voice, though he kept his distance. “Are you the knight that has come to save the day?”
He shrugged in response. “I can do no less. They are my family.”
“A family that drove you out and shunned you!” Formosis roared. “A family that cast your mother aside and made you wander about, finding work where you could! Why would you wish to help such odious people?”
“Because I love them,” Mardans replied, “especially my brothers and sisters. Besides, as a Santinetta, I suffered little.”
“You are far too forgiving, Mardans,” Formosis chided, forefinger wagging. “You would do well to imitate my example of making my enemies suffer.”
Mardans crossed his arms. “What good does that do?” he asked. “If I had done so, I would not have the joy of brotherhood with the king and the prince. Should I have slain them upon my return just to satisfy some savage need for vengeance?”
Formosis laughed. “I wish you had, cousin! It would have made things so much easier for me!” He began pacing a short line in front of his chair and then stopped to look into Mardans’ eyes across the table. “But getting back to making my enemies suffer. It’s a subject I enjoy contemplating. You see, you’ve made yourself my enemy, so I must make you suffer, too. I am very fair that way.” He grinned.
Mardans took a deep breath, trying to show no fear. “Will you gut me as you did to poor Gemena Luven?”
Formosis giggled. “Was that her name? Vivacious girl with a big mouth. Of course, she could not live to spread what she heard. The late Spear, bless him, tried to talk me out of it, but, you see, I could leave no loose ends.” His eyes took on a faraway look as if reliving the murder, and he giggled again. “No, Mardans, as much as I might enjoy it, such will not be your fate. But maybe something like it after you’ve watched your loved ones die.”
Sweat beaded on Mardans’ forehead despite the coolness of the underground room. He wiped his hands on his pants and put one into a pocket, trying to appear unconcerned. “So,” he asked with a slight tremble in his voice, “what does that mean? Are you going to kidnap my mother or Lirens and torture them while I watch, bound and unable to save them? What sick plan has your insane mind conjured as ‘just retribution’ for me and my interference in your scheme?”
“Your mother? Lirens?” Formosis cackled in glee. “You are really bad at this, you know, Mardans? Kidnap your mother, the best-protected woman on Osegra? I might as well try taking Alfons from the palace! As for Lirens, you know he’s not back from chasing my sister over the plains. No, I have a bit of younger flesh for you to agonize over, one with wavy red hair and another with flowing black locks. They should be dragged here any minute.”
“How will they get in here without Amancuse knowing? Or my guards?” Mardans asked. “I’m sure hundreds of soldiers are running around out there like ants after their hill has been kicked over.”
“Mardans, Mardans,” Formosis said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Are you so thick? Do you think I have been idle all these years? Since my father so generously endowed me with the lower house, I have been quite busy excavating. I have a rather nice suite here and food to last for some time should it come to that. And I have several new exits to choose from if it should come to flight.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” Mardans said, shoulders slumping. “I was afraid that you’d out-think me, and it seems you have.”
Grinning, Formosis turned his back on Mardans to return to his chair, and that is when the jester chose to act. Like a gymnast, Mardans sprang onto the table, took one step, and flipped forward with a half-twist to land between Formosis and the chair. With a single motion, he grabbed his knife out of his boot and placed it at the traitor’s throat, drawing blood.
The Tanjari began to approach, but Mardans grabbed Formosis by the shoulder and turned him about so they were both facing them. In the process, his knife moved, and a little more blood rolled down Formosis’ neck. The guards stopped, unsure what to do.
Formosis was shaking but defiant. “You’ll never get away with this, Mardans! How are you going to escape from here? My men are just minutes away! You might as well give up now.”
“What? Give up after I’ve just won? A little advice, Formosis: Never mess with a jester. You never know what he may pull out of his hat.” Then he began to sing:
In peace have lived generations,
Yet now a base traitor conspires
To rend asunder our nation,
And to the throne, this snake aspires.
To you, we gravely testify,
Vile knave, we pledge on our good name,
We will not rest until you die,
And we Margonne’s dagger reclaim!
The Kingdom of Margonne is my home.
Margonne’s noble kingdom is our home.
“Remember that? Still needs some work, but it’ll do,” he said. He put his whistle to his lips and blew as hard as he could right next to Formosis’ ear.
For a moment, nothing happened. An expectant silence settled over the room. The Tanjari guards’ eyes widened and darted about, bracing themselves for an attack. Formosis seemed to be about to say something snide when the door behind the guards exploded with a deafening roar, and two squads of palace guards poured into the breach. Reacting instantly, the Tanjari fled out the far door, and Formosis sagged in Mardans’ arms, utterly defeated.
The lieutenant shouted into the smoke, “Nekhar! After them with a squad. Rayan, you take Lord Formosis into custody, clap him in irons hand and foot, and transport him to his new underground room at the palace. It should be the one right next to his sister’s.”
When the smoke had mostly cleared, Aran, his face grimed with sweat and soot, stepped in wearing a silly grin. He tried to wipe his face with his sleeve but only managed to smear it further. He reminded Mardans of the city’s chimney sweeps, many of whom were young men not much younger than Aran.
“That was fun, Lieutenant!” he said, full of glee like a child who has received his most coveted toy from his parents. “I never imagined it would work so well!”
“I think you used a little too much powder,” Mardans said with an exaggerated cough, waving away the remnants of the smoke.
“Maybe just a little,” Aran said, “but I wanted to make sure we got it down in one blow. I didn’t want you alone with them in here any longer than you had to.”
Mardans nodded, beginning to relax. “I appreciate your concern. And how are your lady and mine?”
Aran blushed, which Mardans could see even under the grime. “They’re safe, sir. Both played their parts like they were born to the stage. Well, at least one of them was.”
“So, what happened?” Mardans pressed.
“Nothin’ much other than what you predicted,” Aran shrugged. “They tried to hijack Lady Marini’s carriage, but Prince Lirens’ men stopped that immediately. As for Dinae, they tried to take her off the street—again—but the soldiers pounced on them right away, and they gave up. So, no deaths, a few bumps and bruises, and two beautiful, brave, unharmed women.”
“Thank the Shepherd,” Mardans said under his breath. “Then what happened?”
“We marched the miscreants—that’s what Captain Arius called them—up to the palace in broad daylight,” Aran continued. “And the king—well, let me just say he was kingly and terrifyin’ like I never thought he could be. He got them to cough up everythin’ about this place, so we had no trouble findin’ all the secret exits. I quickly reported to your mother, and she gave me the ‘fireworks,’ she called them, ‘for stout doors that refuse to open,’ she said.”
Mardans sighed. “She does tend to think of everything.” He looked Aran over. “I’m just glad you’ve still got all ten fingers.”
“Oh, by the way, sir,” Aran said, handing Mardans his whip. “It pointed directly to the secret door. With a good light, I could see its outline in the brick.”
Just then, Prince Lirens strode in, waving a hand in front of his nose. “Looks like I missed all the fun, little brother!” He looked spent, but his grin once he saw Mardans erased the fatigue from his face.
“Lirens!” Mardans shouted, hugging his brother heartily. “I didn’t expect you until at least tomorrow!”
“Well, one day with that harpy, Désira, and I was ready to hang myself,” he said. “She curses like a devil and never shuts up. I almost feel some pity for Formosis when they have only each other to yell at in the dungeon.”
“Oh, believe me, he deserves it and all she can give him,” Mardans said. “I am not inclined toward pity in the least.”
Lirens nodded in agreement. “Anyway, I left her with my troops and rode back overnight. They’ll bring her in tomorrow. They won’t like me for a while, but I’ll buy them a round or two at the pub, and they’ll forgive me.”
“They come cheap,” Mardans said, grunting.
“My kind of soldier!” Lirens replied with a guffaw.
Sergeant Rayan stood behind the bound Formosis, and fiddling with a few leather cords, he appeared to be contemplating adding a gag to his orders. Lirens walked forward, eyes boring into the traitor’s, and the emotions flashing across his face ranged from pure rage to grief to relief. Waving the sergeant away, he strode forward and stared down at the smaller man. Still glaring, he tucked his thumbs behind his belt and took a deep breath. “Why, Formosis?”
The traitor looked up at the prince through a fringe of his tousled hair. His sneer had turned sullen, yet his eyes still smoldered with hatred. “Why? Why? Isn’t it obvious, Prince Lirens? Is House Tilanta any less noble than House Ankara? We descend from Margonne just as much as you, yet you get to rule us all? You get all the wealth and glory? You Ankarans are all so pompous, striding here and there in your fine clothes and jewels, looking like gods! Why should I not try to take you down? By Azuri’s raging fires, your whole house sickens me! A curse on it!”
Lirens continued to stare at him for a long moment, absorbing what he had just heard. Then he shook his head slowly. “Huh! Envy. Typical.” He broke eye contact and looked at Rayan. “Take him away, Sergeant! I think we all tire of his presence.” Putting his arm across his brother’s shoulders, they left the room together.
A note:
Over the next few days, after the palace investigators left, Amancuse took some time to explore Formosis’ excavations and, surprisingly, did not dislike what he saw. At first, he thought he would return the escape route to its original state, but after further consideration, he left it as it was, unknowingly later using it as Alfons used his underground study. But not all was to his liking. Hidden in an unobtrusive room along one of the new corridors were dozens, if not hundreds, of family heirlooms, objets d’art, precious metals, gems, and other valuable items that had “gone missing” over the years. Enraged, he had them cataloged and a copy sent to the king, detailing his younger brother’s long-term thievery from his own family. Most of the art and heirlooms he returned to their proper places in the Steward’s Mansion, but from thenceforth, the inconspicuous room became the Tilanta family’s well-hidden vault.
Who knew a jester's skills would be helpful in outsmarting Formosis!