1.03 C (1/2)

The Blighted King has a presence. It weighs down on me as I walk forwards. The silent feasting hall is too long, and the few of us have to walk past the watching guests, hearts pounding.

And as we approach the front of the room, I feel it. The King sits at his table, next to a tall woman who dwarfs him with her stature. But he is like a rock, too heavy. His very existence weighs us down, makes me feel—

Gassy?

I can remember the first time I stood in front of him. Then it was like being crushed as he looked at us. Now, it is different.

Around me, the others shudder. I see Emily’s face go pale, Keith start sweating, Cynthia’s eyes roll wildly in her head, and Richard clench his jaw. They are being crushed. I walk, feeling my shoulders ache. It’s…heavy.

That’s all.

We stop, in a ragged line in the steps leading up to the raised area where he is seated. The King looks down at us. We meet again.

There is no love in his gaze, no sense of familiarity. He weighs us with eyes that seem like scales, measuring our worth. Most of us stare at our feet, or at some other part of the room. Some are shaking. I look at the Blighted King. I can’t be afraid of him. Not like I was.

Does that make me strange? I’m certainly alone from the others. I can feel it, but I can’t help it. Fear’s another one of those things I lost. I’m not afraid of people with swords. I’m not happy about being stabbed, but they can’t scare me.

I scare me.

“So. The heroes of prophecy return. Diminished.”

The Blighted King speaks at last. His voice echoes through the chamber. It’s not grand. It’s not particularly wise. It’s just an old man’s voice, tired. I stare at him and see few grey hairs in his beard. But he is old. He sounds like it. I wonder how long Nereshal has been keeping him young.

Here sits a monster. Ageless. And here stands a monster. Can he see it in you, Tom? Or is this King as worthless as the land he rules?

The King’s eyes flick towards me for a second, and then towards Richard and Emily.

“We have been told that two of your number have reached Level 30. A commendable achievement in such a short time.”

“Miraculous.”

The whisper comes from the Blighted Queen. She’s younger than the King, but her towering height makes her seem older. I stare at her. She can’t be more than thirty, while he…

“But so many have been lost. We sent over sixty of you to do battle against the Demons. Now less than a third remain.”

“That wasn’t our fault! We told you, we’re not warriors. We—”

Emily raises her voice and chokes as the Blighted King’s gaze falls on her. He nods, once.

“So you have said. But some of you are warriors. The rest have seen the threat which imperils our nation. Nay, the very world itself. Would you hide behind walls my people have died for, deny your purpose still?”

“Not me. I’ll fight. But we can’t all be held to the same standard, your Majesty.”

This time it’s Richard who speaks. The Blighted King weighs his words and nods.

“One has reached Level 30 in three months. A [Knight] he stands, sworn against darkness. Yet no [Lord] or [Lady] has given him a title. Another, a [Mage] of water has taught herself. Miraculous feats, as our lady says.”

The Blighted King looks across our group, at frightened faces. He pauses.

“You will have a place in our halls, and your companions food and my protection so long as you hold back the scourge of darkness. But we have heard of one more. A champion who defended our people. A warrior who slew a Demon raiding party single-handed.”

His eyes move to me. I feel a chill.

“You. Step forwards.”

I can see Richard and Emily both staring at me, worried, out of the corners of their eyes. I take a step forwards and sense the eyes of everyone in the hall on me. Oh boy.

Want me to tell them a joke? How about a magic trick?

My lips twitch. I try not to smile. I don’t feel afraid. Rather, in this moment as the Blighted King stares at me, some strange, perverse side of me wants to fart, or laugh. He’s so serious. Everyone is. They hang on his words. Whereas I—

Get the joke.

The hilarity vanishes. I feel cold. No, it’s not funny. The Blighted King certainly doesn’t find me amusing. He frowns.

“We recall thee from before. Who art thou? What is your class? [Warrior]? [Mage]? [Rogue]?”

“None of those, your Majesty. I’m—I’m a [Clown]. Not a fighter, actually.”

He stares at me. I hear Cynthia begin to giggle, a mad, hysterical cackle which cuts off quickly. The King looks confused.

“What class is this?”

“One from our world, your Highness. Tom is an—an entertainer. Someone who makes people laugh. Clowns aren’t fighters. They’re…”

Emily trails off, unable to explain what I am. The King exchanges a slow glance with his Queen. I can sense people’s eyes fixed on my back. I know I look ordinary. I don’t have my face paint on, or a rubber nose or the oversized shoes I made. I’m not juggling or wearing a silly grin. I have nothing to prove I have a funny class in any way.

You have me. You always have me.

“An entertainer? How did you slay a war band of Demons, then? Speak.”

He looks at me and I feel heavier. That’s all. And perhaps it’s the devil in my chest, but I don’t want to answer. So I shrug.

“Luck, I guess. Your Majesty. I don’t know how exactly. But that’s what us summoned heroes are supposed to do, right? I got…lucky. But I am no warrior. Sorry about that.”

I hear a hiss and see Richard wince. The Blighted King fixes me with a look that tells me he’s annoyed.

“So you claim. But if thou art an entertainer, prove it.”

“What?”

He leans back in his chair that’s like and unlike a throne and gestures.

“Perform, [Clown]. Show the court the tricks of your profession. Make us laugh.”

Oh boy. Now everyone’s staring at me, and I suddenly find myself on the spot. I glance around uncertainly and see Richard giving me a pale-faced look. Emily’s standing back and half of the others are trying to pretend they don’t know me.

I don’t have my makeup, my props—but I can tell there’s no point protesting or making excuses. So I sigh and flick my wrist. A bright red ball, stuffed with dried beans to make it round, appears in my hand. I hear a murmur and someone at the head table sits up.

My heart isn’t pounding. I feel embarrassed and sure I’m about to make an idiot out of myself, but I’m not afraid. Why? Why not?

No, this is normal. It’s because I’ve seen worse than this. Far worse. What’s a few minutes of humiliation?

I hold the red ball up, and I sense a thousand pairs of eyes on me. Now I do smile, at the ludicrous nature of this. I’m no famous performer. I’m self-taught, and badly at that! I couldn’t make a bunch of village kids laugh. But here I am, about to perform before the Blighted King. Okay, that is funny.

Wilen, this is for you. Red ball in hand, I flick my other hand and a blue one appears. I hear a soft gasp, from the Blighted King’s table, but nowhere else.

That’s right. I can make things appear and disappear at will. I can also make objects vanish, pull the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick with objects too large to hide. Because I have a pocket space.

It’s two Skills, actually. [Sleight of Hand] and [Trick Space]. One allows me to do stupid tricks like you’d see card magicians do if I had a deck of cards, and the other gives me an invisible space around my body I can pull objects out of and put into. I keep three balls there. The third comes out, yellow and worn.

A second gasp. Who’s making that sound? For the first time I wrench my gaze away from the Blighted King and to his left. I see a young woman, not more than…sixteen perhaps, sitting tall at his side, wearing a sparkling circlet made of dark metal. And sitting next to her, on a cushion to let her actually reach her plate on the table—

A young girl. A [Princess], no doubt. Her dress is bright green and white, and she’s very pretty in that way kids are. Her eyes are wide as they fix on the balls in my hand. A child. I saw her laughing at the guy doing pratfalls earlier. I give her a small bow. Hope this entertains you at least, kid.

It’s not. You suck.

Shut up. I begin tossing the balls up in the air, juggling them quickly. It’s hard to do three balls at once. I know that tells you how much I suck, but I had to practice a long time to get to that level. [Sleight of Hand] doesn’t work with juggling and I don’t have a Skill.

I really need one. At least [Unerring Throw] lets me decide where the balls come down. Hey, I might be able to do four balls this way! Too bad I don’t have four balls.

The room watches me juggle, and I see the young [Princess] brighten and nearly clap her hands as I start juggling the balls high into the air. The older girl, another [Princess] probably, stops her. Everyone watches as I juggle.

And watches.

And watches…

After a few seconds they realize that’s all I’m going to do. Yes, that’s right. I can feel the Blighted King’s gaze boring into me. What? Do you want me to do pins? I can juggle pins too, but my act has been pratfalls, juggling, and terrible jokes. And I think that if I tried to trip over his table, I’d be skewered.

So I’m giving him a terrible performance. I was planning on just juggling until he stopped me, but then it happens. I hear a sound.

“♪Doo doo doodle do do doo doo doot~♫”

Oh god. The music. It’s been too long since I heard it play. I could live for the rest of my life without it. I sense a shift when it goes off, and hear a muffled sound from the others standing around me. The rest of the room just stares, uncomprehending.

Clown music. Silly, stupid. It fills the grand room, playing stupidly. Only with a twist. There’s laughter, too. Someone’s laughing.

And it’s not anyone in this room. I nearly drop a ball, making it vanish before tossing it back up in the air as the laughter plays with the music. There’s a spectral audience now, laughing voices, as if I really am at a circus.

That’s not what scares me, though. I hear one of the voices laughing. And it’s my own. It laughs and laughs, until I stop juggling.

This time, the silence is different. I make all three balls vanish and bow silently. The [Princess] looks vaguely entertained. Everyone else does not. But the music. Ah, the music. I look sideways and see Richard staring at me with a pale face.

Everyone, all of the other young men and women from my world are giving me the same look. They remember. And the music scares them.

That doesn’t escape the attention of the Blighted King. He stares at me, and then at the others. How much does he actually know about what I did? He waits, until he realizes I’m not doing anything else.

“Continue, [Clown].”

“Sorry. That’s all I’ve got.”

“That?”

His eyebrows raise. He looks incredulous. I nod, waiting for him to tell me I’m a fraud or whatever. I don’t want to hear that sound ever again. But then someone else bellows into the silence.

“Ridiculous!”

The word makes me jump. I see Richard jump, Emily turn white—Cynthia screams, predictably. A flash of color brushes against me to my left, and someone pushes me out of the way.

Not roughly, not hard, but with force, so I go sprawling onto the floor. I look up and see a face full of outrage, a splash of yellow and red, and…blue?

A man wearing a silly costume is staring at me. A small man, so a small costume, but one decorated with so many eye-catching colors it’s almost painful to look at. I say almost, because the effect makes him ridiculous, rather than completely annoying. And his face is screwed up with a look of comical outrage.

“Buffoon! Imbecile! You think a poor performance like that is worthy of the Blighted King, ruler of all he surveys, terror of the royal banquet, especially the poultry pies? How dare you, sir. Poor performances are my business!”

I try to get up, and he kicks my legs out from under me. I roll, and he throws himself on me with a cry of rage.

“What? Get off. Who are—”

There’s a chuckle, a current of mirth through the room. The man stops beating me gently with his fists and gets up, looking indignant. He bows to the Blighted King.

“Sire, I beg to show this interloper the true meaning of comedy! A hero’s one thing, but a [Clown]? I’d let a warrior take my place any day with thanks, but there can be only one fool here, and that is I, the Fool!”

He strikes an arrogant pose, managing somehow to bump me over a third time with a hip. For such a small guy, he’s got so much force behind him! And it doesn’t hurt when he hit me. Not at all.

The Blighted King doesn’t exactly smile, but his lips do twitch.

“Fool. You wish to perform?”

“Absolutely, your Majesty! A [Fool] is ten times, nay a thousand times more pitiful than a [Clown], yet twice his equal, as I shall now prove! Observe my juggling, if you would, dear guests of the court!”

His voice is like a stage announcer’s, only he doesn’t need a microphone. The Fool turns, all eyes on him, and flourishes. He produces a colorful ball from somewhere like I did, only this one’s higher quality and shines in the light. He tosses it up—and six more follow it.

Six. So seven are in the air at once. I hear a gasp, and then the Fool juggles them into a double weave, his hands moving so quickly I can barely see them. He bumps me again as I try to step back to give him room, and then seems to concentrate.

“Lords and ladies, men and women, little girls who are up past their bedtime, this is what a [Fool] does! He juggles, he dances—”

The Fool spins around, catching the balls and juggling them as he twirls. He glares at me as he stops, his voice ringing.

“And he is the font of dignity, not like some sad [Clown]! How dare you, sir!”

He turns away, and then farts with a noise that can’t be real. I hear a peal of laughter from the [Princess] and surprised laughs from around the room. But I’m not in a position to laugh myself. The smell is real. I stumble backwards, coughing.

“Oh god. It stinks.”

And now there’s more laughter. I gag a bit as the Fool who’s also a [Fool] continues juggling, and then turns to me again, full of more fake wrath.

“You’re clearly trying to seek my job! My job! What will I do if my King casts me out? I should duel you right now for the dishonor of it! Have at thee!”

And then he starts bouncing the balls off my face as he juggles. The entire hall roars with laughter. I hold still. Contrary to what I’d hoped, the balls are made of rough leather and they hurt quite a bit, since he has to throw them hard enough to bounce back.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Hey, that was my nose.”

It’s easy to play along with him. He’s an expert. My deadpan commentary makes the young [Princess] nearly fall over in a fit of giggles. The Fool grins widely at me and then turns, catching the last of the balls.

“A [Fool]’s master to none and ridiculed by all, but a [Clown]!? There’s no room for two idiots in Rhir! I challenge you for the top position on the bottom, sir! En garde!”

He catches all the balls, bounces the last one off his left hip into my face, and then charges. Halfway towards me, he stumbles on nothing, slips, and crashes into both of us, sending me to the ground again.

“Ow.”

The Fool groans loudly, and then gets up, swinging at me and missing. He’s a master. A serious master of comedic timing, and he manages to move about me and take advantage of my presence to make everything funnier. In a few moments I’m lying on top of him, and he’s gasping for life, pulling himself away, and then charging at me with a goblet of wine that he somehow manages to get all over me before slipping in a puddle and knocking himself out on the floor.

The hall roars with laughter by the time he’s done. I’m drenched in wine, bits of food, and the shreds of my dignity. Not that I had any left to begin with.

I wipe a few stinging drops of wine out of my eyes as the [Fool] retreats, still making fists at me. At the head table, the youngest [Princess] is red-faced and nearly in tears with laughter. Even the Blighted King seems happier—although he never laughed once. He gestures towards the Fool with a nod.

“Clearly amusing. Fool, you are as always diverting in times of crisis. Thomas the [Clown]…we offer you thanks for the entertainment as well.”

His face says that I’m a freshly squeezed turd that he found on his dinner plate. The Blighted King looks away from me and at Richard and the others. He seems to sigh.

“Very well. We shall ask for a demonstration of your Skills later, Sir Richard, and of you, Lady Emily. Be welcome in our palace until then. We hope you will not betray the hopes we place on you, brave heroes from another world.”

And like that it’s over. The Blighted King motions and I trudge back to my seat with the rest of my group. Conversation resumes, mostly laughter at my expense or speculation as people eye us. The Blighted King turns to his wife and they exchange a few quiet words in their seats.

I sit down, conscious of every eye on me. Cirille gives me an odd look, and then offers me a cloth to wipe my face with. I accept it, get most of the wine off, and notice Richard and the others looking at me. I smile crookedly.

“Yeah, they’re going to kick us out tomorrow. Maybe tonight.”

—-

I’m wrong about that. I usually am, which is a relief in this case. Especially to the others. Nereshal doesn’t guide us back to our rooms after the banquet himself; rather, the [Chamberlain] provides us with a few servants to show us the way.

Everyone’s relieved to know we have a roof over our heads for the night. Indeed, separate rooms for all of us, no matter how small, is a luxury we’ve missed the entire winter. Some of the girls look so relieved to have a private space I think they could cry. We guys are obviously too stoic for that, of course.

There’s a lot of chatter about what the Blighted King wants, as well. Richard’s room and Emily’s are the largest, so over ten of us end up crammed into there. I listen as they begin talking, arguing, really.

“Do you think we can stay here forever?”

“Maybe you guys can if you get other classes, but I bet he’ll make those of us with combat classes go fight soon enough.”

“I’m fine with that. I just want a break.”

“I think we can get at least a week or two.”

Richard says that firmly, as he sits next to Emily. She’s fiddling with a laptop. It’s not hers. It belonged to a girl who died. I think her name was Rachel?

Reyanne. You don’t remember her face, do you?

Anyways. The laptop glows with power. Emily’s got it playing a song in the background. I don’t recognize the lyrics—it’s some kind of Spanish song, I think. Rachel—Reyanne had different tastes.

The laptop’s one of our treasures. We don’t have that many electronics between us all. Some were lost when we were attacked. Others were stolen, lost…and we didn’t realize we could [Repair] them until later. Now everyone shares electronics, except for Emily who gets the laptop at all times.

Music, movies…I’ve watched the entire fifth season Red vs Blue that Eddy had on his Android phone at least sixteen times by now. We all cling to what we have left.

But it’s the iPhone that Richard carries that really matters. He stares at it, speaking out loud.

“I’d rather talk to the others again if I can, no matter how risky it is. But I haven’t gotten a call from [BlackMage] again, and I have no idea how to call him back.”

“Can we ask one of the mages here for help? They might know the people at Wistram.”

Cynthia looks desperate. Richard pauses before shaking his head.

“Too risky.”

“But—”

“We can’t necessarily trust them. What if they take away the iPhone? No, we’ve got to keep this secret, especially since the Blighted King doesn’t seem to know about the others. If we can get in contact with them, meet up or get help—”

“A way off this continent, you mean?”

Everyone looks at Vincent. Richard nods.

“I think this is our best opportunity. I was talking with Cirille—”

“She’s freakish. Unnatural.”

“Shut up, Cynthia. She’s a Drake, not a monster.”

“Keith—listen, she told me we can pay to send [Message] spells, or send letters. I’m not saying we should do that, because we’ll probably be spied on. But if Emily can learn to use the spell, or we can find a way to locate some of the others…”

“You think we can? What if the Blighted King…”

“He doesn’t need us. Richard and Emily are the only Level 30 people here.”

“Yeah, but they hit that in three months. It takes decades for normal people to do the same. No way he’ll let any of us go now he knows we can level like that.”

“So we’re prisoners?”

“Not if we cooperate. We’re more like allies, but we need to be cautious—”

I sigh. It’s always like this. I can’t be here. I brush at my sticky hair and decide I need a bath, and time alone. I get up and go to the door.

“You okay, Tom?”

The voices stop. Richards’s looking at me. I smile.

“Just fine.”

“That performance back there—”

“Hey, it was a one time thing. I don’t think the Blighted King cares about me. And I’m done with clowning about.”

No one laughs. Some of them still look afraid of me. I turn.

“I’m going to take a bath. Let me know if you decide anything tomorrow.”

I leave the room, hearing the buzz of conversation spring up as I shut the door. My friends.

Are they really? Or do you think they’re talking about you? Hah. You know they are. How much do they trust you, Tom? How many more times will they let you wonder before they decide to kill the scary clown before he snaps?

The voice. I stumble away towards my room. There’s nothing like a private bath there of course, but there’s a water pitcher, and I’m not willing to go looking around at night. My room is small, but on the level of a hotel in some respects. There’s no window, no balcony, but there is a chamber pot, and a bed that’s worthy of any four-star hotel. That alone makes up for the rest.

I could have done without the mirror, though. There’s a large one above a dresser, another sign that this world has its form of riches. Fabrics are as high-quality as any you’d find in our world, and usually made of real materials rather than fake ones. Okay, plumbing isn’t always consistent, but I know for a fact there are actual toilets elsewhere in the castle, and you can’t beat the craftsmanship on the dressers.

But the mirror. It’s not perfect; there are some flaws in the glass, tiny bubbles, but it reflects too much. I stare at myself. I look thin. I would have killed to lose this much weight before.

You did!

It shows too much of me. It reminds me of too much. I stare at my reflection. At my eyes.

“Are you real?”

No one answers. This mirror…slowly, I pull things out of thin air and put them on the dresser. I might as well. I pull out a greasy tin, another, smaller one, two huge shoes, and a colorful costume.

My props.

I stare at them. Oversized shoes, unfunny costume, and the face paint, white and red and black. Actually, for the black around my eyes I just use ground up charcoal. My tools of the trade.

I leave them there. I won’t touch them again. Ever. I turn away, and then notice something. My costume’s torn.

“Oh, right. I never got it fixed. Not since…”

Since the night. I gently unfold bits of the bright, clumsily stitched material. Cynthia made that for me, back before I scared her so much she couldn’t sleep with me around. I pull at the sleeves and get a horrible surprise.

Blood. A huge splash of it across the front of the costume, and more dried and soaked into the legs. I drop the costume in horror and back away.

“No.”

I never washed it either. And now the voice in my head taunts me.

Afraid of a little blood? Why? You bathed in it when you got angry at those poor Demons. Remember how the lieutenant screamed when the horses were stampeding all over her? Remember the pain?

My breath comes quicker. I turn.

I can’t stay here. Not in this room. I hurry out the door, but the voice follows me.

—-

It’s worst at night. At night, I can’t escape it. In the daytime, I can distract myself, or tell myself that it’s just me, just a mental disorder rearing its ugly head.

But at night, the shadows creep in, and I find sleep elusive, peace impossible. So I prowl through the castle, silent, taunted by my own thoughts.

I walk the brightly lit corridors, staring at the lights, trying not to meet the eyes of the occasional patrolling guards I meet down the empty corridors. They stare at me without much fondness.

They know who I am, at least. Hell, they probably saw me the first time when I was being escorted out with the others. Yup, here’s your [Hero], guys and gals. Me. Tom the unfunny [Clown].

Only, you know you can be funny if you try.

Never. I shake my head as I enter one of the rooms Nereshal showed us earlier. It caught my eye—a room full of mirrors.

Perhaps there is some masochistic part of me, some part that loves to torture myself. But this room is where I come to. Huge, wall-to-wall mirrors cover all but the doorway, reflecting my image a thousand times. I stare around.

“Alright. Here I am. Here you are. Come on. If you’re real…come out.”

I have to do this. I can’t live in uncertainty forever. The voice in my head—I keep telling myself it’s just me. Just me, trying to rationalize my insanity, what I went through.

But what if it’s not?

These are the dark thoughts I have at night, the suspicions I can’t push away without daylight. My fears.

I went insane. I went crazy and killed people. That much the others believe. That I know happened. And I’m sure it was me. Mostly sure. But, the thought whispers, what if it wasn’t me?

What if the [Lesser Insanity] condition isn’t some part of me, but something else? The madness—I can remember laughing as I stabbed the Demon lieutenant. I can remember the pain. Gods, the pain. But I also remember how I felt.

It wasn’t me.

But it was.

But it wasn’t. In the darkness, I feel certain. In that moment, when I held Wilen, I didn’t care. I reached out, and let something in. Something dark. Did I open the door somehow?

Did you? Or is it just you? Are you holding me back? Or am I just an excuse, Tom?

“Go away.”

I stare at the mirror ahead of me. There’s a feeling in my head, a bit of madness. I can feel it worming its way around. I know the mirror is just a reflection of me. It shows my clothing, stained, and my face, tired, my eyes a bit bloodshot. Me in perfect detail. I know that’s all it is.

But something tells me that’s not all. Something tells me there’s something else staring back behind the glass. What?

“Who are you?”

Who are you?

“I know you’re there. I can feel you. Hear you. My shadows move when I don’t look. My eyes—”

Normal eyes. But if I look away, do they keep staring? I try it. Turning my head and looking back quickly. But the mirror me reflects perfectly each time. I grit my teeth.

“Move, damn you. If you’re going to play tricks on me—”

I reach out and touch the glass. I stare into my reflection’s eyes, daring it to move, to twitch even a second. Tom stares back, pallid, sleep-deprived, wide-eyed. He grins at me.

I stop smiling. So does my reflection. Damn it, it’s all in my head.

All? Are you sure?

It has to be. I take my hand away, noting with guilt that I’ve smudged the mirror. I try to polish it, but just spread the oils from my palm around.

“I hate you. If you’re there, I’ll kill you. I swear it.”

You? You and what madness?

Laughter. The voice isn’t the worst. The voice sounds like me at times, a bit crazy, darker, but still what I’d think. The voice only scares me at times. But it’s when I feel like laughing, like punching the glass until my hand is full of shards that I’m afraid.

It would be so easy. So easy to push the glass deep. What would it feel like if it hit bone? I make a fist, staring at my stupid expression. My eyes.

“Well, I expected to be alone, but I suppose I was a fool for thinking that. More proof that I’m good at my job, then.”

A voice. I whirl, and see a short man in colorful clothing. The Fool. He walks into the room with a brisk step. He’s got a bottle in hand and a cup. He nods at me, not smiling, but not frowning, either.

“Mister [Clown]. I didn’t think to see you tonight.”

“Ah. You’re…”

He puts the bottle and cup in the ground and gives me a dramatic bow.

“A [Fool], at your service, sir. And you may call me Fool—everyone else does. I perform at the Blighted King’s court. I hope you didn’t take too much offense at my little performance?”

“What? No. I—it bailed me out. Thanks.”

“We funny men should stick together. Only, you’re fairly unfunny as such people go. Are you truly a [Clown], Mister…?”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m Tom. Thomas, but you can call me Tom.”

The Fool takes my hand and shakes it with a surprisingly firm grip. He’s not nearly as dramatic as he was in the banquet hall earlier, but there’s still a sense of performing as he indicates the mirror behind me.

“Come to admire yourself in the room of mirrors? It’s a rare person who likes to spend time here. I confess, that’s why I came alone.”

“Sorry about that. I can leave if you want—”

“Nonsense. There’s more than enough space for two idiots, or at least one [Fool] and a [Clown]. Besides, company is pleasant, and if you’ve a mind to share it, I wouldn’t take it amiss. I’m never alone here as you can tell.”

He nods to his reflections. I smile a bit.

“Sure. What are you doing here?”

“Drinking. Of course! A bottle of wine, a cup…would you like one?”

“A cup? Sure, but if there’s only one—”

He hands me a second cup, already filled with wine. I stare at it and blink at him. The Fool grins.

“Well?”

Gingerly I sip at the cup. Then I frown. I tilt the cup towards my lips, but no liquid comes out. I can see it, red and deep in the cup! I tilt it further, and then on a hunch, upend the cup. Nothing comes out. I stare at the Fool and he grins.

“A little trick. I apologize, but the joke’s only good once, so I do it to everyone I meet. That’s a fake cup, you see?”

“I do. But how do you get the liquid…?”

“Oh, I copied this cup, of course.”

The Fool hands me a second cup, identical to the first, only the wine sloshes about in this one. He takes the first cup back and tosses it to the ground. It breaks into pieces which dissolve into nothing.

“It’s a Skill of mine, to copy things. They last a while too, if handled gently. Good for pranks and trickery. Not for much else. But then, you’d know about such Skills, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I would. I am a [Clown], by the way. Just a bad one. I’m only Level 28.”

The Fool’s eyebrows rise.

“And yet you had no levels when you first came here. I’d say that’s astonishing by any standards. A shame you can’t perform as well. Your juggling act was painful to watch.”

“Sorry.”

He claps me on the back. I slosh some of the wine.

“Nonsense! Again, nonsense, so I suppose it must be tomfoolery! Stop apologizing and don’t mind the spill. Servants will catch it. If not, bugs. What you need is practice. A week or so and you’ll have the court rolling at your feet. Who knows, you might get his dour Majesty to smile!”

“You mean the Blighted King? I’ll pass. I’m done with being a [Clown].”

“Ah. Not much of a warrior you said?”

“Not much. Sorry. I—I guess you know all about us.”

The Fool shrugs. He takes a sip from the wine bottle, letting it slosh into his mouth from high above. He doesn’t spill a drop, which is impressive.

“The whole court knows I daresay, and much of the kingdom. We had such hopes. Alas, prophecy is not what it’s rumored to be.”

“About that. Are we really the destined heroes that are supposed to save Rhir from the blight and the Demon King? No one’s really mentioned that.”

“Well, that’s what the spells says. Summons heroes destined to glory and all that. I don’t know much about it, but the Blighted King and his advisers seemed to think that meant you were fairly competent.”

“Hah.”

“That’s what I thought! But I was wise enough not to make a joke about it. How his Majesty raged when he heard of what happened to you.”

Somehow, I find myself sitting with the Fool, drinking from my cup as he fills it and drinks himself. He tells me about the Blighted King and his role at court.

“One must have a [Fool]. Actually, I lie. One mustn’t at all, even if one is a [King]. My class is rare enough, and there’s scant work for a [Fool] in hungry villages. I was lucky enough to catch his Majesty’s eye one day, and I have served here for over a decade.”

“A decade? Really? Wow. I thought [Fools] were supposed to be part of a court. Like it was a hereditary thing, or something.”

“Hah! Fools breeding more fools! What a world that would be! I’m afraid that Rhir at least doesn’t see the need for a line of my ilk. Although if I met a lovely lady…alas, they go for heroes of the realm, not idiots juggling balls.”

“You’d think the more balls the merrier, right?”

He chokes on his wine, coughs, and laughs.

“So Tom the [Clown] has a joke in him after all! A bit crass, though. I wouldn’t dare repeat it at court.”

“Oh come on. It’s funny.”

The Fool grows serious.

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for the young [Princess]. You noted her at the table, I hope. Her and the other [Princess], of course. They are our King’s daughters.”

“I saw. She looks young.”

“She’s the daughter of the current Blighted Queen. Alas, her sister, whom we call her Highness Isodore, is the daughter of the previous Blighted Queen.”

“So there’s been more than one?”

“You hadn’t heard? Of course not. Yes, there have been two Blighted Queens. Three, if you count the one who died before marriage. The Blighted King has seen his wives die one by one during his reign.”

“That…sucks.”

“An understatement, which is why I am so sorely needed at his court. Not that the Blighted King laughs, mind you. But I keep the [Princess] and others amused, so I earn my keep. I also endeavor to stay away from lewd jokes or more intimate comedy unless I know she’s asleep.”

“That’s nice of you.”

The Fool shakes his head. He smiles sadly.

“The [Princess] has a hard life without me adding to it, Mister Tom.”

“Just Tom, please.”

“Very well. I’m surprised, to be honest that you took a class so odd as a [Clown]. What do you do, exactly, if it’s not make people laugh?”

“Make them feel uncomfortable, I suppose. And laugh at how weird I am.”

“Like a [Fool]! But surely there’s more of a difference. What makes a [Clown] different from a [Fool]?”

“I dunno. Face paint? I wear oversized shoes, have a big red nose, use balloons…”

“What?”

“Uh—it’s a round floaty thing.”

He stares at me. I shrug. I’m pleasantly sloshed by now and feeling…decent for once. I try describing it to him and he shakes his head.

“Loud, noisy, and can fly? I’d use one myself if I had such a thing. I make do with throwing squirrels and cats in the meantime. But surely there’s more to it than that.”

I sigh.

“I don’t know. Clowns come in all different shapes and sizes. I guess [Fools] are like that too. For instance, I don’t see you wearing a jingling cap with bells on.”

“That’s a requirement for being a [Fool]?”

“I mean, that’s what I think of. Why don’t you have one of those?”

He gives me a look.

“I’m a [Fool], not an idiot. There are times when a Fool should be seen and not heard, or not seen or heard at all. Were I to go around dinging like some bell, I’d be evicted from the royal presence within the hour.”

He paused.

“Perhaps the day if the youngest [Princess] were to object.”

“She really likes you, huh?”

“I’m her sole form of entertainment on some days, and it can be dreary being locked up in the palace. She never enters the city without an escort and seldom at that.”

“Why? Is it so dangerous here? I thought the capital—”

He waves a hand and refills my goblet.

“Oh, it’s safer than any other part of Rhir and safe for all but royalty I imagine. Yet the [Princess] must be careful, or she’ll end up like her brothers and sisters.”

“I thought she only had a sister. Or—”

“She had others.”

Like an idiot, I stare at the Fool blankly.

“What happened to them, then? Where are they?”

His voice is flat.

“Dead.”

I sober up a bit.

“Oh. I’m s—I thought it was a family of four—”

“The majesties royal had a household of seven, once, unfunny Tom. Two older sons and another daughter three years older than the young [Princess]. All of them died. The brothers in battle, and the daughter in bed. A plague, sent by the Demons it was thought. Assassins killed the last Queen, and the one before that.”

“Oh.”

The Fool nods. He isn’t smiling now. He stares at his reflection in one of the mirrors.

“Now the [Princess] and her young highness Isodore are watched like sheep by lions, while their father and mother strive to make their kingdom safe for all but their enemies. A touching tale, isn’t it?”