by Pirateaba
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.
