With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  “No, not like this!”

  “Stitch!” shouted someone from their left.

  Both boys stopped and looked in the direction of the voice. All Billy could see were bodies weaving in and out, like a great school of fish. Suddenly, a boy dressed very much like Stitch—only shabbier—popped out of the crowd.

  “Hey, Stitch!” shouted the boy, waving at them.

  “Pinch!” shouted Stitch in return.

  The boy smiled as he approached. He looked at Stitch and then Billy.

  “Who’s he?” he said, nodding at Billy.

  “Billy,” answered Stitch.

  “New boy?”

  “Yup.”

  Pinch looked at Billy and asked, “How long you been on your own?”

  “I left home a couple weeks ago,” said Billy.

  “He’s green to the city today,” added Stitch.

  The boy frowned at Billy and shook his head. “Green today.”

  “He’s fine, Pinch. I’ll show him the ropes.”

  “Then he’s all yours. Just keep him out of my way. Got it?”

  “Got it, Pinch,” said Stitch. “Say, you’re awful jumpy today.”

  Pinch eyed the crowd suspiciously then pulled Stitch over to the edge of the mob. Billy followed.

  “Any action?” asked Stitch.

  “Some,” Pinch said with a big smile. He pulled a small well-rounded pouch out of his shirt. He eyed the crowd as he replaced the pouch and continued. “Many fat today, but be very careful.”

  “I always am.”

  “I seen Derian’s men in the street.”

  Suddenly Stitch stiffened. He nonchalantly inspected the square. “How many?” he asked.

  “Two of the no good backbiters!” said Pinch, and then he spat angrily. “Nothin’ worse than a thief gone moral.”

  “Don’t worry, Pinch. We always out fox ’em.”

  “Yeah, but somethin’s different today.”

  Stitch patted Pinch on the belly where he had put away the pouch. “You’re just jumpy, with a pouch full of coin. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m workin’ wifout a bump,” said Pinch out the side of his mouth.

  “I always do.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the Stitch!”

  Stitch smiled broadly. “Listen, Pinch, if it don’t feel right, go home. You’ll just make the rest of us jumpy.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Come on, Billy,” said Stitch. “We’ve got to take care of your errand.”

  “What was that all about?” asked Billy, pushing his way past a man with a basket of fruit on his shoulder.

  “Never ya mind that now,” said Stitch. “I’ll explain it later.”

  Stitch pulled Billy through the swarm of people across the square. As they approached the center of the square, Billy saw a small grey statue of a fish with water bubbling from its mouth. It arched its back, riding atop a small wave of the same grey stone. The water ran down the statue into a circular raised pool. Several pottery merchants were sitting on the benchlike ledge of the pool, tending their wares.

  “What’s that?” asked Billy, marveling at the never-ending flow of water from the fish’s mouth.

  “That’s a fountain!” said Stitch, obviously perturbed at having to answer the question. “I suppose you’ve never seen one of those either.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” said Billy shrugging.

  “Look, I don’t care if ya get your measly one copper, but it is honest, easy money, an’ it’ll put some bread in your hole. Now come on!”

  Billy didn’t hear Stitch. He just stood there, gawking at the fountain. He was brought to his senses by Stitch jerking his arm nearly out of the socket. Billy fought to keep his balance as he was dragged back into the crowd.

  “Come on! We’re almost there. I’ll show ya round, after we’ve fetched the cobbler.”

  Billy filed in behind Stitch and headed around the many pottery vendors. As they got to the opposite side of the fountain, there was a small crowd gathered in a circle around a man in colorful garb. Stitch ignored the spectacle, but Billy’s curiosity urged him to investigate. He pushed his way past all the elbows and hips until he was at the edge of the circle.

  The man in the center of the crowd was dressed entirely in yellow and red silk. Even his shoes and ridiculous, three-cornered hat were of the same loud, checkered material, with tiny silver bells attached at each point. Billy had never, in all his life, seen anyone dressed so foolishly.

  The colorful performer walked around the circle in a well-rehearsed drunken stupor, contorting his face into silly, jeering expressions and pretending to drink out of a dark, red bottle. Then when he was directly in front of one of his audience, he would explode into hideous cackles or fall down. When he came to Billy, the actor stopped and took a double take. He then looked incredulously at his bottle and tossed it over his shoulder. This action brought a great deal of laughter from the crowd as well as a great deal of attention to Billy. Everyone seemed to be looking and laughing at Billy as much as they were the entertainer. Just as the bottle was about to come crashing to the ground, the clown turned and made a diving catch. The crowd gasped and then applauded his feat. As the crowd quieted, the man made two more bottles appear. Billy had no idea where they had come from. Surely that was magic!

  The man bowed his head and then, much to Billy’s delight, started to juggle the three bottles. He worked the bottles round and round, then crisscross. Yellow and red flashed in the sun as he passed before Billy. Billy watched, admiring the man’s skill and listening to the familiar pitter-patter of the bottles in his magical hands. This man was good—very good—maybe even better than Llyren the Glum, Billy’s friend and teacher. Billy remembered how he and Llyren had practiced tossing the apples back and forth, forming complex patterns, which alone neither of them could do. He wished there was some way he could join in and juggle with the clown.

  Suddenly, without thought, Billy’s hands reached out and plucked the bottles out of the air: one, two, three. The foolish juggler’s jaw fell open in dumbfounded amazement, and the crowd laughed at his astonished expression. The bottles continued to make the juggler’s pattern in Billy’s hands. The crowd buzzed with excitement.

  Billy, realizing what he had done and not wanting to steal the show, decided to toss the bottles back to their owner.

  “Follow me!” he said. “One, two, three.” Then he sent the three bottles, in sequence, to the man before him.

  With a great effort and jingling of tiny silver bells, the dazed performer pulled himself together and caught the bottles. He tried, comically, to settle them into a pattern and managed to get the bottles aloft again without breaking them or the rhythm. The crowd applauded appreciatively. When he was sure of his control, the clown eyed his unexpected juggling partner, who stood grinning at him from ear to ear.

  Billy bowed to the man, mimicking Don Miguel as well as he could. Then he took a step backwards and beckoned for the bottles with his outstretched hands.

  “Very well,” said the street performer, “let’s see what you’ve got! Four, five, six, you’re in a fix.”

  Again the bottles flew the gap between them, and again they were caught and sent aloft.

  “Seven, eight, nine, I feel fine!” answered Billy as he continued the poem taught to him by Llyren and Duncan of the Highlands.

  Several of the pottery merchants around the fountain stopped their usual activities and turned their attentions to the jugglers. Billy started the juggler’s rhyme over and stepped up onto the first step of the fountain as he let loose the last of the bottles.

  Again and again the bottles were tossed. The crowd began to swell as more merchants and their customers suspended their activities to be entertained. While it was not particularly uncommon to see a single traveling entertainer in Dyven, seeing two seemed to most as if the circus had come to town. Billy thought that everyone in the market must be focused on them. As the street clown was showing off his skills, a fat drunk
stumbled out from the mob and handed Billy three more bottles with a grin. Billy smiled and bowed to the man in thanks. Upon seeing that his small partner was also equipped, the clown’s smile broadened. He gave Billy a nod.

  “Follow me!” they shouted in unison. A murmur ran through the throng and then hushed as the jugglers filled the air with bottles. Sunlight sprang from the dancing bottles as they traveled from hand to hand to hand.

  Billy stepped up one more step to place himself at a height equal to his partner and widen the gap between them. He was completely unaware that he stood on the fountain’s lip.

  The whole crowd was cheering and chanting the little rhyme louder and louder. Just when Billy thought that the cheering had reached a peak, his partner would take one big step back and shout, “One more time!”

  The crowd roared, and the juggling would continue. Billy admired the great skill with which the man controlled his audience. They follow him like sheep. Billy felt the pulse of the crowd too but did not know how to act on what he felt.

  Billy was sure now that their audience had had enough, but the man across from him simply looked inquisitively at the people, and they cheered, “One more time!” Billy’s partner took one more step backwards and nodded to him. Billy watched every move carefully.

  When they reached the last line of the rhyme, the two jugglers gave each other a nod and increased their speed. The mob was mesmerized. They swooned under their entertainers’ power. Billy felt infused with energy from the cheering people. Never before had he felt so invigorated. He could hardly contain himself. For a moment he felt unassailable and forgot what he was doing. Then he saw that his partner had stopped juggling, and the last of the bottles were speeding at him.

  Billy was already juggling three bottles, and here were three more. Billy’s mind froze. His hands reached out to catch the incoming bottles and insert them into the pattern, but he was off balance, and he threw the last bottle over his head. By reflex he stepped back to catch it. His foot found nothing to stand on.

  The next thing Billy knew, he was sitting in the fountain spitting out a stream of water, like the grey stone fish just behind him. The entire throng broke into uncontrollable laughter. Many of them fell to the ground and rolled around holding their sides. The water in the fountain was cool, but Billy felt warm as the blush of embarrassment rushed to his face and ears. Then the nature of his predicament settled on him, and he too found he could not control his laughter. He tried to get out of the fountain but slipped and fell back in. He rolled around in the pool, squirting water out of his mouth and laughing. It seemed as if the entire city was laughing.

  Over the laughter, Billy heard a faint cry. It was the cry of a lone man. Billy couldn’t make out what he was screaming. Then like ripples on a pond, the crowd surrounding the man quieted and turned to face him. Finally the entire market was quiet, except for the one man.

  “Thief! Thief!” he yelled.

  The crowd backed away, and Billy could see a man in a yellow shirt and brown trousers searching himself and the faces around him. “I’ve been robbed!” he shouted.

  Just then another voice came from deep within the crowd.

  “Thief! Thief! My purse has been cut!”

  Just as the crowd turned its attention to the last voice, another rang out in the same cry from another location, then another and another and another. A low hum began to buzz through the crowd. It grew until all the people in the market square were shouting and yelling at one another.

  Billy listened to them for a moment, before his ears caught another sound. A clattering sound was building underneath the angry voices and drawing nearer. Then suddenly half a dozen horsemen with long spears entered the square. They were dressed all in brown leather, with yellow ribbons trailing from their spear tips. Behind them rode two striking men.

  The first was a lean man with a greying black beard. He rode on a highly spirited charger the color of melting snow. He wore a long sword on his left side and a dagger on the other. Around his neck he wore a bronze chain of office, like the one Billy had seen worn by Earl Cairmac. This man surveyed the market with cold grey eyes and then slowly entered the square, followed by his companion. The noisy crowd became still. All eyes were upon this commanding figure as he advanced wordlessly towards the fountain.

  The second man seemed out of place amongst all the soldiers. He was not at all warriorlike in his manner or dress and was exceptionally overweight and sloppy. He had no armor or weapons that Billy could see and rode a ragged black cob that was straining just to carry its load. Billy noticed that many of the people glared at him contemptuously as he rushed up beside his companion.

  The fat man leaned over to whisper to his companion as they rode farther into the crowd. Both men focused on Billy. The lean man studied him with a steely, disquieting glare. Then the warrior and the fat man halted. The latter, having finished whispering, slouched back into his saddle and eyed Billy with an expression reminiscent of a snake.

  The only sound Billy could hear was the water bubbling from the fountain. Then the man on the pale horse spoke.

  “What is going on here?” he said in a bitingly clear tone.

  No one said anything. Then the man in the yellow shirt came forward.

  He spoke cautiously, his voice trembling with the sound of uncertainty. “Captain, I’ve been robbed.”

  “And me too!” said a second man.

  “And I as well!” shouted a woman from behind him.

  Several more people piped in to report their losses, and the crowd began to buzz again.

  “Silence!” shouted the captain. When it was quiet again, he spoke. His eyes had remained glued to Billy. “And this is the thief?” he asked, indicating the dripping juggler with a nod.

  Billy didn’t move. He felt as if he were nailed in place by the captain’s stare.

  “Oh no, Captain,” said the man in yellow. “That isn’t possible.”

  “Not possible, eh?”

  “Oh no, sir.”

  “Then what did this thief of yours look like?” asked the captain.

  The captain’s question was answered by silence.

  “Well . . . ?” said the captain. He held up his hands and addressed the entire market square. “Did anyone see the thief?”

  Again there was silence.

  “I see,” said the captain. “And I suppose you saw nothing as well, my little fish?”

  Billy just shrugged and sheepishly shook his head as two of the mounted guards rode up to the fountain. Billy looked at them and saw that they too were eyeing him coldly.

  “He was entertaining us, Captain,” said a woman from the crowd.

  “Yeah,” said another. “That’s why we didn’t see anythin’. We was watchin’ ’im!”

  “That’s right. We was all watchin’ ’im. An’ the other one too.”

  “What other one?” asked the captain.

  “Him,” said someone, shoving Billy’s juggling partner forward.

  The clown stumbled with a loud jingle of silver bells and caught himself on the lip of the fountain. He looked up from the water at Billy. Hurt and disbelief filled his eyes.

  There was another long silence. Then all at once the whole crowd started to mumble.

  “I see,” said the captain as he crossed his arms. He raised an eyebrow, and a tiny smile crossed his lips as he looked over the ridiculous pair. “Arrest them.”

  The mumble from the mob became a rumble, as the two guards reached down and plucked Billy out of the fountain by his arms. He was stunned as one of them roughly hoisted him over his horse like a deer carcass. He craned his neck and saw two more guards tie the hands of the foolish juggler behind his back. Then Billy’s keeper smacked him in the ear with his boot.

  “Take them to the tower,” commanded the captain.

  The guards had just started to move, when the mob quieted, and Billy heard a familiar voice.

  “I said, what passes here, Captain?”

  Billy was still
dazed from the kick to his ear and, hanging upside down, like a piece of meat, had all the blood rushing to his head. He strained to hear the man speak over the sound of his own pulse. He turned his head but could not see him.

  “Well . . . sir . . .” stumbled the captain, caught off guard.

  “Speak up, man!” grumbled the voice.

  “Well . . . Sir Aonghas, we have just arrested these thieves . . .”

  “Thieves?”

  “Yes, Sir Aonghas. I believe these two distracted the crowd while their accomplices were cutting purses.”

  “You believe?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, I know the small one’s been mistaken for a faerie, but since he’s been a friend to my wife and a guest in our home, I don’t believe anyone’s ever mistaken him for a thief.”

  “A . . . friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Well . . . perhaps we were . . . mistaken?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Suddenly Billy found himself upright and being lowered to the ground. The trip down was much gentler than the one that brought him over the horse’s back.

  “Come along, William,” said Aonghas. “We ought to be going home.”

  Billy rubbed his ear and looked up at his former captor. The man smiled apologetically as Billy went to the side of his rescuer.

  “What of the other one, milord?”

  “Oh, you mean Malcolm the Magnificent?”

  “That’s Malcolm the Magnificent?” said Billy in open amazement.

  “At your service,” said the remaining prisoner with a nod.

  “Gosh! Llyren told me about him!” Billy said to Aonghas. Then he turned to Malcolm. “You’re the best!”

  Malcolm the Magnificent snickered and smiled. “Not with my hands tied behind my back.” He then gave a meaningful look to the captain of the guard, who cleared his throat uncomfortably and nodded for one of his men to cut the juggler free.

  Malcolm bowed to Sir Aonghas. “Thank you, milord.”

  “You’re welcome, Malcolm. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to Dyven, and I’d hate to think of you wasting your talents on dungeon rats when ya could be entertaining Lady Myrredith and myself tonight.”