An Antic Disposition Read Online Free PDF

playing the latter with his left foot, the room was his. At the end of the evening, having fed and drunk, he reached an agreement with the tapster to provide entertainment in exchange for a small room in the back and regular meals.
    The next night, the tavern was packed as Slesvig crowded in to see the only fool within miles. Terence was patient, and waited a week without approaching the island. Then, one morning, a summons reached him.
    He scrubbed his motley so that the colors reemerged from the dinge, and pulled out a small glass to make sure that his makeup was less haphazard than usual. Then he shouldered his collection of bundles and walked up to the drawbridge.
    Inside, he came upon a group of four rectangular barracks, laid out in a square so that they could present another level of defense in the unlikely event that the enemy came inside the stockade. Beyond them stood a great hall, two levels high and taking up nearly half of the enclosed land. A small flock of goats was grazing to the left of it, and there were stables behind them. Several smaller buildings lay scattered beyond the hall, with gardens laid out around them.
    A squat man stood at the entrance to the hall, watching him carefully. He had a misshapen head, as if he had been assembled hastily by an indifferent sculptor, with the features smeared on as an afterthought. He beckoned to Terence, and the fool came up to him and bowed.
    “You are the fool,” said the man.
    “I am, milord. My name is—“
    “I know your name,” snapped the man. “I am Gorm Larsson, the drost to Ørvendil.”
    “How do you do, milord.”
    “Do not speak unless you are bidden to do so,” thundered Gorm.
    “I cannot do that, sir,” said Terence mildly.
    Gorm stared at him, momentarily speechless despite his mouth being fully open. Terence memorized the expression and stored it for future use.
    “You will..Gorm began.
    “No, I won’t,” said Terence.
    “You…”
    “No.”
    There was stifled laughter from within the hall behind the drost, who was nearly apoplectic with rage.
    “How dare you address me so!” he shouted.
    “Because I am a fool,” replied Terence frankly. “That’s why you sent for me. If you want predictable conversation, and only when bidden, then you can get yourself a courtier. They cost more, and they are truly boring people despite their magnificent clothing, but they will know their place. But I am a jester, Lord Drost. I will speak when I am spoken to, and when I am not spoken to, and at random moments. Sometimes, I make no noise at all, just to see what it’s like. May I come in?”
    Gorm stepped back, momentarily stunned by the onslaught. Terence stepped past him and looked around. The room was almost empty, table-tops, trestles, and benches stacked against the walls. The far wall was over a hundred feet away, and some women were standing by it.
    “Listen to me, Fool,” said the drost urgently as he hurried to keep pace with the taller man. “This is a real lady here, none of your Danish peasants. She’s been to the courts of France, visited Rome. She knows what a real court is like, and you shall treat her accordingly,”
    “If she knows what a French court is like, then she will know how fools behave,” said Terence. He strode up to the women firmly, then stumbled at the last second, tumbling end over end into a splayed heap amidst his bundles.
    “Hello, ladies,” he said, waving merrily, and was met with a collective giggling from the group.
    The woman in the center smiled. She was almost as tall as he was, a commanding, raven-haired beauty in her early twenties. She stepped forward and held out her hand to the fool. Terence seized it and allowed her to haul him back to his feet, to the appalled gape of the drost.
    “Welcome, Fool,” she said. “I am Gerutha, wife to Ørvendil.”
    “Milady,” he said, executing a proper bow with elaborate arm flourishes, sending the other ladies into fits of giggling again. He looked