[Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal Read Online Free PDF

who had been in Toulouse for years, but he had accepted the appointment of an outsider like me as Chief Fool with grace. He was an unusual man, even for one of the Fools’ Guild, for he was a silent man. His humor came from the exquisite precision of his gestures and a malleable face whose features could instantly resemble anyone’s. He wore motley of the red-and-blue mesclat cloth that the city was famous for, and could produce from its sleeves and pockets a stunning variety of props without ever letting you see where they came from.
    He made a small ring with his right thumb and forefinger, then slid it over the fourth finger of his left hand and looked at me questioningly.
    “She and Helga should be joining us shortly,” I said. Right on cue, there was a cheer from the soldiers, and I turned to see my wife enter, now in full makeup and motley, Helga right behind her carrying Portia.
    “Look, Mama! Soldiers!” cried Helga. “May I go play with them?”
    “Behave, child,” scolded Claudia. “You are much too young. I, on the other hand, am the perfect age to entertain— Oh, damn, my husband’s here!”
    There was a good-natured groan of disappointment from the soldiers as my wife sashayed past them, a lewd grin on her face. Helga did an exaggerated imitation of the walk as she followed her, prompting hoots of laughter. Claudia came to our table, leaned over, and kissed me hard, bringing on more hooting. I didn’t care. It was the part of the act that I enjoyed the most.
    “Oh, look,” said Claudia, sitting by me. “The saddest sight in the entire world.”
    “What is that, my love?”
    “An empty cup,” she said. “How very tragic.”
    Pelardit dolefully separated another of the cups from his pile and filled it, then passed it to her. Another one went to Helga.
    “To Balthazar,” I said, and we knocked cups and drank.
    “Well, is it true?” asked Claudia. “Did a long-lost brother descend from an angel’s chariot to claim his inheritance from the Count of Toulouse?”
    “Not exactly, and nobody knows for sure,” I said.
    I recounted the events of the morning.
    Pelardit looked thoughtful.
    “Know any of this story?” I asked him.
    He shrugged, pointed to himself, and mimed holding a babe in arms, then shrank the imaginary child until it was no more.
    “Of course,” I said. “You weren’t born then. But did you ever hear of this unheard-of heir? Gossip, rumors, anything?”
    He shook his head.
    “It sounds wonderfully romantic,” sighed Helga. “Was he handsome?”
    “He had a magnificent cloak,” I said.
    “Just the thing for concealment,” said Claudia.
    “I wonder if he’s married,” said Helga.
    “I will ask him, first chance I get,” I promised.
    “Really?” exclaimed the girl.
    “Any chance to have you taken off our hands, no matter how small, must be pursued.”
    She pouted.
    “I don’t know his mother’s story,” said Claudia. “Do either of you?”
    “Her name was Constance, she was the sister to King Louis, and was married to Raimon the Fifth for the usual reasons.”
    “Peace between France and Toulouse,” said Claudia.
    “Not love?” asked Helga.
    “The great cannot afford such frivolous emotions,” I said.
    “I hope I never become great,” said Helga.
    “Another step toward wisdom,” said Claudia, patting the girl’s head. “How did the marriage end?”
    “Apparently not well, but I don’t know that part of the story,” I said.
    “None of this was in our briefing at the Guild,” she said.
    “I suppose they considered it not worth considering,” I said. “It was ancient history. But you can understand the count’s reaction. After all, his mother abandoned him when he was just a child, and—“
    Claudia was on her feet in an instant, her ale spilling across the table, the rage forcing its way through her white-face.
    “And what?” she shouted. “What happens to children when their mother abandons them at such a tender and impressionable