Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

fellow. Allow me to demonstrate.” I slid to the ground and drew my sword. They all began to grab at their own, but I held my other hand out to quiet them and quickly placed the weapon, hilt down, on the bridge of my nose. I let go and balanced it there.
    They started laughing. I walked around them, faster and faster, skipping occasionally to and fro, the sword staying on my nose as if it had been soldered there. They started clapping. I removed it and commenced twirling it in one hand, spinning it around my neck and waist, over my head and through my legs. Viola slipped carefully off her horse and stood by it, her hand resting on the hilt of her own weapon.
    Finally, I caught the sword, threw it high into the air, and stood under it confidently, one hand waiting to catch it. Then, at the last second, I ran screaming in terror as it plunged into the spot that I had just vacated. My audience laughed and clapped some more, chattering excitedly.
    “That was a small sample of what I have to offer,” I said cheerfully. “Would a full show be ample payment for our passage?”
    The interpreter said something to the leader. He thought for a moment, then nodded and said something back. The interpreter turned back to me.
    “He say, all right. You give show, we let you pass.”
    I bowed low, which amused them further, then beckoned to Viola.
    “Routine Eleven, Claudius,” I called, and she blinked, then bowed and pulled out three clubs from her bag. I took out three of my own, and we both started a simple pattern, walking casually toward each other. The men gathered around us. I caught hereye, nodded, and we started passing the clubs back and forth. One sequence, two . . .
    “Gentlemen, for your pleasure, we will attempt to break our record for passes without a single drop.”
    Three, four, five . . .
    “Gather around. The closer you get, the more fascinating it is.”
    Six, seven . . .
    “As you see, we are but traveling players, simpletons who quail before your mighty arms.”
    Eight, nine . . .
    “No need, with your numbers, to fear two small men such as ourselves.”
    Ten . . .
    “Besides, I rarely kill with a sword.”
    Eleven
.
    The interpreter was momentarily too surprised by my last remark to translate it. Or maybe it was my dagger flying into his throat that prevented him.
    Routine Eleven requires two jesters and six clubs. At the eleventh sequence, the clubs go flying out at anyone nearby. With a little bit of luck, you distract them long enough so that you can start evening the odds. With more luck, you might even send one or two sprawling.
    Only one of the six went down, but in the second it took for the rest to duck, I plunged my knife into the side of the man to my right. I glimpsed Viola’s sword out and active, but I was too worried about the two men coming at me to watch her.
    There are plenty of ways to fight. There’s the way they teach you to fight in castles, and the better way in the army. These fellows had clearly been good enough soldiers to survive some battles, and sneaky enough to take on all comers in this mountain pass.
    But the Fools’ Guild teaches us ways to fight that even a rogue can’t anticipate. As the man nearest me came close, I ran at him, knife point-forward, then dove and tumbled by him as his sword passed over me. As I somersaulted past his leg, I opened up his thigh with a quick slash, then regained my feet as he fell to his knees. I slit his throat from behind.
    Which left the leader, advancing cautiously, a weapon in each hand. I charged at him. He started to crouch, anticipating that I was going to repeat my successful maneuver against his late friend. My plan, however, was to fake a low move and then go high, flipping over him with my knife slicing through his neck.
    That was my plan. It was a good plan, as plans go, and might even have worked, had not my knee chosen that moment to give way.
    I hit the ground hard, my knife flying out of my hand. The leader watched for a