Thirteenth Night (15 page)

He awoke refreshed and prepared to leave for his afternoon performance.

“I've worked up a routine about this Aguecheek fellow,” he informed me. “Any ideas for it now that you've seen his little workshop?”

“Let him be,” I urged him.

“Excuse me?” he said in shock.

“Leave him alone. He complained about being the lifetime butt of our profession. Why not give him a break?”

“Let me get this straight,” said Bobo slowly. “Yesterday, you took me to task because I hesitated to commit a cold-blooded murder. Now, you scruple at mocking that vainglorious popinjay? You actually have some vague sense of compassion towards a worthless parasite who's done nothing to merit his position in life and wastes his inheritance on black magic? My brother fool, my comrade in motley, my colleague and esteemed elder, if I leave off tormenting such an obvious target, I will bring suspicion on myself and shame to our profession. Even he would expect nothing less.”

“I withdraw the suggestion,” I said. “It was a momentary spasm. It won't happen again. And call me your elder again and I'll knock you through that window.”

He grinned. “That's better. Any more suggestions?”

“Oh, I think I'll refrain from advising you for now.”

He gave what I deduced was a traditional Toledan gesture with universal meaning and left.

*   *   *

It was the coldest night yet, and I was out in it, sitting at my observation post without even the company of another fool to distract me. I left the bottle at the inn. I was worried that I might overdo it and end up a frozen, broken corpse in a gutter somewhere. It was an image of myself that popped unbidden into my mind more and more often. I wondered if anyone would bury me, if there would be a marker on my grave. I wondered what name would be on it. My only comfort is that there were people who would pray for me, if they lived to hear about it.

I tried to banish these morose thoughts. I heard laughter blossom forth in the distance, then a shutter closed and it was cut off. I shifted my legs, which were getting numb, and stared at the Duke's villa. I still couldn't see inside, just the flickering light through the shutters. I tried to guess where Viola's rooms would be, which gate she would use to slip out to weep by his sarcophagus, how I could approach her, what I could possibly say. Whether she would listen, or care. Whether I still mattered to her, or any of them.

It was that laughter, and its absence, that depressed me. Here I was, a jester by training and inclination, wasting away on a rooftop instead of putting my skills to their proper use in this most joyous of times. I couldn't remember a Christmas season when I wasn't wringing hysterics from families noble and common, with sophisticated wit, many-tongued puns, improvised pageantry, or the silliest of pratfalls. Spending long Teutonic nights regaling long Teutonic knights with shaggy-dog stories of ten thousand lines. Teaching children of Provence the different styles of tumbling, learning new ones from them. Leading the Feast of Fools.

Maybe Father Gerald concocted this plan to bring me back. Withdraw that best part of my existence to remind me it was there. I had been living at the bottom of a cask for too long, and from the cask to the casket is a very short step.

I made my resolution for the New Year, that I would stop pitying myself. Of course, that meant that nobody would, but that was all right. In the meantime, I had a task ahead of me, a very simple one.

I had to stop Death.

N
INE

God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise.

1 CORINTHIANS 1.27
(
KING JAMES VERSION
)

 

“What a magnificent fire they keep in that kitchen of theirs,” chirped Bobo with an evil glint in his eye. “They keep it going all night, just so it will be ready to bake the family bread in the morning. Entire forests must have been denuded over the years to keep the Countess and her household toasty.”

“Glad you had a good time,” I muttered, suppressing a yawn. It was early afternoon, and I had just gotten up. Alexander had thoughtfully left a jug of wine by my bed last night to help me vanquish the chill of my evening adventure, and I had thoughtfully finished it, my New Year's resolution notwithstanding. Hell, the New Year hadn't started yet, I could do what I damn well pleased. Well, maybe not. The headache I had meant business.

“Did you find out anything?” I asked.

“Not much. None of the household fits Malvolio's description. None of them is tall enough. That Sebastian's a surly little fellow. Didn't crack a smile once during my whole performance, and I assure you he was the only one. The rest were rolling on the floor.”

“Was he drinking?”

“Yes, heavily. Not at all a happy man, and his wife doesn't seem to care much. She spent more time ogling her oldest son's friends than she did watching the performance. I guess she still likes younger men. I wonder if it's only her eye that roves.”

“Think it ever landed on the Duke?”

That caught him up short. He was perched on the end of my bed, chewing on a piece of dried meat, thinking. “I would doubt it,” he said. “She made a few rather unseemly remarks about His Lateness. I flattered her in my performance, dropped some references to the regency which she liked very much. She said she'd manage things a whole lot better than he ever did. I thought that was a little inappropriate given how recently he died.”

“Was murdered,” I corrected him, and he glared at me.

“I haven't forgotten,” he said. “I just haven't seen any proof of that yet. In any case, my performance went so well that Fabian offered me a position there, complete with lodging. I have accepted. It's a safer place to sleep than that hostel, under the circumstances.”

“Sounds reasonable. By the way, I must say I am impressed with your command of the language,” I commented.

“Oh, didn't you know? I was born in Spalato. I speak it fluently, I'm just using the accent for the character, just like you are. You are, aren't you? That's one of the reasons Father Gerald picked me for this assignment. That, plus my extreme talent.”

“Did your extreme talent encompass surveying Claudius's offices?”

“Of course. There is an alleyway and a back entrance that should suit our purposes nicely. The Jew left at sundown. I saw an old woman servant leave shortly after that, and then the offices were empty.”

“Empty? What about Claudius?”

“He must have left before that or used the back entrance. I couldn't see both at once. But he was gone, I'd swear to it. There was no fire, no candles, and when I went in back, I peeked through the shutters on both floors. No one stays there.”

“That was a bit risky, don't you think?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I was up and down in seconds. If anyone saw me, I would have been taking a quick leak in the alley.”

“All right. No more conspicuous than the two of us breaking in tonight. I'll meet you in the alleyway an hour after sundown. I'll bring a lantern.”

“Good. What are we looking for, exactly?”

“I haven't a clue. I'll see you then.”

I emerged downstairs to some derisive applause for my late appearance. Claudius was supping at a table and motioned for me to join him. Odd experience. I've never eaten with a man I was about to burglarize.

“Any news regarding your brother?” he asked with a concern that I suspected was feigned.

“None,” I replied.

“Not likely to be,” he commented, his mouth full of bread. “Difficult for a ship to make it here this time of year. Winds are all wrong. Who goes north in winter?”

“Unless he made landfall somewhere in Greece and is traveling by horse,” I said.

“That would be a foolhardy thing to do,” he pronounced. “The roads are dangerous, and the weather is bad inland as well. Even worse, once he reaches the mountains.”

“I have faith in him,” I said piously. “He'll be here.”

He tore off another piece of bread and scooped up a helping of stew. My stomach was feeling worse than my head, and the sight of him eating so ravenously did not help.

“Where will you go?” I asked abruptly. He looked up at me, puzzled.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“If you lose your stewardship under the regency. Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “I haven't given it much thought. I'll just disappear with my letter of reference. I'll find something. Are you offering me a position?”

“Until my brother comes in, I'm in no position to make any offers. But I will keep you in mind, if you so desire.”

He finished and stood to leave. “Once again, Signore, we are commencing negotiations without our armies in place. Until that time.” He bowed, and I stood to return it.

*   *   *

I staggered through the gate into the square, blinking in the unforgiving sunlight. The market was a veritable hubbub of trade and amateur theatrics. I saw my colleague instructing assorted devils in basic pratfalls. I restrained myself from dashing over to demonstrate, but I was pleased to note that it was one area of foolery where my abilities exceeded his. He was not supple enough around the waist to execute the full twists and turns of
le tour français
or
le tour romain
and, for all his jibes at my age, I still was. Petty, this competition between us, but that's how it is when fools collide.

Of more interest was a series of tests run by Sir Andrew and his young assistant Lucius. He listened intently while Sebastian declaimed a speech from the play. At the end of it, Fabian, who was supervising, shouted, “Poof!” Sir Andrew nodded and measured out three strips of linen that he then quickly braided and dipped in a jar. He laid the prepared rope on a metal trough and indicated that Sebastian should recite again.

As the speech progressed, Sir Andrew took a lit candle from Lucius and touched it to the end of the braid. The flame reached the other end a few seconds after the speech ended.

“It's late, Sir Andrew,” Fabian admonished him. “I want it to flare up right on the final syllable. We want to scare the sin out of the town.”

“Do that, and there'll be nothing left to do,” muttered Sebastian.

“One moment,” said Sir Andrew. He measured some slightly shorter pieces of cloth and repeated the braiding and dunking. “The last word in the speech is what?”

“Doomsday,” intoned Sebastian in a sepulchral voice.

“Say your piece again,” commanded Sir Andrew. Sebastian went through it, Sir Andrew listening with his eyes closed, counting the beats in the lines. He touched the candle once more to the braid and watched the flame travel along its narrow path. The fire and the speech ended together, and Sir Andrew looked up happily at Fabian and whispered, “Poof!”

“Amazing, Sir Andrew, you actually got it to work,” needled Fabian. “A veritable Christmas miracle. Good. Now, the second one comes after the gates fall. Sebastian will…”

“That's Count to you, you puffed-up turd,” snapped Sebastian. Fabian looked for a moment as if he would strike his master, then breathed in deeply and let it out.

“My apologies, Count,” he said. “The Count will then enter the mouth of Hell, and that's when I want the second one to go up, something a little bigger so he can make his way through the scenery and get ready for the debate. A bigger poof, if you will.”

“It will light the very heavens,” promised Sir Andrew, and Lucius giggled in anticipation.

I bought some bread and cheese and walked up the steps of the new cathedral to gain a good vantage point for observing the square. The scaffolding was covered with canvas sheeting, which flapped gently in the wind. I peeked behind the façade to see if anyone was there and found the Bishop staring back at me. I bowed.

“Good day, pilgrim,” he said in surprise. “Were you looking for me?”

“Not in the least, sir, but I am delighted to find you. I came with the dual purpose of seeing this magnificent structure and gaining some shelter from the winds while I eat. Would you care for some bread and cheese?”

He brightened. “I would love some. I am also here for two reasons. First, to make sure the coverings are secure, and second, to dream about what it will be like when it's completed. God grant that I live to see the day. Come, take a look at what will be.”

We walked through a door to see unfinished burial chambers and buttresses, vaults below and vaults above. The unfinished arches framed the sky like hands reaching and imploring in vain. “Gothic,” I observed.

He nodded. “It's the style these days, isn't it? It won't be on the scale of your German cathedrals. We just don't have the population here. But it should be an improvement over the old one.”

“I like the old one. It brings you in and makes you part of it. These modern structures fall towards the sky and scream at you, ‘Look at the Heavens and cower.' They make you want to give up any hope of attaining Paradise.”

He looked at me a bit sadly. “My son,” he said gently. “We attain Paradise by giving glory to God. What could be more glorious than this?”

I decided not to get into any arguments on that score. We chatted briefly, then I thanked him for the tour and walked back to the front steps. I watched the team working on the scenery for the play. They were daubing red paint on the Devil's head, making it more Hellish by the minute. Some children were painting their idea of Paradise on a sheet nearby, a nice way of involving them. I sat down and ate, glancing about to see if anyone was watching Bobo. Or me.

And there was Captain Perun, seated as usual on his horse. I had yet to see the man's feet touch the ground. He was watching the forced antics of the demons with a trace of a smile on his visage. Actually amused? Could the chief guardian of Orsino be capable of levity?