It sounded rather like what I’d guess would be the auditory effect of a bull elk trying to balance a wildcat on a red-hot poker. There was no little bit of yowling, growling, squealing, and screeching going on by the time I saw the second light coming up the stairs. I could see by the shadow that the lantern bearer was leading with a drawn sword. Oswald had been true to his treacherous nature, just as I had calculated.
“Put down that blade, you git, you’ll put someone’s eye out.”
The Duke of Cornwall rounded the stairs with blade lowered, a bewildered look on his face. “Fool?”
“What if a child was running down the stairs?” I said. “Awkward explaining to Gloucester why his beloved toddler grandson was wearing a yard of Sheffield steel through his gizzard.”
“Gloucester doesn’t have a grandson,” said Cornwall, surprised, I think, that he was engaged in this discussion.
“That doesn’t diminish the need for basic weapons safety.”
“But I’m here to slay you.”
“Moi?” said I, in perfect fucking French. “Whatever for?”
“Because you are shagging my lady.”
There was a great bellow from the tower room, followed by a female feral screech. “Was that pain or pleasure, would you say?” I asked.
“Who is in there?” Cornwall raised his sword again.
“Well, it is your lady, and she is most certainly being shagged, by the bastard Edmund of Gloucester, but prudence would have you stay your blade.” I laid Jones across the duke’s wrist and pushed his sword hand down. “Unless you care nothing for being King of Britain.”
“What are you on about, fool?” The duke very much wanted to do some killing, but his ambition was trumping his bloodlust.
“Oh ride me, you great, tree-cocked rhinoceros!” screamed Regan from the next room.
“She still says that?” I asked.
“Well, usually it’s ‘tree-cocked stallion,’” said Cornwall.
“She does get good wear out of a metaphor.” I put my hand on his shoulder for comfort. “Aye, a sad surprise, for you, I’ll wager. At least when a man, after looking into his soul, finally stoops to fuck a snake, he hopes at least not to see pairs of boots already lined up outside her burrow.”
He shook me off. “I’ll kill him!”
“Cornwall, you are about to be attacked. Even now Albany prepares to take all of Britain for his own. You’ll need Edmund and the forces of Gloucester to prevail against him, and when you do, you’ll be king. If you go in that room now, you will kill a horn-beast, but you will lose a kingdom.”
“God’s blood,” said Cornwall. “Is this true?”
“Win the war, good sirrah. Then kill the bastard at your leisure, when you can take your time and do it right. Regan’s honor is, well, malleable, is it not?”
“You’re sure about this war?”
“Aye. It’s why you need to take Lear’s remaining knights and squires, just as Goneril and Albany took the others. And you mustn’t let Goneril know you know. Even now your lady is assuring Gloucester’s allegiance to your side.”
“Really? That’s why she’s shagging Edmund?”
It hadn’t occurred to me until I’d said it, but it really did work quite nicely. “Oh yes, my lord, her enthusiasm is inspired by her fierce loyalty to you.”
“Of course,” said Cornwall, sheathing his sword. “I should have seen it.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t kill Edmund when it’s over,” said I.
“Absolutely,” said the duke.
When Cornwall was gone and some time after the first bell had rung for the watch, I knocked on the door and peeked my head in.
“Lord Edmund,” said I. “There’s a stirring in the duke’s tower. Perhaps you should say your farewells.”
I held Regan’s storm lantern at the crack of the door so she could find her way out, and a few moments later she stumbled out of the solar with her gown on backward, her hair in knots, and a slick of drool running in a river between and over her breasts. Overall, in fact, she looked quite slippery.
She was dazed and limping in a way that seemed she couldn’t quite figure which side to favor, and she was dragging one shoe by its strap around her ankle.
“Lady, shall I get your other shoe?”
“Sod it,” she said, waving drunkenly, or what seemed like drunkenly, almost falling down the stairs. I steadied her, helped her get her gown turned around, swabbed her down a bit with her skirt, then took her arm and helped her down the stairs.
“He’s quite a bit larger close up than he appears across the room.”
“That so?”
“I shan’t sit down for a fortnight.”
“Ah, sweet romance. Can you make it to your quarters, kitten?”
“I think so. You’re clever, Pocket—start thinking of excuses for Edmund if I’m not able to get out of bed tomorrow.”
“My pleasure, kitten. Sleep well.”
I made my way back upstairs where Drool was standing trouserless by the candle, still sporting enough of an erection to bludgeon a calf senseless.
“Sorry, I came out, Pocket, it were dark.”
“No worries, lad. Good show.”
“She were fit.”
“Aye. Quite.”
“What’s a rhinoceros?”
“It’s like a unicorn with armored bollocks. It’s a good thing. Chew these mint leaves and let’s get you wiped down. Practice your Edmund lines while I look for a towel.”
When the watch rang the second bell, the scene was set. Another storm lantern illuminated the stairs and cast a buxom shadow up the wall.
“Pumpkin!”
“What are you doing here, worm?”
“Just keeping watch. Go in, but leave your lantern with me. Edmund is shy about the injury he has inflicted on himself in your honor.”
Goneril grinned at the prospect of the bastard’s pain and went in.
A few minutes passed before Oswald crept up the stairs.
“Fool? You’re still alive?”
“Aye.” I held my hand up to my ear. “But listen to the children of the night—what music they make.”
“Sounds like a moose trying to shit a family of hedgehogs,” said the scoundrel.
“Oh, that’s good. I was thinking more of moo cow being beaten with a flaming goose, but you may have it. Ah, who’s to say? We should leave, good Oswald, and give the lovers their privacy.”
“Did you not meet with Princess Regan?”
“Oh, we changed the rendezvous to the fourth bell of the watch, why?”
SIXTEEN
A STORM RISING
The storm blew in during the night. I was eating my breakfast in the kitchen when a row erupted in the courtyard. I heard Lear bellow and left to attend him, leaving my porridge with Drool. Kent intercepted me in the corridor.
“So the old man lived through the night?” said I.
“I slept at his door,” said Kent. “Where were you?”
“Trying to see two princesses ruthlessly shagged and starting a civil war, thank you, and with no proper supper, neither.”
“Fine feast,” said Kent. “Ate till I nearly burst just to see the king went unpoisoned. Who is bloody St. Stephen, anyway?”
Then I saw Oswald coming down the corridor.
“Good Kent, go see that the daughters don’t kill the king, and that Cornwall doesn’t kill Edmund, and that the sisters don’t kill each other, and if you can help it, don’t kill anyone. It’s too early for killing.”
Kent hurried off as Oswald reached me.
“So,” said Oswald, “you lived through the night?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” I asked.
“Well, because I told Cornwall of your rendezvous with Regan and I expected him to slay you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Oswald, show a little guile, would you? The state of villainy in this castle is rubbish, what with Edmund being pleasant and you being straightforward. What’s next, Cornwall starts feeding orphans while bloody bluebirds fly out of his bum? Now, let’s try it again, see if you can at least keep up a pretense of evil. Go.”