The moment his apprentice had gone, Jester burst into a fanciful jig. He had learned the dance in his childhood, or no, perhaps not. Perhaps it was another's childhood. That part was getting harder and harder to distinguish. Nevertheless, he danced.

The dagger he spun in his deft little hands and grinned as the lamplight flitted off its pale surface. Of all the luck in all the world, but of course he did not believe in luck. He was fairly sure of that.

The witch was gone, and that was sad. As sad as when Poppet went missing, though Poppet were only a toy, so maybe more sad than that. But he had the dagger, and that was better. Better for them. Better for everyone.

He sank into a sitting position in the center of the room. The blade he held in a hero's stance, tip towards the ground, pommel in his hands. He cackled at the spectacle—he was no knight—and then chastised himself for dallying. There was much work to be done.

Jester sat for some time. Seeing and seeing and seeing. Sometimes seeing right and sometimes seeing wrong, but that was the trick of it, wasn't it? Knowing the difference. He saw for so long that he forgot to stop and nearly lived another life-span. Lucky for him, his hearth got bored and began to spit. From it a curious ember traveled, landing itself atop his fiery hair. It fizzled, pulling him back from the Long Road where he'd lost himself not a few times.

"You're a fickle, funny beast, you know?" Jester spoke aloud. "But, as always, I am ever your slave." He drew the King's Dagger, balancing it point-up upon his middle finger, and bowed.

A knock, timid and precise, tickled his bedchamber door. Jester sighed and snatched the blade by the hilt. "If you'll excuse me."

He quickly swung himself back over the rails of his bedpost and plucked the book—upside-down—which laid atop his sheets. His first guest had not been in a sort to fully appreciate the gesture, but he imagined his next guest just might.

"Ladies and gents, the famed, the frivolous, the fantastic, Master Pilep, the King's Sheath!"

The door swung open slowly. In its absence a frail boy just shy of seventeen stood with pale skin and disheveled hair. A fine breastplate of etched steel sat awkwardly upon his skinny shoulders and an expression of absolute astonishment was fixed upon his simple face. All of a sudden, the expression broke, and wild, braying laughter filled the room like fresh wind. A true smile, rare as it were these days, split the Jester's mask at the sweet, gentle sound.

When at length the visitor's laughter subsided, he wiped the wet from his nose and asked, "Howdy-how you always know it be me? Howdy-how? Howdy-how?"

"Hmm. I'm not sure I should tell you, Master Pilep. It's one of my most secretest of secrets."

Instantly, the guests' brows furrowed and his lips shaped themselves into a sour pucker. The boy looked so much like his father, bastard of the King that he was, though a skewed portrait. Inside, however, he were an altogether different creature. "I swear criss-cross all over my heart. I do! I double do!" The boy's eyes seemed never to catch Jester's own, preferring to aim themselves at the ground, or the wall, or at Jester's curled boots.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Jester placed a hand across his chest in feigned surprise. "Criss-cross? On your heart? Truly?" He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "I'll have to see it to believe it, Master Pilep."

Pilep nodded his head seriously in response. He raised one hand and carefully signed a full X across his heart. Jester made no mention that it were on the wrong side.

"You speak true, then," he said. "Alright, you must tell no one of this. You understand?"

More vigorous nodding.

Jester descended from the bed and approached the boy. Leaning forward, he cupped his hands to the side of the boy's head and whispered, "You have very smelly farts."

Pilep's shoulders rose as he lifted his hands to cover his mouth, and then, like springwater in a dry desert, the donkey laughter rose again from the boy's lips and filled the Jester's ears and heart.

This close to the boy, Jester noticed now that a faint red circle surrounded Pilep's left eye. By the morrow, the bruise would be black as night.

A storm of fury rose sudden to his chest. For a brief moment Jester felt rather than saw the hearthfire behind him begin to pulse, and forced himself to calm. "It's close to supper isn't it, Master Pilep? Shouldn't you be in the King's Hall for the ceremony?"

At this, Pilep clapped both hands to his cheeks and began to shake his head back and forth. "I lost it, Jesty. I lost it. I lost it. Lost as lost and lost. I were with the twins at the well and mean-mean Tilly poked me in my nethers and it...it went droppity-drop like stones below." His shaking became more furious and tears began to pour hot from his eyes. "The King is gonna be so mad. Mad as mad and mad. He's gonna make me go droppity-drop like stones below, Jesty. Like stones!"

"Master Pilep?"

Sniff. "Yes, Jesty?"

"Would you like to see some magic?"

The change was immediate. Pilep stopped mid-sniff and clapped his hands together in excitement. A trail of clear snot dripped into his smiling teeth, though he did not seem to notice. "Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes, Jesty! Jesty-jesty, just the besty! I want magic. I want magic and magic." His joyful expression waned and he took a subtle step backwards. "But, but please don't turn me into a mouse. I don't want to be a mouse, Jesty, okay? Not a mouse."

A laugh escaped from Jester's throat. One he had not created or forced. It was so unexpected that it brought with it another. And then another. When at long last it came to an end, Jester felt more whole than he had remembered he could feel.

"You have my word, Master Pilep. No mice. Are you ready?"

Reassured, wonderment returned to Pilep's face and he clapped his hands together once more in anticipation.

Jester made a great show of it. He tumbled, he twirled, he twisted and tranced. He uttered words without any true meaning—though this he knew were not true—and cast sprays of colored smokes pulled from hidden sleeves.

Pilep's eyes—now fully focused—followed his every movement, seeing all and understanding nothing. So it was with most people. The boy was so enthralled, so mesmerized, that he did not even flinch as the dagger sprung from Jester's hand, wisped through the air, and pierced him directly in the chest.