“Tell me a story.” Danae said. Danae and Mazelton were lying in bed together, both sleepy but not asleep.
“What would you like to hear a story about?” Mazelton asked.
“A funny story. It can be true or not.”
Mazelton thought it over a bit. “I know a story. It’s a little funny, a little sweet and a little sad. Will that do?”
“I’ll let you know once I’ve heard it.” Danae had her eyes closed and was snuggled under the heavy duvet. No matter how many heat stones Mazelton manufactured, Danae liked a heavy duvet. She raised her own geese, after all. Mazelton was quietly relieved to learn that chickens were not suitable to harvest down from. Danae was sweet, and she got around Mazelton’s peculiarities by hosting neighbors for roast goose dinners on those days where Mazelton, “coincidentally,” had serious polisher business that would take the whole evening.
“Well. The story goes something like this.” Mazelton coughed theatrically, and began.
Once upon a time, long, long ago in the faraway land of Old Radler, there lived a young woman named Columbine. Columbine was a fair lass, strong of arm and quick of wit. She worked as a kitchen scut for the old miser Pantaloon. Rumors that Pantaloon might have been an unacknowledged Xia by-blow had always made Columbine laugh, for the old man was forever moaning about the lateness of his debtors, and how they wronged his good nature.
As she grew older and more womanly, Columbine noticed that Pantaloon’s attentions were less like that of a distant father and more like that of someone awaiting a roast goose dinner.
Mazelton gently poked at Danae’s side. She snorted at him and wiggled a bit.
Deciding that she didn’t care to be any sort of dinner, roasted, baked or boiled, she resolved to escape Pantaloon’s service. Now, it struck her that the quickest way out of his service (with some sort of assurance that food and shelter might still be reliably had) would be marriage. She would have a husband to keep their house in order and she could go and do… something. She didn’t know what. But not working as a kitchen scut for the salivating Pantaloon.
In Old Radler there is never any shortage of eligible young bachelors, but finding a suitable one is always hard. Columbine had the perfect young man in mind, however. Harlequin. Harlequin was the son of a minor, but prosperous, merchant. He would dress in gloriously, blindingly colored fabrics- white with yellow and blue diamonds, green and red leaves twisting on cream, orange stars and indigo stripes and everything flattering his lithe body. He carried a short cane, wrapped in ribbons and sporting the head of a mythical monster. Harlequin always claimed it was magic. He was so brilliant he quite caught Columbine’s fancy.
Alas, her interest was only slightly returned. For while Harlequin was a terrible flirt, he was courting the handsome Pierrot. Pierrot was the footman, butler and valet to the old miser Pantaloon. The Handsome Pierrot could be said to be Pantaloon’s only indulgence. It was the way Pantaloon salivated after Pierrot that warned Columbine of her own peril. So, being nothing loath, she started her campaign of seduction against Harlequin.
It started innocently- a pretty smile and a warm voice to greet him. Gently brushing against him as they passed in the hall or in the street. Even crossing the street to do so, if necessary. With the aid of some neighborhood ladies, she kept her hair in fine, thin braids, the better to display the proud lines of her skull.
That got a loud snort from Danae. Mazelton decided to be the bigger person and pressed on.
Less innocently was how she played upon Pierrot. Pierrot had always been kind to Columbine, though not intimate. He never suspected why the little scut took such an interest in his pursuit of Harlequin. Why she was so interested in the fact that Harlequin loved little pastries with sugared apples in them. Or that Harlequin always insisted on fresh socks daily. How he tasted when Pierrot kissed him. How Harlequin felt in his arms when Pierrot embraced him. Pierrot longed to take things further, but Harlequin was coy.
Columbine stepped up her campaign against Harlequin. She would find him with little pastries of her own. Pressing against him now, flirting openly. Asking him all manner of leading questions, and getting many in reply. Harlequin always loved to play. However, she could not win even a kiss from him, which frustrated her. So she hatched a plot.
“So far this isn’t funny at all.” Danae grumbled. “It’s all sad and mean.”
“Comedy and tragedy are the same cheve at different distances. Hush now.”
You see, it occurred to her that the only thing better than marrying a pretty man was marrying a pretty man as a rich bride. And it just so happened that she knew Old Pantaloon kept his fortune in a great wooden chest under his bed. Now, she wasn’t silly. Columbine knew that the second the money went missing, she and Pierrot would be the first two suspects, and Harlequin the third. So she did what any sensible girl would do, and found an alchemist.
This alchemist wasn’t any old alchemist. He had the secrets of the ancients, those who came before the very first Swabian Empire, hidden magics of rare and terrible effect, guaranteed to produce the most profound, sublime results. Why he lived just outside the rookeries was probably a mystic mystery of immense significance, but Columbine didn’t question it. She went into his little shop of half red tinted glass and half green brick-
“His what?” Danae asked.
“Little shop, half of the shop, split vertically, was a crimson red colored glass. Other half was this green colored brick. I don’t know why the brick was green, it just was. Still is, I suppose. Corner of Soi Cowboy and Haussman Boulevard. Reasonable prices for basic remedies, (which you would want after a night out on Soi Cowboy, believe me,) but anything more and you were throwing dice along with your rads.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Wait, this was a real shop?”
Mazelton grinned. “Maybe. Now, back to the story.”
She acquired a certain rare herb, a potent product of the greensmithing arts, known to the wise as the manduck root-
“It ain’t! I’m sure it ain’t. What’s with you and ducks anyhow?”
“Ducks are beings of extraordinary beauty, hiding bestial and savage natures. They speak to me. Not literally, though. Yet.”
“Oh sure, sure. So bestial. Want to paint a peony again?”
“Sure, got one?”
“Get back to the story, you.”
“Wasn’t me that interrupted.” Mazelton pretended to grump.
The occult herb that was actually an occult root- the esoteric and mysterious Manduck. Now the alchemist gave her strict orders- Whoever ate the root would fall powerfully, inescapably in love with the first person who they saw. But! They would also kill the first person they slept with. The plan was simplicity itself. Arrange for Pierrot to share a drink with his master. Spike Pierrot’s drink with mandrake. Steal the money, make it look like the old fool had spent it all on Pierrot, and run away with Harlequin. Nothing simpler.
Alas there is many a slip between cup and lip. You see, Columbine had hinted, broadly, to Harlequin that she was to come into a fortune, one she might be persuaded to share with her true love. Provided said true love was well married to her, and she had already received her parent’s blessings on their union. Harlequin was quite touched, and resolved to break things off with Pierrot that very day. Pierrot, alas, heartbroken by Harlequin’s endless games, had chosen that very day to succumb to his employer's advances and sought to drown his regrets in wine.
It was thus a rather frightened Columbine who carried the wine bottle and tray of glasses into the common room of Pantaloon’s modest home. All four players had gathered. Each person had their secret desires playing over their tongues and behind their teeth. Each felt that it would be best if everyone had a drink before revealing all. Only Columbine knew, however, that she had spiked the whole bottle with Manduck. After all, wouldn’t it be twice as good to be twice as sure that both would die?
Alas, alack! Our poor Columbine now stood in the parlor with her beloved, his cuckold and her predatory master. Each clutching a wine glass and waiting with the air of a curtain ready to rise on a new show. Pantaloon began.
“Ah, good friend and trusty servants, you have truly brought light to this old life of mine. Come, drain your glasses so that we might speak freely.”
“Oh, but I don’t dare drink with Sir. I am but a lowly serving girl…” She was no good at this sort of talk, and quickly sounded like something from a puppet show.
“Nonsense! Tonight we drink, and heartily. Ah, I am torn in two directions! Sweet Pierrot, won't you lead us with a toast?”
“Aye. To dreams deferred too long, to hope that burns like acid. To all our tomorrows.” He raised his glass to drink, but Pantaloon would have none of it.
“Too sad, too sad! We can’t drink to that! Young Harlequin, you pretty little thing, you lead the toast.”
“Gladly,” said the beautiful man. His suit glittered with the light of hundreds of tiny glass gems. His cane balanced on its tip behind him, entirely unaided. “To hungry lust and sleepy love, to loyal comrades and honest foes, to the echoes of echoes under our toes.”
That got a bit of a pause as everyone sorted through what he said and decided they didn’t like what they did manage to understand of it.
“No, that won’t do either. Blast it all, can no one raise a toast anymore? Scut, you are needed to clean up. Propose a toast, and make it a good one.”
It was at this moment that Columbine discovered she had a lively hatred of the word “Scut” and many fewer concerns about the dread power of the Manduck.
“Why, kind Sir, I would say… To sweet dreams, new beginnings and the end of old rubbish.”
“Hah! The end of old rubbish! Just the sort of thing a scut would say! Drink, down in one!” Pantaloon seemed almost manic, and they all drank back their draughts quickly.
The wine tasted sweet and herbal, and though Pantaloon could not remember buying any such wine, he was far past caring. He swished the wine around his mouth and swallowed with satisfaction. Keeping his eyes closed, he said “Ah, a sweet dram. A sweet dram, to wash away the bitter.”
He opened his eyes and saw Pierrot, who had turned towards Pantaloon when he heard the sound of his voice. The two immediately felt a powerful connection and embraced, raining kisses and whispered affections to each other.
Columbine had sensibly kept her eyes closed. “Oh Harlequin, did you like the drink?” She called.
“Very well, very well indeed.”
She looked at the sound of his voice and opened her eyes. To her surprise, she saw Harlequin, but instead of his fair face, he wore a thin, perfectly mirrored mask. She could literally see herself in his reflection. A warmth spread through her, racing through her nerves. She loved Harlequin, truely, madly, as much as she loved herself. And to her surprise, she realized that she did love herself. Truly loved herself, as she never had before.
The mask drained like quicksilver and turned back into Harlequin’s ribboned staff. He swept Columbine into his embrace and brought her to the floor, showering her with his love.
“But why? If you knew the drink was drugged, why? Now we shall both die.” She ran her hands madly over his body, not slowing or stopping though death approached fast.
“Because my entire life, I have desired someone as heartless as myself to love, and who would love me truly.” They were shedding their clothes fast, teasing and nipping each other, though they needed little encouragement. “But after knowing many cruel people, I learned something. To love another, one must love oneself first.” He pushed her legs apart and crawled over her. He caressed her face. “Farewell, beloved.” He took her fair throat in his teeth, and-”
Mazelton had been lightly, enthusiastically petting Danae during the story. She was enjoying it, but also sleepy, so she lightly swatted at him, and encouraged him to get back to the story.
And two became one. Or four became two, for Pantaloon and Pierrot were going at it as well. Alas, even the most enthusiastic mathematics cannot last forever, and lovers shall always part for a time. They lay panting on the ground, heads aswirl with new feelings. First among those was love, but a strong second for Columbine was wonder, for she was still alive. Indeed, they were all still alive.
Harlequin cuddled up behind her and whispered in her ear. “The dread drug Manduck is a true aphrodisiac and love potion, grown in the hidden, misty valleys known only to the Bo Clan. Their arts are without equal in that regard. We shall certainly kill one another. But when?”
She shivered at the warmth of his breath on her ear, and smiling, snuggled back into her beloved. Across the room she heard Pantaloon speak. “Ah, happy day. Happiest of days! I was so afraid to tell you and the Scut. I am bankrupt! But who cares for money, we are rich in love.”
The end.
Mazelton snuggled up to Danae, and placed a tiny kiss at the corner of her eye. She hummed with appreciation. Then hummed again with irritation.
“It was a fun story, but I don’t know as I’d call it funny.”
“Oh, there is a twist after the ending.”
“Well?”
“Columbine and Harlequin lived happily ever after. I mean, life had its usual miseries and they did eventually die, but they, by and large, compared to the majority of people, lived happily. Pierrot and Pantaloon, less so, but they made things work. Opened a hat shop in the Richleu Ziggurat. Good quality felts, nothing fancy.”
“Wait, this is a real story? This actually happened?”
Mazelton grinned. “Maybe,” and kissed Danae goodnight.