Fool (english)

“’Twas a direct order, and you were fast cutting your throat with your own tongue.”
    “Not me,” said I. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”
    “I’d have said he’d not banish his best friend or disown his favorite daughter before this night. Hanging a fool’s an easy leap, lad.”
    “Aye,” said I. “You’re right. Let me go, then.”
    “Not until the king’s business is done,” said the old yeoman.
    The doors came open, fanfare trickled anemic through the portal, and out came the Prince of France, on his arm, Cordelia, radiant and wearing a grim smile. I could see her jaw clenched, but she relaxed when she saw me and some of the fire of anger left her eyes.
    “So, you’re off with the frog Prince?” said I.
    France laughed at that, bloody buggering French fuck that he is. Is there anything so irritating as a noble who actually behaves nobly?
    “Yes, I am leaving, Pocket, but there is one thing you must always remember and never forget-”
    “Both at once?”
    “Shut up!”
    “Aye, milady.”
    “You must always remember, and you must never forget, that while you are the Black Fool, the dark fool, the Royal Fool, the all-licensed fool, and the King’s Fool, you were not brought here to be those things. You were brought here to please me. Me! So when you put your titles aside, a fool still shall there reside, and now and forever, you are my fool.”
    “Oh my, you are going to do well in France-they hold unpleasantness to be a virtue.”
    “Mine!”
    “Now and forever, milady.”
    “You may kiss my hand, fool.”
    The yeoman released me and I bent to take her hand. She pulled it away, and turned, her gown fanning out around her as she walked away. “Sorry, having you on.”
    I smiled into the floor. “You bitch.”
    “I’ll miss you, Pocket,” she said over her shoulder, and she hurried down the corridor.
    “Take me with you. Take us both with you. France, you could use a brilliant fool and a great lumbering bag of flatulence like Drool, couldn’t you?”
    The prince shook his head, entirely too much pity in his eyes for my tastes. “You are Lear’s fool, with Lear you shall stay.”
    “That’s not what your wife just said.”
    “She will learn,” said the prince. He turned on his heel and followed Cordelia down the corridor. I started after them but the captain yanked me back by the arm.
    “Let her go, lad.”
    Next out of the hall came the sisters and their husbands. Before I could say anything the captain had clamped his hand over my mouth and was lifting me off my feet as I kicked. Cornwall made as to draw his dagger, but Regan pulled him away. “You’ve just won a kingdom, my duke, killing vermin is a servant’s task. Leave the bitter fool stew in his own bile.”
    She wanted me. It was clear.
    Goneril would not look me in the eye, but hurried past, and her husband, Albany, just shook his head as he walked by. A hundred brilliant witticisms died suffocating on the captain’s heavy glove. Thus muted, I pumped my codpiece at the duke and tried to force a fart, but my bum trumpet could find no note.
    As if the gods had sent down a dim and gaseous avatar to help me, Drool came next through the door, walking rather more straight than was his habit. Then I saw that someone had looped a rope around his neck, the noose fixed to a spear whose point was almost piercing Drool’s throat. Edmund stepped into the corridor holding the other end of the spear, two men at arms flanking him.
    “The captain havin’ a laugh with you, then, Pocket?” said Drool, innocent of his peril.
    The captain dropped me to my feet then, but held my shoulder to keep me from going at Edmund, whose father and brother passed behind him.
    “You were right, Pocket,” said Edmund, poking Drool a bit with the spear for emphasis. “Killing you would be enough to cement my unfavorable position forever, but a hostage-there’s a mute I can use. I so enjoyed your performance in there that I prevailed upon the king to provide me with a fool of my own, and look at his gift. He’ll be coming to Gloucester with us to assure that you don’t forget your promise.”
    “You don’t need the spear, bastard. He’ll go if I ask him.”
    “Are we going on holiday, Pocket?” asked Drool, blood beginning to trickle down his neck then.
    I approached the giant. “No, lad,” said I. “You’re going to go with the bastard here. Do as he says.” I turned to the captain. “Give me your knife.”
    The captain eyed