Fool (english)

Kent, leaning on his sword now, watching moths dart into the fire.
    “She was ghostly pale,” said I, “all in white-vaporous, with fair hair and-”
    “She was fit, though?” asked Tall. “Lovely, you might even say?”
    “Bit more transparent than I care for in my wenches, but aye, she was fit.”
    “Aye,” said Warty, looking to the others, who huddled with her.
    When they came up, Green said, “State your business, then, fool. Why did the ghost send you here?”
    “She said you could help me. I am fool to the court of King Lear of Britain. He has sent away his youngest daughter, Cordelia, of whom I am somewhat fond; he’s given my apprentice fool, Drool, to that blackguard bastard Edmund of Gloucester, and my friend Taster has been poisoned and is quite dead.”
    “And don’t forget that they’re going to hang you at dawn,” added Kent.
    “Don’t concern yourselves with that, ladies,” said I. “About to be hanged is my status quo, not a condition that requires your repair.”
    The hags huddled again. There was much whispering and a bit of hissing. They broke their conference and Warty, who was the apparent coven leader, said, “That Lear’s a nasty piece of work.”
    “Last time he went Christian a score of witches were drowned,” said Tall.
    Kent nodded, and looked at his shoes. “The Petite Inquisition-not a high point.”
    “Aye, we were a decade spelling them all back to life for the revenge,” said Warty. “Rosemary here still seeps pond-water from the ears on damp days,” said Tall.
    “Aye, and carps ate my small toes while I was pond-bottom,” said Green.
    “Her toes thus gefilted, we had to seek an enchanted lynx and take two of his for replacement.”
    Rosemary (who was Green) nodded gravely.
    “Goes through shoes in a fortnight, but there’s no better witch to chase a squirrel up a tree,” said Tall.
    “That’s true,” said Rosemary.
    “Beats the burnings, though,” said Warty.
    “Aye, that’s true,” said Tall. “No amount of cat toes’ll fix you if you’ve all your bits burnt off. Lear had him some burnings as well.”
    “I’m not here on behalf of Lear,” said I. “I’m here to correct the madness he’s done.”
    “Well, why didn’t you say so?” said Rosemary.
    “We’re always keen on sending a bit of the mayhem Lear’s way,” said Warty. “Shall we curse him with leprosy?”
    “By your leave, ladies, I don’t wish the old man’s undoing, only the undoing of his deeds.”
    “A simple curse would be easier,” said Tall. “A bit o’ bat spittle in the cauldron and we can have him walking on duck feet before breakfast. Make him quack, too, if you’ve a shilling or a freshly-strangled infant for the service.”

    “I just want my friends and my home back,” said I.
    “Well, if you can’t be persuaded, let us have a consult,” said Rosemary. “Parsley, Sage, a moment?” She waved the other witches over to an old oak where they whispered.
    “Parsley, Sage, and Rosemary?” said Kent. “What, no Thyme?”
    Rosemary wheeled on him. “Oh, we’ve the time if you’ve the inclination, handsome.”
    “Jolly good show, hag!” said I. I liked these crones, they had a fine-edged wit.
    Rosemary rolled her good eye at the earl, lifted her skirts, aimed her withered bottom at Kent, and rubbed a palsied claw over it. “Round and firm, good knight. Round and firm.”
    Kent gagged a little and backed away a few steps. “Gods save us! Away you ghastly carbuncled tart!”
    I would have looked away, should have, but I had never seen a green one. A weaker man might have plucked out his own eyes, but being a philosopher, I knew the sight could never be unseen, so I persevered.
    “Hop on, Kent,” said I. “Beast-shagging is thy calling and thou surely have been called.”
    Kent backed into a tree and half cold-cocked himself. He slid down the trunk, dazed.
    Rosemary dropped her skirts. “Just having you on.” The crones cackled as they huddled again. “We’ve a proper toading for you once the fool’s business is finished, though. A moment, please…”
    The witches whispered for a moment, then resumed their march around the cauldron.
    “Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,
    Griffin spunk and monkey hips,
    Mandrake rubbed with tiger nads,
    To divine undoing for the old king mad.”

    “Oh bollocks,” said Sage, “we’re all out of monkey hips.”
    Parsley looked into the cauldron and gave it a stir. “We can make do without them.