Fool (english)

don’t think Edmund would face him.”
    “A traitor and a coward,” said Kent.
    “And those are his assets,” said I. “Or we shall use them thus.” I patted Drool’s shoulder softly. “Good lad, excellent fool-craft. Now, I need you to see if you can say what I say in the voice of the bastard.”
    “Aye, Pocket, I’ll give it a go.”
    I said, “Oh, my sweet lady Regan, thou art more fair than moonlight, more radiant than the sun, more glorious than all the stars. I must have you or I shall surely die.”
    In a wink Drool repeated my words back to me in the voice of Edmund of Gloucester, the intonation and desperation in the perfect key to unlock Regan’s affections, or so I’d wager.
    “Howzat?” asked the git.
    “Excellent,” said I.
    “Uncanny,” said Kent. “How is it that Edmund let the Natural live? He must know he bears witness to his treachery.”
    “That is an excellent question. Let’s go ask him, shall we?”
    It occurred to me, as we made our way to Edmund’s quarters, that since I had seen the bastard, the power of my protection, being King Lear, had waned somewhat, while Edmund’s influence, and therefore immunity, had expanded when he became heir to Gloucester. In short, the deterrents to keep the bastard from murdering me had all but evaporated. I had only Kent’s sword and Edmund’s fear of ghostly retribution to protect me. The witches’ pouch of puffballs weighed heavily as a weapon, however.
    A squire showed me to an antechamber off Castle Gloucester’s great hall.
    “His lordship will receive only you, fool,” said the squire.
    Kent looked ready to bully the boy but I held up a hand to stay him. “I’ll see that the door is left unlatched, good Caius. If I should call, please enter and dispatch the bastard with lethal vigor.”
    I grinned at the spot-faced squire. “Unlikely,” said I. “Edmund holds me in very high esteem and I him. There will be little time between compliments to discuss business.” I breezed by the young knight and into the chamber where Edmund was alone, sitting at a writing desk.
    I said, “Thou scaly scalawag of a corpse-gorged carrion worm, cease your feast on the bodies of your betters and receive the Black Fool before vengeful spirits come to wrench the twisted soul from your body and drag it into the darkest depths of hell for your treachery.”

    “Oh, well spoken, fool,” said Edmund.
    “You think so?”
    “Oh yes, I’m cut to the quick. I may never recover.”
    “Completely impromptu,” said I. “With time and polish-well, I could go out and return with a keener edge on it.”
    “Perish the thought,” said the bastard. “Take a moment to catch your breath and revel in your rhetorical mastery and achievement.” He gestured toward a high-backed chair across from him.
    “Thank you, I will.”
    “Still tiny, though, I see,” said the bastard.
    “Well, yes, Nature being the recalcitrant twat that she is-”
    “And still weak, I presume?”
    “Not of will.”
    “Of course not, I referred simply to your willowy limbs.”
    “Oh yes, in that case, I’m a bit of a soggy kitten.”
    “Splendid. Here to be murdered then, are you?”
    “Not immediately. Uh, Edmund, if you don’t mind my saying, you’re being off-puttingly pleasant today.”
    “Thank you. I’ve adopted a strategy of pleasantness. It turns out that one can perpetrate all manner of heinous villainy under a cloak of courtesy and good cheer.” Edmund leaned over the desk now, as if to take me into his most intimate confidence. “It seems a man will forfeit all sensible self-interest if he finds you affable enough to share your company over a flagon of ale.”
    “So you’re being pleasant?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s unseemly.”
    “Of course.”
    “So, you’ve received the dispatch from Goneril?”
    “Oswald gave it to me two days ago.”
    “And?” I asked.
    “Evidently the lady fancies me.”
    “And how do you feel about that?”

    “Well, who could blame her, really? Especially now that I’m both pleasant and handsome.”
    “I should have cut your throat when I had the chance,” said I.
    “Ah, well, water under the bridge, isn’t it? Excellent plan, with the letter to discredit my brother Edgar, by the way. Went smashingly. Of course I embellished somewhat. Improvised, if you will.”
    “I know,” said I. “Implied patricide and the odd self-inflicted wound.” I nodded toward his bandaged sword arm.
    “Oh yes, the Natural talks to