Fool (english)

it pains me, but if bound, it’ll not be mortal.”
    “Pity,” said Regan, and she plunged her dagger under his sternum and held it as his heart’s blood poured over her snowy-white hand.
    The duke seemed somewhat surprised.
    “Bugger,” he said, then he fell. Regan wiped her dagger and her hands on his tunic. She sheathed the blade in her sleeve, then went to the cushion where Cornwall had hidden her father’s crown, pulled back her hood, and fitted it on her head.
    “Well, Pocket,” said the Duchess, without turning to the alcove where I was hidden. “How does it fit?”
    I was somewhat surprised (although somewhat less so than the duke).
    The ghost released me then, and I stood behind the tapestry, my knife still poised for the throw.
    “You’ll grow into it, kitten,” said I.
    She looked to my alcove and grinned. “Yes, I will, won’t I? Did you want something?”
    “Let the old man go,” I said. “King Jeff of France has landed his army at Dover, that’s why Gloucester sent Lear there. You’d be wise to set a camp farther south. Rally your forces, with Edmund’s and Albany’s at the White Tower, perhaps.”
    The great doors creaked and a head peeked in, a helmeted soldier.
    “Send for a physician,” Regan called, trying to sound distressed. “My lord has been wounded. Throw his attacker on the dung heap and cast this traitor out the front gate. He can smell his way to Dover and his decrepit king.”
    In a moment the chamber was filled with soldiers and servants and Regan walked out, casting one last look and a sly smile to my hiding place. I have no idea why she left me alive. I suspect it’s because she still fancied me.
    I slipped out through the kitchen and made my way back to the gatehouse.
    The ghost stood over Drool, who was cowering under his blanket in the corner. “Come on, you lovely brute, give us a proper snog.”
    “Leave him be, wisp!” said I, although she was nearly as solid as a mortal woman.
    “Balls up your jaunty murdering for the day, did I, fool?”
    “I might have saved the old man’s second eye.”
    “You wouldn’t have.”
    “I might have sent Regan to join her duke in whatever hell he inhabits.”
    “No, you wouldn’t have.” Then she held up a ghostly finger, cleared her throat, and rhymed:
    “When a second sibling’s base derision,
    Proffers lies that cloud the vision,
    And severs ties that families bind,
    Shall a madman rise to lead the blind.”

    “You’ve said that one, already.”
    “I know. Bit prematurely, too. Sorry. I think you’ll find it much more relevant now. Even a slow git like yourself can solve the riddle now, I reckon.”
    “Or you could just fucking tell me what it means,” said I.
    “Sorry, can’t do it. Ghostly mystery and whatnot. Ta.” And with that she faded away through the stone wall.
    “I dinna shag the ghost, Pocket,” wailed Drool. “I dinna shag her.”
    “I know, lad. She’s gone. Get up now, we’ve got to monkey down the drawbridge chains and find the blind earl.”

NINETEEN – SHALL A MADMAN
    RISE
    G loucester was wandering around outside the castle, just beyond the drawbridge, coming dangerously close to tumbling into the moat. The storm was still raging and bloody rain streamed down the earl’s face from his empty eye sockets.
    Drool caught the old man by the back of his cloak and lifted him like he was a kitten. Gloucester struggled and waved about in horror, as if he’d been snatched up by some great bird of prey instead of an enormous nitwit.
    “There, there,” said Drool, trying to calm the old man the way one might try to settle a frightened horse. “I gots you.”
    “Bring him away from the edge and set him down, Drool,” said I. “Lord Gloucester, this is Pocket, Lear’s fool. We’re going to take you to shelter and bandage your wounds. King Lear will be there, too. Just take Drool’s hand.”
    “Get away,” said the earl. “Your comforts are in vain. I am lost. My sons are scoundrels, my estate is forfeit. Let me fall in the moat and drown.”
    Drool set the old man down and pointed him toward the moat. “Go on, then, milord.”
    “Grab him, Drool, you wooden-headed ninny!”
    “But he told me to let him drown, and he’s an earl with a castle and the lot, and you’re only a fool, Pocket, so I got to do what he says.”
    I strode forth, grabbed Gloucester and led him away from the edge. “He’s not an earl anymore, lad. He has nothing but his cloak to protect him