Fool (english)

she was grieving and bowed her head again. “Thank you for your condolences, Pocket. I see you have managed to fend off pleasantness in my absence.”
    “Only by keeping you constantly in my thoughts, child.”
    “I’ve missed you, Pocket.”
    “And I you, lamb.”
    She stroked her father’s hair. He wore the heavy crown that he’d thrown on the table before Cornwall and Albany what seemed so long ago.
    “Did he suffer?” Cordelia asked.
    I considered my answer, which I almost never do. I could have vented my ire, cursed the old man, made testament to his life of cruelty and wickedness, but that would serve Cordelia not a bit, and me very little. Still, I needed to temper my tale with some truth.
    “Yes. At the end, he suffered greatly in his heart. At the hands of your sisters, and under the weight of regret for doing wrong to you. He suffered, but not in his body. The pain was in his soul, child.”
    She nodded and turned from the old man. “You shouldn’t call me child, Pocket. I’m a queen now.”
    “I see that. Smashing armor, by the way, very St. George. Come with a dragon, did it?”
    “No, an army, as it turns out.”
    “And an empire, evidently.”
    “No, I had to take that myself.”
    “I told you your disagreeable nature would serve you in France.”
    “That you did. Right after you told me that princesses were only good for-what was it-‘dragon food and ransom markers’?”
    There it was, that smile again, sunshine on my frozen heart, it felt. And like a frostbitten limb, there were pins and needles as the feeling returned. Suddenly I felt the small purse with the witch’s puffball heavy on my belt.
    “Yes, well, one can’t be right all the time, it would undermine one’s credibility as a fool.”
    “Your credibility is already in question in that regard. Kent tells me that the kingdom fell before me so easily because of your doing.”
    “I didn’t know it was you, I thought it was bloody Jeff. Where is Jeff, anyway?”
    “In Burgundy with the duke-well, the Queen of Burgundy. They both insist on being referred to as the Queen of Burgundy. Turns out you were right about them, which again counts against your standing as a fool. I caught them together at the palace in Paris. They confessed that they’d fancied each other since they were boys. Jeff and I came to an arrangement.”
    “Aye, there’s usually an arrangement in those situations-the arrangement of the queen’s head and body at different addresses.”
    “Nothing like that, Pocket. Jeff is a decent chap. I didn’t love him, but he was a good fellow. Saved me when Father threw me out, didn’t he? And by the time this happened I’d won the guard and most of the court to my sympathies-if anyone was going to lose his head, it wasn’t me. France took some territories, Toulouse, Provence, and some bits of the Pyrenees with him, but considering the territories I’ve taken, overall it’s more than fair. The boys have a crashingly large palace in Burgundy that they perpetually redecorate. They’re quite happy.”
    “The boys? Bloody Burgundy buggering froggy France? By the dangling ovaries of Odin, there’s a song in there somewhere!”
    She grinned. “I’ve purchased a divorce from the Pope. Bloody dear it was, too. If I’d known Jeff was going to insist on sanction of the Church I’d have pushed to reinstate the old Discount Pope.”
    The sound of the great doors opening echoed through the hall and Cordelia turned, fierce fire in her eyes. “I said I was to be left alone!”
    But then Drool, who had lumbered through, pulled up as if he’d seen a ghost, and started to back away. “Sorry. Beggin’ your pardons. Pocket, I got Jones and your hat.” He held up the puppet stick and my coxcomb, forgot for a second that he’d been shouted at, then resumed backing out the doors.
    “No, come, Drool,” said Cordelia. She waved him in and the guards closed the door behind him. I wondered what the knights and other nobles might think that the warrior queen would admit no one to the hall except two fools. Probably that she was merely another in a long line of family nutters.
    Drool paused as he passed Regan’s body and lost his sense of purpose. He lay Jones and my hat on the table next to her, then pinched the hem of her gown and began to raise it for a peek.
    “Drool!” I barked.
    “Sorry,” said the Natural. Then he spotted Goneril’s body and moved to her side. He stood there, looking down. In a moment his