Within the Hollow Crown by Daniel Antoniazzi

that he was mildly insane, and you would probably be right. His bag was missing a few marbles .
    But those who had been around him and had paid attention, knew that he wasn’t an idiot. He knew what was going on. His wit was razor sharp, his tongue wicked, and his sense of humor layered. Vye had never seen him wearing anything other than his patched clown outfit, with the felt crown and the large collar, a mish-mash of very loud colors. He had some eccentricities, to be sure . But overall, he was the perfect fool for the castle.
    And he was Michael’s fanatically loyal servant. Vye didn’t know the full story, but sometime in the past, Michael had saved Flopson’s life. And since then, the jester had protected the Count’s interests wherever and whenever he could.
    Halmir stopped in the very center of the courtyard, where he began chanting and waving his hands around. As he did this, a small wisp of smoke started rising from the grass. In moments, the pathway back to the Turinheld would open before him, and he would be safely at home.
    Flopson straddled up to the concentrating Turin, handling his balls with expert care.   A casual observer would assume it took all his concentration to play with his balls , but a careful observer would have noticed that he stepped over a dead Royal Guard without looking down.
    Halmir noticed the jester, but he didn’t care. Nobody else was on the field except Lady Vye, and she was just getting to her knees . He didn’t really know how to process the presence of the jester. There was a clown juggling in this field of death.
    “Hey there Stinky,” Flopson said. “Hope you enjoyed the wedding.”
    Halmir ignored Flopson, continuing his chant. The smoke was growing, expanding. He only needed to focus for a few more--
    “I said, h ey there, Stinky,” Flopson said, getting much closer to Halmir.
    “Leave me alone,” Halmir said in his bes t Cirilian. Argos had taught them the language of the enemy, of course.
    “How rude,” Flopson said, still keeping the three balls in the air. “Perhaps I didn’t introduce myself properly. My name is Flopson.”
    Flopson kept the three balls in the air with one hand while extending the other. Halmir didn’t shake it. Vye, in the meantime, had managed to lift herself to her feet. She was leaning on the sword like a cane, but she was up. Halmir was a good thirty paces, but she would make all of those paces.
    Twenty-nine, Twenty-eight…
    “Someone,” Flopson said, “Is going to have to teach you some manners.”
    “I certainly won’t take lessons from you,” Halmir said in his own language.
    “Well, you certainly didn’t take lessons from your momma,” Flopson responded, in the Rone tongue.
    Halmir snapped a look at the fool. He hadn’t expected the insane man to understand him. There was a look in Flopson’s eyes that Halmir couldn’t read. Was he just jesting, as was his profession? Or was he insane, and actually challenging Halmir to a fight?
    Twenty-two, twenty-one…
    “Be gone before I tire of you,” Halmir said.
    “ I can’t run that fast,” Flopson said, leaning to the side and juggling every other ball behind his back. Showing off. Clearly, he could manage his balls in any position.
    Eighteen, seventeen…
    Halmir turned back to his wisp of smoke. The portal wouldn’t open if he continued to exchange banter with a fool. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand.
    “Are you just going to ignore me now?” Flopson said. “What if I said your mother was uglier than the wart on a donkey’s ass?”
    Thirteen, twelve…
    Halmir continued to chant.
    “Fine, you leave me no choice!” Flopson said, hurling the acrylics at Halmir’s head.
    Halmir turned in an instant, raising his hands in defense. Like Gerard and Sandora, he could deflect arrows (or, in this case, juggling accouterments) if he had enough warning. But Gerard and Sandora had been charging across a field, with the archers in plain sight. Flopson was right