The Jester's Gambit

Thin wisps of sunlight crept into the dreary, candlelit room filled with various articles of clothing that varied in quality and style. Within the room that was more akin to a large, neglected closet was a man standing in front of an actors makeup mirror, applying copious amounts of bright yellow paint to his face which clashed with his hair that had been dyed charcoal black. A heavy knock on the door made the man pause, the muscles in his arms tensed as his eyes flicked to the sword belt which hung from the corner of the mirror.

A raspy voice called from the other side of the door, “Red, are you finished yet?”

Red sighed, applied paint to a few thin spots then said, “I would have finished an hour ago had you not been pestering me. What do you want, Green?”

“Black wants to speak with you before you leave.” There was silence from the other side of the door as Green waited for his words to take full effect. “Good luck, Red. I’m certain we’ll all need it.”

Staring at his own reflection Red considered Green’s words and what he was soon to face. “Best of luck to you, Green.”

There was no answer from the other side of the door.

Have you already slinked off, you slimy bastard? I don’t know what you’ll be dealing with, but there’s no doubt you’ll find some perverse way to enjoy it. Red chuckled at idea before eying his work then wiped the yellow paint from his hands. Retrieving a jar of red paint, he applied a thick layer of the crimson material to his lips and eyes.

Finding his work satisfactory, Red nodded to himself and removed the last of the paint from his fingers. He retrieved a thin chain shirt and slipped it on. Won’t offer much protection against a determined strike but hopefully I won’t have to worry about that. Red slipped on the rest of his outfit - a ruby red doublet that whose fit was perfect to his form despite the chain mail that he wore, patchwork pants that had seen enough wear for two lifetimes, sturdy rose boots, and a pair of white cotton gloves whose faint glow hinted at the magic flowing through the runes stitched into the fabric. With a flick of his wrist, Red activated one of the runes, a dagger materialized in his hand. A smirk drew across his face. Handy little tools: I dare say even my favorite. Red pressed the tip of the weapon into the palm of his hand and pushed, rather than stabbing into his own hand the dagger returned to its place within the rune covered glove. He tied several small bags filled with various poisons, antidotes, and other assortments of useful tools to his belt.

Placing his hand on the pommel of his sword, Red spun on his heels and left his room. He hurried down the destitute hall whose aged floorboards groaned and creaked with each footstep. Red had passed half a dozen doors each one belonging to another member of the motley assortment that was their group. Coming around a corner, he soon came upon the finest of doors in the building he had come to call a home. The door itself was black and was completed by a golden lion’s head door knocker. The door otherwise had no handle as none could enter the room without the expressed permission of Black. Red grasped the knocker and gave three solid knocks.

At first, silence was the only answer Red received. Then, the door began to warp and shudder as it melted into a thick inky black cloud. A faint whisper slipped from the darkness, “enter, Jester of Red.”

Red bowed his head and entered the cloud. Wading through the blackness, Red took note that there was no difference between keeping his eyes open and holding them shut. He fought to keep away the uneasiness that he felt.

“You are a good one. Most don’t even detect a threat when I’m near, and those that do might as well die of fright. Your pulse quivers, meaning you’re fighting with those sharp instincts that you’ve honed over the years.” The voice from the shadows was deeper than that belonging to any man.

Red halted; the voice of Black came from all directions.

“Don’t worry, ‘you’ won’t find danger in the dark.”

Saying nothing, Red held his position.

“Fine, spoil the fun.”

The darkness faded to reveal the room that Red now stood within, it was a fine office, more befitting of the hall of a minor lord than a ramshackle home. The purple carpet was a soft cushion beneath his feet. Red stared at the tip of the rapier which was less than an inch from his right eye. “It would do little service to our goals if you were to blind me.”

The voice that came from behind Red was that of a young boy “True. But I must be certain of your capabilities.”

Red had not broken his eye contact with the rapier that had no wielder. “From what I’ve surmised, you’re already certain, otherwise you wouldn’t have selected me.”

Several footsteps could be heard as Black made his way around to the front of Red. What walked into sight was a woman, with crimson hair and piercing green eyes. Black’s face was painted white, her lips and eyes were painted black. She took hold of the rapier and sheathed it. “There are few who can keep their composure in my presence,” Black said with a wink.

“You’re a shape shifter. I never would have thought I would find myself encountering one of your kind, let alone working for one.”

Black nodded. “There are a few of us left, though you would never know it unless you were told.”

Red allowed himself a smile. “And judging by the gloves you gave me for the assignment, the enchantment on the door, and your little trick with the rapier, you’ve some talent with the arcane arts as well.”

A distant, reminiscent look came across Black’s face, “In my youth, I never expected to learn anything of the sort. But when one’s survival is on the line, there is little choice in the matter.”

“What did you expect to learn?”

Black gave a small, almost sweet, smile. “Theater, acting, some sort of performance.”

That explains the jester outfits for all of us.

Before Red could speak, Black said, “do you understand what is asked of you?”

“Slaughtering a rabble of nobles and influential folk at a party,” Red shrugged, “I wouldn’t call it a complex task.”

“That is what you are going to do, but have you given any thought as to what it will accomplish?”

Red was silent. I care little for whatever game you’re playing. This is what I like and what I’m good at.

Black spoke, “remember, not all of you are killers, terrorists, or thieves.”

Nodding, Red said, “You’ve a few healers and men of a more heroic inclination in this group you’ve assembled.” Curiosity pulled at Red’s mind bringing him to ask, “how did you get such people to aid you?”

“Lies, either twisting the truth or omitting it entirely. They will save the wrong people - the incompetent and the corrupt.” Black’s lips curled into a sly grin. “There are only a few of you that truly know the nature of your task.”

“And you chose me as one of those honored few?”

Black nodded.

Red raised an eyebrow. “What makes me so deserving of this knowledge.”

Though Black’s lips did not move, her voice could still be heard in Red’s mind, “you're similar to your friend, the Jester of Green. An outcast to society who would like to see it burn.”

The blood in Red’s veins turned to ice, “I always believed thoughtsense to be propaganda used to ostracize your kind. I can see why you lot were hunted to near extinction.”

“It’s not something to be used lightly. Trying to sense thoughts in a crowd would drive you to insanity.”

Red felt some small relief in that knowledge but still wondered at how the shape shifters had been scoured from the world. “Is this revenge then? One giant scheme to destroy the world of mankind?”

Amusement and disappointment mingled as Black gave Red a patronizing smile fit for a child. “Destroy? No, your kind are cockroaches, there’s nothing that I could do that would end all of you. Instead, the actions we take will make your world more akin to a festering wound.”

Laying his hand across his chest, feigning shock, Red spoke, “such a horrible end, why would I even dare to think about aiding you?”

Black approached Red and grabbed his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Because if you survive, then you’ll find yourself in a world you can finally enjoy. A world were men like you are not scorned but needed, dare I say even desired.”

Pulling himself free of the shape shifter’s grasp, Red said, “if I survive, I will watch and see what becomes of the world.”

“I hope you will find it to your liking.”

Red offered Black a polite nod. In turn with a wave of her hand, Black had conjured a wave of black smoke that enveloped Red. When the smoke had dissipated, he had found himself in a dim lit wine cellar, the sound of music and merrymaking could be heard from the floor above him. Eying his surroundings, Red found that he was alone amongst countless bottles and casks. As he made for the stairs, the metal click of the door latch made Red pause. He found himself a place to hide behind a stack of casks.

There was a voice, deep and course as gravel coming from the top of the stairs that said, “I’m tellin you, these nobles drink like fish. We’ve got to keep the wine flowing.”

“Well, there’s only so many of us, we can’t keep both the food and drink full,” a younger, lighter voice replied.

“You heard what the captain said, there’s to be no leftovers and this cellar should be empty by the end of the night. That includes the casks set aside for the captain and the guards.”

Red drew a knife from his gloves as the younger voice came closer, he leaned forward on the balls of his feet, ready to spring up and drive the point of his weapon into the young man’s throat.

The young voice came from the other side of the stack of casks, “The guards drink far less than the nobles, I’ll get their wine on the next trip down here.”

“We’ll be making that trip sooner rather than later, Captain Valtorious wants a fresh cask for their next break.”

There was a shuffle and slight grunt as the young man had grabbed several casks before replying, “that’ll be in fifteen minutes, we can take a quick five minutes to breathe.”

Red waited and listened as the servant made his way up the stairs and left the jester in silence. Confident that he was now alone, Red left his hiding place and began searching the room until finding a small collection of casks whose make was of poorer quality than the rest in the cellar. With a private smirk, Red opened one of the casks. A slight earthy aroma wafted from the opening as the jester retrieved a small pouch from his belt. With careful, precise movements, Red poured a small amount of blue powder into each of the casks and disposed of the pouch when his work was done.

On his way out of the cellar, Red stopped and grabbed a bottle from the nearby collection, opened it and slipped a tablet in and began to drink once it had dissolved. He pushed open the door light assaulted his eyes.

As Red’s eyes adjusted one of the cooks, a fat man with stubble lining his many chins approached him, “what the blazes were you doing down there? How did you get down there?”

Red blinked at the man, then turned his gaze to the wine bottle, he held the bottle of wine up as if to toast and laughed before taking another swig.

“Alright that’s enough of that, get the fuck out of my kitchen and do your job.” The cook reached for the bottle.

Waiting until the right moment, Red gave the man a sharp slap across his cheek and ran past him into the antechamber. Surveying his surroundings, Red counted three guards on an interior balcony armed with crossbows and two at the gate with short swords at their sides. The sound of heavy footsteps closed in from behind the jester.

“Stop that man! Stop him!”

The guards turned and looked at Red who gave the pair a mischievous smile and winked. The two men grinned and motioned Red into the main hall. As Red ran into the hall he could hear the cook cursing between his labored breaths. There were more than a dozen performers juggling various items from simple balls to knives, playing music, and fire eating. He drank again and leapt into the festivities with the cook behind him. Many in the hall had taken notice of the scene, guests roared with laughter as Red made the large man chase him around and under tables. After a brief yet intense chase the cook had at last wrapped his sausage like fingers around Red’s arm and slammed him into a nearby table. The wine bottle slipped from Red’s grasp and smashed on the ground. A silence fell over the hall as everyone waited with bated breath to see the end of the battle between cook and jester.

A gauntlet clad hand grasped the fat man’s shoulder, “and just what are you doing?”

Red’s eyes flicked to the hand’s owner - a large bull of a man whose bald head shone in the light of the hall. His hard, piercing blue eyes, peaking from beneath a pair of gray bushy eyebrows were fixed on the cook.

The anger in the cook’s face gave way to fear, he was quick to release his grasp on Red and turn to face the armored figure behind him, “this fool had broken into the wine cellar, sir. He came up drinking one of the bottles from the lord’s private collection.”

“That sounds to be a failing on your part, shouldn’t you be aware of who comes and goes through your kitchen?”

The cook hung his head, “yes.”

“Go and mind your kitchen then, before someone else wanders in and steals from our lord.”

Drenched in sweat, the piggish cook hurried out of the hall to the laughter of everyone present. Before he could stand up, Red found himself being pulled up by the guardsman who had accosted his assaulter.

“Thank you, sir knight.”

“Valtorious, Captain Santaar Valtorious.”

Red offered to shake the man’s hand, “my thanks good captain, I-”

Santaar Valtorious leaned in close and cut Red off, “Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have hands anymore. But, seeing as your little escapade has contributed to the festivities you may keep them, provided you don’t try anything else.”

Red hid a flash of anger behind a jovial smile. Contributed to the festivities? The real festivities haven’t even begun. “I am rather attached to my hands, thank you for your mercy.” Red gave the captain an over-the-top grandiose bow.

Within a moment, Santaar Valtorious took note of the glow from Red’s gloves. “Interesting garb you have on. What’s a jester use for enchanted gloves?”

Jumping to a nearby tabletop, Red twitched his thumbs, producing three green balls which he began to juggle. “Much more showmanship to be had in these gloves than simply pulling what I juggle from a bag.”

“And the sword at your hip? I’ve never met an armed jester.”

Halting his juggling, Red smiled with triumph and puffed out his chest. “Why because it makes me look so much more heroic and noble than any other jester of course!”

Santaar Valtorious seemed to accept the jester’s answer. “Very well then. Be sure to prove your worth and make it a good show.”

It will be, just not for you. Red paused his juggling then said, “Oh the best show for certain!”

As the captain of the guard left, Red went on performing for the nobles and servants in the room, even changing from juggling balls to his knives at one point. It did not take Red long before he identified the lord of the castle - the man was dressed better than anyone else in the hall and where others leapt for more wine he asked for water.

Guess there’s no better time than now. Red climbed atop the table situated at the center of the room and began to juggle three of the green balls. “My lords and ladies! You have given so much for your people.”

There was a small collection of cheers from the gathering.

Red’s lips curled into a frown. “It is with great displeasure that I congratulate you.”

The crowd grew confused and shared looks amongst themselves.

“Too long have we allowed ‘polite society’ to fester. I wish you all a painful goodbye.” Red hurled the balls, loud cracks echoed through the hall as thick green clouds enveloped the collection of nobles.

There was a chorus of chocking and desperate gasps for air as Red stepped down from his place on the table, breathing without consequence. Seems that tablet worked after all. With a flick of his wrists, Red conjured two daggers and made for the doorway.

“What just happened?” one of the guards asked.

“Does it matter? Hey, get away from the door! Whatever that cloud is, it’s lethal.”

Red smiled and bolted from the cloud. Shock and terror overwhelmed the guards, allowing Red to hurl his blades into the pair on the ground with him. A bolt flew by him from the balcony. As Red looked up, another bolt punched through his chain shirt and pierced his left shoulder. Red reeled back and twitched his thumb, one of the juggle bombs appeared in his hand. Before the third crossbowman could loose a bolt, Red hurled the bomb up to the balcony, the trio were consumed in a green cloud.

I must say, these are quite useful, if we both survive our tasks, I’ll have to thank Green. Pain shot through Red’s left arm, he cursed through gritted teeth. The jester grabbed a bag on the left side of his belt, he retrieved a white, chalky powder from it and inhaled. Relief came within an instant. Red cradled the pouch under his bad arm and worked the bolt out with his right hand. Blood poured from the open wound. Taking the rest of the powder, Red stuffed the hole in his shoulder with it. That should slow the bleeding a bit and keep the pain away.

Red left for the courtyard which was to his dismay, filled with more guests and a few guards. Eying what lay before him, Red found his exit path. Keep to the outside, follow the wall get to the stairs leading up to the battlements and I’ll be fine. Red counted the guards. Seems my poisoned wine did the trick. Enjoy choking to death Captain Valtorious.

Red began to make his way along the wall, not daring to look at the guests and risk bringing any attention to himself. I still have one last tool up my sleeve to finish up this little party. As Red made it to the stairs he was stopped by a guard, who grabbed his wounded shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Avoiding eye contact, Red answered, “getting some fresh air.”

“Well, you’ve got plenty where you are so-” the man pulled back his hand and examined the blood and powder mixture now staining his hand. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I was injured during my performance,” Red looked into the man’s eyes, “please, I just want to get some air.”

There was a hint of concern in the guard’s eyes. “It’ll be better if we get you to the surgeon. Come on, follow me.”

Frustrated, Red fell in line behind the man and conjured a dagger from his glove. “I appreciate the help,” Red drove the blade into the back of the man’s neck.

The guard gasped, resulting in making a series of thick gurgling noises. Red looked up from his kill, Santaar Valtorious stared at him from the center of the courtyard. The pair held the other’s gaze for a moment that lasted a lifetime. Santaar’s face twisted in rage as he bolted for the jester.

Red snapped his fingers, a golden sphere decorated with a series of intricate markings leading to a key protruding from the device appeared in his hand. With a rush, Red turned the key, driving it into the heart of the sphere. He lobbed the device towards the crowd, before it hit the ground the air grew thick and heaved. There was deafening boom as a great force erupted from the golden sphere that sent flailing bodies whose life had already left them flying to be scattered like jacks across the ground. Red turned and fled up the stairs, the pain-dulling effects of the white powder had all but faded. He stared off the battlements into the city that lay before him.

The voice of Santaar Valtorious called out from behind Red, “look at the massacre you have caused. Have you no shame? Have you any shred of guilt for all the lives you have taken?”

Covered in his own blood, Red turned to gaze upon the bodies of nobles, guards, and servants who lay lifeless on the ground. Flicking his eyes back to the guard captain, Red sneered at the man’s condemnation. “Quite the opposite. I revel in it. I’m going to enjoy sending you to join the rest of these vermin.” Despite his wound, Red drew his blade. Not that fighting will do me any good, my death is assured. Red eyed the high and mighty captain and felt a rage ignite within him, driving him to strike.

The song of clashing steel echoed over the courtyard of the dead. Even slowed by the pain and loss of blood, Red could still make his foe sweat. Their clash pulled them from one side of the battlement to the other.

With the flick of his wrist Santaar Valtorius proved himself to be the better swordsman, and impaled Red on his sword. “Though I would prefer to have watched you hang, I must admit, slaying a monster such as yourself does bring its own satisfaction.”

Grasping the blade that pierced his heart with his left hand, Red glared into Santaar Valtorius’ eyes and said, “hypocrites, every one of you. You curse men like me who wear our nature openly and in private you revel in the act of taking life.”

Captain Valtorious scowled. “We’re nothing alike.”

“Oh yes we are,” with a slight twitch of his thumb, Red conjured the last of the juggle bombs in his right hand. “And now you’re going to die with me!” Red slammed the bomb into the side of Santaar’s head, setting off the device and with a deafening crack, swallowed the pair in a thick green cloud.