[Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal by Alan Gordon Read Free Book Online Page B

the power to keep her safe from retribution.
    And me, for that matter. She at least had the protection of being the duke’s mother. I, on the other hand, was the lowly jester who stole her away from him and gave him a lowborn half sister in the process. Mark and I had gotten along fine during our last visit, but that was while passing through in the dead of night, with no subjects to see us, and no Olivia to oversee him. But with a few more years under her tutelage, he might see me as a monster, and she might see me as a threat.
    Hell, they could both be right.
    I picked up some freshly baked rolls as a peace offering to Baudoin. I was being paid a little extra by the count for my shift to pedagogy, and a little more to appease my indignation. It was the indignation that paid for the rolls.
    Baudoin and Hue were in the inner courtyard when I walked through the gates, running through some basic exercises with their swords. I watched from the shadow of the archway. Baudoin’s sword had a magnificently detailed hilt, studded with jewels and a hammered design that looked Saracen in origin. I noticed a matching dagger at his belt. Hue’s sword was plain, but he wielded it like he knew what he was about.
    They faced each other and ran slowly through some practice drills. My arm twitched in sympathy, and I thought back to the fencing lessons of my childhood. I had been fairly proficient once upon a time, but I had not kept up with my swordsmanship over the years. It is not the weapon of choice in the Fools’ Guild. In the amount of time it takes a man to draw one from its scabbard, I can put two daggers in his throat. One from each hand. Claudia, on the other hand, was more than adequate with a sword, having trained with her husband’s fencing master for years.
    Her old husband. Back when she was a duchess.
    The two Parisians picked up the pace, the blades coming dangerously close to actually striking each other. I had the sense that Hue was the better swordsman but was holding back in deference to his master. Made sense to me—you don’t want to slice off the hand that feeds you. Yet Baudoin certainly would be a formidable opponent in a match. I wondered how he would do in a tavern brawl.
    Then he whipped off his cloak with his free hand and whirled it in a blur of red and black. From its midst came his sword thrust, stopping with the point touching Hue’s chest. The servant fell back, holding his hands up in defeat.
    “Well done,” I said, applauding from the archway. “Thank you,” said Baudoin. “I did not hear you arrive.”
    “I did not want to distract you when sharp objects were about,” I said. “It’s very important to keep your concentration. When I’m juggling knives, you could have an elephant come up with a naked slave-girl riding it, and I would never take my eye off the knives. Of course, they don’t have elephants here, so it’s rarely an issue.”
    “Do they have naked slave-girls?” asked Baudoin with interest.
    “Not my department,” I said, hauling Hue to his feet and handing him the rolls. “Consult with friend Sancho later. Now, let us proceed with our course of instruction. Repeat everything you learned yesterday.”
    “I am a fool,” he began, and he ran through the rest of it fairly well.
    “Good,” I said. “Let us name people and professions.” Hue left during this, and returned with some cheese and wine to go with my contribution to the repast. Baudoin proved to be an eager student, although his accent remained. It wasn’t easy to learn a new tongue this late in life. I thought of Helga, our apprentice, who was already fluent and accent-free in five languages and learning Arabic with ease. But she was a fool and a child. I could hardly expect Baudoin to be up to that standard.
    We ended the lessons around noon. Hue had the food and wine set up on a bench on the side of the courtyard farthest from the stables. The three of us sat and ate, enjoying the warmth of the sun