CHAPTER 13: "A Jack of All Trades"

ARI

Bard had invited Prince Richard and Ari back to the troupe's campsite, a humble, ragged, but spacious tent that they had pitched just over the river near the woods. The troupe, out of costume, were as low-born as one could look, so Prince Richard looked entirely out of place in his moon and stars doublet, a diamond in the rough.

Ari looked at the goblet of wine that Bard had offered her and shook her head.

"Oh come now, Jason, revel with us," Bard insisted. Two of his drunk cast mates danced a slow dance around the tent until they fell to the ground, laughing hysterically.

"I shall," said the Prince, taking the goblet from Bard. He looked to Ari and raised his cup. "To Sir Oliver, Breaker of Wind." He took a sip.

Bard poured himself a goblet of wine, and Ari asked him, "The show is funny?"

"Aye," he nodded, taking a sloppy seat in a wooden chair. "It is funny. It is called satire, my boy."

"Satire?" Ari asked the Prince.

"Sorry, Jason," the Prince said. "A concept I still do not understand myself."

"I saw laughter among my audience, my Prince," Bard said. "You understand better than you think. How was our dragon, Jason? Spitting image?"

"I have not seen the beast," Ari answered.

"Honestly?!" Bard said. "Then, my boy, why are you here in Nightingshire?"

"The creature hides," Ari said. "It is an elusive snake."

"'Elusive,'" Prince Richard repeated, with a hint of admiration for his pupil. "Splendid."

"How, then, was my performance?" Bard asked. "Was I not an entirely fathomable 'terrified citizen?'"

Ari laughed. "Aye. Why were you working in the castle when I arrived? You have many duties?"

"I am the world's only actor who is also a builder," Bard answered. "Who is also a minstrel who is also a stable boy who is also a cattle herder."

"Is there anything the man cannot do?" Prince Richard asked.

"I am no knight -- short arms," Bard explained. "I like to be versatile, my Prince. A man my stature has to find work in any way that he can. This world does not give coin to those who do not work for it. Well, most of us."

The Prince seemed a little insulted by this, but simply nodded.

"When do you plan to hunt the dragon next?" Bard asked Ari.

"We search its lair every dawn," Ari told him.

"Hm," Bard said. "Might I accompany you on the morrow?"

Ari was stunned. "To hunt the dragon? You no fighter!"

"Aye," Bard said, taking a sip of his wine. "But I am an actor and a man who values knowledge ever so highly. I shall go to learn more about the dragon. After all, how better to learn than by direct exposure?"

"It is a dragon!" Prince Richard pointed out. "Not a book! You cannot simply read a dragon!"

"That is where you are wrong, my Prince," Bard winked. "Knowledge is about reading much more than books."

"Sir Oliver will not approve," Ari told him.

"See, it is foolish," the Prince reinforced.

"But I will ask for his permission anyway," Ari said.

The Prince nearly spat out his wine. "You cannot be serious?"

"It be his life in danger," she said, and turned to Bard. "You will come armored."

"In my best pots and pans," he joked.

"No pots," Ari said curtly. "No pans. Armor. Be at the stables at dawn."

"Yes, my knight," Bard said, rising exuberantly from his chair, cup held high. "It shall be a day I speak of for ages to come!"

SIR OLIVER

The Great Hall was a vast empty chamber as the dark rolled over Nightingshire. Lord Gerard had often departed when this time had arrived, but Sir Oliver had caught him just before he ventured off to privacy.

He was signing the bottom of a piece of parchment. Two Sisters held up a tray for his inkwell and sealing wax and stamp. The Lord finished signing, rolled up the scroll, poured the wax and stamped his seal onto it. His eyes lit up when he saw Sir Oliver.

"My Lord," the knight said to Gerard on his throne.

"Sir Oliver!" the Lord acknowledged. "I have great news! There is going to be a harvest festival in the kingdom. A tournament. Drums upon drums of ale. Music and dancing. It shall be just what this kingdom needs to regain its morale."

Sir Oliver could not have cared less about the Lord's planned festivities, but lied and said, "That sounds truly exciting, my Lord. I would like to inquire about the dragon."

"Ah, yes, that Hellish beast. Have you managed to track it?"

"We have. My Lord, might there be anything I should know regarding the dragon? Have any of your men been so brave as to hunt it?"

"My men?" Lord Gerard laughed. "Gods, no. My men are far too afraid for that. They would not dare venture to that cave even if it were to slaughter a pig. A few of my men had simply seen the beast maybe a month ago, flying about."

I never said anything about a cave, Sir Oliver realized. "And the beast attacked that village a few days ago," he reminded the lord.

"Of course," the Lord sighed. "And what a tragedy that was. My boy tells me that Jason is a fine learner."

She is, Sir Oliver remarked to himself. Smart girl. Smarter than all of us. He nodded to the Lord.

"Mayhaps he will help my son with battle?" Lord Gerard implored. "Jason is a capable fighter, yes?"

"Aye, but..." Sir Oliver started. Forget it, his inner voice told him. "Aye."

"If that would be all, then good night, Sir Oliver," Lord Gerard said, rising from his throne. "I need my rest. I begin writing to the other lords in the Kingdom on the morrow, to spread the word of our festival."

"Rest well, my Lord," Sir Oliver said, as Gerard departed, escorted by one of his guards.

So why has the Lord lied to me? Sir Oliver wondered.