The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery by Alan Gordon Page B

can be a jester?” he sneered. “I’ve seen more meat on a diseased chicken. After it’s been plucked.”
    “And I’ve seen better manners from a hog,” she replied. “After it’s been slopped.”
    “Insult given, insult received,” he said, nodding. “Not bad, child. Well, a passel of fools to put up and provision. Just a quick visit, I hope?”
    “We may be a few days here,” I said. “Something came up. You can keep us?”
    “Two adults, a squalling infant, and a diseased chicken,” he sighed. “My love life is over, not to mention any hope of sleep. I’ll take your horse around to the stables.”
    As he reached for the reins, all three of us shouted, “Look out!” He snatched his hand back just in time, the sound of Zeus’s colliding teeth echoing through the courtyard.
    “Don’t tell me,” said Pantalan. “The legendary Zeus. I’ve heard some stories about the two of you, but even more about this vicious beast. I’m surprised he wasn’t eaten years ago.”
    “He’s too tough and ornery to eat,” I said. “Like me. We get along.”
    “Let’s take your things inside and you can bring him to the stables yourself,” said Pantalan.
    The bottom room was filled with props and costumes, but there was a stack of pallets in one corner. We sent Helga with a brace of buckets to the cistern; then I took Zeus and the wain to the stables and paid for a week’s accommodation.
    When I returned, Pantalan was sitting on a low stool with Portia bouncing happily on his lap.
    “Looks like her mother, at least as far as I can tell under your whiteface,” he said. “Lucky for her.”
    “It is,” I agreed as Claudia smiled at me. “Did you have that rope trick ready and waiting for us?”
    “Oh, it’s there all the time,” he said. “You never know if a jealous husband or a spurned lover is going to barge in suddenly.”
    “Does that happen a lot?” asked Helga.
    “Well, I live in hope,” he said, grinning at her. “Come back for a visit when you’re older.”
    “Looks like you could use a stronger rope,” I said, leaning forward and patting his ample belly. “Have we been neglecting our exercises?”
    “The fool must reflect his environment,” he said serenely. “Marseille has grown fat and happy under my reign, and so have I. Now, am I to gather from your choice of password that you’ve come straight from Father Gerald?”
    “With a few stops along the way,” I said. “I am to be the new Chief Fool in Toulouse.”
    “My blessings upon you. It’s that way,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the west. “Leave in the morning, and you’ll be there in a week or two.”
    “Yes, well, we have one little task to take care of first,” I said. “Remember Folquet?”
    “Of course,” he said. “We worked together for years, from when I came to when he left.”
    “He may be in trouble,” I said, and I told him what we knew.
    He whistled softly when I got to the murder. “Who was this Brother Pelfort?” he asked.
    “Someone who got in the way,” I said. “The message was meant for Folquet. Any idea why someone would be looking for him?”
    “A dozen years ago, I could give you a dozen reasons,” he said. “He was the Guild chief here, and things were very active then. How much were you aware of?”
    “Very little,” I confessed. “I was just passing through.”
    “And that was after things had settled down,” he said. “The real fun was when Barral died.”
    “Who was he?” asked Helga.
    “The Viscount of Marseille. The man in charge, if anyone could be said to be in charge then. Lovely fellow, and quite fond of entertainers, lucky for us. He got along equally well with the decaying gentry, the mercenaries, the merchants, and the common folk, and he was smart enough to leave the Church to its own devices, so they didn’t get in the way of anything. He had a wife, Adalaïs de Porcelet, who was considered the great beauty of the town.”
    “I remember hearing about