Bally the Fool: The Kitchen

The Palace of Lothvar had once been a towering display of beauty and glory. Ten spires had risen to meet the blue skies of olden years, and a courtyard of massive expanse stretched out in a glittering rotundra of grass, trees, and flowers from across the land. It had been a cathedral to the Duke and his reign.

Now, it was collapsing into ruin. Three of the spires had collapsed into the courtyard, crushing half the garden and uprooting the old oak that had grown there for over a hundred years — according to old Teek the Monk. The gardentender only worked for half each day, doing little more than poking the crawling vines back from the stone walkways, and making sure none of the remaining tree branches were able to fall on someone’s head.

The stone was cracking, the wood was rotting, even the giant tapestry that hung over the portcullis had been pulled and torn by paniking birds and icy winds.

According to Teek, the Palace had once been a bustling place of vibrant joy and strong men and women who shared what they had and rejoyced in their communities. Bally had no idea how Teek knew that. Perhaps he had some collection of books or the story had been passed down from monk to monk. Bally wasn’t very old yet — likely never would be — but to hear the townsfolk tell it, there had always been some brown-robed bald elder in the tiny stone monestary in the valley. Cider and ale were their constant products, while Teek also provided pontification, free of charge. According to the eldest in town, the previous occupant provided mosty condescension.

Bally and Illowen walked hand in hand through the palace, making their way past the crumbling stone and rusting suits of armor until they reached the kitchens. The servants and chefs were not around, likely getting as much sleep as they could before the Duke returned and demanded his kills be roasted for an evening feast.

The pantries were large and covered in cobwebs; fossilized evidence that some day, a long time ago, there had been not only enough, but plenty. Bally was a fool, so he could imagine rows upon rows of hanging flanks, loaves of hard bread, piles of wheat and carrots and cabbage…

But only a tiny corner of the giant pantry was full of sad wilting piles of food. The ice room was no better. As big as a cottage, the room only had a small sampling of chilled cheeses and creams.

“There,” Illowen grabbed the nearest jar of cream, and dragged Bally back to the kitchens. “Cook showed me how to do this.” In moments she had whipped the cream into a light and fluffy texture, dropping a large dollop on a plate and grabbing two wooden spoons. “There,” she said. “How’s that?”

“Impressive,” Bally admitted. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you toil in the kitchens like a maid.”

“Well, maybe I will,” she grabbed a spoonfull of sweet and licked it clean. “Maybe I’ll be the first Archduchess who ever works in her own kitchen.”

Bally sampled the cream. It was good. Not as good as Cook usually made, but certainly better than he could have done. “The first and the last, I’ll bet.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Illowen tapped her spoon on the table before going for another bite. “I’m sure I’ll have an heir. Just as soon as I get a suitor. That’s what they’re for, after all.”

Bally laughed in spite of everything. “My dear, how you can be almost an adult and yet still a child.”

“Don’t you say that!” Illowen’s nose wrinkled. “Soon, I’ll be Archduchess, and I could have you beheaded for saying things like that.”

“You think so?” Bally cocked his head. “You think, were our ire matched, that you and your guards could defeat a fool such as me? Why my dear,” he licked his spoon with a grin, “I am the most dangerous fool in the world.”

“You’re not dangerous,” Illowen scoffed, taking another spoonful of sweet necter, though her eyes were cautious, eager not to fall into another foolish trap.

But fallen she had, and Bally spun his spoon over his head. “No? Tell me, mistress, who is the most powerful man in the world?”

“Daddy, of course,” Illowen sniffed.

“Of course. The Duke of Lothvor holds no equal. He can crush anything and anyone. By his might is his will made manifest across the world. He fears no beast nor army, nor does he fear rebellion for he is kind and the land is prosperous.” He barely managed to say it without choking. “He fears nothing…save me!”

Illowen laughed. “He doesn’t fear you,” she scoffed, swatting Bally on the shoulder with her spoon, sending a spray of white sugar-foam over his clothing. “What does he have to fear from you?”

“A good question.” Bally brushed at the foam. It did little but stain the red cloth a dusty white. “Do you remember Old Rattooth?”

Illowen blinked. “Who?”

Bally smiled at himself. “Forgive an old fool and his habits, I of course mean Lord Rassuth. The Bloody Baron? The Ruthless Renegade?”

“Oh, him,” Illowen nodded. “That was years ago.”

“Six, I believe,” Bally nodded. “You remember what happened to him? Why, but for an unkind word at court, his land was stripped from his hands, his army disarmed, his barony made barren. All because the man spoke with ill-chosen words. The Duke wouldn’t have done all of that if the poor sod was harmless.”

“Of course he wasn’t harmless,” Illowen snapped, shoving her spoon into the dessert like a sword striking home. “Father knew he was building his forces to stage a coup. He would have killed daddy, and taken my throne, if he had the chance.”

“Indeed,” Bally nodded. “And without an army, without land or fortune, what danger is poor Lord Rattooth? Why, none at all. Effectively and efficiently defanged.” Bally thought for a moment. “Before, of course, being more literally defanged when his head was taken as a tithe…but my point still stands.”

“What is your point?” Illowen huffed. “You’re being much more of a fool today than usual.”

“Am I?” Bally sighed. “I suppose I am. Your father has seen to that. He keeps me locked up in his palace, does he not? Oh,” he lay a theatrical hand on his forehead, gasping in mock pain, “but to wander the roads a free fool, to travel to taverns and speak with smiths, to be a vagrant again, what a delight it would be.”

“Nonsense,” Illowen frowned, her spoon still. “You aren’t trapped here. Just yesterday you went into town, didn’t you? My father lets you go wherever you want.”

“He does, he does,” Bally rubbed his chin. “True. You make a fair point. A palpable point, in fact. But know this, that wherever I go, I am the Duke’s fool. He has trapped me here, defanged, barren, armless and harmless. It doesn’t matter who I talk to, what I say, how I say it…” he heaved a sigh that was perhaps less theatrical than it should have been, “…I’m just a fool.”

“You’re more free than I am,” Illowen spun her spoon in the white foam, watching it build up on its rounded edge. “I can’t go anywhere without guards. I can’t leave the palace except in a carriage. If I want to speak with someone, they have to bow and scrape and I don’t think they really tell me the truth. Not really.”

“Of course they do!” Bally gaped. “My dear daughter, trust an old fool — if they didn’t tell the truth, unvarnished and sparkling clean, they’d be risking your father’s sharpest displeasure.”

Illowen dropped her spoon onto the table with a loud clatter. She leaned back and placed her hands on her hips, pursing her lips in such a picture-perfect impression of Old Grunby that Bally had to bite his lip, sharply, to keep from laughing. “Why do you keep saying that? I’m not your daughter, and you’re not old!”

“You are a daughter,” Bally shook his head. “I am older than most. I may be the oldest person on the planet, and you everyone’s daughter.”

Illowen opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Her arms left her side and crossed themselves in sharp suspicion. She had learned long ago that Bally always had more up his sleeve than just silly flips and juggling tosses. “How?”

Bally swallowed one last spoonful before setting it aside and clearing his throat. If she only knew how little was in his head, how often he just made it up as he went along. “Is it not a father’s job to protect his daughter? To teach her and prepare a world for her to enter into? Is not the Duke building a kingdom fit for your rule? A nicely carved throne for you to sit on? But his hands alone do not move the world. The soldiers and carpenters and masons and farmers all toil for you. They protect you from hunger, they do everything a good father should do for their progeny. As for me, well, I may be three years your junior, but I dare say with age comes wisdom, and I must be the wisest person in the land.”

“Hardly!” Illowen laughed. “How could a fool be wise?”

“How indeed?” Bally hopped up on the chair, sitting on its back and crossing his worn sole over his knee. “Why, when the world is foolish, who is wiser than the fool? When the wise build a world full of nothing but nonsense, are not those who are most fluent in the absurd the sages of the ages?”

“So you say,” Illowen giggled. “Tell me a riddle, fool!”

“Another riddle?” Bally rolled his eyes. It was good to forget, even if for only a moment. He spun and flipped about so that his back was on the seat and his posterior pressed against the chair’s back; the perfect foolish pose. “Very well then. I can make two of you; what am I?”

“A mirror,” Illowen answered almost immediately. “You’ve told me that one before.”

“Have I?” Bally thought for a moment. “I see. Well then, I am black when new, red when used, and white when old; what am I?”

“Charcoal,” Illowen yawned. “I’ve heard that one too.”

“Really? Hm.” Bally scratched his head under his cap. “How about, I live no longer than an hour, and I serve by being devoured. Fat I am slow, thin I am quick, wind is my foe —”

“A candle.”

Bally frowned. “I’ve told you that one too, eh?”

“Frequently.”

“It’s a good riddle,” Bally crossed his arms and waggled his feet. The blood was rushing to his head and he was starting to feel giddy. “What can you catch but never throw?”

“A cold.”

“I’m light as a feather but cannot be held for Long. What —”

“My breath.”

“I have a head and a tail but —”

“A coin!” Illowen rapped the table with a moan. “You are terrible! You keep telling me all the same riddles, and old riddles aren’t fun anymore. Tell me a new riddle, fool, a new one!”

Bally rolled his head. It was quite uncomfortable now. He felt like a balloon about to burst. “You already have all my riddles, my dear. I have no more riddles to give.”

“You must,” Illowen pouted. “Tell me a new one now, or I’ll tell daddy you’re no good for a fool anymore, and he’ll cut off your head.”

Bally reached out and pushed against the table, tipping the chair back so he landed on his feet. Catching the chair with his heel before it struck the floor, he straightened himself before kicking the chair back upright. “My, my, my. Such a greedy little child. Very well then, a new riddle for your grubby little grabbing fingers. You may be so set on claiming the throne for yourself, so eager to rest your rump on the pleasingly plump throne of your father… Well, I know, for a fact, that there is something that you own even now, possess more closely and surely than anything else in the world — something that can never be taken from you…and yet everyone will use it more than you ever will.”

“No,” Illowen’s eyes popped. “Impossible. If someone were to use my things, why…it’s against the law!”

“Nevertheless.” His head was feeling much better already. “The meanest peasant will use it more than you, no matter how you pout and whine. Oh, speaking of wine! Shall we inspect the buttery?”

“You are incorrigible,” Illowen huffed. “You’re too young to be drinking wine, and besides, what’s the answer?”

I’ve been drinking wine for seven years, you young witch, Bally forced himself to grin. “Giving up already? Hm…No, no, I don’t think I’ll give you the answer just yet.”

“You’re horrible!” Illowen stomped after him as he ran down the hall towards the buttery.

“I’m horrible?” Bally gave a quick cartwheel. “You threatened to cut off my head if I didn’t give you a new riddle. I had to think very hard for that one, and now that you have it, you want me to just hand you the answer? Then what? You’ll cut off my head if I don’t think of another one? Pardon me, but I’d rather keep my head on for the moment, thank you very much. You can just stew on that one for a while.”

The sound of Illowen’s impotent frustration was delight to Bally’s ears. It was the sort of sound that could carry him through a whole day.