'Good fool,' said the duke, vaguely.
Totally mad, the Fool thought. Several bricks short of a bundle. So far round the twist you could use him to open wine bottles.
'Kneel beside me, my Fool.'
The Fool did so. The duke laid a soiled bandage on his shoulder.
'Are you loyal, Fool?' he said. 'Are you trustworthy?'
'I swore to follow my lord until death,' said the Fool hoarsely.
The duke pressed his mad face close to the Fool, who looked up into a pair of bloodshot eyes.
'I didn't want to,' he hissed conspiratorially. 'They made me do it. I didn't want—'
The door swung open. The duchess filled the doorway. In fact, she was nearly the same shape.
'Leonal!' she barked.
The Fool was fascinated by what happened to the duke's eyes. The mad red flame vanished, was sucked backwards, and was replaced by the hard blue stare he had come to recognise. It didn't mean, he realised, that the duke was any less mad. Even the coldness of his sanity was madness in a way. The duke had a mind that ticked like a clock and, like a clock, it regularly went cuckoo.
Lord Felmet looked up calmly.
'Yes, my dear?'
'What is the meaning of all this?' she demanded.
'Witches, I suspect,' said Lord Felmet.
'I really don't think—' the Fool began. Lady Felmet's glare didn't merely silence him, it almost nailed him to the wall.
'That is clearly apparent,' she said. 'You are an idiot.'
'A Fool, my lady.'
'As well,' she added, and turned back to her husband.
'So,' she said, smiling grimly. 'Still they defy you?'
The duke shrugged. 'How should I fight magic?' he said.
'With words,' said the Fool, without thinking, and was instantly sorry. They were both staring at him.
'What?' said the duchess.
The Fool dropped his mandolin in his embarrassment.
'In – in the Guild,' said the Fool, 'we learned that words can be more powerful even than magic.'
'Clown!' said the duke. 'Words are just words. Brief syllables. Sticks and stones may break my bones—' he paused, savouring the thought – 'but words can never hurt me.'
'My lord, there are such words that can,' said the Fool. 'Liar! Usurper! Murderer!'
The duke jerked back and gripped the arms of the throne, wincing.
'Such words have no truth,' said the Fool, hurriedly.
'But they can spread like fire underground, breaking out to burn—'