Fragment Five

The jester Loric stood beneath the oak tree in the royal gardens for an hour every evening. His person was a vision of symmetry; his left side black and his right side, white. Even his face was painted in such a way. The more philosophical members of the court speculated that this was his way of representing the duality of life and the necessity of light and dark, but Loric would never comment.1

He wore a three-pronged jester’s hat with bells on the end, a jester’s jacket fastened with big, bronze buttons and belted at the waist, and leggings tucked into high boots; one black and one white, which were polished to such a high degree that they shone in the moonlight. He had a thin staff which was made of polished rosewood with a globe of solid silver upon the top, and he would lace his fingers over this and rest his chin upon them, while his big, luminous blue eyes shone forth into the darkness like huge, bloated fireflies. Loric waited there every evening, occasionally swaying to the nightly breezes and taking pleasure in the quiet sounds of the night. 2

And when the old wizened King came out for his walk, Loric fell into step three paces behind him, while his wandering eyes roved this way and that beneath his jester’s hat, seemingly of their own volition. The king wore his golden circlet on his head of shoulder-length, silver hair. His robe was made of a thin red material, and fringed with gold. It was a summer night, and there was no need to worry about the cold. His nose was straight and aquiline. His eyes were an acute, sparkling hazel and his mouth was a thin, shrewd line. His face was also thin, but with pronounced cheekbones, and a silver beard streaked with black foamed like a waterfall to about three inches below his regal chin. He strolled along leisurely, meditatively, taking his time in lapping the lush green garden an even dozen times before retiring to his chamber.3

And all the while, the jester would follow faithfully behind, accompanying his master in his silence, except for when his roaming eyes chanced to cross the constellation of Cancer, in which case he would stop instantly and his eyes would become crossed, still and glazed; his body rigid and his breathing, minimal. He would remain in this state of cataleptic shock until the King had completed a lap and went to pass him, at which time he would reach out with a long-fingered, bony hand and tap him on the shoulder, thereby breaking the spell. Such incidents were rare, and they certainly did not happen every night. But it was a well known fact that if the jester’s eyes ever crossed over that particular spot in the sky, then he would instantly freeze until touched by the King.4