Chapter One: The Tavern Incident

“There once was a young jester named--” Zal paused, stopped strumming his cinth and looked out at his audience in the tavern. “So, good people, what should I name this fictional jester?”

There was silence from the aforementioned good people, save those who were busy with other activities, such as drinking beer. Finally, an old man with a stained beard sitting in the back of the room stood up and called something out. His words were slurred; obviously he was drunk.

“Name ‘im Ern,” the man said more loudly when Zal cocked his head to one side, quizzical, trying to look comic. Alas, the subtleties of humorous facial expressions were lost on the blurred vision of the inebriated tavern-goers.

“Ern it is,” Zal said smoothly, strumming on his cinth again. He didn't, in the strictest sense, know how to play the thing, but with a lot of improvisation and simple strummed chords, it worked. For the most part. “Well, there was once a young jester named Ern. He awoke one morning--” He was brought to a crashing halt as nearly every single conscious patron of the inn turned to him.

“We've heard that one already!”

Zal frowned, making a show of confusion. “But I've only just started!”

“You played the same thing last night with a different name,” a young man, not much older than Zal, pointed out. He snorted. “We aren't that stupid ‘round here.”

Zal raised his eyebrows but decided not to comment. “Well, then,” he said, “let's have something else, why don't we! Let's see...” He frowned and picked out a new chord on his cinth. “There once was an old man--”

“Heard it already!”

“Have you?” Zal looked skeptically at the man who pointed this out, but decided it was best not to pursue the matter, since the man, though hardly larger than Zal, was flanked by two ox-like brutes who nodded in time with his objections.

“Well,” Zal said, trying another tack, “I bet you haven't hear this one! Let's see.” He closed his eyes for a second. “A long time ago--”

“Heard it.”

“But I hadn't even started telling the story!” Zal pointed out, feeling rather vindicated. If they wouldn't even listen to one story, what fault of his was it?

“Well, I'm positive you told one that started with ‘a long time ago' last night, I am.” The man nodded staunchly.

“But there are many, many stories that start that way!” Zal strummed a discordant note on his cinth, frustrated. The man and his large friends didn't seem about to budge on this issue, so, sighing, he put the cinth back in his pack and took out his juggling-sticks.

“Ah, now that's entertainment!” The barkeep nodded, leaning across the bar. “Mind y'don't set fire to me floors, now, will you, lad?”

“I'll mind, indeed,” Zal said brightly, striking a flame up one each end of his three juggling sticks. He began slowly tossing them back and forth from hand to hand. Almost every eye in the inn was on him. He even noticed, in one corner, a rather lovely young woman, black-haired and quite beautiful, really.

He fought to keep the relaxed smile on his face as he tossed the burning sticks back and forth between hands, then sped up to spinning them high in the air, then catching, then juggling all three together. This was where Zal often ran into trouble, but tonight he was feeling confident, relaxed; he'd accepted the barkeep's offer of a tankard of beer, which was perhaps, on reflection, not the wisest thing to do, but it certainly made him feel good. And relaxed. And--my, that girl was looking at him! Definitely looking right at him, her gaze traveling frankly over his gaudy, colored costume. Zal wished for perhaps the thousandth time that he looked a little older than he did. At age seventeen, he still couldn't manage much more than a scanty mustache and a scraggle of a beard, and even that itched in the heat of the late summer. And that wasn't even mentioning his height, or rather, lack of it.

Stretching slightly up on his toes to make himself seem taller and throwing one lit juggling stick high in the air while twirling the others in his hands, Zal ran into trouble. There was no way for him to catch the stick in the air without dropping one of the ones he held--oh, this had best be good, the girl was watching--and Zal caught the falling stick on his nose. It was a wonderful move that got him a lot of applause; the sound was almost loud enough to cover Zal's agonized shriek.

Because, unfortunately, the part of the stick that had landed on his nose was the lit part.

The skin on his nose felt somewhat akin to the crackling skin of a roasting pig, and Zal shrieked again, dropped both of the juggling sticks he held in his hands and batted the burning thing off his nose. It rolled onto the floor and burst into flames.

The barkeep started forward around the bar. “My tavern! You're burning my tavern!” Zal watched, ashamed, tears of pain in his eyes, as the barkeep stamped out the flames and ruined his best juggling sticks in the process. Then the barkeep turned to him, brows drawn down over his eyes in rage. “You! Jester!”

“The name's Zal,” Zal gasped, his nose stinging with every breath he took.

“I don't give a bloody zonk what your name is, I want you out of my tavern!” And, wilting under the steady gaze of the black-haired girl, Zal found himself unceremoniously thrust out into the moonlit night. The air was refreshingly cool on his burned nose and the mud he swallowed as the barkeep's burly workers shoved him face down into ground outside the inn was, at least, clean mud. In a moment, his pack of tricks followed. After wallowing in mud and shame for several pain-filled minutes, Zal pushed himself up, mud coating his palms and gaudy jester's costume, picked up his pack and started looking for somewhere to spend the night.

“Damn small towns,” he muttered, sneering at the temple tower rising just to his right. His nose twinged; he brought one hand up to prod it, gingerly. Ouch. Swelling, hot, stinging and a blister was forming already. That wouldn't help his act any.

Hm, though, it could make for a rather interesting story... now what more dignified reason for having a blistered nose could he make up? More dignified... a dragon! That was always good. And he could get in a nice sarcastic remark about dragons while he was at it. Nasty little beasts, dragons.

Zal squinted through the darkness, hoping none of the town's domesticated dragons were about. They had the uncanny ability to sense when someone was insulting them, or thinking about it. Well, no dragons, and no geese, which were even better than dragons at keeping people out of places they weren't supposed to be. Just the distant lowing of a few cows; Sterbut's Tavern was situated in a farming town. The houses were spread out to accommodate plots of land, growing mainly turnips. Why mainly turnips? Zal had frankly no idea. Turnips were horrible. If all these people ate was turnips, no wonder they were so surly.

Well. This was a farm town, and that was that, and that did mean there was somewhere for Zal to sleep. Zal was very good at finding places to sleep, mainly because he tended to get kicked out of wherever he happened to be performing. Usually this was because he insulted the owner of whatever place he happened to be performing in, and not because he set fire to it. He was also good at finding places to sleep because of his continuing desire to bring a girl to one of the places, not that he often achieved this end. What girl wanted Azalil the fool? Zal snorted.

“Ouch, damn it!” The pain in his nose, exacerbated by his snort, made his eyes water, and he nearly walked into a nearby wall.

These little towns! Zonk them all. Zal would rather perform for a lord any day, but lords were few and far between in Ebar. Well, here he was, in a little town, and there were no torches on any of the walls or lanterns or anything useful. Good thing there was a full moon.

Zal jumped when someone exited the tavern behind him. When he realized it was the black-haired girl, he stared off into space, trying to look languid and unconcerned and not move his nose too much. It was probably very red and swollen by now; he just hoped the darkness would cover it.

“Hello?” the girl said, tapping him on one shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” Zal said. “What can I do for you this fine--night?” He tried not to give her too suggestive a look.

The girl colored, her blush apparent even in the moonlight. “I just wondered if you were all right.”

“Really?” Zal felt a little better. “How sweet of you. You just wondered if I was all right.” He bowed to her, one arm extended. “Well, my dear lady, I am most certainly all right now that you've deigned to grace me with your presence!” He cast a sidelong look at the girl.

“What?” The girl looked puzzled.

Zal smiled brilliantly at her. “I mean, now you're here I'm very, very all right.”

“I see.” The girl let out a little giggle. “My, I don't know what to say. Except, oh, I almost forgot. I came out here to collect your payment.”

Zal blinked. Women. So changeable. “You mean, you didn't come out here merely to grace my with your presences?”

“Well, you mean, honestly?” The girl looked askance at Zal.

“Yes, I mean honestly.” Zal wasn't averse to a bit of dishonesty--what was storytelling but inspired dishonesty, after all? But in women, dishonesty was not something he enjoyed. Unless, of course, it pertained to their marital status.

“Well, honestly, Master Sterbut sent me out to collect your payment. For scorching the tavern floor.” The girl fiddled with her apron, and Zal sighed.

“So, let me get this straight. He wants me to pay him for my entertaining all his patrons for two hours? Plus last night, which by the way he still owes me for?”

The girl looked down, mumbling. “Um, yes, I guess that is what Master Sterbut wants.”

“Well, you can just go tell Master Sterbut the answer is no!” Zal looked at the girl once again. “Or, um, you could forget all about Master Sterbut and come with me.” He made a lewd gesture.

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch! Zal squealed in a distinctly undignified manner as the girl seized his burnt nose and pulled him all the way to the tavern.

“Miss,” he gasped out, “there's really no call--”

“Master Sterbut!” she called shrilly, swinging open the tavern door. “Master Sterbut! Here's the rogue now! I think, somehow, he's going to agree to pay you for the damages!” She gave his nose a particularly vicious twist, and Zal whimpered in pain. The girl lowered her voice and spoke, for a moment, directly to him.

“You ever treat a lady like that again and it won't be your nose getting burned, understand?” she hissed in his ear. Zal, whimpering, could only blink his eyes in concurrence, as she still had him firmly by the nose. Damn this girl! She had seemed so innocent and pleasant before he knew her.

“Now,” Master Sterbut said, voice booming. “Payment? And, oh, Lena, you can let go of the fool now. He's not going anywhere.” He gestured at the two burly tavern workers blocking the entrance to the tavern, then yanked Zal out of Lena's grasp. Zal staggered forward, rubbing his decidedly tender nose.

“My money?” Sterbut extended one large hand, and Zal reluctantly decided it was best, all things considered, just to give up.

“Fine,” he said, pulling the coin from Sterbut's large, grimy ear. “Take it. This should more than cover your expenses.” He eyed the rather unscorched floor of the tavern skeptically.

Sterbut gaped at him. “Did you just--how did you--” He stared at the gold gog he held in his hand. “My ear?” He wiggled one large finger in his ear, coming up with nothing more than some dirty earwax.

“Magic,” Zal explained, winking at him. “It's magic.” He swept a low bow. “Now, if you'll excuse me?”

Sterbut nodded, gaping at him and fingering the gold gog he held, and Zal hefted his pack and made his way out of the tavern. He pushed his way past the large tavern workers out into the night. Away from the hot, oppressive tavern, not to mention the large, oppressive Sterbut and the small, impressive Lena, Zal felt a lot better.

Well, what to do now? It was nearing midnight, and still Zal had no place to sleep. It would have to be a barn. Zal would have wrinkled his nose, had it not been so sore. Barns were not exactly his idea of the prime location in which to sleep. For one thing, they tended to stink. For another, he got hay all down his shirt. For another... well, anyway, that wasn't the point, and there was really no other choice. So, sighing, Zal set out for a barn.

He located one, a small barn containing several pigs, who were free to wander outside, and a horse in a stall. And in one corner was a nice, soft pile of hay, only marginally dirty. Zal settled down to sleep, trying to ignore the burning sensation that seemed to be creeping from his nose to his entire face. He tried, too, to ignore the smell of the place, something like dust mixed with mud mixed with the slightly sweet stench of the pigs. He fell asleep at last, past midnight, singing one of his favorite dirty songs to himself, wishing some girl would somehow appear in the barn with him.

He awoke with a jerk when a pig stuck its fuzzy, sticky nose in his face, snorting and grunting and making a sound that sounded like “snorkleguh!”. Zal pushed the pig away.

“Don't want a kiss from you,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose. The pig, however, seemed determined and was soon nosing at his pack, probably trying to extricate the stale bits of bread he kept in there for emergencies. Zal groaned, shoved the pig away and picked up his pack.

“Goodbye, milady pig,” he said, bowing to the pig under the weight of his heavy pack. “I shall always cherish the night we spent together.” The pig, however, did not appear to be listening. Great. He couldn't even keep his audience when said audience consisted solely of a pig!

Someone else had heard, however. He heard a snort of laughter from the entrance to the barn, and turned to see a figure silhouetted against the light of the rising sun. Squinting, he managed to make note of the person's features--oh, no.

“Oh, no, not you!” Zal muttered, trying frantically to brush the hay off his already-muddy costume. “Anyone but--” It was Lena.

“Hello, Zal,” Lena said. “So, what brings you to our barn so early in the day?” She made a show of frowning. Oh, this girl was sarcastic. Almost as bad as Zal himself. “You wouldn't have been sleeping here, would you?” She eyed his hay-covered costume. “Because of course you would have gotten permission for that from my father. Or shall I call him now so you can pay him for using his barn?”

“Um, no, honestly, that's quite all right--” Zal bowed again, very deeply. “I didn't hurt anything. I promise. Now if you'll excuse me--” He started for the door, but Lena shoved it closed behind her, throwing the barn into shadow.

“Listen,” Lena said. “Just tell me. Do you have any more money?”

Zal drew himself up to his full height. “Do I have any money! What sort of thing is that to ask a man?” He paused, but Lena kept staring at him expectantly. “Um, do I have any money? To be honest, no.” That had been his last gold gog he had pulled out of Sterbut's ear the other night. He had really been counting on the barkeep to pay him for the two nights--the two wasted nights--he had spent entertaining at the tavern.

“Well, then, I suppose there's no choice but to call the head constable,” Lena said, edging back toward the door as Zal stared at her in abject supplication.

“No!” he cried. “Look. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't call the constable. My parents would--” Zal wondered what his parents would do to him if they found out that, on top of running away to become a jester, Zal had gotten a thieves' brand on his hand. No, that would not do.

“Whatever I want?” Lena looked thoughtful. “All right, take me with you when you go to Lord Renvil's castle. That is where you're going next, right?”

“Right,” Zal said, rather reluctant to admit the girl was correct. But honestly, this far from the capital city, where else was there to go?

“So take me with you!” Lena stamped one foot.

“I'd prefer the constable,” Zal told her drily.

Lena braced her hands on her hips. “No, I'm being serious!” she hissed. “Look, do you think I like being a farm girl? I want to be a jester, too!”

“No zonking way.” Zal shook his head firmly. “There is no way I will take you with me. I have several reasons not to. One, I don't want a kidnapping charge on my record. Two, I don't have any bloody time to coddle a girl unused to traveling!”

Lena turned away. “All right, then, I'm telling the constable.”

“Wait! No!”

She turned back, a smile on her lips. Very nice lips, Zal noticed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad having her along. He sighed.

“All right, I'll take you. But you're paying your way. And we leave now. Yesterday would be preferable, but I still haven't figured out time travel yet, so now it must be. Get a few things--light enough to carry, mind--and off we go.” Lena grinned at him and rushed off. “But if you lag behind on the road, I'm going on without you!” Zal called after her, rather ineffectually.

Alone in the barn, Zal sighed. What was he getting into, here? Letting a girl come with him. Who had ever heard of a girl jester, anyway?

The pig let out what sounded like a sympathetic grunt.