Lionheart, recovering himself, found he had broken into a cold sweat. He realized that what passed for comedy for peasants in an alley might be considered a mortal offense in the presence of a newly crowned emperor.
This, of course, was absolutely true upon most occasions, which was why poor young Khemkhaeng-Niran Klahan had never met any but the most moralistic of clowns. None dared perform to the full extent of his idiocy while the sovereign of many nations looked on. Lionheart felt that pressure now as he stood upright and bowed again, this time more respectfully. All his creative foolishness began to cramp up inside as his mind raced through his various routines, seeking out something that couldn’t possibly be misconstrued as an insult to his Imperial Gloriousness.
There was nothing.
The boy emperor, whose face looked as though it had never, in all his tender years, cracked a smile, watched from his mother-of-pearl throne.
Lionheart flung wide his arms and exclaimed in a great voice, “BEHOLD! It is I, Leonard the Lightning Tongue! Who, I ask you, could compare to my wit, my singing, my brilliance of phrase?”
At least, that’s what he thought he’d said. To the listening emperor, it sounded much more like, “ELEPHANT! My name is Leonard of the Tongue of Lightning! Why are the trees pink and dripping frogs?”
Young Klahan’s mouth twitched.
“None, I tell you!” Lionheart declared, though the emperor heard, “The cheese fell!”
“Not even the great Sir Eanrin of Rudiobus can compare to the genius you will now hear.”
Whatever the emperor heard this time, he raised his hand suddenly to hide his mouth. His uncle, standing close at hand, sneered deeply and gave a disapproving snort. Khemkhaeng-Niran Klahan ignored him.
And the jester burst into singing meaningless babble:
“With dicacity pawky, the Geestly Knout
Would foiter his noggle and try
To becket the Bywoner with his snout
And louche the filiferous fly.”
He danced quite madly as he sang, like nothing the emperor had ever before seen. Dances in Noorhitam were stately affairs, rhythmic and slow, every movement laden with meaning. The jester danced and juggled with every limb flailing, his knees bending and feet kicking, his arms wide and wild. And his face twisted into expressions that Klahan couldn’t wait to try sometime in the glass when no one was looking (should he ever be blessed with such a moment).
The jester ended with another flourish, declaring, “I eat you! I eat you all!” and blew kisses to the most elegant women in the crowd.
Emperor Khemkhaeng-Niran Klahan, master of the eastern world, burst out laughing.
Once the emperor laughed, of course, everyone must follow suit. Soon the entire courtyard was booming with applause and laughter. Old men wiped tears from their cheeks, and beautiful women hid their faces behind their fans. Lionheart revolved slowly, waving and blowing more kisses, and if there were tears of relief in his eyes, they blended in so perfectly with the pouring sweat that no one could have noticed. The emperor had laughed. He was saved.
Now you’ll have what you asked.
The already unusual evening became even more wonderful. Young Klahan rose from his throne and held up his hands so that all the assembly went silent. Lionheart turned and flung himself prostrate before the emperor.
A sweet, boyish voice declared, “You have pleased me greatly, Leonard of the Tongue of Lightning.”
It took Lionheart a moment to work out his words. He was fairly certain they were favorable.
“Name any desire of your heart. So long as it is within my power to give, I shall bestow it upon you as a gift.”
The assembly gasped. It was like a hurricane wind in reverse. Even the torches seemed to shudder in amazement at these great words spoken by the new emperor on the day of his coronation. The honor was incredible, unbelievable! Of course the Fool, if he had any brains at all, would know better than to accept this offer. He must declare that all he could wish for was fulfilled at the first sight of his Supreme Majesty, then crawl away quietly.
But this Fool was unlike anyone else. After all, had he not already proven his insanity?
As soon as Lionheart worked out what the emperor had said, he sat up. Then he sat awhile longer, desperately trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. This he dared not bungle.
“I want . . .” He closed his eyes for an instant, then opened them wide and finished simply with, “Ay-Ibunda.”
No gasp. No whispers. Only dead silence.
Dead.
The emperor gazed down upon the jester, and in that dead moment Lionheart wondered if the whole world had turned to stone. Then young Klahan spoke.
“No.”
That was all. Two armed men approached Lionheart from either side, and he scrambled hastily to his feet and allowed them to escort him from the courtyard. The coronation celebration continued, but Lionheart was led through the various halls, expecting at any moment to find himself run through the heart for his insolence in speaking thus to the emperor. To his relief, they merely took him to the palace gates and flung him into the streets beyond.