Jester’s Last Day

The Court Jester felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he struggled to pull on his boot. Just moments earlier the assistant to the second serving wench had woken him – the King wanted to see him immediately. She didn’t know specifics, but the assistant told Jester that she heard something about the King being angered over a joke made about the French monarch. “But that can’t be,” Jester said to himself. “He loved that joke! His Majesty laughed so hard that chicken came out his nose, and I even heard him repeat it to the Earl of Gloucester, although his delivery was all wrong.” Realizing he was trying to put the boot on the wrong foot, Jester threw it aside in anger.



“You know what? Screw that guy, he doesn’t know what in the hell he’s talking about!” Jester began to scroll through all the arbitrary and ugly behavior the new King exhibited recently. Who could forget when the King had Sir Bertrand beheaded after the knight decided to part his hair on the opposite side. Lady Carol had been drawn and quartered for asking if the King wanted a refill on his ale, and the cook had been burned at the stake for not using enough rosemary, yet no one raised an objection. The King fell victim to a common mistake made by those in power…he confused his subjects’ fear for respect.

Jester didn’t even know why he was still at the court. It was supposed to be a short-time gig, to get on his feet and work towards his real dream…to become a master sword maker. He thought back to the small scale swords he’d been working on in his tower room during the slow times. They could use a good polish, but the form was there. And they showed off his style and ability, he would show them to the castle blacksmith just as soon as he was given the opportunity. But it became more and more clear that everyone saw him as a joke, and that’s all he would ever be.

He’d show them! Some day he’d get his chance, working for the opposition, making beautifully crafted weaponry that would win awards and bring the court to their knees. Jester would laugh at the King’s pleas for forgiveness.

Walking down the dark hallway, Jester shook himself free of the daydream. “I’m such an idiot, that’s never going to happen. If they only knew a semi-trained monkey could do my job I’d be out of here, I should count my blessings.” The kingdom had been left at the brink of collapse after the last run in with barbarians from the North, yet Jester remained well fed and protected. There were thousands beyond the castle walls who barely had enough to eat, much less a retirement plan, the contributions to which were matched at a generous rate from the King’s coffers.

“He’s the boss. I was wrong to tell him a joke…a joke so funny he had to repeat it to his stupid friends. No. No. He’s the boss. I was wrong. I should be grateful. Just put on a happy face.” And with that, Jester pushed open the door to the throne room. He was going to take responsibility for his mistake with a smile of appreciation.

Jester stood, floppy hat in hand, at the foot of the King. “Your Majesty, I am infinitely sorry for any offense I may have made.”

“How dare you look me in the eye!” The King bellowed, spitting through his teeth.

The feeling within Jester was nothing short of miraculous. It was as if a spell had been broken, a key to a long forgotten lock had been turned. Jester felt free and tall and strong.

“Go fuck thyself. I’m out!” Jester beamed. He blew a kiss at the stunned monarch, turned on his heel and strolled toward the door, giving an archer stationed at the door a high-five on his way out.

Three days later, Jester was replaced with a trained monkey who never told a single joke about the French monarchy.


Never let ‘em bring you down,

gretch