Fool Without A Master: The Wallace Treager Story

Chapter 1

My Humble Beginnings

I’d be lying if I said my current situation is what I desired for myself. But I’d also be lying if I said that it wasn’t completely and utterly my doing. Now, with my abundance of time, I’m going to tell you my story. Because what better gift is there to give someone than the gift of knowledge?

So, first things first, I will take you back to where everything started. The beginning. Because everything must begin at the start. And my beginning was not very welcomed. I was the product of my mother being on the wrong side of town, at night, innocent and alone. A bad man took that innocence from her and nine months later, there I was. Several months after that I was found alone in an inn. My mother had vacated the room that morning with everything she desired to keep in her life.  I don’t blame her for leaving me behind. All I was to her was a burden and a reminder of that dreadful night. She didn’t want to be a mother and so how was she supposed to be any good at being one? Neighbours from my old town told me that my mother had tried to be rid of me several times as I grew inside her swollen belly, but, apparently, I have been stubborn from the start. They say her attempts are why I am so pale and I’m cold all the time.

She did the right thing leaving me because that afternoon, one of the innkeepers found me on her rounds and the couple took me in as their own. Of course, they nailed posters to posts around town but they knew if someone was really able to just forget their baby, it was obvious that the child didn’t mean much to them in the first place. After a couple of days of the town creeps turning up at the door claiming to be my parents, they took down the posters and gave me a name. 

I’m not going to say I made it easy for them growing up. They tried to keep my abandonment from me as long as they could but I knew the truth as soon as I learned that words held meanings. Particularly the words, ‘unwanted spawn’ and ‘unloved runt.’ Mr and Mrs Treager told me about my real mother, they told me that she loved me very much but she knew she couldn’t look after me. It was a nice sentiment but I knew even as a child that they were kind words to soften the blow. The drunken strangers of the town had told me the real story and nothing was ever going to erase that.

I was mad at first. A fiery little red-headed child with a need to cause chaos, and living in an inn meant that there were always new victims. It was all fun and games. Pockets were picked. Voices were mimicked. Skirts were pulled. Wigs went missing.

One night I was found by Mr Treager, hidden behind the kegs in the cellar, hiccupping and seeing double.

Your stupid little tricks are going to put us out of business, he said, punctuating his words with sharp clips round my ear. You think this is funny? We’ll be out on the streets!

It wasn’t unknown to me that our customers were dwindling. It had made it harder for me to sneak around unnoticed. Mr Treager pulled me up onto my feet and dragged me up the stairs. He plonked me down behind the bar, threw a rag at me and ordered me to start earning my keep. There had only been four people in the tavern and two rooms filled so it was an easy first week.

This went on for several weeks, until one night, a man interrupted Mrs Treager ordering me around to ask if this was the inn.

We are The Clover inn, Mrs Treager replied, smiling like she wasn’t about to hit me with her shoe.

"Yes, I know. I can read the sign. But is this the inn?"

I’m sorry. I don’t follow.

The inn with the funny lad.

At this, I picked myself up from the floor to see this strange man. His eyes lit up when he saw me. Him! That’s him! This is the place. The man ran out of the door.

Mrs Treager and I look at each other. Then a whole group of drunkards came pouring in.

See, I told you this was the place, called the man over the hustle and bustle of the group barging past tables to get a look at me.

Apparently, word had gotten around about my tricks and gimmicks and people who actually had a sense of humour wanted to check them out for themselves. The inn was full again. We were even having to turn people away at the door. Mr and Mrs Treager were rushed off their feet, their faces constantly flushed and armpits wet with sweat. But smiling. They always had smiles on their faces as they now encouraged me to cut holes in bed sheets and switch clothes in the wash baskets. We were one of three inns in Greysmarsh, a small port town at the border of Kalmador, and so competition was constant. If people just wanted a roof over their heads and a standard meal of porridge, bread and cheese, they headed to either The Horse Shoe or The Fishman’s Friend. But if they wanted to be kept on their toes – water thrown on their faces in the middle of the night, an extra kick to their broth or a pair of ladies’ undergarments mixed in with their britches, they came to The Clover. And month by month, year by year, people from other parts of the kingdom came in droves. Word spread so much we were able to buy out the old building next door and turn it into more rooms.

It wasn’t long until I needed help keeping up the trickery and so I employed Mirabelle, the daughter of our chef. She was a year younger than me and would come with her mother at the end of her father’s shift to help him clean up before leaving. She was small with round cheeks and straw yellow hair down to her elbows. With living and working in the inn and most of our customers being people looking for work or selling goods, the only time I ever saw other children was when I had to go into the town for errands. So, whenever Mirabelle came to visit, I would try to catch her attention the only way I knew how. I was not a conversationalist and really had no idea what to say to her, but not to worry, she sure had a lot to say to me when she went home one night with a chunk of her hair significantly shorter than the rest. She hated me for a good few weeks after that, until she witnessed me joking around with one of the town’s working ladies, letting her smear rouge on my lips while I danced around in a makeshift bed sheet dress. She learned very early on that I was a hard person to stay mad at.

And so through most of my childhood years, Mirabelle and I caused havoc in The Clover, and whatever we stole from the drunkards we kept in our den up in the dusty loft. With the help of Mirabelle’s seamstress mother, we performed skits and plays where she would play the man and I the woman. There was just something about watching a lanky, freckled boy prance around in a dress and tights that had the punters howling and falling off their wonky-legged stools.

He’s a natural performer, that kid. I had heard a lady say to Mr Treager. One of a kind.

Mr Treager had then looked over at me from behind the bar and doffed his cap to me with pride shining in his dark eyes. He sure is.

When I was thirteen years old, I was allowed the day off work to watch the King’s Procession. King Cedric would come to our town once every few years to show his respect and love for his people. I heard that we were always the last stop on his tour and some years he missed us out altogether because we were the furthest town from the palace, so when he did visit, it was always an incredibly big event for us.

Mirabelle and I made a banner to hang just below The Clover inn’s sign reading ‘Welcome, King Cedric! From the best inn in Greysmarsh!’ Of course, Mirabelle had been in charge of the writing as I was yet to learn, but I picked the colours and painted the surrounding clovers and fish. That was the day I realised I had a knack for painting. A knack- that was what I had thought it had been. I was naturally gifted at painting, the same way I was naturally gifted at creating skits and pulling pranks. And the salty sea smell that had suddenly become stronger up in our stuffy, windowless den after I had drawn those little finned friends? Pure coincidence.

Greysmarsh is a smelly place, said Mirabelle distractedly when I voiced my confusion. But I was sure I caught her flinch at the same moment I saw a flash from the parchment in the corner of my eye. A sudden shimmer, like how the sea reflected the sun.

The town was transformed. People painted their shop fronts blood red and forest green, the Kalmador colours. Buntings were streamed over the streets and hung up in every place possible. But the biggest change was the town green. The place was usually just a wide-open empty field where children would play and women would forage for herbs. But that day and night, it was alive with music and entertainment. Minstrels played and sang, bakers set up stalls to showcase their cakes and pastries; it was a time for everyone in the town to show off their talents to our beloved king and prince.

Mirabelle and I found a good spot on the roof of the candle makers after struggling to get a good view over the bustle of townsfolk who had crowded down the main strip of cobbled street that ran through the town – the path that had been sectioned off the previous day by members of the court.

It was the first time I had ever seen the royal family and I was surprised by how... normal they looked as they strode through the streets on horseback, waving and smiling the whole way. Prince Kaspar had only been fifteen at the time but I remember thinking that there had been a sadness about him, a loneliness that I hadn’t quite understood.

The two of us were invisible to the procession up on the roof despite how much we waved and cheered. That day I vowed to myself that when the King’s Procession next visited our town, I was going to be seen.

I had four years to prepare for my performance. Every night Mirabelle and I would stay in our den practicing. I even taught myself how to juggle with stale bread rolls. We were spending so much time together that her parents and the Treagers thought that a young romance had brewed between us. They couldn’t have been more wrong. I saw Mirabelle as my sister because I learned early on that blood meant nothing, family was who you loved. We kissed only for acting purposes in the skit where I played the lonely maiden waiting for her knight in shining armour to come rescue her from her tiresome mundane life of mopping floors and taking orders. The knight in shining armour in question was Mirabelle wearing a skillet as a breastplate and using a ladle as a sword.

When the King’s Procession finally came back into town, we had a full wardrobe of costumes thanks to Mirabelle’s mother and the help of the town’s blacksmith who was able to create a crudely shaped suit of armour. He did his best but it was obvious why he was down in Greysmarsh and not within the palace walls tending to the knights.

That year a stage had been set up in the green as it wasn’t only Mirabelle and I who had been training for this very day. Now we had a fire dancer, a pair of puppeteers and a wood sculptor in our midst. This meant that the two of us had competition. We needed to stand out. We needed to be memorable.

Are you nervous? Mirabelle had asked as I fitted her into her armour.

I don’t get nervous. This is what I do, I replied. I could feel her heart hammering. Her breathing was coming out in short, sharp spurts. Are you?

"A little. It’s the king. The king. Wallace, I’m not like you. This stuff doesn’t come naturally to me. What if I mess up?"

I spun her around and looked her in the eyes. She smiled weakly at me; cheeks flushed. She’d cropped her yellow hair short for the show so she resembled the prince but her long eyelashes and full lips were undeniably feminine.

You won’t mess up. You’ve got me. Just give it your best and that will be enough. I promise. All right?

She nodded and her helmet slanted forwards, covering her eyes. As a performer, I should have been mad at the oversized mess of metal she was wearing but there was something so endearing about the way it dwarfed her. It was definitely going to get some laughs. I pushed the helmet back for her and clapped her on the shoulder. Now, help me get into my corset.

The Treagers and Mirabelle’s parents were standing as close as they could to the stage while the rest of the crowd lingered around the King’s box, where he and the prince were enclosed, sat upon dark wooden thrones with guards at either side. I poked my head through the curtain of the dress tent at the sound of the applause as the puppeteers finished their show. The king and prince were clapping but their eyes were distant, unimpressed. It was our turn next and it had to go well, for the sake of the inn’s reputation and to avoid complete embarrassment.

Is it us? asked Mirabelle.

Yes. It’s showtime.

She grabbed her blunt sword from where it rested and gulped hard.

We’re going to be amazing. It’s you and me. We’ve got this, I said.

We’ve got this, she repeated through a shaky exhale.

We were fantastic. The crowd loved us. The king laughed. At one point, my heel had gotten caught in my dress and I lost my balance but, acting fast, as I fell, I pretended to swoon overdramatically at the love poem Mirabelle was gushing at me. She caught me in her arms and we both slumped to the floor together. I looked into her eyes, cupped her chin and planted a kiss on her lips.

At one point, as I was playing the part of the dirty, nosy neighbour, the crowd laughed so much they were soaked by the spray of mead spat from people’s mouths. I also saw the king slap his thigh in glee and the prince grin wide enough to show all his teeth. From the crowd’s reaction, we were the best show by far.

I can’t believe we just did that. I can’t believe we just did that, Mirabelle repeated over and over, pacing in circles in the dress tent.

I couldn’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt so much but I couldn’t help it. I’d never felt more alive in my entire life.

They loved us, I said, half to myself. There was surprise and wonder in my tone that I hadn’t expected to hear. Of course, they loved us. We were famous for our skits. Our jokes always landed. But... the king and the prince loved us. That was... That was something big.

I helped Mirabelle out of her armour and she left to find her parents. I sat down in the tent. My whole body was still thrumming with adrenaline. I couldn’t believe it. Four years ago, I had set myself a goal to entertain the king and now it was done. And it had been a success. I had made him laugh. Not only laugh but wipe away a tear. Not only laugh but get a standing ovation. Where did I go from here?

The door of the tent swooshed open behind me.

Mirabelle wha- My voice left me. My heart did one huge, heavy thud. I blinked, mouth dry. I stood up too quickly and everything went fuzzy for a moment. In front of me stood King Cedric himself. He appraised me with a smile that smoothed the wrinkles around his eyes. He was a handsome man with a neat beard and shoulder length brown hair that fell in soft waves. His nose was large but not in a bad way. It was prominent and recognisable. Not that there was any doubt that he was the king, in his studded leather jerkin, blood red cape and, of course, the crown.

A guard in full chainmail stood alert a step behind him. The tent felt suddenly overcrowded.

I hope you don’t mind my coming back here, said the king, gesturing to the mess of costumes flung about the place. My dress and undergarments were on full display. I was instantly embarrassed.

I shook my head, unable to think of words. Me. Speechless. It’s hard to fathom, I know, but it happened.

I just wanted to congratulate you in person for your incredible show. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was quite something, wasn’t it, Kaspar?

It was then I noticed the prince behind him. He stepped into full view at the mention of his name. I sucked in a breath. I had remembered his eyes from the last King’s Procession. I had remembered that I had remembered them and so they must have been memorable. And from as close as I was at this moment, for a split second, I saw nothing else. They were almost emerald but also resembled the storm of the sea. I had never seen anything like it before.  

It was very entertaining, said the prince, a shy smile twitching his lips.

He had grown since I had last seen him. We both had. But as I had stretched awkwardly lanky, he had grown broad and perfectly proportioned with big shoulders that tapered neatly to his hips.

Thank you very much, I said, turning back to the king. I bowed, and by the way they both smirked made me made me realise it was unnecessary.

In fact, I enjoyed your performance so much I would like to see more of it, said the king.

My heart did another big, heavy thud. Well, I’m sure the people of Greysmarsh would love for you to visit more often.

Or perhaps you could accompany me back to the palace?

What? I blurted, and then instantly felt my cheeks flush scarlet. I mean, what do you mean, Your Highness?

He waved away the formality. I would like to offer you a job. At the palace. As my personal jester.

And there I was. Lost for words again. Twice in one sitting.

Take a moment to think about it. And I do apologise, I never caught your name.

Wallace, I rushed. Wallace Treager.

I stuck out my hand and was so thankful that he took it.

Well met. We will be at our seats. Please, come to me with your answer before we move on.

What about my partner? Mirabelle. She’s great. We’re a good team.

From what I saw, she just made you shine all the brighter.

So... you don’t want her, too?

You’re an incredible talent, Wallace. You look so effortless on stage. Your friend seems lovely, but she’s not what I’m looking for. I do apologise.

Don’t apologise, I said. "I just... I need