He caught the bloom hurled at his face, smirking at the audience roaring before him. They rose to their feet, chairs falling backwards in their hurry to applaud their new musical god.
He flicked his guitar behind his back on its’ strap, flicking his Calling Card into view. The golden hue shining off the lamplight only enticed the cheering to grow. Before his eyes he watched the back of the card curl into a gleaming pattern of curls and ripples. In flowing script his stage name glittered for all to see.
THE MAESTRO.
Occupation or Calling Cards were gifted on your fifteenth birthday. At the stroke of midnight, your Calling Card would illuminate and change colour. Green, purple, silver, blue, gold. Green being of average talent, to gold of immense talent. But the words of the card could only be read by the holder of the Calling Card and the clergy.
This had prevented many a war. A king held a king card. A blacksmith held his. Merchants bore children bearing merchant Calling Cards. As did knights and bakers. Your place in the world was easy to fill as you were given your strengths, weaknesses and calling on your card. Some fulfilled it greater than others, but such was the world. Some occupations had different rules for their cards. Many joined guilds to better use their Calling Cards and therefore know the intricate dealings of their occupation.
Bards’ were no different. A Bard Card responded to the roar of the crowd. The music of the instrument. The beautiful trill of one’s voice or song. As such, your Stage Name was the declaration of all skill and talent for all to see. The more intricate the back of your card, the more talented the bard. A Bard Card was triggered to change or solidify as you dived deeper into years of experience.
Lucian Pitch elegantly bowed to the crowd, slipping his card back into his inner jacket pocket. The large Town Hall was littered with people of all ages. He had played for over an hour, his fingers never cramping, his tune never wavering as he played hit after hit of both new and old songs. His lilting voice reached the back wall where his sponsor grinned, her face covered by a delicate lilac fan.
He walked through the crowd like a prophet, touching hands, signing tunics and murmuring platitudes to the crowd rolling around him. He exited the hall, quickly turning down the side of the building. The hysterical screaming of women pounded through the wall on his right, trapped by their own hurry to reach him.
He took many twists and turns, melting effortlessly into the shadows. He took off his feathered cavalier hat, resting it on a barrel as he took off his cloak and turned it inside out. Emerald green to pitch. He pressed his hat into his side, lifting up the hood over his face and striding into a nearby bar. A slight woman smiled up into his face, already nursing a drink. He slid into the booth before her, seeing her purple fan lying between them.
“Hello, Conductor.” She grinned slyly, “What a performance. They were frothing over you.”
He nodded, refusing a drink as he settled into his seat. “I am sure to receive news from the Castle very soon. My men are as we speak whispering of my skills in court.”
“My, my. You have been touring less than… six months?” She surmised, her purple eyes glinting curiously, “Already proficient with lyre and guitar. You are one talented agent.”
“I am a quick study.” He replied smoothly. He glanced at her long fingers itching for a knife by her side. He mapped out exit routes and noted scent changes with barely a thought. As was one of the perks of being an assassin. Assassin Calling Cards would be rooted out by the church if they were so easy to detect. Should an assassin be highly proficient in a skill, should their card be inspected, it would reveal to be that skill and nothing more. You must be of a high level for it to trick the clergy. Many assassins studied the same thing their whole lives, providing them cover in the direst of situations. Lucian had been a painter, a hunter and of course a sword for hire. But none had whispered its’ secrets as keenly as a bard. His Calling Card was almost jittery with the power it now held.
The target was within the castle walls. Lucian would be the fifth assassin sent to attempt the impossible. All lost contact with the guild within days of entering the castle. Each head found mounted on spikes along the walls of the keep not long after.
Lucian wasn’t keen on adding himself to the lineup. So, he would go as a very famous bard. One that boasted of great deeds and even greater songs. Assassin he may be. But the edges of his identity were changing it’s coat from black to sparking emerald.
“We will not attempt to contact you once you are inside. We have high expectations for you. You have impeccable planning and a spy network rivaling ours. We wish you easy hunting.”
He inclined his head, slipping out from their table to walk out the door. He never lingered. He was the Conductor, ear to the music, able to pick out the smallest of details to perform a murder so clean it appeared accidental.
Lucian walked to another street, unclipping and twirling his cloak back to its’ brilliance. Pulling out his cavalier hat, he gently puffed up the peacock feather gifted from the Cadence Dutchy in the West. He left his guitar under the cloak, unwilling to reveal it to the early spring dampness.
“Mr. Lucian!” A voice squeaked, the boy scuttling closer to him. He had grime carefully pressed under his jawline, his quick eyes noting his master’s slightly hunched shoulders. Lately tight whenever he wasn’t on stage.
“Her letter came, sir.” The boy murmured, “Lady Animo has requested your presence in the capital. She has declared you to hold the song of the season.”
The smile that slipped across the bard’s features drenched his ego in warmth. He had lingered in her bed for some winter months, but he had also sung in her hall. How easy are the ways of women and bards he mused.
“Excellent work, Perry.” He said, “return to our lodgings and pack, make sure you are dressed respectfully.” Lucian eyed the boy, turning his head to the side thoughtfully, “Percival.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“No talk of anything but music and bard work. Do you understand me? It won’t do to have you tortured for a slip of the tongue.”
Perry paled, nodding. A rare moment of affection caught Lucian, running a hand through the boy’s curls, “good. Run along.”
Perry bobbed before scampering down the street, never too far from his master’s side. Should Lucian be the Conductor, young Perry was his baton.
Lucian flicked a gold coin into the gutter for the god of arts. “May this be an Ironic tale before tragedy licks my boots.” He mused.
.oOo.
The castle was alit in the flames of a thousand candles. They cast long shadows on the walls as the sun sunk below the moat. The court eyed Lucian curiously, glancing from his golden drop earring, down his beautiful cloak and black tunic with an intricate golden design curling down the sleeves. He comfortably held his guitar against his chest, showing off the rings glinting on his fingers.
He bowed dramatically before the thrones, smiling elegantly at the queen and bowing his head lower before the king. The princess watched him with open eagerness, looking up from playing with the court Jester. The eight-year-old took in the charming adventure written on the bard, instantly falling in love. The Jester frowned at the change, tilting his head to the side and causing his bells to softly jingle. His face was brightly painted stark white to highlight the exaggerated red lips, the sharp dramatic strokes of orange and green above and below the eyeline.
“May Peace be before you, Your Majesty. I have been summoned to perform my meager talent.” Lucian said, holding his hat out from his sweeping bow.
“Be at peace,” King Julian said, waving his hand dismissively, “my court is bursting to hear you. Take your place, Bard.”
Lucian slid his gaze to the Jester, making quick measurements and observations in his head. Five foot three, sandy blond hair, eyes the colour of dusk. Slim build. Could pass as a woman. Target on sight.
“If it pleases you, my Liège.” Lucian smiled, allowing a lilted hum to enter his tone. At the change the Jester looked up, saying nothing.
Lucian walked to the center of the hall, gently strumming his instrument as he went. He tuned as he walked, flicking a smirk at the crowd. They instinctively moved a few paces closer, fans batting powdered faces.
His music filled the air with a gentle, but firm swing of his fingers. He used minor notes to give his tone a rich, thoughtful flair.
“A princess so fair belongs to her land,
She needs no adornment, her blood is so grand,
How the king loves his daughter, what charm to behold
His Queen’s beauty lost only to the fairness foretold,”
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Lucian struck a complicated line of notes, catching the smile flickering on the princess’ face.
“King Julian’s Prince Jasper, how brave he must be,
To battle the evil spewed from the black sea,
His father so noble, hath taught him so well
So, our people be safe where-ever they dwell.”
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He ran into the chorus, throwing beaming grins at the few who knew the song. They drank in his confidence and encouragement, a murmur building to a mumble.
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“With fields of gold, and rivers of green,
No other land so beloved and free,
May the gods love the king
And his fam-i-ly.”
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He sung a few more verses of how brave and noble King Julian was, and how wise his queen was by his side. Lucian watched the court eat out of his hand. Somewhere out of sight Perry had climbed into the rafters and now released rose petals, allowing them to gently fall around the bard. The crowd loved that, bursting into applause.
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Lucian bowed his head as he struck the last vibrating note. The card in his pocket warmed him through his shirt. He truly did love the flittering nerves turned into smooth silk as he performed.
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“Well, Bard. You truly do have talent.” King Julian laughed.
“And a golden tongue,” The Queen added, amusement shining in those watchful eyes.
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Lucian bowed again, sweeping off his hat.
“Jester, play with him.” The king commanded, throwing his chin forward as though Lucian was a plaything for his new puppy.
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Although short, the Jester still seemed gangly, flowing like a reed in the wind. He reached Lucian and winked, pulling from his garish orange and blue shirt a tin whistle.
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“Do you know Good King Almond?” He asked in a voice dripping with wild honey. Oddly amused, Lucian nodded taking off his rings and slipping them out of harm’s way. They began together, a harmony lifting up the room and bouncing with the speed of a beehive at work.
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The song was a silly one. A king who gave up his kingdom for an almond because he thought it to be an exotic thing. Only to find out he had been tricked. But the melody itself was lightning fast and hard to stay master of. Lucian begrudgingly heaped mental praise upon the Jester, as he not only played the harmony, but did acrobatic tricks and spins.
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Lucian watched the way the Jester grinned around the pipe in his mouth, making rude motions to some court members, while gently making children and ladies laugh at others. How could he possibly kill such a quick, clever creature?
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They played many songs together. The Jesters high voice perfectly melded with his beautiful tenor. The Jester pulled out all sorts of instruments. Drums, pipes and bells and things. Not to be outdone, Lucian clicked his fingers and Perry provided his lyre. Love songs soon struck the crowd, many ladies wiping tears at ballads of fallen heroes.
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Finally, the king nodded, and the Jester bounced away, returning to his place beside the princess.
“You are an excellent bard, Lucian Pitch – the Maestro,” King Julian smiled warmly, “you are invited to the season.”
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The court roared their approval, only deepening the King’s catlike smile. Lucian bowed deeply once more, ignoring the exhaustion creaking in his joints. Another feeling curled itself up his spine. A cursed feeling he wished to rip out of his body.
Admiration.
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.OoO.
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The Jester and Lucian entertained many a party together. As the days grew longer, so did the season. Dinners, dancers, festivals. The king awarded Lucian the title of “The Golden Maestro,” now allowed to write songs befitting the royal family. The Jester said little outside of their performances together, always bouncing back to the princess as though she held an invisible cord around his neck. The Jester had no past to speak of. No one remembered where he had come from. Only that he was a gift to the princess and nothing more.
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Lucian prowled and searched. No one suspected him of anything but musical talent, but still he remained vigilant. The more they played together, the more his calling card shivered. The more his dreams held song lyrics rather than a man’s dead stare.
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Until one day.
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The day after the Spring festival. They had played an old war ballad against the setting sun. It was an unusually warm night, sweat beading and sliding down the neck of the Jester under his hat. His makeup was slightly streaked, leaving stains on his collar, sweat lines running through the careful contour of his face. They sat side by side, the screaming of the crowd finished. Backs resting against the stage as people danced upon it.
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“Take off the hat.” Lucian suggested, sitting in the grass beside him, “we have a couple hours before we are to take the stage again.”
“Do you miss being a solo act?” The Jester asked, accepting the rag Lucian offered him.
Lucian frowned, running light fingers down his guitar. “When we preform together… I feel myself lifting off the ground. I have never experienced this before. Do you miss being solo?”
The Jester gave him a lopsided grin, “no. You have allowed me to come out from dirty jokes and silly somersaults. You have given me… dignity.”
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Lucian peered around them, at dusk settling over them as a moth’s wings against a flower. No one in sight. Not a single person watched them as the lamps were lit, masking their movements against the flame. A single dagger slash. A single cut.
“Tell me who you are Jester.” Lucian said in a low voice, “I wish…” he let out an exasperated laugh. “Only to know.”
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The Jester rolled his head to the side like a doll, eying the bard with a cunning light. “I am The Jester.”
Lucian waited, watching him.
“Lucian.” The Jester said seriously, “When I first saw you, I thought you must be an assassin. Many attempts have been made. None successful. But when you played… it was as though the gods themselves gave you sunlight to play in at the dead of night. Your calling Card sings to me. You sing to me.”
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Lucian, heart pounding through his chest in painful thumps, slipped out his calling card. He flicked it up to show the blank side no one else could read. Not the green and gold spirals of his stage name, but the oddly aching side no one could see but him.
The Jester smiled, taking out his own card. He turned it from his own stage name, the word Jester in flowing script hidden from view. They tapped the cards, watching them both glow gold. They watched together as the word, “Bard” glowed first big and bright on both cards.
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And then underneath as though an afterthought, both performers watched the word, “assassin” whisper from the cards.
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“It switched for you too, huh?” The Jester murmured, unsurprised, “do you still want to kill me?”
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Lucian Pitch threw back his head and laughed. He found himself lighter, senses keener than a guitar string. “Not even a little. No wonder the assassin attempts failed if you were one of us! If I cannot play with you, I do not wish to live. I know this now.” He lay down in the grass, aware of how vulnerable he was and finding not a single care. A single stroke of a hidden dagger, sting of a poison dart. And death would be a welcome sight. “Allow me to stay by your side, and I’ll protect you against any who come after us.”
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“You would do that?” The Jester asked curiously, “have the entire guild put a mark against you?”
“It’s either you or them.” Lucian shrugged, “A life for a song, I suppose.”
“Would you like another secret?” The Jester asked, smiling.
“If you wish to bestow it.”
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The Jester chuckled, removing his hat. Long flowing red hair fell around his shoulders. “Liona,” she said, pulling out her hand, “a life for a life.”
He scrambled to his knees in shock. As though three panes of painted glass had lined up to reveal an image, Liona smiled defiantly through the clown makeup. He saw how she had shaded the bottom of her jawline to appear wider, eyebrows brushed downwards, nose widened. She moved and the mirage covered her, The Jester once more.
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Lucian smiled, slipping his fingers into hers, “may our cage be full of song.”
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