A Puppet Fantasy

A story by FairyAesthetic

"'I now declare the title of Lord…'"

"Oh, here we go…!"

"'…Duke of Flushing…'"

"Yes!"

"'…Marquis of Cubert and Delabole…'"

"Finally!"

"'…Baron Polwhiddle of Zenore…'"

"Is this real?!"

"'…Earl of Probus…'"

"Can you see me now, Mother?!"

"'…And Peer of the Realm…'"

"It's actually happening…!"

"'…At long last be bestowed to its true and rightful owner…'"

"Me!"

"'…My dear faithful servant, Barkilphedro!'"

"Oh, thank you, Your Majesty, it's really such an honour!"

In reality, there was only one person talking in two different voices. Barkilphedro, having finally gotten a few minutes to himself, was sitting alone in his private quarters at the castle with a homemade puppet on each hand, speaking in a pinched, nasally voice for King Clarence and his own voice for himself. One puppet wore red and gold embroidery and had a miniature crown and a few limp strands of grey hair stuck to its head to look like the king, and the other puppet was dressed all in black with a matching headdress and white collar, just like the outfit Barkilphedro always wore.

It was one of the worst cases of injustice ever known to mankind. Or at least, known to Barkilphedro, considering he was the only person it affected. Even now, almost fifteen years after King Clarence had more or less promised Barkilphedro the title of lordship once he'd dealt with Lord Trelaw, only to give it to his son David Dirry-Moir instead, the old clown was still bitter about what might've been. Oh, to have had the power to order more people about and never have to take any humiliating orders from Dirry-Moir or Josiana (especially the duchess!) ever again – and there was no sense in getting Barkilphedro started on all those luscious velvet gowns he would've worn as a lord…!

Well, at least he still had a couple things left: some creativity and his own imagination. Barkilphedro had amassed quite a collection of these puppets over the years – he'd made them all himself, and locked them in a trunk that he kept hidden away when they weren't in use. The majority of the puppets were just meant to be generic servants, lords, and ladies, but he had made four of them up to look like himself, King Clarence, Lord Dirry-Moir, and Duchess Josiana, since the king and his miserable children were featured the most often in the fantasies he acted out. Barkilphedro would've made one of Princess Angelica, too, but seeing as she was currently living at the Institute for Aristocratic Sociopaths, he didn't really see much point. Besides, even when she had still been at the castle, she hadn't given him nearly as much grief as Dirry-Moir and Josiana did – if anything, she'd always gone out of her way to avoid him.

The puppets were made of all kinds of odds and ends; they were built on simple frames made of sticks and old bones (saved from the main courses of a few banquets, nothing too outlandish), had bulging eyes made of painted lumps of clay, and wore crudely made outfits sewn from tattered old coats and gowns that had been destined for the scrap heap. Perhaps the most unsettling thing about them, however, was that all of their heads had been made out of skulls – whatever Barkilphedro could get his hands on, it seemed. Roadkill from passing carts, a few alley cats, the remains of rabbits prepared for royal dinners, some prisoners who'd died in the torture chamber…you know, the usual. And if that wasn't disturbing enough, it probably wasn't best to ask how the old clown had been able to scrounge up the hair – real hair! – that he'd collected and managed to paste to many of the puppets' heads (with the exceptions of David and Josiana's puppets, both of whom had their heads wrapped up in grubby white rags for makeshift wigs).

"'Allow me to bestow upon you your first velvet gown as a new lord, Lord Barkilphedro…'"

"Goodness, Your Majesty, I could hardly accept such generosity –"

"'Oh, but I insist!'"

"Well, then, if you insist…"

Setting the puppet of King Clarence down beside him, Barkilphedro reached over and grabbed the frayed scrap of crushed velvet (scrounged from one of David's old jackets that had been damaged beyond repair by a rough crowd at the Stokes-Croft Fair) that he always used as a makeshift velvet gown for his puppet alter-ego, draped it around the puppet's shoulders, and pinned it in place. Unfortunately, too much of the jacket had been damaged for Barkilphedro to actually sew a miniature velvet gown for the puppet, but this scrap still did the job nicely.

"'What?! What do you mean Lord Barkilphedro?! What have you done, Father?!' Enter David Dirry-Moir." Laying the puppet of himself off to the side for now, Barkilphedro grabbed the puppets of David and King Clarence and tugged one onto each hand before continuing to speak in an over-exaggerated English accent for David. "'The traitor Trelaw's title was supposed to fall to me!'"

"'Well, I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. I've made Barkilphedro a lord now, and there's nothing you can do about it, Da-vid!'" Knowing how much his lordship hated being addressed by his first name, Barkilphedro put extra emphasis on David's name with the King Clarence puppet.

"'Don't address me by my first name, Father, you know how much I hate it! What am I to do now without the title of lordship?!'"

"'To them that have much, more shall be given. To them that have not, the little they have shall be taken a-way… Guards, take him out and throw him to the streets!'"

"'Nooooooooooooooooooo!' Exit David Dirry-Moir, re-enter Barkilphedro."

With that, he swapped out the David puppet for the puppet of himself again, gingerly setting the David puppet aside. No matter how much Barkilphedro may have despised the real Lord Dirry-Moir, he never wanted any harm to ever come to his precious puppets – especially considering how delicate their skull heads could be. "Ahem – 'Barkilphedro, my old friend, I must apologize for my son's outburst just now…'"

"Why, think nothing of it, Your Majesty; water under the bridge!"

"'Indeed, that velvet gown is incredibly fetching on you! I'm so glad I decided to promote you and not David – in fact, I regret not doing away with those treacherous Trelaws even sooner to promote you…'"

"Oh, now you're just flattering me, Your Majesty!"

"'Tonight, we shall host a ball in your honour, Barkilphedro, and it shall be the grandest event Bristol has ever known!' Exit King Clarence."

For a moment, Barkilphedro struggled to get the King Clarence puppet off of his hand. "Puppetry. Not as easy as it looks," he muttered to himself, finally tugging the puppet free. Setting it aside again, he rooted through the pile of puppets, pulling out various lords and ladies and switching them out every so often as if they were all various attendees at the ball.

"That night at the royal ball… 'Lord Barkilphedro, congratulations on being made a lord – and what a lovely velvet gown you have there!'"

"Oh, this old thing? Why, thank you, madam, I just threw it on this morning."

"'Lord Barkilphedro, aren't you glad those traitorous Trelaws have finally been done away with once and for all?'"

"Without a doubt, sir – after all, without their inevitable demise, I'd still be only a clown!"

"'Lord Barkilphedro, do you think His Majesty King Clarence should listen to the people's demands about lowering their taxes?'"

"Absolutely not in the slightest."

"'Lord Barkilphedro, come and have some potted shrimps and cherry vermouth with us!'"

"My goodness, I suppose if you insist so strongly…"

"'Why, Lord Barkilphedro, I see you're wearing the infamous Blade of Bilboa by your side tonight!'"

"Well, how could I ever refuse to wear such a legendary blade after being made a lord?"

"'What's going on here?! What is the meaning of all this?!' Enter Duchess Josiana."

This had to be one of Barkilphedro's favourite scenarios to imagine. Setting aside the lord puppet he'd just been using (and grumbling to himself again about the difficulties of puppetry), he dug around in the pile of puppets until he'd found the puppet of Josiana, clad in the frilly remains of one of the duchess's old party dresses. Even before Barkilphedro had started struggling to get the puppet onto his hand, he'd already resumed speaking in a high falsetto for the duchess. "'David told me that Barkilphedro –' Ye gods! …Ahem – 'David told me that Barkilphedro has been made a lord instead of him – I demand an explanation!'"

"Well, I'm afraid there's not really much to explain, my lady…" (The last part of that sentence was practically dripping with sarcasm.) "Your father has made me a lord, which means I hold more power than I ever have before, and also means I no longer have to take any more ridiculous orders from any of you!"

"'No…does this mean –?!'"

"That's right, my dear duchess: no more breakfast in bed, no more powdering your wigs, no more trips to the Stokes-Croft Fair, and especially no more erotic dances!"

"'Ohhhh, this is absolutely horrid! If you refuse to take any more orders from me, I'm going to make my father strip your new title from you and give it to my brother!'"

"Too late for that, you selfish, whiny twit – yes, I now have the power to address you however I please! As a matter of fact, I've decided I'm going to talk to His Majesty and see about having you banished right alongside your half-wit brother – but before that, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you exactly how I've really felt about you for all these years –!"

"Sir?"

"GAH!" Barkilphedro nearly leapt out of his skin at the voice behind him, grabbing as many puppets strewn across the floor as he could and trying to hide them from the intruder (and right as he'd been getting to the best part of the story, too!). "What is it?!" he spat, glaring over his shoulder at the servant in the doorway.

"U-um…Her Grace – er, t-the Duchess, Josiana…she – she's looking for you."

This particular servant was one of the more recent hires at the castle; as a matter of fact, Barkilphedro had only seen this fellow on one or two other occasions (and under similar circumstances, no less). Servants were pretty much the only people at the castle the old clown had any authority to order about – and he took great pleasure out of especially bossing around the newer servants, mainly because they tended to be more afraid of him than the older ones. "You could at least knock on my door next time," he growled.

"Yes, sir – sorry, sir, I will."

Scowling, Barkilphedro glanced down at the puppets of himself and Josiana that were still on his hands. "…You didn't see anything, did you?"

"N-no, sir – I-I definitely didn't see you acting out your fantasies with your puppets again."

"Good. Tell the duchess I'll be along shortly."

"Yes, sir." Bowing his head slightly, the servant turned and left the room as quickly as he could without actually running away. Barkilphedro didn't move from his seat on the floor for a few seconds before letting out a huff and reluctantly pulling both puppets off his hands. Getting to his feet, he gathered up his puppet collection and locked them safely away in their trunk again before shuffling off to see what Josiana needed.

For anyone curious about the scene that inspired this story, here it is: youtube dot com / watch?v=eGoXyXiwOBg