1 ◆ Swine

It was a fine evening for a feast at the esteemed, provincial caste, home of the Peterheads. The King, Aldric Peterhead, invited the finest lords and ladies of his land to celebrate the fifth birthday of his daughter, Princess Elara. Aldric, a portly, middle-aged man whose hair was a distant memory, sat at the head of the feast table delighting in the delectable cuisine the kitchen staff brought out for the partygoers to enjoy. A potato mash, an assortment of breads, roasted vegetables and chocolate pies, accompanied heaping piles of steaming roast boar and freshly caught salmon: the king’s favorite. The room was filled with chatter, a tall ceiling and stone walls kept his guests safe from the blizzard raging outside the warm fortress. The king stood, clinking his glass, quieting the room.

“Hear, Hear!” He roared. “It is my utmost pleasure to be in the company of so many of you lovely people.” He was met with the sound of clinking glasses and joyful murmurs. He gestured to the young girl sitting to his right. “We are here to celebrate my beautiful, brilliant, and enchanting daughter. I thank you all for your presence and generous gifts. I hope you enjoy my famous chocolate cakes!” He bellowed while holding his wine high. “Three cheers to Princess Elara!” he declared. 

The partygoers erupted enthusiastically, “Princess Elara! Princess Elara! Princess Elara!” Glasses clinked, and laughter and chatter filled the room once more, but no one noticed the king’s jester who sat in a stupor in a corner of the large hall. The red puddle at his feet turned his bright yellow shoes into a soggy orange.

“Preancissss Laura” he gurgled, stumbling to his feet. He picked up his goblet and threw it across the room. “Another cup for Chester!” he screamed, no one noticed as he fell his way to the serving table. “Showtime” Chester muttered to himself, a fresh wine glass in hand as he leaped upon the feast table, carelessly kicking the overflowing plates off the table, meat, potatoes, and cakes flying to the floor willy-nilly.

“I beg your pardon, fool!” yelled the king, “what on Earth do you think you are doing, I thought I sent you away!” Chester’s puffy red face and glazed eyes turned towards the king.

“I say get down from there before you ruin this day further!” the king said, standing up again. “I will not!” Chester slurred as he sashayed the length of the table, absentmindedly knocking cups of wine into the laps of aristocrats.

“Guards!” bellowed the king. Chester stopped in front of the king, taking a deep drink from his cup, he cleared his throat and pointed his stubby finger at the king’s face.

“It has been quite the pleasure to dine on food so fine,” Chester said cheerily as guards rushed into the room. “King Aldric, I am honored that you are mine, your head doth gloriously shine!” He bowed, a grin stretching from ear to ear as dinner guests stepped away from their plates, the armed men closing in. “It is a shame, of course, that you smell of swine. Here! partake in a bath of wine!” Chester threw his wine onto the king’s face, laughing hysterically.

“Arrest this fool!” The king screamed while Chester was dragged out of the feast hall his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he cackled.

2 ◆ Whiskers

Chester woke up in a cold sweat. He groaned, clutching his head. He found himself sitting in a small, cold room with thick metal bars for a door, a pail in the corner for his waste. Chester the jester had held the king’s favor for three wonderful years. How have I found myself in this place, he thought. Chester sat now atop a paltry bed of hay. He had faint memories from the previous evening, although he distinctly remembered that the king had reprimanded him for annoying the guests as they arrived at his feast. “I drew his ire and then drank myself to sleep,” Chester said to no one. “Was I truly locked away for irritating a few unimportant lords?” He found a small rock in the center of his cell and was quick to action. He began scrawling a proclamation of innocence into the wall of his cell. Surely this will clear his name, he thought as he began to scrape into the stone:

Chester the jester was nary the molester of which he stood accused. Chester
may be a pester but this false accusation cannot fester for there is no one bester
than the jester named Chester.

Chester smiled at his work, proud of the rhyming declaration of innocence he had carved into the wall. He may be a scoundrel, liar, and thief who once even robbed his father, preposterous was it however to call him a bother. Chester turned back to his pitiful bed and saw a rat sitting upon it! “Pardon, but that belongs to me.” Chester said to the rat. “Scurry along now.” he shooed the rat away as he laid down onto the uneven bed. Feeling sorry for himself, Chester decided he should have a wank. He pulled down his pants but the rat again caught his eye.

Chester paused, “Do you mind?” he asked the rat, “a little privacy would be nice as I intend to pleasure my prick!” The rat didn’t move. “So be it.” Chester said with a huff, pulling his tattered britches back up around his rotund belly. “If you insist on staying here with me I will do you the courtesy of abstaining.” The rat said nothing, its nose twitching as it sniffed the ground. 

“Have you nothing to say to me?” Chester said to the rat. “I suppose not. I’ll call you Whiskers. That is a fine name for a rat in my estimation.” Chester declared. Whiskers said nothing as it scurried to the other side of the cell. “You have an important role to play yet, Whiskers,” Chester said seriously. “I am relying on you to keep my wits about me in this wretched place. I don’t mean to frighten you, but in my time serving the king I have noticed that he has a tendency to forget the people he puts in here.” In response, Whiskers munched on some hay. 

“I know you are afraid, Whiskers, but you need not worry little one. I promise to find a way out.” Chester wrung his hands, moisture starting to accumulate on his brow. I have to put on a brave face for Whiskers lest he develop an anxiety disorder, he thought to himself. Whiskers looked content as he hungrily ate another piece of hay. “Careful now, that’s my bed you’re eating!” Chester said, “It will be far more difficult to escape this wrongful imprisonment if I am unable to sleep!” Whiskers continued about his business, filling his belly with hay.

“Shoo!” Chester said as he kicked the bed. Startled, Whiskers ran into a small hole in the corner of the cell that Chester had not yet noticed. Interesting, Chester thought. “Whiskers!” Chester cried, “I am terribly sorry for my outburst, you are forgiven. Please enjoy as much of my bed as you desire.” As a plan started to form in Chester’s head he heard the faint sounds of a rumbling commotion coming from above him. 

3 ◆ Chisel

Chester worked silently. He chiseled the small opening through which Whiskers had run. His cracked, dry hands clutched a small stone, his fingers covered in debris from the tedious work. Chester sat back to inspect his progress. When he started, the hole was the size of a dinner roll, now it was nearly as big as a chicken leg. The scratching sound of scraping stone was interrupted by an extended rumbling that came from Chester’s stomach. He tossed his tool to the ground and sighed.

“I must say, my little friend, I am becoming quite peckish, what with all of this tiresome digging.” Chester said to Whiskers who had just scurried through the hole in the wall. It had been over a day since food was brought to Chester if not a few days, maybe longer. The metal plate that held his last meal lay discarded, still shiny from being licked clean. 

“I’m sure that commotion we heard earlier must have the next delivery of delights delayed ever so slightly,” Chester said half-heartedly. “I’m certain a servant of the king will be down soon to deliver us a suitable meal.” Whiskers said nothing as he scurried to the bed to dine on his hay. Chester watched with grim acceptance as Whiskers began to delight in what was left of what was an already pitiful bed. 

“At least one of us won’t be going hungry tonight,” Chester said while Whiskers ate, blissfully unaware of the situation he found himself in. “Does the king want me dead?” Chester wondered aloud. “I know him to be a cruel man but he has never been one to pass up a good execution.” Chester picked up his rock once more and set again to work. Dried blood and dirt coagulated on his hands as his process began anew. He chipped at the rock with one hand, scraping with the other desperately trying to earn his freedom. 

4 ◆ Bait

Several days had passed since food was last delivered, and Chester was beginning to get desperate. His skin was dry and loosely hung from his face, his cheeks hollow, lips cracked and white. He fashioned the last of the bed’s hay into bait and placed it under his pail, propped up in front of a hole not nearly wide enough for a portly jester. 

“Whiskers? Whiskers are you in there?” Chester said softly, his sunken eyes peered into the darkness that the hole held. He strained his ears hoping to hear the scratching of small claws on stone. “Whiskers please!” Chester yelled, “Somebody help me!” His cries echoed into the empty corridors beyond his cell, his despair met with no reply. The sound of scratching caught his attention and Chester bleary eyes focused on his trap. Whiskers crept towards the hay unaware of an impending doom. Crack! Chester slammed the pail down. His lips bloodied and cracked as a wicked smile came across his face. 

“I’ve got you now!” Chester said viscously. He quickly grabbed Whiskers’ wriggling body from under the pail and in one brutal motion bit off the rat’s head. Chester delighted in his capture, savoring food for the first time in days. Blood ran down his chin as he made short work of the measly meal, immediately he was struck with guilt. 

“I’m sorry my small companion.” Chester said to the blood on his hands, “I certainly can’t escape if I starve!” I may not be able to escape no matter what I do, he thought to himself as he began to lick the blood off of his fingers. His stomach groaned as if to agree with him as he pushed aside the pail, picking up the rock and began his work again. 

5 ◆ Hope

A thunderous crash startled Chester from his restless slumber. Slumped against the wall, his escape hole nearly large enough, his cracked and bloodied hands still clutched the rock. 

“Is there anyone there?” Chester croaked, the dry pained sound unfamiliar to his own ears. He was met by the sound of stone on stone. Chester slipped in and out of consciousness while he scraped away towards freedom. Hours had passed since the crashing sound had awoken Chester, his newfound hope of survival the only thing keeping his hands moving. Chester, running out of energy, dropped his rock and examined his work. 

“I just might fit.” he whispered into the void. Chester laid flat on his stomach and began to drag his way through the hole he had created. Sharp edges of rock pierced into his skin as he pulled his shriveled body through the opening. Chester wiggled, Chester squirmed, and finally Chester was free. As he stumbled to his feet, he took one last look at the cell that was nearly his grave. 

“I’ll miss you my dearest Whisker’s, without you I would be a dead man.” Chester said as he began to limp down the dark stone corridor. Chester’s journey to freedom was accompanied by the sound of his slapping footsteps. Chester stopped to catch his breath, a wall ahead of him at the end of the passageway a flickering light emanated from the left, his final turn before he would be able to ascend the steps from the dungeon. Chester let out a whoop of joy as his pace quickened. Chester turned the corner prepared to make the arduous climb. The stairwell was blocked by enormous stones, the flickering  torches finally extinguished and Chester screamed.