This Isn't What It Looks Like by Pseudonymous Bosch Page A

like this? What did you do wrong? Or is it, rather, what did you do right? If I am here, then this prison must be reserved
     for the best and most bright.”
    Cass giggled. Evidently, the Jester’s mood was on an upswing again.
    “It’s kind of a long story, but, well, I think part of the reason is that—” She took a breath. She might as well just say
     it. “I’m invisible, and Lord Pharaoh wants to find out why.”
    The Jester laughed. “’Tis a good joke but no real riddle. We are all invisible in the dark. Come now, tell me the true story.
     Or if not true, then at least a better one.”
    “No, really, you wouldn’t be able to see me even if there was light. See, watch. Let me take your hat—”
    By now, Cass had located the Jester. Before he could protest, she pulled his hat off his head.
    “Look, see how that little bit of light is shining on this bell. Now, feel my hand. It’s there, right? Now I’m moving my hand
     over the bell. See how there’s still light on it? No shadow.”
    “A nice trick, I admit,” said the Jester, impressed.“If you can do this sort of magic in the daylight, we might put on a show together.”
    “It’s not a magic trick. That’s my friend Max-Ernest’s department.”
    “He must be a great magician, your friend. Does
he
want a partner? I will give him one coin for every ten we make. Oh, I’m feeling like a rich man already, I shall make it
     two—”
    “Forget about Max-Ernest. He’s a really difficult partner—trust me, I should know. The point is, the light shines through
     me because I’m invisible.”
    It was important that she convince him, Cass decided. For one thing, she didn’t want him to die of shock if the cell was ever
     illuminated and he couldn’t see her. On a more practical level, if he first accepted the fact of her invisibility, it would
     be easier to make him believe what was even more unlikely—that she was a visitor from the future.
    “Here, now I’m putting my hand over your eyes and you can still see, right?”
    The Jester didn’t say anything, just nodded.
    “You are a ghost, then? A spirit?” he whispered after a moment. “I have not met such a one before.”
    “I don’t know; that’s hard,” said Cass. “I think it depends on how you define
ghost
.”
    The Jester shuddered in the darkness. “I know what you are—you are no ghost; you are that voice in my head they warn about.”
    He reached for his hat and put it back on his head, as if it might squelch her voice. The bells shook mockingly.
    “You see, despite my vanity, I fear for my sanity,” he whispered. “When they call me mad, I always laugh and tell another
     joke, but in secret I worry about my mental yolk…. That is a pun, by the way. The brain is like the yolk in the egg of your
     head, but also your mental
yoke
is your mental tether, your sense of reality—there, see how I ramble—”
    “Wait. Stop. I’m not a voice in your head, I swear. If anything, you’re in mine. I mean, I think I might be dreaming you…
     in a way.”
    “What? What are you saying? You confuse me more, you wily wraith! Very well, you sneaky specter—do not spare me!”
    He stood, warming to his theme. “Take me, oh gods of the insane—I will be your slave. If you will have me, I will rave and
     rave! For in madness lies escape from this horrid prison. If I must live in the dark, I will imagine I am a lark. These walls
     will not see me die, for in my mind I will fly. My flesh may rot but I need it not…!”
    “Would you just stop talking for a second!?” Cass demanded in the firm voice she reserved for when Max-Ernest went off on
     his longest and most ridiculous tangents. “You’re not crazy—you’re just making
me
crazy. Now listen, this is going to sound really weird, but I come from the future, hundreds of years from now. Actually,
     I’m your great-great- and a bunch of other
great
s granddaughter.”
    “Ha! Are you not satisfied to turn my mind to jelly? Must