News from the heart of the kingdom: old comedienne finally died after trying to cut her veins for years, with the world’s bluntest potato-peeling knife. Allegedly, she uttered final words, but no one was around to hear them. Honestly, if I could stick it to that Prince one last time, I would—making this kingdom laugh with my death—if it weren’t for that knife. It was so blunt that I had a larger chance of starting a fire with my rubbing motions than cutting something. Still, I persevered, and by noon I had already peeled five potatoes. Twenty-two left to go.

  “Keep your eyes wide open… as the sun goes down and down,” I intoned my favorite minstrel’s song under my breath, casting aside potato peels, “Sing a cheerful, merry song when the world begins to frown.”

  The half-stifled scream of a child caught my attention, and I blinked through the kitchen window to my left. Three boys and a girl were outside, all at a tender young age. While one boy drew circles on the ground with a stick, the other two tried to tug at the girl’s long dark braid or pinch her. I humphed, a thought lighting up my mind. Immediately, I grabbed a long potato peel from the counter, draped it over my head like a diadem, and proceeded to thrust the window to the street open.

  “Good day, my lady and gentlemen!” I announced out loud and the four of them paused to look at me, intrigued. Placing a hand on my chest, I bowed gallantly, and the peel slipped off. Just as it fell, I caught it and tossed it dramatically over my hair once more. This produced the needed effect: the children giggled. “Would you be so kind as to give me directions? For I am lost, lost, lost.”

  They drew nearer to my window.

  “Who are you?” The girl eyed me suspiciously when I took another peel and put it diligently around my neck, like a necklace.

  “Why, I am the Potato Queen,” I scoffed with indignation. “Have any of you not heard of me?”

  Simultaneously, they shook their heads at me, wide-eyed with curiosity.

  “My story is a long one,” I said, feeling the peel slip down to my forehead. Slowly tipping my head back to keep it up, I went on, “And surely it wouldn’t interest such high nobility as yourselves.” The potato slipped even further down despite my best efforts, and the necklace hung halfway now, forcing me into a strange crooked stance. “I was a carefree princess once, but because I was too lazy and didn’t help my parents with their chores, a terrible curse fell upon me. To peel potatoes until I die.”

  “That’s not a long story,” one of the boys acknowledged.

  My headpiece was at my nose now. It paused there, while I grabbed the peel on my neck and tossed it over the window sill like a saving rope. “In this fateful moment, I need your help desperately. Please help me out of this prison!”

  Snickering, two boys approached the window, yanking the peel from its other end. When it broke apart, I let out a theatrical cry of desperation and either side stumbled back. I fell under the sill, beyond their line of vision, and they burst out into laughter.

  “It’s hopeless, gentlemen,” I exclaimed, shaking my head despondently once I reemerged inside the frame with several new peels chaotically wrapped around my face. “I’m afraid I must peel potatoes forever.”

  The ringing sound of their young laughter summoned a pair of women from around the corner that I assumed were their guardians, and their stormy expressions silenced the children at once. There was some severe scolding and then they quickly pulled them all away from me, casting deeply judgmental looks my way. I winked deviously in spite of them, tossing a peel over my shoulder like a regal scarf, chin up high. It sent the kids into another fit of giggles. I could still hear them after I shut the window and took another potato from the pile, resuming my minstrel’s song.

  To my delight, the next day at noon I had another fine chance to practice buffoonery. After lunch, I visited my Jun and decided to bring him to the town’s central square well. There I found nearly a dozen elderly men and women. Several rested on the cool stone steps by the old well. The women dragged buckets of water from it, to wash the heaps of clothes they had carried from their homes in wicker baskets.

  It wasn’t hard to attract attention when you were a traveler. Many of those towns hadn’t seen a foreigner for a long time. With the strange curse looming over these lands, I doubted foreigners stayed long enough to be remembered in the small towns, like I did. As I dragged Jun by the reins and together we approached the well, the murmurings quietened down and I became the main subject of discussion. My name was on their lips: I could hear them whispering it in between the rhythmic beating of the women’s paddles onto the bleached linen.

  Sullen clouds darkened the skies since morning, and I could feel yesterday’s chill creeping on my skin again. The wind rustled loose dry leaves all over the village, its familiar music weaving the same woeful melody as in the days before. Every time I listened in, it was as if something was draining the life out of this place, keeping it in a perpetual state of weariness. Something, like a branch into a watermill, had lodged into the cycle of seasons, and the wheel could neither spin back to spring’s life nor release that life into winter. The wind was wheezing and moaning like a wounded animal. These lands were dying but could not die.

  With these glum thoughts in mind, I pulled out a bucketful of water from the well. I placed it by my side and proceeded to lower another bucket into the well’s throat at a slow, unhurried pace. The first time I glanced at Jun, he was hovering over the first bucket, lapping water calmly under everyone’s gaze. I didn’t mind him.

  The second time, I nearly dropped the roller handle down into the well because he gave a sudden push to my side with his muzzle. I stumbled, barely holding on. When I looked at him with feigned reproach, he snorted and continued lapping from his bucket. This produced some smiles from my audience, but I pretended not to notice, puffing my cheeks as I continued toiling and moiling with the rope.

  There was some shuffling noise when at last I pulled out another full bucket, and in my periphery, I saw Jun moving. Swiftly, he approached me just as I took hold of the bucket with both hands, and gave another firm push with his muzzle. It was enough to overturn it and drench me with the cold water.

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  Following that, he resumed lapping from his bucket again as if nothing had transpired, while I stood perfectly still with my dark hair over my face and water dripping from every inch of me. Although I couldn’t see, I heard the men laughing and the women chuckling softly. I could bet none of their horses did that.

  Pushing my locks aside so that I could see again, I gave Jun an annoyed push. “Give me your bucket. You spilled from mine, now I’ll have yours.” I attempted to take it from him, but he just bit at the rope handle and shifted it away from me before he put it on the ground and kept drinking with his backside to me. “Hey!” The chuckles around me increased slightly. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  Jun bit the handle-rope again and turned to me, swinging it left and right like I had taught him, and successfully splashing me. His ears wiggled with excitement.

  “You think you’re so smart, huh?” I grabbed the lower part of the bucket and tugged at it, but he didn’t let go. Much like a dog, he tugged back to his side in waves. “Jun, give me the bucket right now.” The second time I pulled sharply and with full force, and he let go. The momentum threw me backward, causing me to fall on the ground, with water from the bucket spilling over me again. Jun came up to me and took away his bucket victoriously.

  This time, the laughter and applause resounded, clear enough to reach every part of village square. With a sigh, I pulled myself up and smiled at Jun as I tapped him encouragingly on the forehead, whispering to him, “Good boy. You know your tricks well.”

  After that I hurried back to Eina’s house, feeling that if I remained to collect the laurels from my acrobatics, I might catch a serious cold. That would make me a real fool.

  In just a few days, I became popular and soon got another chance at the tavern. The space was chock-full of people when I arrived. It was a particularly cold night, wind squeezing through the cracks with thin and hollow whistles, and blowing unceasingly over the wavering candle-flames. There were more people tonight than I had prior seen on the streets of Arst altogether. This was my chance to strike hard, I thought, eyeing the multitude as I squeezed my half-empty glass.

  Most of them were half-inebriated already, which made it easier for me. Ale did a spectacular job of turning terrible jokes into good ones. There were no children around; that was a great perk. When children were absent, to me it meant that people—knowingly or unknowingly—sought respite from them. It meant they were ready to be entertained. This was the right time and place for me to be. If laughter was forbidden here, then it had turned into taboo. And if it was taboo, then it was desirable. The best part of tonight was that these people ached to laugh. It was a job half done. All I had to do was push them over the edge.

  With a little cough to clear my throat and pull the focus on me, I propped myself up on the counter and tossed my mane of black coils over my shoulders, ruffling them a bit. “Some of you may know,” I began out loud, crossing my legs, “that lovely farmer Aiden here wants to marry me.”

  Everyone’s arrow of attention shifted on me, for a quiet beat. Then voices and whistling swelled up in the dusty room. I made eyes at robust, large-framed Aidan from across the dim space. Unsurprisingly, he blushed in an angry red. Pushing his pint away, he settled back in his place and folded hands defensively.

  “He clearly hasn’t taken a good look at my disproportional face nor has he given special attention to any of my raunchy effusions at places like this. You would think the man is intentionally aiming for the ugliest and loudest wife in the vicinity.” They roared with laughter. My blood boiled at the sound. Oh, yes. They’re mine now. “Why else would a man stoop so low?”

  I shook my head at him. “I only wish you well, sir. You’ll be screaming in horror when you wake up every morning to see you’ve tumbled with a scarecrow. Unless you intended to use me as a scarecrow for your crops in the first place,” I added, pulling myself down on my feet to strike a pose, hands on my hips and chin up. “I am just as good at scaring away hungry sparrows as I am enthusiastic lechers.”

  Laughter reverberated within the tavern. I heard a whistle from someone seated in the back. “What? Do I have even more volunteers now? Are there no decent, respectable women in this village that you’re all so desperate to have a go at the spoiled one?” Chuckles followed as I waved my finger with a warning.

  “Now you must be wondering exactly how spoiled I am. Let me tell you—very.” Quiet settled, and I paused for impact. “So spoiled, you’ll bless me with a child and then the child will look like the last bandit I seduced.” Most of them laughed; the men primarily. “So spoiled that your wives and mothers will band together to banish me from the village for ever… and I’ll thank them. It was my plan to leave all along.” And the women laughed now too.

  “People often ask me: how did you manage to not get robbed and killed by the roaming villains on the roads for so long? A lone woman, at that.”

  Curious silence spread into the room, and I leaned back on my elbows, against the counter.

  “It’s because I’m a loud-mouthed shrew. Upon meeting me, all men flee as if I’m a harbinger of another blight.” Laughter rang out immediately, but I waved them off. “Not Aiden here, though,” I added, nodding in his direction. “Begs the question if something is actually wrong with Aiden… and his standards.” I made an open, questioning motion with my hands, addressing him directly. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

  Aidan was scowling now, while the men who sat on his table nudged him with amusement.

  “People would also ask who the devil I think I am. And I’d explain to them that when you get possessed by the angry spirits of a thousand funny men, you then transform into a rare mythical monster that haunts bandits in their sleep—in every way possible. How rare it is I cannot tell you, but this I can say with certainty: it’s highly dangerous, dwells in populated areas, and is commonly known as a funny woman.”

  This time I received some clapping too. I shrugged.

  “Truth be told,” again, I waved my hand to soothe them as I confessed, “a lot of men have tried to attack me.” I paused, heaving a long sigh. “For my coin, not out of any lust or affection.” One or two chuckles echoed in the silence. “But I just pull out my dagger and yell Give me all your coin or I’ll ravish you! before they say it to me. You know, they always say that. And when you say it first, before they do, it has an astonishing effect. Establishes dominance. Rouses fear. Love it.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?” a young man raised his mug at me.

  “If it doesn’t work, you just stab ‘em in the thigh or higher and run as fast as you can. They won’t catch you if they can’t walk anymore—or reproduce. And…” They laughed so hard at this that it made me smile in surprise, my words trailing off.

  No local woman dared speak like I did, or do the things I did, yes. I was aware my person was shockingly new and exciting to these people. And I understood it was ten times easier to make someone laugh if they were inebriated already. But I still didn’t consider myself that funny. Their tremendous reaction was unexpected. Those bits were mediocre, yet they laughed like they had starved to hear something amusing, if only half-amusing. It was like giving food to a sick person: a single morsel was enough to make them full.

  When the moment prolonged and they still hadn’t calmed down, I had to step up and curtsy for them three times in gratitude.