The bells of Saint Orro rang thirteen times at noon because King Bertram had decided twelve was too ordinary. By the time the final bell faded over the palace roofs, no one in the court seemed willing to admit that noon had worked perfectly well for generations. Inside the Hall of Peacocks, beneath painted rafters and tall windows streaked with rain, the king’s ministers were discussing war.

“The eastern sea has ignored royal authority for six hundred years,” Chancellor Venn declared. He stood over a long oak table covered in maps, his silver pointer resting against the coastline. “It gives shelter to pirates, destroys fishing villages during storms, and has never paid a single coin in tax.”

King Bertram leaned forward on his throne. “Can we demand payment?” he asked, while several advisers nodded as though this were a reasonable question. Admiral Cask, who had spent most of his life at sea, lowered his eyes and said nothing.

“We can demand whatever Your Majesty wishes,” Venn replied. “If the sea refuses, we send the army to the coast and establish royal authority.” He tapped the map again, harder this time, while the gathered lords murmured their approval.

The doors opened behind them, and a line of little brass bells announced Merrin before he spoke. The court jester entered in a patched coat of red and yellow, carrying a wooden scepter and wearing a hat decorated with small carved turnips. “Forgive me, Majesty,” he announced. “I was delayed by a serious dispute with a staircase, but I am pleased to report that I lost.”

The court laughed, and Bertram immediately brightened. “Merrin, you are just in time. Chancellor Venn has discovered that we are at war with the sea.” Merrin stopped in the middle of the hall, slowly removed his hat, and stared at the chancellor.

“The entire sea?” Merrin asked. “Majesty, I must protest. Surely we should begin with a pond and work our way upward.” More laughter passed through the room, and Bertram clapped his hands.

Venn did not smile. “The proposal is to secure the eastern coast and demonstrate that the Crown will not tolerate continued attacks on its territory.” Merrin nodded carefully and stepped toward the map while the rain continued tapping against the windows.

“Then I understand completely,” Merrin said. “We march the army to the shore, shout at the water, and wait for it to surrender.” Bertram laughed again, but Admiral Cask finally raised his head.

“That is not the strategy,” Venn snapped. “The army would occupy the coastline.” Merrin looked from Venn to the king and then back at the map.

“The coastline is already occupied,” Merrin said. “Mostly by fishermen.” A few nobles laughed before realizing the chancellor was glaring at them.

Venn folded his arms. “You are making nonsense of a serious matter.” Merrin gave him a cheerful bow and replied, “That is why His Majesty employs me.”

The room quieted just enough for the rain to become noticeable again. Bertram rested his chin against one hand, watching Merrin. “Go on, fool. How would you defeat the sea?”

Merrin picked up the silver pointer. “First, Majesty, we must establish whether our soldiers can breathe underwater.” He turned toward Admiral Cask. “Admiral?”

“No,” Cask said.

Merrin looked surprised. “None of them?” Cask shook his head, and several men around the table began looking uncomfortable.

“Then our campaign has encountered its first difficulty,” Merrin said. “Fortunately, I have discovered a second.” He reached into his coat and pulled out an empty purse.

Bertram frowned. “What is that supposed to be?” Merrin held the purse upside down and shook it over the table.

“My impression of the Royal Treasury,” he said.

Nobody laughed.

Treasurer Pell slowly looked toward the floor. Bertram noticed immediately and turned toward him. “Pell?”

The treasurer swallowed. “The treasury is under some strain, Majesty.” Merrin leaned toward him and asked, “How much strain?”

Pell hesitated before answering. “At current expenditure, we can pay the army for approximately three more weeks.” The room went still.

Bertram stared at him. “Three weeks?” Pell nodded, while Chancellor Venn began gathering the maps together.

Merrin put his empty purse back into his coat. “In that case, Majesty, I recommend we postpone conquering the sea until we can afford boots.” Admiral Cask covered his mouth with one hand.

Bertram looked slowly around the council table. “Cancel the campaign,” he said. “And Pell, you and I are going to discuss the treasury.”

Venn started to object, but the king raised a hand. Merrin immediately jumped onto the council table, tripped over his own wooden scepter, and crashed into a pile of maps.

The court burst into laughter.

Merrin stayed on the floor for several seconds while ministers pointed and the king applauded his ridiculous antics. Then he gathered his hat, replaced the little wooden turnips, and climbed back to his feet.

Everyone in the kingdom knew Merrin was a fool.

Merrin had spent twenty-three years making certain they believed it.