February 14, 2025 Bryton Kober

The Flycap Courtier

When the summer heat weighs heavy, and the air hums thick with the drone of flies, there is talk of the Flycap Courtier. He is not seen in the deep woods or on forgotten paths, he lingers at the edges of gardens, compost heaps, and kitchens where fruit has turned sweet with rot.

Tall and cloaked like a nobleman who has fallen into disgrace, his wide-brimmed hat curls upward into a star-tipped hook, buzzing with a halo of flies. His face is fixed in a mockery of politeness, his lips curled into an eternal, strained smile that never quite meets his eyes. His clothes are grand but stained, silk embroidered with pestle and spoon, crusted with the faint residue of honey and vinegar.

The Courtier’s presence is a sign that decay and abundance have met—when harvests overflow, but the larder is poorly kept. He is drawn to homes where jams ferment in forgotten jars, where bread molds in the corners, where cider barrels bloat and leak into the earth.

But he is no punisher.
The Flycap Courtier is a reminder, an emissary of the delicate line between plenty and spoilage.

He drifts into kitchens unseen. A buzzing in the air is the first sign. Then comes the discovery:

Fruit overripe overnight.
A jar of preserves split from within.
A fine cheese covered in flies, though sealed just the evening before.

But there is another side to him.
Those who respect the balance of harvest, who tend their kitchens with care, who preserve wisely and compost freely, sometimes find small gifts after the Courtier’s visit.
A spoon of golden honey left on the windowsill.
A vinegar that ferments richer than expected.
A cluster of mushrooms sprouting sweet and safe.

He is a guest to be welcomed, not feared.

The Herb of Balance

The Flycap Courtier is said to favor the scent of Marjoram, an herb of both warmth and preservation.
Cooks of old would hang marjoram above their larders, believing it pleased the Courtier and kept spoilage at bay. A pinch sprinkled into stews or preserves was thought to invite his favor, ensuring the food would keep through the harshest winters.

Even now, in villages that still whisper his name, you will find marjoram sprigs tied with twine above pantry doors, a quiet pact between the household and the Courtier.