Spence wanted one thing: to be the kind of jester his father was. Loud. Dumb. Impossible to ignore. His father had spent every day driving Chester up a wall, and Spence meant to do the same. He stood on the crystal ground, red and purple face grinning, ready to pull the greatest prank of his life. There was one problem. He had nothing to prank with. Spence patted his pockets. Empty. No squirting flower. No buzzer. No bucket to drop on Chester's grumpy head. He was a jester with empty hands, and empty hands got laughed at, not laughed with. The sapphire crystals glittered under his boots like they were mocking him too. "You look like a clown who forgot his own act," said a voice behind him. Spence turned. Another jester stood there. Same long two-pointed hat. Same half-red, half-purple skin. But this one wore a jagged collar and a grin full of teeth. His eyes glowed sharp and orange. He looked like Spence's reflection gone mean. "I'm his kid," Spence said. "Well. I want to prank Chester. I don't have anything to do it with." The sharp-toothed jester laughed. "Tricks aren't in your pockets, little one. They're in your head." He crouched and picked up a loose sapphire crystal. He rolled it across his knuckles, then it vanished. He opened his empty hand. Gone. Spence's mouth fell open. "Where did it go?" "Behind your ear." The jester reached out and pulled the crystal from Spence's hat. "A real prankster doesn't need props. He uses what's already there." Spence looked around. Crystals everywhere. Loose stones. His own long hat. His own two hands. He had thought he owned nothing. He had been standing on a whole field of gags. "Show me again," Spence said. The jester showed him. How to hide a stone in a fist. How to make a hand look empty. How to point one way while the other hand worked. Spence dropped the crystal a dozen times. His fingers were clumsy. But the thirteenth time, the crystal vanished clean. "Now you have hands full of nothing," the jester said. "And nothing is the best prop there is." Spence practiced until his palms ached. He learned to slip a crystal up his sleeve. He learned to shake a hand and leave a stone behind. By the time the blue light faded, he wasn't a jester with empty hands anymore. He was a jester with a trick. Spence turned toward the path that led to Chester. His grin stretched wide. "He's going to hate this," Spence said. "That," said the sharp-toothed jester, "is the whole point." Spence walked off with a crystal already hidden in his fist. He had the skill now. All he needed was Chester's face when the first trick landed.