“The emperor doesn’t have an army, Klawde,” Barx said. “Or bombs.”
“Come again?” I said.
“Emperors haven’t had military powers for millennia,” Barx said. “Didn’t you ever wonder why the last empress never stopped you from conquering other galaxies?”
“I assumed it was because she was pathetic and lazy.”
“Look, I have some good news,” Barx said. “The imperial work season officially began today. I just got back from the Hall of the Cosmos, and I’ve got lots of really important business for you to attend to.”
This sounded intriguing. “Such as?”
“You’re going to love this,” Barx said, madly wagging his tail. “First up is a ribbon-cutting ceremony in the Booya Quadrant!”
“A ribbon-cutting ceremony?” This yellow oaf could not be serious.
“Yes! It’s for a new peace academy, where young mongooses and snakes of the Jorgian Cluster will study alongside each other and learn to put aside their differences.”
I hacked up a hairball and hung up on the fool.
CHAPTER 13
When Mom got home and saw Dad’s new fermentation project, she was not happy.
“Krish! Where are we supposed to park?” she said. “You have to move this . . . operation somewhere outside.”
Dad tried complaining, but Mom told him that the garage was for cars, not cabbages.
“Why don’t you use the gardening shed?” she said. “We haven’t even opened it since we moved in.”
That wasn’t true. We had opened it—once. And a couple thousand bugs crawled out.
“Come on, Raj,” Mom said. “Let’s help your dad by cleaning up the shed.”
Inside was as bad as I remembered it. Besides a very large population of spiders and stink bugs, there was also a bunch of stuff the previous owners had left behind. Mom and I moved all the tarps, rusty shovels, and cracked flowerpots out of the way while Dad packed up his jars and vegetables.
Once the shed was clear, I helped Dad carry his supplies. But I tripped over a broken rake handle and spilled sauerkraut juice all over myself. Suddenly I was sopping wet and smelled like a deli.
“Raj, I think you’d better take a shower,” Mom said. “The first meeting of newspaper club is at six thirty.”
Just when I thought the day couldn’t get worse.
Upstairs, I found Klawde lying on the bed. He opened one eye.
“Ogre, were you in some sort of battle?”
“No,” I said. “I was helping my parents.”
“Pity,” he said, smoothing a whisker. “Well, are you interested in being in one? I am looking for recruits for my imperial army.”
I peeled off my wet shirt. “Um, no.”
”Then you are useless to me,” Klawde said. “As usual.”
CHAPTER 14
How could I crush my enemies without an army? Really, how could I do anything without an army?
The sour-smelling boy-ogre had gone to subject himself to the water torture nozzle when my minion called. Without even berating him first, I explained the situation.
“Wait, what? You don’t have imperial troops?” Flooffee said. “How can you inspire fear throughout the universe without them?”
“My question exactly,” I said. “It is extremely frustrating. But give me good news, Flooffee. Tell me how the cats of Lyttyrboks adore my anti-canine edicts.”
“Oh, a lot, Your Greatestness,” my lackey said. “Those new laws are super popular.”
“And the calico,” I purred. “How does she look with my initials shaved into her fur?”
“Welllll, to be totally honest,” Flooffee said, “she hasn’t exactly done that yet.”
My purr stopped cold in my throat. “She has at least complied with edict #27, I trust? All rulers shall praise me and hang banners with my likeness upon every building.”
“Oh, there are definitely banners with you on them, but I really don’t think you want to see them. I mean—”
“Show me!”
With a sigh, Flooffee synced the communicator with a live feed from the alleys of Lyttyrboks, which were plastered with pictures that made my tail puff in fury.
“These have all been photoshopped! They make me look like a fool—they make me look almost as stupid as you!” I thundered. “And that one! With me sniffing Barx’s butt. That is an outrage!”
“If you think that’s bad, you should hear her oath of allegiance to you,” my minion muttered.
“Recite it to me now!”
“You’re not going to like it,” he said. “I pledge to be treasonous to the emperor / Who is a big dumb jerk / And to that fool, I have to say / MEOW MEOW HISS.”
My blood boiled! I needed to destroy something.
No—I needed to destroy someone!
“Here is my newest imperial edict: The Kitten Queen is hereby deposed!” I thundered. “And after her whiskers are plucked out and her tail shaved, she shall be impaled upon the tallest spire of the Skratshink Palace!”
My lackey’s eyes went wide. “Whoa, that’s not going to be easy,” he said. “Let me know when you plan on doing this deposing, because there’s an underground bunker I want to be hiding in.”
“It shall happen immediately,” I said, leaning in. “And it shall be you who does the deposing!”
My minion’s eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head. He gulped.
“Me?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “You.”
His whiskers began to quiver in fear. “Uh, how about before I depose her, you give the Calico Queen one last chance to follow one of your orders, O Merciful Leader?”
I was about to rage against this pathetic suggestion, but then I thought—Merciful Leader? That was new. It would make a fine addition to the list of 10,001 epithets bespeaking my glory.
“Fine,” I said. “The calico gets one last chance. If she complies with edict #12—All planetary rulers must build a colossal statue of the emperor—then I will allow her to live. If she doesn’t, she is doomed. As are you!”
CHAPTER 15
The Elba Middle School newspaper club met in a corner of the library underneath the big poster of the school mascot, the Fightin’ Bookworm. Besides me and my mom, the group included Cedar and Steve, Scorpion and his dad, Sarah from math, and two identical twins named Imogen and Isla. Everyone except Scorpion seemed pretty psyched to be there.
I wondered how much his dad had paid to get him to come.
After we all introduced ourselves, my mom gave her speech about the importance of a free press, which I’d already heard at least ten times, and then she talked about our responsibility as journalists to objectively report facts. When she was done, Scorpion’s dad said we needed to pick a name for our newspaper.
“How about the Bookworm Bugle?” Imogen suggested.
Isla thought we should call it the Worm. “Because a newspaper has sections, just like a worm.”
Everyone else thought that sounded gross.
“How about the Annelida Gazette? That’s the scientific name for earthworms,” Cedar said. “Or maybe the Acta Diurna, which is Latin for daily deeds.”
Scorpion coughed nerd into his hand.
Steve waved his hand excitedly. “I’ve got a great name!” he said. “Let’s call it . . . the New York Times.”
The room went silent.
Scorpion’s dad cleared his throat. “That’s a solid idea, buddy, but I believe that name is already taken.”
“Dang it,” Steve said.
We took a vote, and the Bookworm Bugle won, basically by default. Then it was time to pick an editor, and Scorpion’s dad surprised everyone by nominating his son for the job.
Scorpion shot his dad a look that would’ve gotten me grounded for life.
Then Mom nominat
ed me. I tried to stop her, but she whispered in my ear, “Founding editor of a student newspaper? I think I hear Yale calling . . .”
I said I thought Cedar should do it. Then Imogen and Isla both said that they wanted to be the editor. Pretty soon they were fighting over it, but since they were twins, it was hard to tell who was winning. Finally Cedar came up with the idea of picking names out of a hat.
Steve raised his hand. “But none of us are wearing hats,” he said. “You’re not allowed to in school. It’s kind of a dumb rule.”
“How about we use this basket?” my mom said, grabbing one from the librarian’s desk.
Cedar gave us strips of notepad paper to write our names on. Then she put them in the basket, shook it, and Steve reached in to grab one.
Please don’t pick me, I thought. Please don’t pick me.
Steve didn’t pick me. This would’ve been a relief—if he hadn’t picked the one kid I wanted to be editor even less.
CHAPTER 16
I was in a mood most foul. I had no army. Every weasel in the cosmos was mocking me. I doubted the calico would follow my latest order or that my minion would be able to depose her. And my paw had grown cramped from pressing IGNORE on the communicator every time Barx called with another stupid bill he needed me to sign into law.
However, the Humans had departed, leaving me with the rare opportunity to spend an evening alone. Why not put scheming aside and relax for a bit?
So I licked a stick of butter, watched some excessively violent entertainment on the enormous monitor in the living room, and checked in with Ham-Sturr to humiliate my enemies for a bit. The three of them were now spinning in giant wheels connected to power generators that delivered intermittent shocks to their tails. One had to credit the hamsters—they were most creative when it came to torture.
After a brief nap in a paper bag from the local food-buying facility, I used the vacuum cleaner as an exuviator before retiring to the “master bathroom”—I did like that name—to use the toilet and read the Economist.
Suddenly the air was filled with a buzzing sound. A moment later, an extremely unwelcome face appeared.
“Hey there, good buddy!”
It was Barx, visiting via his hovering holo-drone.
“Haven’t you heard of privacy?”
“Sorry,” the mutt said, “but you haven’t responded to any of my calls, and it’s been a while since you gleeted any imperial edicts. I wanted to make sure you were okay!”
“I am taking some ‘me time,’ ” I sniffed.
“That’s swell.” The fool wagged. “We all need that! As emperor, though, you kind of have to always be available.”
“Why?” I growled. “According to you, I have no army. And if I have no army, I have no power. And if I have no power, there is nothing for me to do.”
“But you have lots to do!” Barx said. “Like setting a good example for your subjects. And spreading love and empathy across the cosmos! Oh, and the jerboas of planet Bipeedo are unveiling a new community center. They’d sure love for you to make a speech at the opening.”
“How many of them may I eat?”
Before the mutt could answer, the holo-drone gave a little hiccup, and a second image came beaming out. It was one of the pandas from GAG—the Good Animals Group.
“Emperor,” the black-and-white buffoon shouted. “I’m a reporter with the Bamboo Bulletin. Can you comment on the Intra-Cosmos Disarmament Treaty you just signed?”
“Disarmament?” I turned to Barx. “You had me sign a treaty? To take weapons away? How dare you!”
“It will make the universe such a safer place,” he said. “And you really should read things before signing them.”
“How dare you speak to your—”
Before I could finish my harsh reprimand, another hologram beamed out of Barx’s device. This time, it was that wretched space dog, Muffee, the Dog Star Cluster’s so-called Leader of the Pack.
“The planet Asimo V is in danger—all six of its suns are setting for the first time in eons,” she said. “We need ten thousand transport ships—”
“What you need! Does anyone ever think about what I need?” I yelled. “Because I need solitude.”
The panda pulled out a notebook and pen. Was he writing this down? What was wrong with these animals?
“Emperor,” the panda said, “do you have a plan for this tragic—”
“No comment!” I shouted. The first chance I got, I would outlaw journalists throughout the universe. And holo-drones. And dogs!
“Okay, everybody,” Barx said. “Let’s let our leader finish his, uh, business. When he’s done, I just know he’ll be delighted to deal with these matters.” He panted at me. “And after that, Klawde, I’ve got a few more million documents for you to sign.”
I spat. “Did you say million?”
“Better limber up that paw, good buddy.” He wagged his stupid tail at me. “Isn’t ruling the universe fun?”
CHAPTER 17
The newspaper meeting was finally over, and Mom, Dad, and I were in the corner booth at Bob’s Pizza Palace.
“I think you should write a column featuring parents with cool jobs,” Dad said. “Like being a dentist!”
I told him there was no way I’d write about that, because for one thing, no one cared what people’s parents did, and for another, I was quitting the club.
“You are not quitting the club,” Mom said.
“Dad,” I said, turning to him, “Mom’s being totally unreasonable. Scorpion is the editor!”
Dad took a loud slurp of root beer. “I’m sure he won’t be that bad,” he said.
“Are you kidding? The guy spells his own name wrong! How’s he going to edit a paper?” I said. “Plus, he’s super mean.”
“I think it will be a very good learning experience for that young man,” Mom said. “And he will greatly benefit from your help. You have always been an excellent writer, Raj, and I’m sure the newspaper club will improve your skills even more.”
There really was no arguing with her.
“Maybe you can have me as a guest parent columnist,” Dad offered. “I have a lot of things to say about Rutherford.”
I just sighed.
After we got the check, I put half of my pizza in a to-go box.
“What’s the matter, son?” Dad asked. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I want to save some for later,” I said.
The real reason, of course, was that if I didn’t bring any slices home, Klawde would throw an imperial kitty tantrum.
CHAPTER 18
As if Barx’s never-ending calls weren’t bad enough, now all the other ministers of the Cosmic Council rang me day and night with one boring crisis after the other. And the reporter from the Bamboo Bulletin was constantly hounding me for comments on disasters and idiotic do-good laws I cared nothing about. Or worse, he asked me about legislation I actively loathed, such as Barx’s Safe Spaceways Campaign. A speed limit in outer space? Next Barx would want to outlaw violence and sabotage!
For once, it was a relief to get a call from my lackey.
“O Bossest One, turn on the Feline Tele-Feed,” Flooffee said gleefully. “I think you’re going to like what you see!”
On-screen was the live broadcast of a rally. Thousands of cats thronged the great plaza of the Skratshink Palace and spilled into the alleyways. In the center of the square, I could see what appeared to be a huge statue, hidden under cloth. The caterwauling of a hundred-feline choir reached a crescendo, and the Kitten Queen appeared on the palace balcony.
She addressed the crowd—not that any of them could understand her mewling—and then her two brothers approached the statue. They pulled the cloth away to reveal the most magnificent sight I had ever beheld: a colossal sculpture of myself!
I purred triumphantly. Not only had she
followed edict #12 to the letter, the calico had placed the statue in the most esteemed position of all of Lyttyrboks—the very spot where Myttynz the Mrowdyr had skewered Boot-Zee the Just in the year 2B.
While I would have preferred the statue to be carved from fine Helvoxian marble rather than mere wood, the gesture satisfied me sufficiently.
“And it was super easy to convince her to do it, O Exalted One,” Flooffee said. “See, we had her all wrong.”
Perhaps it was true. But what were her brothers doing with those flamethrowers?
I watched in horror as they turned their weapons toward my statue, which instantly burst into a tower of flames. These abominable, backstabbing Earth kittens! And now the entire mob was cheering. The calico had turned all Lyttyrboks against me!
This insult would not stand!
“The time for mercy is OVER!” I thundered. “Flooffee, depose this ungrateful little beast—now!”
“Ksh ksh! Ksh ksh! What’s that you say, boss?” my minion said. “I can’t hear you! Darn cosmic static.”
“Stop that nonsense! Your trick never fools me,” I said. “Besides, how will you rule Lyttyrboks if you can’t even overthrow a few savage kittens?”
My minion’s eyes grew wide and terrified. “Wait. You want me to take the calico’s place?”
“Who else? You don’t think I am going to return, do you?” I said. “I am the Emperor of the Universe.”
“Look, Your Imperialist, that’s, uh, really flattering and all. But I’ve sort of run Lyttyrboks before, and to be honest, it’s not that fun. It’s just hiss this, hiss that, and someone’s always trying to pounce on you,” he said. “Besides, being your lackey is kind of a full-time job.”
Revenge of the Kitten Queen Page 3