Bobbert rolled his eyes and refuted, “Nonsense. Everybody knows the Dorkis only do the do outside, in front of crowds.” To Head, he said, “And don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
Head threw up in his mouth a little bit.
The King then asked Tinyjohnson, “Anything else?”
“Before you left, you asked me to prepare a good foreshadow for your return, so here goes: Barring some sort of battle of wits with a rival family member, Functionary Aaron’s son Bobbby Aaron will be ruling House Aaron before the Summer arrives.”
“Excellent foreshadowing, Tinyjohnson, simply excellent.” Bobbert then asked Head, “Hey Barky-Boy, when’s Summer coming again?”
Head shrugged. “No idea. All I know is that Summer is coming.”
“You sure about that?” Bobbert queried. “You’re sure Summer is coming.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Summer is coming.”
“Let me get this straight. Summer is coming?”
“Yes. Summer is coming.”
“To clarify: Summer is coming?”
“Yes. Summer is coming.”
“Just so we’re one hundred percent clear, Summer is coming?”
“Yes. Summer is coming.”
“So what I’m gathering from you is that Summer is coming.”
“Yes. Summer is coming.”
“Great.” King Bobbert smiled. “Summer is coming. Now that that’s settled, let’s go get our grog on.”
GATEWAY
Gateway Barker stood on one side of her son Allbran’s bed, with Maester Blaester on the other, both staring sadly at the sleeping boy. Gateway sighed, “There’s no improvement, is there?”
Mirroring Lady Barker’s sigh, Blaester explained, “Not even a little bit.”
Allbran’s eyes popped open, and he said, “Of course there’s no improvement. Because there’s nothing to improve. I’m feeling tip-top.”
Nodding, Blaester said, “I’m certain you are, young man.” He whispered to Gateway, “He’s delirious.”
“I heard that,” Allbran exclaimed, “and I’m not delirious!”
Gateway whispered, “That’s exactly what a delirious person would say.”
“Hel-lo,” Allbran said. “I’m right here. I can hear you.”
Blaester patted Allbran on the arm and soothed, “There, there, young man. You’ll be fine soon enough.” And then he punched young Barker square in the nose.
Wiping the blood from his face, Allbran kvetched, “Hey, that hurt.”
Gateway said, “I know you’re in pain, my love. You’ll be fine soon enough.”
Allbran roared, “Aargh!” then pulled the covers over his head.
“That’s right, sweet prince,” Gateway said. “Sleep the sleep of healing. You’ll be fine soon enough.”
Allbran repeated, “Aargh!” then went silent.
Just then, Bobb Barker burst into the room and roared, “Lady Gateway Barker, come on down! You are the next contestant on…” And then he trailed off.
After a moment or two of awkward silence, Gateway asked, “I’m the next contestant on what?”
Bobb scratched his head and said, “I forget. So how’s Allbran?”
From under his bedsheet, Allbran said, “Peachy keen!”
Gateway contradicted, “In massive pain.”
“I’m certain he’ll improve quickly,” Bobb opined. “So Ma, now that Pa’s off Footing it up in Cap Ceity, let’s talk chain of command. Who’s running this rodeo?”
Gateway said, “No idea.”
“Well, I do,” Bobb pointed out. “Firstborn male trumps the Lady of the House. All me, all the time.”
“Is that correct?” Gateway asked. She had not read the endless House Barker Charter in many seasons—when you are in an insanely long book, it’s well-nigh impossible to read an insanely long book—so it was possible Bobb was right.
“Sure,” Bobb said. “What, you don’t believe me? You think I’d make up some crazy rule just so I could be the leader? You think I’m a power-mad death merchant who wants to lead his House into battle strictly so he could taste blood?”
Allbran popped his head out from under the covers and said, “Yes,” after which Maester Blaester elbowed the boy in the head, after which Allbran fell silent for the remainder of the chapter.
Bobb continued, “I’m the firstborn male, and it’s my show now. No matter what that bigmouth Alyxandyr Hayg says, I’m in charge.”
Taken aback by her son’s vehemence, Gateway took a step back and said, “Okay, okay, you’re in charge, you’re in charge. Jeez Louise.” She then thought, This is great. I won’t have to do anything around this dump.
Bobb screwed up his face and queried, “Wait, what do you mean you won’t have to do anything? And you honestly think this castle is a dump?”
“Did I say that out loud?” After Bobb nodded, she grinned. “I was kidding! These are the jokes, folks!”
Bobb shook his head and said, “Leave the funny stuff to Tritone Sinister, Mom. Okay, then, I’m outta here. Maester Blaester, what say we figure out how, when, and where to blow some stuff up?”
“Yes, m’substitute Lord.” Blaester bowed.
After the two men left, Gateway pulled some Godsweede from her cleavage, lit it up, took a soothing puff, and lowered herself to the floor. As she leaned against the wall, she decided it might be a good idea to plan how she would keep House Barker in order while Head was off getting on the good Foot, and Bobb was off being a power-mad death merchant, but then she got hungry and lost her train of thought.
A few puffs later, she heard a flock of cats meowing from across the castle … but that was far from uncommon, as auditory hallucinations were among Godsweede’s side effects. But the meowing grew louder and realer, so she managed to get herself on her feet and stumbled down the hallway toward where the meowing seemed to originate: the library.
Gateway counted a dozen cats wandering around the small, dark library in a daze, a daze that most likely stemmed from the small pile of Godsweede that was smoldering next to the Fantasy Fiction section. She did not remember Godsweeding it up in the library, but she had a tendency to not remember much, so she was not particularly concerned.
After she stamped out the roach, Gateway returned to Allbran’s room, where she found herself face to face with … herself. Smiling at her doppelgänger, she said, “Goodness, you are one beautiful woman.”
The Lady smiled and said, “As are you, m’Lady. I apologize for my unannounced intrusion, but have wanted to meet you for a long time now, because I think we will be great friends, because aside from the fact that you and I look remarkably alike, I understand you worship at the altar of Nestamarley.”
“I have been known to partake,” Gateway admitted.
The Gateway lookalike pulled an onion-sized ball of Godsweede from out of nowhere and offered, “I offer this to you, m’Lady. A gift from one worshipper to another.”
Gateway gawked at the ball of weede and said, “This is huge. No way I can bogart this all to myself. Care to join me?”
“No,” the lookalike said, “this is all for you. It is my pleasure. And I should advise you that this is so pure that you can chew it.”
“Then chew it I shall,” Gateway exclaimed, before putting a large pinch between her cheek and gums.
One swallow later, the room disappeared, and Gateway Barker found herself floating in a red void. Her heart rate skyrocketed, she broke out in a drenching sweat, and she started panting. As she drifted through the scarlet nothingness, Gateway’s entire body shook as if she were riding a hungry horse bucking for oats and onions. Then her entire body became cocooned by a bright, warming light, and she felt a sense of peace that was transcendent.
Gateway had no idea how long it was before she regained her faculties, but when she returned to some semblance of normal consciousness, her hand was bleeding and her near twin was crumpled in the corner, her face a mélange of blackness, blueness, and bloodness. She looked aroun
d the room and noticed a bloodied knife on Allbran’s bed, then put two and two together, and even though she came up with five, she realized that the fake Gateway had tried to kill Allbran.
At that moment, Lady Gateway Barker decided it was crucial, no, essential, no, vital, no, imperative that she gather her troops and trek to Capaetal Ceity, because that’s what all the royals in Summerseve did when somebody tried to kill a member of their family: Gather up a bunch of people and horses, and go from one place to another.
TRITONE
Tritone Sinister and Juan Nieve took their journey to the Wall, which was long and boring, and not worth recounting here. If you want to know what the trip was like, watch the moving picture Eesy Ryder on mute while listening to Garryson Keylor on Nationyl Publyk Radiyo.
SASHA
“Oh. My. Gods. Dinky, you are, like, totally cute.”
Sasha Barker’s direpanda, Dinky, was far from the sharpest onion in the patch, but that didn’t stop Sasha from loving the animal as if he were as smart as the great Easterrabbit scientist Steevyn Hawkyng. Sasha loved him, and petted him, and squeezed him, and called him George, which was quite confusing to Dinky, because even though he was not particularly bright, he did know his name.
The two of them were wandering along the muddy banks of the muddy Capaetal Ceity River, mud muddying up their feet and/or paws, neither with a care in the world … or that is what Sasha told herself. The truth was, she could not stop thinking about Goofrey Barfonme, and how valiant he was, and what a wonderful couple they would make, and how she was going to love him, and pet him, and squeeze him, and call him George. But she was not sure he would like that. For that matter, when it came to Goof, she was not sure of anything.
Sasha heard a voice cry, “Think fast!” then she felt a smack on the back of her head.
“Oh. My. Gods,” Sasha simpered. “That, like, totally hurt.”
Malia skipped up to Sasha—her direpanda, Stinky, was right behind her—and chuckled, “Wimp. That wasn’t even as hard as I could throw.”
“Whatever,” Sasha huffed, then stomped away. Dinky stayed put, however, and started nuzzling Stinky … and this nuzzling took place below Stinky’s belt.
Still chuckling, Malia said, “Whoa, looks like our nation’s philosophy of incest extends to the direpanda community.”
Sasha stopped and asked, “Like, what’s incest?” She turned around and was treated to the sight of Dinky pleasuring Stinky with his long direpanda tongue.
“That,” Malia explained, “is incest.”
“Ewwwwwwww,” Sasha wailed. “That’s, like, totally the grossest thing ever.”
Malia explained, “If living creatures of any sort don’t engage in that sort of behavior—direpandas, humans, whatever—their race will cease to exist. No foreplay means no procreation, and no procreation means no life.”
Sasha scratched her head. “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” Malia asked.
“Any of it.”
Malia scrunched up her face and asked, “Didn’t Mother have the talk with you?”
“Maybe she did. I don’t, like, remember.”
Pointing at the ground, Malia ordered, “Down.” Once the girls were seated comfortably in the mud, Malia said, “When two people love each other very, very much, they get certain feelings, feelings of excitement, and their private parts—the man’s is called a penis, and the woman’s is called a vagina—become sensitive to the touch … but in a good way.” The younger Barker sister then went on to explain to the older Barker sister how, by making love, Lord Headcase and Lady Gateway could create another Barker sister, should they choose to do so.
After Malia finished her lecture, Sasha flicked some mud off her dress and declared, “Oh. My. Gods. That’s, like, totally gross.”
Shrugging, Malia said, “You may feel differently about that in a few years.” The ground then began to rumble, and a horse emerged from the forest, a horse ridden by one Goofrey Barfonme. Noting Sasha’s adoring gaze, Malia said, “Or you may feel differently about that in a few minutes.”
Sasha waved at Goof, then extricated herself from the gooey mud. When Goof brought his horse to a stop, she said, “You look totally awesome, Goof. Like, totally.”
Goof gave Sasha an onion-eating grin, and agreed. “I agree.” And then, silence.
“Do you think I look pretty, Goof?” she asked.
“What? Oh. Yeah. Sure. You look swell.”
Sasha giggled, batted her eyes, and said, “Like, thanks. Come down here and talk to me. I have something to tell you.” After Goof hopped off his horse, Sasha took his hand and pulled the reluctant pretender to the throne toward the riverbank. “So I heard something totally weird today.”
“What’s that?” Goof inquired.
“Okay, so when two people, like, totally love each other very, very much, they get, like, certain awesome feelings, awesome feelings of excitement, and their private parts become, like, totally sensitive to the touch, but in a radical way.” The elder Barker sister then went on to explain to the dumber Barfonme offspring how, by making love, she and he could create a baby Barfonme, should they choose to do so.
After the talk was done, Goof gawked at Sasha and uttered, “That’s repulsive.”
Sasha looked at the growing lump in Goofrey’s pink pantaloons and said, “I don’t know. It might be rad.” She took a step toward him, then kissed Goof on the cheek. He flinched, then pushed her away. The push was not hard, but Sasha’s feet got stuck in the mud, so she lost her balance and fell into the river.
Malia, forgetting that only a handful of chapters ago it was noted that she and her sister were serious rivals, stepped right into Goof’s face and growled, “She may be an idiot, and she may be spoiled, and she may be bitchy, and she may think she’s a macaroni statue goddess, but she’s my sister, and the only person who gets to shove her into the water is me.” She then pulled her sword Syringe from behind her ear and said, “You have insulted my family, and we will now fight to the death. And you might want to pay attention, because there are a Godsdamn lot of fights to the death just around the corner. And around the corner from that. And around the corner from that.” She then mumbled to herself, “Chryst, there’re a lot of fights to the death around this dump. At some point, somebody has to say, enough is enough. Where’s a good editor when you need one?”
Goof stammered, “Um, I don’t think, um, that that’s, um, such a good idea, because, um, because you’re a girl, yeah, that’s it, you’re a little girl, and Barfonme men don’t go to battle with swords against girls.”
Malia got into a fighting stance and teased, “Are you sure it’s not because you’re scared?”
Puffing up his chest, Goof claimed, “Nothing scares me!”
Malia thrust her tiny sword into Goof’s face and he gasped. “Sure, Goof,” Malia sneered, “nothing scares you.” She put her sword away, then added, “You have insulted my family, so we must battle. If swords aren’t acceptable, you can choose your weapon.”
Again puffing up his chest, Goof claimed, “You will never beat me in a battle of wits. Never.”
“Seriously?” Malia asked. “Me and you in a battle of wits?”
Goof nodded confidently and boasted, “Nobody has ever beaten me in a battle of wits. Nobody.”
Malia noted, “That’s because everybody lets you win, dummy.”
“I win my battles fair and square,” Goof asserted, “as I will right now. I will even let you choose the topic.”
“Okay. Baseball.”
“What’s baseball?” Goof asked.
“In 1967,” Malia asked, “who won the American League Triple Crown?”
“The American what?”
“Wrong! Carl Yastrzemski, who batted .326 with 44 homers and 121 RBI.”
“Wait a minute…”
Malia interrupted, “Next question: Name the only pitcher to throw a no-hitter on Opening Day.”
“Opening what?”<
br />
“Wrong! Bob Feller, April 16, 1940. The Tribe beat the White Sox one–zip.”
Goof sniffled and wiped something from his eye. “You’re being really, really mean, Malia.”
“Nut up, Barfonme. Next question, and this is an easy one: Who earned the nickname ‘Mr. October’?”
“Um, I don’t know, maybe Reggie Jackson?”
“Crap. Lucky guess.” She peered at Goof’s face. “Hey, are you crying?”
Goof wiped a tear from his cheek, then sniffled, “I hate you, Malia Barker! You suck! I hope you die! I’m gonna tell my mommy on you!” And then he ran toward the forest, bawling the entire way.
“Hey,” Malia called, “you forgot your horse!” After Goof was out of view, she turned to her sister and said, “Well, I guess I didn’t need to tell you about making babies, did I?”
Gazing adoringly at the forest, Sasha said, “Oh. My. Gods. Goofrey Barfonme is, like, the cutest boy ever. I’m going to totally make love to his penis.”
Malia Barker threw up in her mouth a little bit.
HEADCASE
“Gods, I’m hungry,” Lord Headcase Barker complained from his position on the floor beside the throne, right beside the King’s feet.
King Bobbert Barfonme topped off his mug of top-shelf grog and, staring at the thick, dark purple liquid, noted, “If you throw down a couple bottles of this stuff every day, your appetite won’t seem like much of a problem. For that matter, nothing will seem like much of a problem.”
Oblivion sounded appealing to Head, and he was tempted to go on a grog bender, because it turned out Bobbert had been right: Being the Foot was awful. Aside from having to keep the increasingly erratic King on track, it was one annoyance after another: If Queen Cerevix wasn’t complaining about the horrible state of the castle’s mudroom, it was Goofrey whining about how somebody stole his Leapstyr. If it wasn’t Tinyjohnson trying to undermine what little authority Head had, it was some commoner complaining about the neighbor coveting their wife, their manservant, their maidservant, and their donkey, not to mention playing their music too loud. Taking all that into consideration, it was little wonder that Bobbert spent ninety percent of his life inebriated.
A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot Page 8