Mincey slowly wiped the thick gob away. “You have made your choice. And after my pet is done with your man bits, which shouldn’t take long, he will gnaw his way into your bowels. My Percy is quite hungry and I always take care of my pet.” He opened the cage at the commander’s waist, then proceeded to open the door to Percy’s cage.
The rat darted forward into the open cage. This was not its first time at the human buffet. It sniffed, momentarily, at the man’s scrotum. Then opened its mouth wide, bit down, and tore into the delicate flesh.
Commander Borkin screamed a scream the likes of which Mincey could not recall hearing before. It was deep, yet high-pitched. An agonized sound from deep within.
He smiled.
“Commander, I will return later,” Mincey said between Borkin’s agonized outbursts. “It pains me that I cannot remain; I do so enjoy watching my pet enjoy himself.”
Another scream of torment was the only response Mincey received from the man whose entire body was a mass of corded muscles as he tried to wrest himself from being devoured alive.
“If there is anything you need, Grutha, my stalwart companion, shall remain, and he may inform me of your needs when I return.” He gave a small giggle and tapped on the cage. “Feast, my pet.”
Mincey returned to the feast. A bard was singing an epic ode of some battle or other. Both kings appeared to be enjoying the entertainment while they quaffed their flagons of mead.
The Queen gave a frantic wave to Mincey. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, then made his way along the many long tables, stopping to give the king a small bow. “All is right, My King.”
King Zendar nodded in return. “Enjoy yourself this fine night, Mincey. Share a cup of mead with King Justus and myself. You have earned it.”
“I will, My King.” He reached for a goblet the king’s manservant proffered. “To your highnesses, may your kingdoms always enjoy prosperity as long as you shall live.” He raised his goblet to the kings, also including the queen in his toast.
The queen’s eyes flared. “My lord,” she said. “I fear the festivities have proven too much this eve. I would take my leave to lie down.”
“As you will,” Zendar responded, being used to her bouts of headaches, fatigue, and the like.
Mincey knew better.
The queen rose, gave a slight movement of her head, urging Mincey to follow her.
Mincey winked.
“Your fool is a fine figure of a man,” King Justus said to Zendar. “How has he achieved this?”
Raising his flagon to Mincey, Zendar said, “Mincey, show our esteemed guest why you cut such a fine figure.”
Mincey drained his goblet and inverted it onto the table in front of King Justus. “Sire, your goblet, please.” Justus finished his draught and handed it to Mincey. “Thank you, Sire.” He inverted the cup as well next to his own about a foot apart. He lithely sprang onto the table. He placed one palm on the base of one cup, then onto the other. He bent over the two cups and slowly brought his feet up into the air until he was completely balanced on them, legs straight up to the rafters.
The dining hall became silent. All two hundred guests stared at the feat being performed.
King Justus broke the silence by clapping his hands together.
The entire hall erupted in shouts and cheers.
Mincey hated the cheering and applause. They only reinforced the idea that was all he was good for was entertaining them. But let them laugh. His time was coming.
*
Mincey’s chamber door was flung open. The queen flew into the room. “Mincey, you have to help me!” Zendar said that if I don’t produce an heir…” She paled. “…he will cast me out!”
“But you are with child, Anya.”
The queen’s jaw dropped. “How do you know?”
“I am rather well acquainted with your body, My Queen. I have noticed the small bulge.”
“But I do not want it,” she wailed. “I cannot endure the pain. You must help me get rid of it.”
“But that makes no sense. The king says you must produce an heir—” He thought for a moment, knowing the queen had not bedded the king for some while.
“Why, whose child is it, Anya? The magician’s? Sir Paltrey’s? Father Morel’s?” He couldn’t help the bitter tone in his voice.
Her voice became small. “It’s… it’s… yours.”
Mincey drew back. “Mine? How can you be certain? You have bedded so many…”
“I have bedded no other these past months, save you,” she professed.
“The king?”
“No, he has not desired me—nor I him,” she added.
“You have no choice. You must bear the child. The king demands it or you will be cast out. Anya it is the only way.” His thoughts were in a whirl. A child? His child? A scheme began to form.
“Mincey…” Anya went to him and began to trace her fingers across his neck and shoulders. “Mayhap, now is the time? The king? He is getting old and feeble. He has no heirs…”
Mincey thought, He does have an heir… Me! “What are you saying?”
“If Zendar comes to some misfortune, I would become queen. You could become my prince consort and we could rule Boldovia together. Now is the time to seize this opportunity.” Her robe had fallen open and she leaned into him, pressing her nude body against him.
He pushed her back and lightly rubbed his palm over her soft abdomen. My baby. My heir. Yes, the time is right!
He continued rubbing, moving his fingers lower. Anya arched her back. “Yes, My Queen. Now is the time.”
*
After the departure of King Justus—who was truly grateful for discovering his commander’s deception—Mincey set his plan in motion. He convinced Zendar to wait on the alliance, telling the king that the commander divulged Justus’s true intentions.
The second part of his plan was to have the queen reveal to Zendar that she was finally with child. The king would have to hold off the announcement until they were sure she would deliver a healthy heir. Zendar, having become somewhat senile as well as distrustful of everyone, would try to remember the conception. Mincey would fabricate a story of a past time when the king had been imbibing a little too vigorously and had bedded the queen, producing the result. Zendar, not wanting to appear the fool or thought to be a cuckold, would aver Mincey’s recollection.
Anya told the king of the incipient birth as Mincey had instructed her to do, and Zendar ordered a repast to celebrate, even though no pronouncement was made for the reason of the gathering. The court always enjoyed a feast for any reason. And if the king wanted a feast, he got one.
That night, being in the highest of spirits, and having indulged in a large quantity of spirits, Zendar was now primed for Mincey’s request.
“My king, all these years I have served you well and done your bidding, protecting you from insidious plots and those who would wish ill on you—despite the indignities I have suffered from your soldiers and courtiers. If you would grant this one boon, a document alleging that I am your son, a bastard one, but a most loving and loyal one, I would be so proud and eternally grateful. This would not be revealed, of course, until after such time as you had left this world, which I hope will not be for many years,” he quickly added. “It will give me the protection I would not otherwise have. In addition, if it your wish, I will serve your heir as I have you. What say you, my king? Such a small boon for my years of service and loyalty.”
Zendar narrowed his gaze. “Mincey… I will grant your request. You are correct on all matters. My loyal son! I am all too aware of how my men treat you… Well, no more. They will not take advantage of you after I am gone. Ah… would that you were my legitimate heir. Alas, it is not to be. I will draw up the document this very eve and seal it with my signet.” He held up his left hand to display the enormous ring on his middle finger.
Mincey’s eyes lit up with greed, thinking, That will be mine all too soon, My King. He said, “Thank you, Sire. You
will never know what your magnanimity means to me. Shall I retrieve the parchment for you?”
“If you would. I am suddenly feeling quite fatigued. Let me have done with it and I shall retire.”
A short while later, Mincey clutched his future in his hand, pressed over his heart. He crept down the cold stone hallway to the far end where the queen’s chamber beckoned him.
As he neared the wooden door, he noticed the door had not been shut tightly: She was waiting for him.
He pushed the door open enough to see the enormous bed on the far side of the chamber. And what he saw on the enormous bed was a very white derriere thrusting hard into the queen, who was on all fours. The man having his way with her, Mincey immediately realized, was Rathben, the king’s magician.
“So… my child, eh, Queen Anya?” Mincey whispered, backing away from the door. He would not be telling his good news to the queen this night… or any other. He clutched the scroll hard. “My plans will have to change, I see. Now the question is: Should I wake the king from his drunken stupor or wait until the morrow when he will be thinking more clearly? No question—the sooner the better.”
The king’s chamber was unlocked. The fool. Anyone could enter and assassinate him while he slumbers. Truly, no one protects him as I do. My father! At last.” He had the proof in his hand.
The crown would fit him beautifully.
He entered the chamber and was greeted by raucous snoring. The king, fully clothed, was supine on his back, a flagon precariously dangling from a finger and thumb. It appeared to be empty. The chamber was lit and the candles flickered from the draft caused by Mincey opening the door. Mincey closed it.
He went to the king and removed the flagon and set it on a small side table. “Sire,” he said, giving the large man a strong push on the shoulder.
The king growled and moved his bulk slightly. Mincey pushed harder.
“What?… Go away.” His eyes remained shut.
Mincey persisted. “Sire, you must awaken. A matter of extreme import. It concerns the queen.”
Zendar’s eyelids fluttered. “The queen? What?… What is the matter?”
“I fear what I have to say is not good.”
The king stirred now, rising up on his elbows, eyes open—if somewhat bleary. He struggled to an upright position. “Needs tell me, Mincey. Is the queen injured?”
“Nay, physically she is fine—mayhap too much so,” he added. “It grieves me to tell you this. The queen’s door was open a crack, I noticed as I made my rounds of the castle, as I do every night. I heard a moaning from her chamber. Thinking the queen might be experiencing difficulties being with child… or worse, I peeped into the chamber and was met with the most heinous of visions. That was most definitely true. The queen was engaged in flagrante delicto with—”
The king roared, “WHAT?” He was fully awake. “This cannot be! You lie!”
“My King, I do not. It grieves me so to be the bearer of these ill tidings. But it is so.”
“Who? Who would dare?”
“Rathben, Sire.” Mincey bowed his to conceal his smirk.
“My magician? It cannot be so.”
“I was as shocked as you are, Sire. But I saw them engaged in the act, naked as two newborns. They were on the bed, the queen on all fours, and Rathben from behind was—”
“NO MORE!” Zendar was in a rage. “I will have him tortured, beheaded—” He froze. “The queen… My child!” His head fell into his hands in despair. He began to weep. “I thought at last to have an heir… but now… now… How I can I know the father?” His head rose. “How long has she been cuckolding me? Perhaps the child is mine? We must discover this. Mincey, you must help me. My boy, you are the only one loyal to me. Please, you must help. Do what needs to be done. I must know.”
Mincey had to quell his enthusiasm. “You know you have my allegiance, My King. As much as it will grieve me sorely, I will do as you ask.” He bowed his head, and once again smiled.
*
The magician lay on the wooden table, hands and feet bound to the sides. A leather band circled his head securing a wooden ball in his mouth, spittle dribbling from the corners.
Queen Anya was strapped down similarly, her table at a thirty degree angle positioned perpendicular to Rathben.
Both were naked.
Mincey stood between them, looking from one to the other. Grutha stood off to left. Silent. Awaiting his orders. Mincey spoke, “You have both betrayed the king, and for that you must be punished. King Zendar has entrusted your care to me, and with some small aid from our Royal Executioner, Grutha, and, of course my pets, we will discern the truth.” He picked up two cages from the floor. The cages rocked back and forth in Mincey’s hands. The large rodents anxiously scrabbling in their small cells.
He set them on the table between Rathben’s splayed legs. The magician could only make a pathetic, choking, gurgling sound. But his eyes were wide with fear.
Queen Anya was mewling; tears streaked her cheeks. “Why, Mincey, why? Please do not do this.”
“Why? Why? You dare to ask? You did not only betray your husband and king… you betrayed ME!” He calmed his voice. “Have you told your lover here how often you have spread your legs for me? You are naught but the king’s whore!” He spat on her bare breasts. “How many others have had your well-trod quim?” Abruptly, he turned from her and walked to the far wall where dozens of menacing-looking instruments hung. “No matter. I will soon know the truth. We have all the time I need. My pets are quite ravenous this eve. With all the feasting in the castle, they deserve their share.”
He returned with two more cages, empty, their hasps undone. “Decisions. The lady or the magician?” He snapped his fingers. “Ah. A little of one, a little of the other. That satisfies. You will be able to enjoy each other’s misery, as you seem to enjoy each other’s pleasures.” He gave a low stertorous laugh.
He approached the queen. Reaching out a hand, he caressed her stomach. “A shame. I was not enough for you. Do you have any idea whose child you carry? The king’s? Rathben’s?… Mine? Or is it another of the court? His valet? A stablehand?”
The queen’s head shook violently back and forth. “No, I swear on my honor, the child is yours.”
The magician, with the wooden ball gag securely in place, struggled to speak, his eyes darting to the queen.
“Something to say, Rathben? And what would it be? A trick perhaps?” Mincey released the cord from the ball gag. Rathben spat it out and it fell to his chest.
“You vile bitch! You said the child was mine! That we would rule together!” Rathben pleaded to Mincey, “Please, I knew nothing. She never told me she had bedded you. I would not have touched her.”
“Ah, but you did. No matter, Rathben,” Mincey said airily. “I thank you most fervently for your confession that you and Queen Anya were plotting to kill the king, just as I had suspected.” He put his hands together and drummed his fingers together. “Now, what to do? So many choices…”
“Mercy, I beg of you,” Rathben squealed. “I have told you all.”
“Be silent,” Anya interjected. “You are the fool! Did you think a confession would warrant you any mercy? You have confessed to treason! Imbecile!”
“Enough, both of you. You weary me with your prattling. I have made my decision. You are both guilty of high treason. Rathben, for your confession, I will be more merciful with you.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” Rathben mewled.
“I will spare you the agony of watching your death. It can be most disconcerting to watch your entrails being devoured while you look on helplessly.” Mincey moved to a recessed grate in the wall, where a fire blazed. Several metal prods protruded from it.
Rathben’s eyes once again grew large. “No, I beg of you…”
“I fear I will need to employ the ball gag again. This can be most unpleasant, and your pleas for mercy have grown tedious.” Mincey replaced the gag in Rathben’s mouth. “Much better.” He returned t
o the fire and withdrew, not a poker, but a long iron rod with a small cup forged on the end. It glowed orange-red. Also hanging above the fire was a small pot. Mincey dipped the cupped end of the rod into the pot and slowly withdrew it. “Silver. Such a versatile metal. He approached Rathben and held the glowing cup over the magician’s face. Terror filled Rathben’s eyes.
“You will want to remain quite still for this, Rathben,” Mincey said, jiggling the rod. “If you move your head, the silver will injure other parts of your face… not only your eyes.”
If possible, Rathben’s eyes grew ever wider. His head and body shook violently.
“If you would not be still, I cannot be held accountable.” Mincey brought the cup close over Rathben’s right eye and slowly tipped it. The shimmering metal poured out.
Rathben shut his eyes and his movement ceased.
The molten metal found its target.
There was a sizzling sound as the flesh burned and the silver filled the eye socket.
Mincey inhaled the smell of seared flesh.
The magician’s body stilled.
“Oh, it appears to have been overmuch for the tricky magician. No matter. It eases the problem of the other eye.” He glanced over at the queen. Her face was turned away, eyes tightly shut. “My queen, the other eye will go much more smoothly, I promise.”
“Monster,” she muttered.
“Monster? And was not your deception monstrous? How did you plan to eliminate me, eh?”
Silence.
“I will learn all. Never fear.” He turned back to the magician, then repeated the procedure with the other eye. The magician’s body, while he was still unconscious, jerked as the molten metal filled the other socket. Mincey once again breathed in deeply: metal and burnt flesh.
He returned the metal rod to the fire and walked over to the silent Grutha. Grutha leaned down and picked up a wooden bucket of water and handed it to Mincey—a ritual between them.
He went over to the unconscious Rathben. “I do not have all night, Magician,” Mincey said. “I require your full attention for our next game.” He removed the ball gag and threw the bucket of water over the magician’s face.
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 2