I Knew It All Along
They took us up to the main deck and presented us to a thin guard with his arms crossed. Because of the deference the other guards gave him and the big plume on his helmet, I assumed he was in charge. He had the visor of his helmet down, so I couldn’t tell who he was. The sky was starting to get cloudy and a little dark, which I took as a bad sign.
Another group of guardsmen had escorted Wolf, Jackal, and Verix a few feet away. Jackal waved at me excitedly, and Wolf sighed in relief when he saw Cat. With the way Verix swayed, putting his armor back on must have taken nearly everything he’d had left. I was relieved when he finally leaned on the mast for support. The crew of the ship seemed to be making every effort to find things to do away from us in the edges of the stern and bow.
Mr. Visor gave us a long stare. I wasn’t sure if the pause was meant to add to the length of the show or because he thought it made things more dramatic. “So, prophet, you kill our king, and then try to run away? On a ship? Where did you think you’d go?”
Cat raised his hand, and the man nodded in response. “Harry didn’t kill the king, Marshal Scritz did. Don’t worry, Wolf. I did my patriotic duty like you taught me and killed the squirmy bastard. I was judge, jury, and exequatur.”
“You’re a legal document authorizing you as a representative of a foreign state?” Mr. Visor asked.
Cat shook his fist. “Nuh-uh! You’re a foreigner! I’m one hundred ten percent Garandian.”
Wolf patted Cat on the back. “That was a really fantastic thing for you to do, Cat. I’m sure you’ll be rewarded greatly for your service.”
Cat lowered his fist. “Ha, you said ‘service.’”
During the exchange, one of my escorts shook his head toward his leader, and Mr. Visor responded with a subtle nod of confirmation. I assumed that meant he knew I was the one who had killed the king but was allowing the ruse with the Trio to continue. I was already suspicious of him because he wasn’t showing his face, but now I knew he was up to something. Whatever it was, I hoped he got it over with soon.
“With the death of the king,” Mr. Visor said, “Garandia finds herself in need of a replacement. Fortunately, we have the perfect person on board. The only person who has the ear of The One. King Berin himself confided in me that this person should replace him instead of his idiot son. His Majesty believed his death had been commanded by The One so that his chosen prophet could succeed him.”
Cat stepped forward and shook his hand. “I accept.”
Wolf dragged him back. “He means Harry, idiot.”
“How was I supposed to know that? I mean, I have the one ear in my pocket, like he said, and Scritz was a prophet, too. I heard that if you kill a prophet, you inherit his powers.”
Jackal edged away from him. “If you kill a prophet, the only thing you inherit is The One’s wrath.”
“Is that why I’m suddenly blind and can’t remember where I parked my horse?” Cat said. Then Wolf pulled Cat’s hand off his eyes. “I’m cured! And I just remembered I don’t have a horse anymore. He left me when I refused his vacation request.”
Mr. Visor removed his helmet. He had a rather nicely trimmed black beard that formed a sharp point at the end, and he appeared young for such a position until I squinted and noticed the slight wrinkles on his face. “As Berin has commanded, I name you king. All hail King Harrold!”
Everyone on deck applauded very respectfully, as is appropriate for a position of such dignity, with the exception of Verix, who was probably miffed that he hadn’t been consulted by the other royal guards. Cat and Wolf both patted me on the back.
Having been in a similar situation several times, I wanted to get clarification before I got too excited. “King of what? King Fart? King of the Nerds? King of Guys Named Harry?”
“Well,” the visorless Mr. Visor said, “we were thinking of making you king of Garandia. King Fart rules Paruxia, we don’t have the authority to make you King of the Nerds, and I think you have to win a tournament for the last one.”
I dropped to my knees and wept. While I had created a previous Garandian king called Ary Holson who was named Best-Looking Person in Garandia in early drafts of my third book, my editor had made me take him out. I’d tried telling her he wasn’t me. I mean, sure, he did match my description superficially, but I wasn’t left-handed and I didn’t wear an eyepatch. If the writers were going to make me king, I would forgive them for everything. OK, most of the bad things they had done to my world. (There were an awful lot, after all.)
“That’s fantastic, Harry!” Jackal said.
“Yeah, and as king, you can finally pay us,” Wolf said.
“I want to be your personal guard,” Cat said. “Sir Cat has a nice ring to it.”
Mr. Visorless clapped his hands. The way he did it reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place who. “What a splendid idea!” he said. “The royal guard has a lot of openings, and it would be good for our new king to have people he trusts protecting him.” He pointed at two guards and instructed them, “Take them down below to get them fitted for armor.”
The Trio triumphantly followed them below. It was good to see my friends in such a great mood. My spirits were at an all-time high, but for some reason Verix still had a sour look on his face.
“Now, there are just a few things we need to get squared away before we introduce you to your new subjects back home,” Mr. Visorless said.
“Have we met before?” I asked.
He turned toward the other guards and laughed.
I figured I must have seen the actor in something else, and I shouldn’t bring it up. Of course, now that I finally had something that could ruin this show, I didn’t want to. “OK. My mistake. Do you need to fit me for new robes? Is the statue guy on board? I was thinking of one twenty feet tall. You know, nothing too ostentatious.”
He turned and rolled his watery blue eyes. Those eyes—where had I seen him before? “No, he’s back at the castle. Your castle.”
The guards laughed raucously. One of them even rolled on the deck. It was good that my new employees were such a fun bunch. I wondered what they’d look like if I covered their armor with tuxedoes. It would cut down on the blinding glare. I’d get my new captain a really nice one too, the exact opposite of the crinkled thing my writing nemesis Billiam wore. God, why did I have to think of him at my time of triumph?
Verix, on the other hand, looked like someone important had died. He was my favorite character and was supposed to be my friend. How dare he? Why couldn’t he enjoy my triumph like my other friends?
I decided to give my first royal decree and raised my hand dramatically. “Sir Verix, I command you to smile. If you can dance a little jig too, that would be lovely. We shall call it the Royal Happy Dance.”
Verix’s eyelids drooped. “I am sorry, Holiest Speaker, but it is my duty as a loyal knight of Garandia to protect the legal right of Prince Ambric as next in line to the throne. I cannot allow this scheme to continue. Sir Maillib, I place you under arrest for treason.” He winced as he took a step away from the mast and drew his blade. The other guards followed suit.
“Ohhhhh, Sir Maillib,” I said. “You’re the guy who gave me a ride when I first got here.”
I looked around and was surprised that everyone was giving me a dirty look. You’d think my new subjects would be happy that their new king had remembered something difficult, but I decided to cut them some slack just this once, as this was a rather tense situation.
Sir Maillib gave me a half-smile and signaled the others to lower their weapons. My loyal guards complied. Verix lowered his blade an inch or two, but still looked ready to pounce.
A lone tear trickled down Maillib’s face. I hadn’t seen his face when he gave me a ride earlier, yet he still looked awfully familiar. Was he related to someone I knew? Maybe I’d known him decades ago, and age had changed him considerably.
“Verix,” Sir Maillib said, “your skill is well-known, but don’t think for a sec
ond that you can outfight the six of us. Are you seriously going against the word of the man whom you have loyally followed for your entire life and that of our deity, as well?”
The rest of the guards spread out in front of Sir Maillib.
Verix bit his lip. “Who else did King Berin tell this to?”
“He only released the one faint whisper before he passed. No one but I was close enough to hear it.” The corners of Maillib’s lips spread into a smile. The guards in front of him couldn’t see it, but Verix and I could. Verix didn’t hesitate to charge forward.
Given how things had ended with Arik, Verix was one of my few main characters left alive. As this show would likely be heavily linked to my books by the public—no matter how hard I tried to distance them from it—I would have a very difficult time explaining how he had died in the show but was alive and well in my books. It would be so much easier if he lived.
However, if he won, I wouldn’t get to be king, and after how awful I was likely to look with everything else that had happened, I really needed something to raise me in the eyes of the public.
While I was coming up with that brilliant bit of analysis, Verix downed the first guard before he even had time to react. The guard did a fantastic job of acting like he had been actually stabbed. When Verix’s sword slashed just under his helmet, it slid out with just the right amount of resistance. Blood wetted the decks in a steady stream, just like real blood and not in a geyser, like in a Tarantino movie.
They really had picked the perfect actor for Verix. He just had that way about him—the way he delivered his lines, the way he moved, the way he stabbed people—that perfectly matched how I had envisioned the character. As much as I wanted to look good in this show, I couldn’t betray him. He was like a son to me—a son who was roughly the same age as I, didn’t look anything like me, and charged into danger instead of away from it. I exhaled, picked up the blade of the fallen guard, and moved forward to try to help. But I probably didn’t need to. Verix disarmed the next closest guard and pushed him into the one behind him, causing both to tumble overboard.
Barely realizing what I was doing, I got caught up in the excitement and engaged the nearest guard. He lunged forward with his blade, but I, being the lighter and quicker one, easily dodged his blow. (Shut up! I was lighter because he had all of that heavy armor on, while I was wearing only a thin though very stylish tunic and slightly wet pantaloons.) The guard’s lunge unbalanced him, leaving him open to an easy finish. Clearly, the showrunners were finally keeping to their agreement to make me look heroic and had instructed the actor to do just this thing. I made sure to stand at the right angle for where I imagined the camera to be and “stabbed” him by sliding my sword parallel to his body. The actor dutifully clamped his arm down on my blade, and his momentum took it from my grip.
Perfect! “Just because I’m not going to be king doesn’t mean I can’t feel like one inside!” I said.
Blood squirted out, and the actor tumbled to the deck. I was about to roar in victory when I noticed the blood coming from the wrong side. I stared at the fallen actor in utter bewilderment. They couldn’t get anything right, could they? I’m not proud of this, as he was only doing his job and was probably not the one responsible, but I kicked the fallen actor in the side. To his credit, he didn’t react in any way. The body rolled, and my sword clattered out onto the deck. As the body rolled completely over, I realized why the blood was on the wrong side; there was a massive hole under the opposite armpit. The special effects and makeup people had really done a good job, but why had they put it on the wrong side?
Focus, Harry. The viewers at home likely wouldn’t even notice that—unless they’d also read this book. They would, however, notice me standing there staring at a corpse while someone else fended off two people. Some genius on the internet would probably say it was because I had some weird corpse fetish, too.
Verix turned away from me, with blood dripping from his blade, just in time to parry a blow from the last nameless guardsman. Blood had begun to dribble out of Verix’s breastplate, and his blows were much slower. In spite of that, he was still able to keep his opponent at bay. Maillib attempted to use Verix’s distraction to get in behind him, but fortunately, my character was protected by his creator! . . . No, not his actual father. Come on, people. While the writing had been pretty terrible on this show, even they wouldn’t introduce a new character out of nowhere like that. Isn’t it obvious who saved him? No, it wasn’t The One. It was me, Harrold Delano Fitzgerald Milhouse Olson! I took my mighty blade from the deck and tripped the sneaky bastard from behind. The sound of metal clanging on the deck was incredibly satisfying. Would someone with a corpse fetish do that? No, really, I’m asking. Oh, right: you can’t answer me because this is a book. Sorry, I’m tired.
I knelt down and put my hand in front of my mouth so the cameras couldn’t see my lips move. “Hey, Maillib. I’m going to put my sword under your arm, and I want you to grab it between your arm and side to make it look like I stabbed you.”
Maillib rolled over to speak to me. “Ahh, so I can sneak up on Verix when he lets his guard down. You will make the perfect king for me to work with.”
“No, I know this is all a show and that you’re an actor. I want to make it look good without hurting you.”
Maillib was aghast. “Marshal Scritz was right. You are an idiot. This is real.” He pointed at the nearby guardsmen, displaying the very realistic cut in the gap between his gorget and helmet.
I shrugged. “So what? You have a really good special effects guy.”
He pointed at the other dead guard. “See for yourself.”
I kept my sword pointed at him but did as he said so I could get this over with and go home. The more they dragged this out . . .
The smell got to me before I could finish checking the wound. The man had most definitely crapped his pants, and trust me, I know what crap smells like from—well, let’s not get into that. Let’s just say I know the smell of poop very well. The wound looked very lifelike, but as I said before, it could have been from good special effects and makeup. I studied the man for several minutes, and his chest never rose.
I forgot all about Maillib and knelt down to study the alleged dead man. There was no pulse. The blood dribbling out looked very real. As someone who uses fake blood a lot to get out of confrontations, I know real blood when I see it and taste it. Still, the man had not moved. I shook him a few times, and the only thing that accomplished was getting blood all over my hands. I turned around in my crouch and wiped my hands off on the nearest thing. Unfortunately, it was another corpse. Were they multiplying?
“Now do you believe me?” Maillib said.
“But the cameras,” I said weakly. “I saw one in the crow’s nest.”
“You mean that?” Maillib pointed at one of the nearby crewmen. The crew had stayed as far back from the fight as they could, either too afraid to participate or not sure what side to take. The crewman in question meekly held up a metal object and finally rolled it our way on Maillib’s signal.
I picked it up and looked through the thing in the hope that when I looked back, Maillib would be gone. The good news was, zoomed in, his forehead looked like a butt. The bad news was, the object was only a simple spyglass. There was the possibility that they could have hidden a camera somewhere else or tossed it overboard, but my gut told me they hadn’t.
Thankfully, I found a ship in the distance to distract me from my swirl of thoughts. I almost missed it against the darkened sky.
A bolt of lightning struck the distant ship, causing its sails and mast to erupt in flames. It appeared that my terrible luck could be passed on just by my looking at something. The poor person climbing the sails was engulfed in flames and dove into the sea. While it didn’t appear the ship would sink, the fact that the ship was now without any sails in a vicious storm didn’t speak well for its survival. I was glad for the distraction, less glad when I realized it wasn’t an actor diving into t
he sea.
I dropped the spyglass and stomped on it. The thin tube broke easily, its parts scattering across the deck. As I stared at the bits of glass and metal, my illusion of this all being a fiction shattered as well.
This meant an entire country full of real people thought I was a coward. I mean, I was, but I didn’t want to be famous for that. I had so much more going for me, like my writing ability and my skill at throwing swords at bushes. Had I killed real people? No wonder Marshal Scritz hated me so much. I’d go through all of that too, if someone had killed a member of my family. And Arik was probably really dead, too! My character! And Verix would be next.
I cleared my head and looked at the scene in front of me. Maillib raised himself up on one knee but tumbled back to the deck. Evidently, he had twisted or broken his ankle. I stood between him and the other combatants.
Verix and the other guard had evidently had quite the contest. Both of their shields lay on the deck, battered to uselessness. The guard’s helmet had come off at some point, and his long blond hair swayed back and forth as he lunged forward and then dodged Verix’s counterattack. Their skill seemed evenly matched, but with the slowing of Verix’s blows and the pain written on his face, I knew how this would end. As Verix went in for another counterattack, the guard sidestepped him and then elbowed my favorite character straight into the railing. Verix’s sword flew over the side and landed in the water with a splash.
“Any last words?” the guardsman growled.
“Harry,” Verix said.
The guardsman’s shoulders dropped. “Really? I mean, I know my hair is pretty awesome, but surely you can do better. Since you were such a worthy opponent, I’ll give you one more try. Any last words?”
I was right behind him now. I gripped the sword firmly in my hand. My hands were sweaty, so I decided to be extra-cautious and hold it with both hands. This was much too important a time to risk losing a sword. Verix was completely helpless, pinned against the side of the ship. He was a real person, too—but that meant my target was also a real person. Could I kill a real person?
Why I Can't Have Nice Kings Page 24