Yes, I could. I was troubled that that hadn’t been a harder decision for me to make. OK, no, I wasn’t. However, I was troubled that I wasn’t troubled.
If this guard killed Verix, that would mean I’d get to be king, and not in a TV show, in a real fantasy world. An awesome fantasy world with magic, cool characters, physics-defying donkeys, and people who turned into deadly, adorable puppies. I could live with the last two, especially since I’d be rich. The wealth and the lavish lifestyle that went with it would all be mine. Not to mention all the respect I’d get. And don’t you go saying they wouldn’t respect me because of all of the cowardly things I’d done or the vicious, untrue rumor about Axin, Weel, and me. As king, they would have to respect me, or else I would use my kingly powers to make them. I would throw a parade, too. Kings can have all the parades they want. No one would ever make fun of my outfits. All the cookies and candy I could ever want. It would all be mine, and all I had to do was not do anything—which happened to be my specialty.
But Verix was my character. I couldn’t let him die. Or was he my character? He was real. I could see him right there in front of me in the flesh, and blood . . . that was dribbling down his side.
Time to be the hero, Harry. You have to do the right thing. This has all the makings of your destiny. You were meant to be the hero. All you have to do is stab the nameless jerk in front of you . . . Although he probably did have a name. He was a real person, not “Guard Number Five” in a TV show, unless his parents had named him Guard Number Five. This world did have a guy named Mopansin Trantinviavax III, after all.
No, I had to do the right thing. There likely wouldn’t be any parades for what I was about to do, but . . .
Parades. And beautiful women. And wealth beyond my wildest dreams. (OK, not really, since I had dreamed up a place just like this, but you get my meaning.)
My knuckles whitened as I gripped the sword to do what I had to do. Which was . . .
Visions of power and wealth flashed before my eyes. The crown was magnificent. Just the right combination of size and shininess.
No! I had to save him. I had to . . .
A blade jutted out of Verix’s midsection, right below his breastplate. I checked my hand, and the sword wasn’t mine. His face lolled to the side, saving me from the accusation that I knew would be in his eyes. I had taken too long to decide.
At least I still got to be king—but that was going to be one sad parade.
I Really Knew It All Along
I stared in horror at my fallen friend for quite some time. The seas were beginning to get rather rough. The waves splashed over the edge of our ship, right on top of Verix’s noble corpse. He was definitely not an actor pretending to be dead. There was no way anyone alive could fail to react to that much water splashing on their face. My first thought was how disrespectful it was for the showrunners to do that to him during such a dramatic moment, but then I remembered there was no such person or people running this thing. No, this was being done by Mother Nature, or rather, one of the Old Gods, probably Jammy the Gassy, the lord of the sea.
I decided that my first act as king would be to hold a state funeral for Verix and Arik. They’d earned it. I’d even make them national heroes, and I could write books to extol their virtues. I could rewrite my books and find a whole new audience! I would be the king who wrote, King Harry the Writer. The Author? King Harry the Scholarly. King Harry the Scholarly Author Who Writes and Is Awesome.
“Guard Number Five, get someone to write this down. I wish to proclaim my second royal decree.”
“Who the hell is he talking to?” the guard said.
I would have to instruct him to not kill anyone in the future until I gave him my official approval. I waved my hand elaborately in the direction of his voice. “You, o slayer of heroes. Your boss has informed me that I am to be your king, so do as I say, or we will have you shoveling dung in a fortnight, and not the nice dung, either. Oh, no, we will have you shovel the really smelly dung from when we get drunk and feed the horses chili and burritos. Also, get a second scribe so that we may give the cook the recipe for burritos, as we wish to have that for dinner tonight.”
“Can I kill him now, Maillib? Please?”
The sound of him drawing his sword shook my eyes from Verix. How dare he! He didn’t even have a name—unless it was Dyfantus, whom he happened to look a lot like. He had taken the time to clean off all of the blood, just like Dyfantus would have, and had managed to keep his tabard immaculate throughout the struggle. For some reason, this guy didn’t seem to like me much either, even though everyone else I had met had loved me instantly—not counting the ones who had a good reason to kill me.
Mole on the left side of his chin . . . “Dyfantus! I thought you were in prison.”
Maillib limped forward, leaning against Dyfantus for support. “Marshal Scritz managed to get him out. Our plan was to have Dyfantus slay the king, but, as fortune would have it, you did that for us,” Maillib said in a strangely low voice. With the crashing of the waves, I could barely hear him.
Feeling this was a good time to get some practice for all of the speeches I would have to make to my subjects, I spoke much louder so that the crewmen farther away could hear too. “That’s right, because I, your future king, slew my predecessor. I did what even the deadly Dyfantus could not do.”
Dyfantus looked ready to pounce on me, but his friend held him back. To make the scene more dramatic, the sky erupted into lightning and its annoying friend, thunder. Just a few flashes at first, but then, all at once, the sky exploded in blinding light, bringing to mind a badly managed fireworks display. Fortunately, the rain was still in the distance. It would be a very ill omen to be crowned in the rain. I think. I made a mental note to talk to the omen guy.
Maillib continued in his low voice, “Listen, Harry, you seem like a nice guy, so I’ll play this straight. After we double-crossed Scritz and got him out of the way, my plan was to make you a puppet king. I and my friend here have quite a few enemies, but since you are an outsider, and the people do love a religious figure, no one would likely object to you. However, now that I’ve gotten the chance to observe you in person, it’s become apparent that the reports of your unpredictable, self-destructive behavior were not exaggerated. If anything, they downplayed it.”
“What do you mean, self-destructive?” I boomed. I was really getting the hang of projecting to a crowd. “If I was self-destructive, how did I safely deliver the Padalus Rexiconum past such dangerous opponents as Artenarix the Clever and Ferelic the Even Cleverer, and then get named a holy prophet of The One? Sure, I accidentally killed the king, but if I hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have been able to name me as his replacement.”
“Well, for one,” he whispered, “it’s pretty self-destructive to be broadcasting that you did that to an entire crew of people. Before now, the only people who knew you killed Berin were the guardsmen in the room, all of whom are now dead, a few sycophantic courtiers and attendants who accidentally fell overboard, and Marshal Scritz.”
“I killed Marshal Scritz—” Before I could add the question mark to that sentence, Dyfantus hit me in the gut with the pommel of his sword.
“Perfect,” Maillib whispered. “I actually talked your deadly, slow-witted friend into that closet. I figured without his glasses, Scritz wouldn’t be able to see him. It was just your own ridiculously terrible luck that put you in the room. Since you are such a loyal Garandian and, in spite of our differences, are a pretty nice guy, I’ll give you the reward the late King Berin promised you, the Phoine of Destiny.”
He handed me an ornate wooden object shaped like a horn, about the size of my forearm. In spite of how close its name was to “phone,” the Phoine did not look like it would be picking up any signals anytime soon (even if they somehow had cellphone towers, which wasn’t out of the realm of possibility). It was encircled by three dials at about the middle. The first dial indicated date, the second showed location, and the third wei
ght. I quickly set the thing to my cabin (though I was tempted by the option for Fort Knox), the date I had disappeared, and I’m not telling you what I put for weight. Right where you’d breathe into a horn, there was a button that said “Go.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I guess it’s only natural that you let me leave this show in the most clichéd way possible.”
I looked up to say goodbye before I pressed the button, but Maillib and Dyfantus were too busy arguing to hear me. Given the way he kept pointing his sword toward me and saying, “I’m going to kill that fat moron,” I got the impression that Dyfantus hadn’t forgiven me for messing up his shirt or peeing on him earlier. I waved goodbye to Maillib and pressed the button—just in the nick of time, too, as one of the sailors threw a shoe directly at my head.
A bright light blinded me.
“Owww!” When my vision returned, I was still aboard the ship and probably had a shoe print on my forehead. Judging by the number of people still rubbing their eyes, everyone else had seen the light too. With other objects more dangerous than shoes headed toward me, I frantically checked the dials to make sure they were set correctly. They were, so I pressed the button rapidly over and over.
No lights this time. Also, no change of scenery. This time, I got hit in the shin with a peg leg and some false teeth. Thunder crackled behind me, leading me to believe that the blinding light had been a bolt of lightning. The darkened sky was no longer in the distance. I was reminded of the ship I had seen aflame, but couldn’t see anything in that direction other than rain and an occasional stroke of lightning.
“Why hasn’t the director yelled, ‘Cut!’ yet?” I asked.
“Stop throwing things at the prophet,” Maillib said.
“Yeah. I want the only thing he feels to be my blade as it slices the fat from his belly,” Dyfantus growled.
“No, friend. I have other ideas for him. Trust me on this. My plans have worked so far, haven’t they?”
Dyfantus gritted his teeth and didn’t say another word. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded slowly.
“Go below and make sure the Trio stay there.”
“Of course,” I said. “It was just too easy to expect this would finally be over.”
Lightning illuminated the sky behind Maillib. I’d call it ominous, but awesome words like that shouldn’t be used near characters with stupid names. Dyfantus shook his blade one last time and then grumbled his way down the steps.
The captain of the ship stumbled forward. “My lord, unless that idea is for the prophet to pray to The One for our salvation, it likely won’t matter. Permission for my men to go back to work and try to sail us out of this.”
Maillib nodded hastily. Then a bald sailor ran up and whispered in his captain’s ear.
“Sir,” the captain said. “My man has an idea, but he wants immunity for any crimes he might commit.”
Maillib’s face was white as he stared into the distance. “If I live, you can have your immunity. Now, be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”
I gave the sailor a dirty look. “If you’re asking him to get your shoe back, you’re too late.” I tossed his shoe overboard.
“We could sacrifice someone to the Old God of the sea, Jammy the Gassy,” the sailor said. “In the old days, if you sacrificed to Jammy, he would call off a storm.”
“Blasphemer!” another crewman said. “You can’t let him do that, Captain. We’ll all go to . . . that place we go to when we die if we’ve been bad. What’s it called?”
“I believe it’s called No-No Land,” I whimpered. I hadn’t actually named their version of hell in my books, but humor usually helps me cope. The pit of my stomach informed me I’d have to do better.
Maillib finally turned away from me. “What does this sacrifice entail? Please tell me it’s an animal that we have on board.”
“Well, animals do work sometimes, but Jammy gives extra consideration for sacrificing a person, especially a virgin.”
“Sir,” the sailor who had objected earlier said. “You can’t sacrifice a person. That’s definitely going to get us all sent to No-No Land when we die.”
Maillib sighed. “Well, do we have any virgins on board?”
Everyone shook their heads except for two sailors in the back who vigorously finished their naughty fun time to escape their fate.
“There has to be someone,” the captain said.
Suddenly, all eyes turned to me. “Oh, come on,” I said. “I’ve been with plenty of women.”
I took the lack of any further argument as agreement, but evidently, I was wrong. With a nod from Maillib, a few of the crewman advanced on me. Right before I covered my eyes, a crewwoman in the back spoke. “But what about Axin and Weel? I heard he did some pretty naughty stuff with them.”
“No, no,” Maillib said. “He was quite adamant that that never occurred.”
Two crewmen grabbed me. I tried to struggle, but they were huge. I considered throwing the Phoine at them, but decided to keep it as a souvenir and tucked it into my pocket. The thing stuck out half a foot, but they didn’t seem to notice.
“What do we need to do?” Maillib said. “Is there any particular ritual involved, or can we just cut his throat and be done with it?”
“It has to be with flames, because Jammy is also the god of fire,” one of the sailors said. “He lives in the sky, so the smoke is the only way to get his attention. Prophets are extra-flammable, too. It’s why they always end up getting burned at the stake.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant,” I said. “Fire on a ship. It looks like you’ll have to find another way.”
It turns out that smugness doesn’t help one get out of an execution. In a remarkably short time, they had me tied to a post and surrounded by kindling, which was an odd thing to have in such a quantity on a ship. They really did an excellent job tying me to the post; I couldn’t escape, yet was still surprisingly comfortable.
“Could you say good things about us to The One when you see him, prophet?” the captain said.
“Yes, I’ll tell him you were really nice murderers.”
“Now, now. There’s no need to get snippy with me. We really are sorry about this.” He gave the signal, and his men lit the kindling.
At least the smoke smelled nice. I detected a hint of mesquite. Is it wrong to think about barbequed food while you’re the one actually being barbequed?
Maillib’s eyes fixed on the Phoine. “Hmm. It still doesn’t work, then. I was hoping you might be able to recharge it.”
“With my holy powers?” I said.
“No, it feeds on cowardice. It hasn’t worked since the last great coward had a heart attack when he misheard ‘gruel’ as ‘duel.’ What? Did you think something that lets you run away would be fed by bravery?” He laughed, and the rest of the crew soon followed.
“So, that’s how we’re going to play this. I’m not a coward anymore. The tape will clearly show that.” I threw the Phoine at him, but it clattered limply to the deck a few inches away, missing him by a good three feet. Undeterred, I gave him my best defiant face, lessened somewhat by the tears rolling down my cheeks. The tears were from the smoke, not because my body was agreeing with him. “In spite of your attempts to show me how real this is, it’s now obvious that this is all a show. That’s the only possible way I would have failed to save my favorite character. The people running this obviously contrived to distract me so they could kill him dramatically.”
He mixed in a hint of “perturbed.” “You’re back to that now, are you? What kind of idiot would have a play in the middle of the ocean? Where would the audience sit? You really didn’t learn anything, did you?”
“Whatever,” I said. “The rain is about to get here, and your whole plan to burn me alive will fail miserably. It looks like I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you die with me. We can discuss where you failed at the after-party.”
It turned out that explaining why the villain’s plan will fail before it actually fail
s is a really bad idea. Maillib frantically called the crewmen over, and they soon had the fire burning at full blast. My watery eyes were now the least of my worries. I was definitely going to sue after I got out of there.
As I started to lapse into unconsciousness, my vision began to blur. Everyone stretched out, and they all looked kind of fat. The thought almost made me laugh, but it came out as more of a wheeze. As my gaze dropped, Maillib’s shiny armor darkened to black. It sort of looked like the wrinkled suit my rival, Billiam, always wore. The two of them would have gotten along perfectly. They just . . . you know, if you trimmed Maillib’s beard into a goatee and changed his eyes to black . . .
“Billiam! I should have known. Only you could turn my wonderful books into this mockery.”
Maillib stomped on the Phoine. “Billiam . . .”
He said more, but I couldn’t hear him. Not that it mattered, as I was sure it was some stupid thing to explain how he didn’t know who that was. I tried to give him one last defiant smile, but my whole body was numb. As my head lolled without the energy to rise, my ring appeared to glow, but it might have been my imagination. Your mind can play tricks on you when you’re starting to lapse into unconsciousness. Trust me, I’m an expert on the subject. Whatever the case, I had clearly gotten the better of them.
Hat and I Play Some Poker
I awoke with a start. Was I dead? Was this heaven? Hell? Jail? The after-party? I wiped the thick sweat off my face and looked around at my surroundings. Walls made of wood. Not much in the way of decorations. Desk with a computer on it. A familiar computer. My computer! I had to be either back home or in heaven. Probably not in hell, unless there was no power. That was how I’d picture hell, being in my favorite place with no electricity to power anything.
Why I Can't Have Nice Kings Page 25