Why I Can't Have Nice Kings

by Matthew Helbig

  I stood up to check my computer. The screen flipped on. Not hell, then. All of my familiar programs were there, and the outline for my next book was open. I really hadn’t gotten very far. Did its being there remove the possibility of this being heaven? Would God make you work there?

  The answer to my questions came through the door. Hat’s face erupted in a broad grin, and he almost dropped his tray. “Sir! You’re awake!”

  “Hat, am I glad to see you.” Uncharacteristically, I hugged him hard.

  “I was so worried when they found you on the shore, sir. Where have you been for the last ten days?”

  “I was there, Hat. In Vyenra! And no, it wasn’t real, or I wouldn’t have—it was definitely a TV parody of it. At least, I hope they intended it to be a parody. Can you believe that?”

  Hat set the tray down and jumped up and down. “Wowie! You were really in Vyenra? That’s amazing. What did it look like?” Hat can be a bit too into my world sometimes. That’s part of what makes him such a good assistant and part of what makes him a bit annoying.

  “It wasn’t really there because there is no there to go to, Hat. It was a terrible fantasy show based on my world where they got everything wrong.”

  Hat scratched his head. “They found you a mile away, and I haven’t heard about anyone filming anything nearby. You’d think that would be all over the news. No one ever films out here.”

  “Focus, Hat. I’m the brains of this outfit, so if I say it happened, it happened.” I stood up and began to pace. “I must have signed over the TV rights to my show when I signed my first contract. You were right; I really should have read the fine print. Anyway, whoever has the rights to my show kidnapped me and forced me to do a reality show based in my world. And not a good reality show like . . . Oh, that’s right. There aren’t any good reality shows. But even compared to other reality shows, it was terrible. I’ll be traumatized for life.”

  “Sorry, sir. It can’t be that bad. You’re just overreacting again, like you did when they got your name wrong on the third book. You thought your career was over then too, but that mistake got you a lot of free press and it ended up being your best seller.”

  “No, you don’t understand. Those idiot writers made Hammurabi a foul-mouthed gambler and Berin a terrible king! They even killed Berin off, through no fault of my own.”

  “That sounds awful.” He put his hand on his chin. “Hmm . . . what if we wrote your side of the story? If we can get a book out faster than they can get the show on the air, it’ll lessen the blow to your reputation.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. You’re a genius.” I patted him on the back.

  “Why do you only call me that when I agree with you?”

  “Let’s get started now. I need to get this out before I forget.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”

  I laughed. “With all the TV I’ve watched, don’t you think that was the first thing I checked? I pinched myself several times and was injured on numerous occasions. I was even knocked unconscious. If it was a dream, any one of those things would have woken me up in the real world. Plus, I remember everything that happened during the journey, and you never remember everything from a dream. There’s no way it was a dream.”

  “Well, then, let’s get started. We need to do this for your fans.” He sat down and grabbed a pad of paper. “It’ll be faster if I do it this time. We can clean it up later.”

  We worked tirelessly over the next few days, pausing only to eat, go to the bathroom, and sleep, often simultaneously to save time. While I had done a few marathon writing sessions in the past, I had never done so many in a row, but I had to get this all out fast before I forgot anything.

  Hat was every bit as eager to get this done as I was. He was fascinated by my descriptions of the televised version of Vyenra. He really didn’t seem to care that it was all fake. I honestly think he would have worked on this book until he passed out and then started working again when he regained consciousness.

  My publisher even agreed to fast-track it after I threatened to self-publish. I’m a pretty big deal, so they really didn’t have much of a choice.

  “. . . And then the guards escorted me on deck after Cat killed Marshal Scritz, and some guy named Maillib named me king. The end.”

  Hat finished scrawling the last word and looked up. “That’s an amazing story, sir. It’s a shame it ends so abruptly. I really want to know what happened when you became king. I’ll bet Hammurabi came back from exile and fixed everything. He always comes through. Why don’t you elaborate more on what happened on deck? Who was this Maillib, and how could he make you king? Was Verix all right? His wound sounded pretty bad.”

  “Hat, stop asking so many questions. I’m sure the actor who played Verix was fine. They put the crown on my head, and the combination of my awesomeness being given such an awesome job was too much, so the show ended. They must have drugged my food at some point, because the next thing I knew, I was back here. Remember, nothing that happened on this journey was real.”

  He scratched his head. “But Hammurabi and Marshal Scritz said it was real.”

  I sighed. “Of course they did. That’s what the actors were told to say.”

  “They would have said that if you were really there, too.”

  “Yeah, but what about all of the cameras I saw?”

  Hat flipped the pages of his notes and pointed at a passage. “You told me to put ‘I thought I saw a camera’ every time you mentioned one, sir. Did you ever actually touch one?”

  I gave him my “I pay your salary, so I’m right” look.

  “Of course, sir.” He winked at me.

  “No wink. It’s not real. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Sorry, sir. It’s a nervous condition.” He winked at me again.

  “Are you winking to indicate that your nervous condition isn’t real? And does that mean your first wink was in fact valid, thus indicating that you do, in fact, still believe Vyenra is actually real?”

  “You’ve lost me, sir.” He winked again.

  “I’d strangle you, but I would never have gotten this done without you.”

  “I appreciate you not strangling me, sir.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, if you’d please leave, I’d like to write a few things down—some very personal notes about how I felt on my journey, you know, like my therapist told me to do. Nothing you need to worry about or see.”

  “Of course, sir. It’s good that you’re keeping a journal.” He whistled as he left the room and shut the door behind him.

  That therapist was a quack. There was no way I was going to write down what my obviously flawed memory was telling me had happened. The whole journey had been building me to be the hero. I must have done the right thing in the end. The character of Verix had to have lived through it. I was only remembering things wrong. It was clearly a TV show, and the trip back to my cabin must have damaged my memory. There must have been something in my food.

  It was getting late, so I rolled into bed. Unfortunately, something in the pit of my stomach refused to let me sleep. After three hours of restlessness and trying every tummy medicine in the cabinets, I was still no closer to blissful dreams. With nothing better to do, I decided to write down what had happened with Maillib and Verix.

  I typed with a speed I had never accomplished before. With each new word, the pain in my stomach lessened. My shrink was still a quack, but she must have inadvertently gotten something right. With the last keystroke, all the pain in my stomach ceased.

  I fought off the call of dreamland long enough to name the file “Naked Grandma Pictures” and then put a password on it that even Hat wouldn’t guess—not that he or anyone else would ever click a file with that name, but it’s better to be extra safe. I then rolled myself into bed and was immediately greeted by scenes of dinosaurs that shoot sharks that shoot exploding fists.

  I woke up the next day and shouted for Hat to make me his famous pancakes stu
ffed with bacon with a side of chocolate-covered bacon. He tried to tell me he’d made some hours ago, but I insisted he make some fresh.

  While I was waiting, I gave the draft a quick read. It was surprisingly clean. I attributed that to Hat’s unusual amount of help. He didn’t normally help me on first drafts, but I had a tight deadline for this book and I needed to get it out as fast as possible before I forgot anything. I handed it over to Hat while I ate.

  “After we type it up and do a bit of spelling and grammar checking, we might even be able to send this out, sir. I guess it’s a lot easier to write when you’ve actually experienced the story.”

  I dipped my chocolate-covered bacon in the syrup, also made of chocolate. “I don’t know, Hat. This doesn’t really show me in a very favorable light.”

  “You were named a holy prophet and a king. What’s not to like?”

  “Err, yeah, but some of the stuff I did at the beginning was kind of embarrassing.”

  He gave me a patronizing smile. “Well, you still got to meet all of your major characters.”

  “That usually didn’t go very well. Weren’t you paying attention? I’m more concerned with the number of times I was cowering in a ball or running away from danger.”

  He nodded slowly. “And when you urinated in public.”

  “I forgot about that one. At least I was covered in mud, so no nudity.”

  “You do get slapped a lot, too.”

  “Do you see my point?”

  “Yes, but this book is very honest. That has to count for something.” He smiled guilelessly. I wished I still had his innocence, but the show had taken that from me.

  “When you write your own book, you can be as honest as you want, but this is my book. I don’t want to look like a urinating coward. We’ll have to edit out all of the stuff that makes me look bad. It’ll be a bonus if it makes me look good.”

  “I can’t let you lie to your fans, sir.” Hat was getting a little too close to me.

  “Calm down, Hat. These are my books, and I can do what I want with them.”

  “You owe them the truth.” Hat was standing only a few inches from my face. He had to get on his tippy-toes to do it. I’d never seen him get like this before. He was always the obedient assistant. Sure, he’d occasionally disagree with me and we’d discuss the issue, but if I pulled rank on him, he’d always back down. His eyes told me he wasn’t going to back down from this one.

  “Fine, Hat. I won’t change anything.” I didn’t want to get into a fight with my assistant. I’d seen him fight before, and while he was short and skinny, he was feisty, especially when it involved anything about my world. He’d once taken out three Star Wars fans who were making fun of my books and made them cry. They really should have worn cups.

  Hat started to back away. “Thank you, sir! I knew you were an honest person. Those critics didn’t know what they were talking about.”

  I grabbed the draft and went upstairs to begin my least favorite part of the writing process: editing. I really wanted to make myself look braver, but the look on Hat’s face told me he would never allow that. He almost looked like he would assault me, and this was the man who considered me a god—not a major god, mind you; a minor god, like the god of hall monitors or toilet bowl cleaners.

  I couldn’t believe that I, the author, was letting my assistant dictate what would go into my book. However, it would take me a long time to break in another assistant, and I really needed one if I wanted to get this thing out fast.

  After a few days of editing and seeing just how many stupid and cowardly things I had done, I decided to change a few minor things that Hat probably wouldn’t notice. I cowered fourteen percent less, didn’t pee myself in public, stabbed people on purpose, and even released a few profound prophecies. Before I hit print, I quickly added a talking parrot and gave myself a cool hat.

  I was sure this book would finally make me a star, or at least as much of a star as you can be when you write books. It would be great to have a summer home and a few servants instead of barely scraping by with only one cabin, three cars, and a house.

  “Hat, come in here. It’s your favorite time! You get to be the first person to read my new book.”

  Hat beamed the kind of smile I only display when I receive my first advance check. “As always, sir, it is an honor to work for you. I really appreciate that you didn’t change anything. It means a lot to me and all of your fans.”

  “I did have to change a few minor things just for flow. You know, to make it more consistent. Nothing that changes the story as a whole.”

  “I trust your judgment, sir. You are the professional.” Hat hungrily tore into the printout. I knew he’d read non-stop until he finished, so I took a nice long break to give him space.

  “I’m going into town to catch a movie or four.”

  “Fine, sir,” Hat said without even bothering to look up.

  I smiled the smile of a proud father who’d just stared at his newborn child for the first time. I doubt Hat even heard me leave.

  When I came back late that evening, Hat was standing at the door waiting for me. I had come back a little earlier than I’d planned due to a slight tummy ache. I shouldn’t have gotten a third extra-large popcorn with double butter, but I was trying to make up for lost time after more than a week of terrible food. My next book would introduce Vyenra to pizza and fried chicken.

  “What is it, Hat?” I asked.

  He had an enigmatic look, neither showing anger nor happiness. He usually had a big smile on his face because he got to work with me, the perfect boss, every day. “You changed some things, sir.”

  I shrugged half-heartedly. “Nothing major.”

  “Jackal was not in love with you when you dictated it to me.”

  “I think you’re remembering it wrong, Hat.”

  “Maybe my memory is a little off on that, but I know you didn’t have a talking parrot.”

  “It was something I remembered when I was editing. I forgot about it the first time.”

  “Ahh. Well, I’d better get back to reading. So far, I’ve found a few inconsistencies that you’ll need to clean up, but they’re mostly minor.”

  I nodded and headed upstairs. I hoped I hadn’t polished off all of the antacids. “I’ll read them all when you finish. It’s late, and I’d like to get some sleep.”

  “Good night, sir. I’ll show you what I found in the morning.”

  “Night, Hat.”

  I got out of those uncomfortable clothes with the even more uncomfortable belt and into some soft pajamas. Fortunately, this time I managed to overcome my stomach issues and fell right to sleep. Unfortunately, my dreams were not filled with cartoon characters or beautiful women who know kung fu; they seemed to involve lots of old men telling me to repent while refusing to tell me what for. After I woke for about the tenth time, I decided to re-read the thing that had allowed me to get some restful sleep the night before in the hope that it would work again. If it did, I’d change the names and put it online as a new sleep aid. I’d either get rich or be murdered by the powerful sleep aid cabal. If you hear that I’ve choked to death on a tiny pill, please take this to the police.

  The computer screen hurt my sleep-deprived eyes, so I printed out a copy and began to read.

  I woke up fantastically refreshed twelve hours later. Part of me felt a little guilty that Hat had probably worked throughout the night, but that was his job. I was the boss, so I got to sleep.

  I walked down the steps and, as I neared the bottom, was greeted by a disheveled yet heavily caffeinated assistant. He had a manic look in his eyes. I don’t know how he’d managed to read for more than four hours at a time. My eyes hurt when I do that.

  I let out a big yawn—probably not the best thing to do in front of someone who hadn’t slept in a day and a half—but it was involuntary. “Have you finished already?”

  “Yes. I have.”

  “And what did you think?”

  He always told me
the current book was the best one yet. I guessed that was more of a tradition at this point. Still, it’s nice to hear great things about something you’ve put so much effort into.

  “You changed a lot.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing too major. Just enough to make it a better story while keeping it as close to the truth as possible, like you asked.”

  “All the women in the story fall in love with you.”

  “Not all, only the attractive ones.”

  “You had the Garandians proclaim you the second coming of The One.”

  I gave him a beatific grin. “They called me The Two.”

  He grimaced. “You defeated Dyfantus, Verix, and Arik all at the same time in a duel.”

  “It was one of the requirements to prove I was The Two.”

  “I guess I could live with you making yourself look unbelievably good since you kept the stuff about the world mostly intact, but then I read these new parts.”

  “What new parts?” Even my yawn sounded confused.

  “The new ending you finished last night. You were making that weird noise you do when you fall asleep on top of a book or an Impressionist painting, so I went into your room to roll you over and I found the new ending underneath you.”

  I half-choked on my next yawn and marched to the bottom step. “Who told you to go into my room?”

  Oddly, Hat didn’t back down. “You did. You told me if I ever heard that noise again to ‘immediately come in before I choke to death and leave an embarrassing corpse. And, if you do find a corpse, burn all of my lobster porn and change me into my formal Spider-Man Underoos and matching loincloth.’”

  “Oh, that’s why I was tucked in so nice. Wait—so you didn’t fall asleep when you read it? I’m asking because my financial future could depend on it, and not because I think the writing was bad. It was some of my best work, but you weren’t supposed to see it.”

  “Fall asleep? No, I couldn’t stop even to go to the bathroom. We’ll need a new couch, by the way. How could you lie to me and tell me it was all a TV show? I love your books more than anything. How could you not tell me after all of these years that Vyenra is real?”