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Chapter 95 - Magic is not as fun when it's indoors.
Father Dominoes' magic was fairly straightforward when you got down to it. Really, it was all about talking.
If you wanted to be a priest back in Medieval Europe, the first thing you did was pick a god or a team of gods (this decision would be narrowed down a lot by where you lived – gods are fiercely territorial – and what kind of thing your parents were into – eg. Farming, fishing, parties, war,) and then you spent years and years just reading. You had to learn all the languages your god would listen to, or at least an old-fashioned version of your own language. You also had to learn all the rituals, magic words and costumes that would get your god's attention - though, to be honest, most gods are interested in anything that is shiny, expensive or which moves quickly – and then you have to practice at talking to your god. This part is the hardest, because gods are difficult and never really in the mood and tend to kill people to prove a point. Eventually, you got a relationship going, though it usually took at least a year for the god to remember your name. If you battled through and you and your god got to be on good terms and you could rely on him or her or them, you could get them to lay down the magic on a nicely regular basis, or have them advise you on the best way to use any spellbooks or ancient weapons they've left lying around.
With wizards, however, things were different. Wizards didn't bother with gods. They sucked the magic they used directly from the same source as the gods did – the land itself. Every land had a different flavour. Europe was the tastiest and most fulfilling kind of magic, of course. Romanian magic tastes of ash and blood, the Kingdom Of Sharing's magic tastes of thin gruel and steel, United Statesian magic tastes like smoke and feathers and chilli peppers, and so on. Gods are better at this trick, naturally, because they are creatures of magic the same way we are creatures of flesh, but a wizard beats a god nine times out of ten when it comes to reliability, empathy, timekeeping, natty conversation and good company. Most of them can cook, too. All of their reading and academic training was really only there to slow down their progression in magic to make it equal to their levels of politeness and use around the the house.
The trouble that Colonel Glowfist was having with David was that David had learned a huge amount of applied magic while on their travels but had only had a few rudimentary classes in magic theory, which had been conducted from Colonel Glowfist's memory in less-than-ideal environments. Colonel Glowfist only kept a few grimores of wisdom in his inventory and they were very advanced stuff. All the best books and scrolls and talking skulls for David's level were kept in the Bibliotheque Royale back in Brussels, of which Colonel Glowfist was the non-executive custodian when he wasn't off having adventures.
And so, immediately upon their return to Europe (at least, when all the business with the whole attempted invasion was done with), Colonel Glowfist had cleared out his grand old room in the clock tower of the library, summoned up a demon cot for David to sleep on, and immediately tried to cram five years of magical study into six weeks. David was to learn, Aramaic, Greek, German and Sanskrit – the magical languages, as well as the proper arrangement of cutlery for a fish meal, the meanings of animals, the what-to-do-list for when one is challenged to a duel by a Bedouin, good story structure, seven kinds of highly archaic verse, the King's father's extensive deconstruction of the Viking sagas and eight different ways to prepare a scrumptious meal using mostly termites and twigs.
Glowfist got into his new role as a holistic and well-rounded educator by hitting the finest boutiques in Brussels. No longer would he be a half-wild, bedraggled, one-footed hermit with cracked skin and scaly brown talons. He had his enormous body washed, scrubbed, manicured, combed, styled, drained, dusted, tucked and scented. He made a great show of riding a pair of Awesome Horses right through the town centre and the party that was happening there, straight up to the office of Tailorsaurus, the stitch-wizard who had studied under Mechanicus and who famously made the King's natty threads. He demanded that he stop partying and attend to his custom, and threw a hefty sack of gold down to make him obey. Only Tailorsaurus had the skill and the equipment to make a set of clothes that were both stylish as all get-out, and expansive enough to contain the swollen archmage.
The Colonel hired a research assistant to find and gather the most relevant and soberly-written volumes that would further David's learning. Anticipating a return to life on the road, he auctioned off a load of magical staffs and murky potions he'd accumulated on his travels and registered for patents on the higher levels of the Explodo spell, Extended Haste and Summon Awesome Horse that he'd discovered. The demand for them was instantaneous and enthusiastic. Wizards across Europe had been mucking about with basically ineffective Explodos and Awesome Horses that really weren't very Awesome and disappeared after only a few hours. He invested this windfall into additional inventory space and powerfully enchanted strips of leather that, when worn, would increase his base carry weight, which he had woven into his spiffy new clothes. Finally, he bought an upgrade for his staff that would enable it to be converted, at a word, to be converted into a small but quiet classroom, which he promptly filled with a desk and shelves and lots of writing paper and some books from his own collection, so that David would have a good working environment even if the Adventure Team happened to be stuck in Hell or Sicily or Ethiopia, of all places. He could not wait until Roxy Tripfoot got to see how diligent and resourceful he was. It was undoubtedly a much better tactic that appearing pitiful and helpless – and more demonstrably expensive, too. He hoped she'd appreciate that part most of all.
David, however, was not taking to these new habits as enthusiastically as Colonel Glowfist was. It is very difficult to learn Aramaic in a week while the biggest party Europe has ever seen is happening right outside the window, with the screams of cats piercing every hour of the day and night. Princess Princess was another heap of distractions too. She had taken to hanging around David whenever she got suspended or expelled from high school, which was once every three days or so. She would wander into the library, spend a few minutes dancing around the aisles or building a bed out of books that would support her while she lounged, then would roll around on the floor at David's feet or stand on the table upon which he was working and start her routine of berating him while also updating him on her thoughts and movements. It would go like this:
“You're such a little snot. You're a swot and you spend all day in here reading this gobblydegook. It's such rubbish.”
“Could you get off the table please, Princess?”
“No. There's a party going on outside and it's so much better than in here. There are so many people, there's music and delicious foods, there's nothing of the sort in here. It's cold.”
“Then why are you in here?”
“To annoy you, stupid. And to play with little Scruff, who must be so bored in this cold, old, stupid place. Where is Scruff anyway? Scruff!”
“He's out,” said David simply.
“I've had the most awful day – they told me to leave that beastly school again, the nuns there all hate me in any case and I hate them, so good riddance. School's boring. I'm so much older than all the other children and all we do talk about sewing and choosing which baby is the best one to kill. It's always the girl, of course. It's so dull.””
“I'm trying to work -”
“Oh, you're always doing that. You're just like the stupid girls at school. They don't know any good games, just boring ones, and when I try to teach them one of mine, they go and tell me that I have to leave.” At this point in the conversation, she'd pick a small, gold object out of one of her petticoats, peel the gold off to reveal a dark brown dome or mesa or pyramid and pop the strange shape into her mouth with a grin. When the wrapped came off, David would catch a whiff of the thing and his head would shoot up as if it were on a string.
“What's that you're eating,” he'd politely say up at her.
“You can't have any, I've got none left,” she'd say.
“Yes you do, I saw them in your pocket when you put your hand in.”
“I think -I'd- know if -I- had any left,” she'd say, grinning with a mouth full of brown-coated teeth. “Anyway, this is special, United Statesian magic food and it's just for me.”
“Fine then,” David would say at that point, leaning back in his chair. He'd reach into his own pocket, pull out his own piece of United Statesian magic, light it with a LVL.1 Flame spell and take a long puff. Princess would watch him for a while, then -
“Give me one, David!”
“No,” said David, inhaling deeply. He was good at it.
“I'm older than you now give it!” came the cry, and then a small struggle would break out. Princess would leap down off the table or from the book-bed she'd made and would make a grab for David's mouth. But David had spent most of his life getting away from enemies and he had once messed up Terrorthaw with his father's sword while hopped up on jump juice. He could duck and weave better than most people you've met. Princess had grappled plenty of times with her eunuchs, sure, but they were fat and kinda old and they tended to just lie there and take it. After about ten seconds of wasted effort, she would sense that she would most certainly lose The Struggle For The Cigarette and would resort to Mutually Assured Destruction.
“Colonel Glowfist! Colonel Glowfist!” she'd scream, and you have to remember that she was the King's daughter. “David's using magic indoors! He's a little twerp and he won't give it and come quick!”
Colonel Glowfist would appear then, leaning heavily on his staff, at the entrance to the library. He'd have been out shopping for some additional foppery and the Haste spell would be steaming off of his clothes.
“Here comes Mr. Fatty,” Princess would say. Once, when Colonel Glowfist had returned from selecting a dignified powdered hairpiece, she remarked, “How rare! A pig in a wig!” Needless to say, there would at this point be a short chase wherein Colonel Glowfist would run Princess out of the library at a low speed. He'd spend the evening trying to cajole the headmaster of some school or another into admitting Princess into their hallowed halls. On more than one occasion, he had to remind a headmaster that he was, don't forget, - Colonel Glowfist, - the only man in Europe who could throw a LVL. 8 Explodo Spell while both looking cool -and- not Explodoing himself.
And so the days went by and the summer wore on. The routines became a performance and everyone filled their roles wonderfully. One day, however, the whole thing was different. Princess was up on the table, eating her chocolates and pretending that she'd just eaten the last one in the world, David was lighting up his cigarette in retaliation and the minor scuffle was just about to break out when the King, their father, burst through the truly immense doors of the library and used his lowest, most genial scream to summon Colonel Glowfist. Then he saw his lovely children – sweet, gentle David and once-beautiful, fleshy Princess.
“My children!” he cried as he fell to his knees and flung out his arms for a giant hug. David and Princess peered at the kneeling King through their smoke and their mastications for an instant before consulting each other's faces and running into his hug. The King growled joyously as he embraced them. “For the sake of my children, for all the children – I must hold back the tide of darkness that threatens to drown us all.”
“Hi dad,” said David.
“Where have you been, Daddy?” said Princess. They hadn't seen him at all since the party had started.
“I've been thinking most hardly, my pudgy Princess,” said the King. He broke the hug and inspected them both. “You were fighting, just then, the two of you? Brother against sister. Kin on kin.” David looked guilty and Princess heaved herself into defence mode.
“I wasn't fighting, David was trying to get my chocolates, he wanted them all to himself – he's selfish and he's not in control of himself, he said he hated you, Daddy,” she began, but the King hushed her by laying a heavy palm upon her head.
“Princess, you would fight your own brother, but were it to come right down to it – would you fight me?” Princess roughly grabbed his wooden hand and removed it from her head.
“Of course not, Daddy. You're the King.”
“And you, little David. Your sister would turn on you and generally be mean, but do you hunger, in the most secret of your hearts, to overthrow me, your father, and claim my divine throne for your own, twisted, parliamentarian ways?”
“No,” said David. “I never want to hurt you, dad.”
“Hmm,” said the King. He said it a few more times as he passes the matter around his brain. As he did that, Colonel Glowfist arrived. He'd been out buying the finest pair of decorative eyeglasses the Kingdom had to offer. He was expecting to find David and Princess bickering over cigarettes and was preparing to slowly chase Princess around the library before he ran out of breath and she escaped, possibly taunting him as she went. Instead he found the King humming under his breath, clutching a visibly frightened David and an irritated Princess. This looked like a very distracting situation indeed for the poor boy.
“My King, it is very pleasing to me to see you up and about,” said Colonel Glowfist. “How goes your recovery?” The King whirled, released his children and stalked towards the archmage, smiling.
“Colonel Glowfist! My, you are a sight and a smell and a wonder to behold! I see you've put your share of the plunder to good use and maxed out your fanciness!” Colonel Glowfist blushed, but you couldn't tell under all the powder he had clinging to his cheeks. “Colonel, we must discuss things, you and I. My children are relieved.” He whirled back to them. “Go! Play, play with all your might!” Princess' eyes lit up while David's did a groan. She grabbed her brother by the arm and dragged him into the sunlight outside. The King put an arm around as much of Colonel Glowfist as he could and whispered as loudly as possible. “The war approaches, treasured Glowfist. I fear it is beyond even my power to halt it on my own. Half of our land is all pissed off with the other half. Brother has turned on sister, as you have seen, but the same is writ large in the Politics Forum. Once this party clears and the goodwill it brings shrinks into the working day, no doubt we'll find that the same is true across all of Europe. This is no simple matter or Politics that can be solved with talk. This is magic and nobody does magic better than Colonel Glowfist.”
“I've been studying the problem since our return here,” lied Colonel Glowfist. To be fair, he had meant to get to work on figuring out how the effect of the King's law-breaking could be negated, but he had diverted so many of his energies into shopping, grooming and David that he just hadn't found the time. “My theory is that when you hit on petite Astrid - while under the influence of those many poisoned Viking hearts, of course - you blew the metaphysical mind of Europe so hard that you caused a stack overflow and crashed Europe's main magic server,” this was a guess, but it was an educated guess. Europe's servers had crashed before – it was well documented in the magical histories – and such an event was always followed by a sudden stemming in the flow of European magic from the land into the various outlets that existed across the land – gods, central heating, wizards, the King himself, cool weapons, borders, laws, that sort of thing. While the effects were geologically sudden, it would take the last pump of magic a few years to gurgle its way through every outlet in the system and so they would gradually falter and fade over a few years before stopping altogether. “It could be that your difficulties of late are not entirely to blame on Oranje's theft of your Super-Chastity flower. Your magical birthright that names you King might simply be running low on vital fluids, just as blessed Europe is running low on the magic that makes it the singular, harmonious nation that birthed us.” That sounded pretty good to Colonel Glowfist when he played it back in his head. He'd check it out later, of course, but for now it all seemed to follow logically. The King got as close to Colonel Glowfist as a man could without disappointing the ghost of his parents. He grabbed the back of his wig, pulled him in and whispered this:
“What must we do, Colonel? How can we save Europe?” Colonel Glowfist's wigged head swam with colours. Every colour was there and each one represented a thought and each thought represented a possibility. Only one combination would lead to salvation. Colonel Glowfist carefully chose the one he felt was the best match.
“We have to reset the server,” he said. “Manually. We'll have to travel there, unplug it, then plug it back in, then check the lights.”
“Magical jargon,” smiled the King. “But where there's a will, there's a way – and my will counts for one hundred.” The King then peered into the archmage's eyes to check if he thought he was joking or not. “Prepare yourself to leave within a few days, Colonel. We might not have much time.” He squeezed his grip momentarily on the Colonel's wig, signalling an agreement between them, then he released, disengaged and turned to leave. Before he reached the library doors he paused and shouted to the room at large. “Where do we go to find this server of Europe, honoured Colonel?” At this, Colonel Glowfist released the air he'd been holding inside of his body. He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath for some time.
“Ireland, Your Highness,” he gasped. The King nodded his head. Ireland. Of course. How fine. Then he continued leaving until he was gone.
Later that day, when Axe Axewound was awakened for supper and sheet-changing, Father Dominoes was astonished to find that his patient was not only quite chatty – not a common state for the Celtlander even before his Presidential molestation – but was suddenly very interested in the day's hag-races. He was adamant that someone should tell him which hags had run that day and he would not move out of bed or swallow a spoonful of nourishing broth until someone told him. Father Dominoes didn't know and neither did any of the attendants on duty, so one was sent out to ask one of the garden slaves. They -always- knew what was going on with the hags. It wasn't long before an old garden slave with stumps for fingers and gravel for teeth was found and gently interrogated until a list was introduced, which was then read to Axe:
Mrs. Timmermans
Old Mrs. Jansen
Ms. Van Stappen
The Hairy Cackler
Karlijn Wimple
Heartless Attack
Mrs. F. Redback
“That's her,” said Axe Axewound before Father Dominoes could read any more hag-names from the list. “That's the hag that won.” Then he tried to get up and spilled his bedpan. There was a flurry of assistants and somewhere in the middle of it, Axe was quickly fed, medicated and sort of cleaned. By the time things had quietened down and Father Dominoes could even get close to him, Axe had fallen asleep. Father Dominoes re-summoned the garden slave and learned that Axe's pick had indeed won the race that day. The garden slave was sent back with a Tupperware full of broth and a spare blessing that Father Dominoes had found on the dresser.
It was such a little thing in the scheme of things but there was no choice but to wonder about it. One of the assistants could have told Axe at some point, o course. Or they might have discussed the races among themselves while Axe slept. The assistants had been slipping out to the party and the hag races were big news in any weather, but Father Dominoes wasn't sure that any of his staff were big fans. It was possible that Yahweh could have told Axe something, since he was hanging around the mission in his Spirit Form listening in on all the prayers that were flying around, and Yahweh was prone to prophecies, although they weren't usually very accurate. You never pointed this out to him though, or else he'd get angry and stop talking to you and probably smite you with leprosy. Yahweh was basically obsessed with leprosy.
So I guess we've got a mystery on our hands, guys! Let's put it on the pile and sally on.
End of Chapter 95
Chapter 94 - The King VS Boring Political Intrigue
The party to mark the King's return to the amazing shores of Europe had been rocking on for a month and ten days. Every living serf and scraper in that wonderful time-lost Kingdom of old was partying harder than most people of today are capable of imagining.
All citizens, young and old had been required under European Law to kill at least one cat in celebration of a grand event like a return of a King, but once again the the brave people of Europe had shattered all expectations and really gone the extra mile: From Angleland in the West to Constantinople in the East, from the Southern spires of Atlantis to the Northern crinkles of Viking Europe, the delicious smell of roast cat clung sweetly to the air. Every valley in the Swiss Alps was a moist and furry carpet, while all the peaks and clifftops were alive with jubilant Europeans cherishing the thought of their King at last back amongst them. Dead cats clogged every alleyway, were crammed in every barbecue grill, were wrapped around every mill-stone and were jammed upon every jagged fence-post in the land. So many had been used to fuel the party that the King even thought he'd have to have a word with his old Adventure Friend, Baroness Catsex, who'd ascended to Heaven to become the European goddess of cats and dressing up like cats, to check if the supply would hold. But honestly, the King had more important things on his mind. Yes, some things were even more serious that parties. What could those things be? Well, I'll tell you. They are, in no particular order:
The King's Father
Terrorthaw acting out
The Irish
More parties
The dissolution of Europe into a bloody, protracted Civil War
The King's mind was on the last one, of course. He could feel the fractures in the cat-soaked air around him with the fingertips of his mind. His Kingdom was a fairy-cake caught in the delicious moment before crumbling in the maw of chaos. No matter how much joy he saw on the faces of his beautiful subjects as they drank and cavorted and cheered and made stupendous bets on the hag races and put cat after cat after cat to the sword, or knife or hammer or whatever, he knew that their joy would soon be a lie. He had personally broken one of the most important laws of Europe, perhaps -the- most important law. It was bad enough when a normal dude pulls something like that, but for the King to try it – jeez man, that's something else. The King wanted so hard to put everything right – to grab those fractures by the neck and smash them to bits until they mended and everything was cool again – but he was still so weak from losing his Super-Chastity. Instead of smashing, his days were spent resting in bed with a hot water bottle and the Royal Cuddler, where he'd occasionally rise to walk over to the window to wave and crack a laugh for the partying crowds outside.
Frustrated and tearlogged, he focused his chi and his XP for a whole week, eating nothing and talking to no one. The witches and healers and sexy nurses and the Royal Cuddler - who'd been assigned to his bedside by Father Dominoes - were all worried and kept crowding around him as he sat there, glowing gently on the bed, his teeth gritted so hard you could hear them. They tried to wake him up by offering him ice-cream, flowers, figurines of his favourite cockfighting champions and all the rest of his favourite things, but the King would just grit his teeth even harder and they'd all have to run out of the the room with their ears ringing. Father Dominoes had to assure them at the end of every day of that week that the King was fine, he was just gathering strength for something important and Kingly. Most of the witches and healers and what-have-yous got the message and began working half-shifts so they could join in the partying.
Sure enough, at the end of that week of glowing and chi-gathering, the King's eyes sprang open like backwards bear traps and he screamed. He screamed as put on his purplest robe, screamed he ran to the Politics Forum and screamed until Commander Flightfeather appeared.
“Your Highness! How warm to see you're well and firm, but what -” but his words were no use. The King screamed and screamed until Timothy Clashradish and Jacob Hillmounter appeared in the Forum, until Gadfly and Formation, the heads of the Church and the Merchant Guilds and the Commander of Cashflow and the Chief Librarian and all the little Dukes and Barons and Sirs who thought they were so great were correct and present and seated there in the Politics Forum. Once they were there, the King stopped screaming and just breathed for a little while. Everyone took the opportunity to finish the drinks and nibbles they had brought with them from the party. Then the King spoke and it was real.
“Gentlemen and honourary gentlemen,” he roared, “As the newscriers and gossiptrees have told you, as the revellers sing it outside, as it has been written in psychic flowers across the ceiling of the Astral Plane, I have returned to you, cherished Europe, though my quest is not yet complete. My crazy ex, Oranje, who you all know well – remember all the messages she put up on the notice board – she opposed me at every turn. My Adventure Friends and I went to the Moon and there she was. We fell to the darks of Romania, home to the savage gypsies and their foul defilers, the Draculas, and there she was also I chased her from that shrouded realm across the sea all the way to the New World you may have heard about, the world of the New Viking Europe, where she fought me to a standstill. Yes, me. Eventually I ran up through the totally strange domain of the President Of The United States, where most things are different and they use words for things that we wouldn't use. She was the one who launched the recent attack on Normandy and she was the one who brought me back home prematurely. Had it not been for the brave and talented actions of my son, Prince David, who you all know well, the consequences of her feminine hysteria could have been grave indeed. Now she is defeated at last and my quest to murder Winter from ear to ear and free us from his chilly tyranny must continue. But for now, I am back in Europe, my home – the sweetest most awesomest land in all the lands of this world. And yet I sense that not all has been well in my long absence. You've got feelings, my countrymen, and some of them are hurt. Let them all out here, in front of your King. Let them spill out on the ground and I shall sort through them like a sea otter diving for clampets. Spill those feelings now before they fester and rot and wreck us from the inside. Speak!”
It took a little while before anyone could speak because they were so glad to be in the presence of the King and his voice. They were thrilled to be given this opportunity to clear the air, so thrilled that they didn't know what to say. The first to recover from the pleasant shock were the bird leaders, Gadfly, the penguin and Formation, the puffin. Gadfly fluttered and puffed and then squittered this to the King:
“Morning morning sun sun, hello girls, this is my location. Keep a comfortable distance, rivals-that-are-near: Morning morning, big nest very big all rivals all girls morningnoonevesleep – big nest very big ?not? Uncertain, uncerta - Aggression! Keep away, I am not showing pain! Morning.”
The King cleared his mighty throat. He had understood, of course, as there was no language of man nor beast he could not divine, but he sensed that the rump of the audience was lost.
“Commander Flightfeather, old friend – could you repeat honoured Gadfly's song in plain European for the benefit of those assembled?” said the King. Commander Flightfeather chirped nervously then stood and said,
“He feels – all of the birds nesting here in Europe feel – that they were promised the land of Luxembourg for a permanent nesting site, free from rats and the other enemies of birds. He is angry and hurt that this has not happened yet, but doesn't want you to know how sad it makes him feel.”
“What's this?” said the Duke of Luxembourg at the back.
“Don't fret about it. We told the little bird that they couldn't do that,” rolled Jacob.
“We told them ages ago,” added Timothy.
“There where did they get this blasted idea -” started the Duke.
“They don't understand the meaning of 'no,'” said Jacob.
“Because birds are stupid,” offered Timothy. At this, the King clenched his fists, sucked in a melonful of air and bellowed:
“Be nice to birds from now on!”
Nobody said anything for one whole minute. Jacob and Timothy looked in shame at each other's shoes. Their minds were full of images of birds, beautiful birds, drifting through the sky, so lucky, so musical. The King breathed heavily. He wouldn't be able to shout like that again for the rest of the day. He felt dizzy but he hung on. A small voice eventually arose from the heart of the crowd.
“Ahum, Your Highness, no doubt you are aware by now, but Europe's economy has floundered while you've been away.” The voice belonged to Henri Moneyfight, Warchief of the Moneyfight Pizanos. He was a slight, nervous man who'd inherited the centuries-old post of Commander of Cashflow for all of Europe during the King's absence and has having trouble getting the hang of it. He looked like he'd been up all night.
“Commander Flightfeather did mention it to me,” said the King, “But I thought it didn't matter. What of the great boons I brought from those faraway shores? What of the haunted gold I personally plundered from a temple full of ghosts? I had to fight them by smell. And are we not ass-deep in United Statesian trade?” There was a murmur around the Forum. Many had heard about the riches that had flowed forth from the King's inventory and of course everyone had already gotten used to the idea of the United Statesian trade-canoes sailing in once every while. Henri Moneyfight dabbed his mouth with a hanky and spoke:
“Yes, Your Highness, but the gold you brought to the coffers was a drop in the ocean of our debts now that the Rock Kingdom has raised its price on precious jewels to fifty horses per ounce. Our horse reserves are almost exhausted and if we don't open up a new trade route with the Kingdom of Sharing or -” he swallowed, “- Islamaland, there soon will not be a horse to be found anywhere in Europe.” York Sykes, Europe's Executive Slavemaster, stood up and joined his words to Henri's.
“Not only that, Your Highness, but our workforce has been crippled since the trial period on those United Statesian slaves expired,” he said.
“Trial period?” asked the King, a bit too surprised for his own liking.
“There was a poison in them, magical, I expect.” York said. “Six months to the day after we put them to work, they fall asleep. Every last one of them, didn't matter where they were or what they were doing. We can't wake em by any earthly means, and believe me, we've tried. All we can get them to do is talk. They all say the same thing and they all say it in the same voice. They want gold, every one of them. That adds up to a lot of gold, Your Highness, you don't need be to point it out. They say we're to pay the gold to a representative of the Sidewinder Slavery Corporation next time the United Statesian boats are in, in which event the antidote will be given and they'll wake up and get back to work. It's caused a world of trouble, needless to say. We've got unfinished projects all over the Kingdom gathering dust as we speak – the new Cathedral, the statue, the conference centre – and we were supposed to sell most of the slaves off to the Kingdom of Sharing to pay for it all, but we can't do that now, obviously. We're in quite a state.” He sat down and Henri Moneyfight continued to jam.
“The trade with the United States is the only thing keeping us afloat from day to day, Your Highness. Your return was very fortuitously timed. But, as our good representatives of the banks and the trade unions will tell you, they're not talking to each other until they get quality sitting time in the conference centre that hasn't yet been built. Our industries and businesses can't expand until that happens, so we're left at the mercy of the United States' whims. If they decide to raise their prices or boycott even part of our agreement, we could all starve. We must reinvest what we have wisely or we'll have to convert back to a conquest economy and decide which nation we should sack first.”
“Only we can't,” barked Jacob, fully intending to spoil the party.
“Our once-mighty army is a depleted to the point of being a wholly regrettable shambles,” said Timothy.
“The attack at Normandy knocked us for six – we're still licking our wounds from that,” said Jacob.
“Commander Flightfeather's commanding wasn't quite up to scratch on that one, eh Your Highness?” Commander Flightfeather twitched in his chair.
“Not to mention,” went on Timothy, “That all of the mercenaries we hired from the Kingdom of Sharing have up and -” The King rose.
“Again with the Kingdom of Sharing!” growled the King. “I thought we didn't deal with those guys! Those guys are bad guys!” Commander Flightfeather flapped in a calming way.
“Your Highness, we've kept our doings with them as limited as possible, but Ethiopia won't return our calls, we've left so many messages and weren't here and we didn't deal with the Sharingists directly -”
“We've had reports of Irish attacks in Angleland,” said Timothy.
“And the Minister of the City Of Ric sends word of Islamaland encroachment into the formerly Dracula-held territories in Romania,” said Jacob. “Remember when we went for the big push against those Draculas, Your Highness?”
“We're all out of red!” cried Hieronymous Adelaide, head of the Bible-Maker's Guild. He had frankly had enough. He was pink and wet and quivering, like a finger that had just been pulled out of a dyke. The flood that followed only helped to strengthen the simile. Every voice rang out and every voice was tagged with a grievance. The voices filled every part of the Politics Forum and smashed against each other like angry sperm, they got inside people's heads and made them angry, they jostled and pleaded and bit and complained and confused and hurt. There were so many solutions being offered, but only one of them was right.
The King closed his eyes and tried to hear every voice at once, to hear that one solution that would win the day. He knew before he even tried that it wouldn't be there. He moved to touch his Ring of Diplomacy, to give it two twists and activate its power. But his Ring was gone – it was still on his finger, which he'd left inside the President Of The United States, along with his awesome Bear Claw. He'd replaced his hand with an old one – the extendo-hand that he'd used back in the Bird Wars. He'd used it to swing from certain platforms to get across wide gaps, and it could beat enemies from half a screen away. It wasn't nearly as powerful as his missing rocket-fist, but it would do in a pinch. It was the Ring that was the real loss. He might have been able to have calmed the crowd down before, even without his Ring, but now he just felt so tired. He wanted to leave them all to their squabbles and go back to bed. But he was still the King and this was still Europe. He gathered up the threads of his strength and wove them into a Quilt Of Resolve.
“Gentlemen!” he yelled. The Forum quietened once again. It had to. “Let's put it to a vote.” There was a hum of agreement. Voting always solved problems. The King would hold a vote and they would vote, 'Yes,' because they loved him. “Good, good. Now. Hands on your knees, get ready,” coaxed the King. “Now, who votes 'Yes,' on the motion to not argue and to all get along and don't worry? Who votes 'Yes' to that? Raise your hands - - Now!”
Exactly half of the people sitting there in the Politics Forum rose their hands. The silence was stunned, concussed, and came round to the sound of tears. Every Headof and Princelet and Lord cried all over their chests right there and then because this had never happened before. They usually all voted 'Yes.' It's not that they don't love the King, it's just -
The assembly broke up soon afterwards. No one spoke much – there suddenly wasn't a lot to say. A lot of the Barons and Ministers and Knights and what-have-yous went outside into the streets and tried to join the party but they couldn't get into it. A crowd of Danes accosted the King as he staggered through the Town Square, bleary-eyed and afraid. They handed him a cat and he smiled faintly, asked them their names and obliged them. He threw the cat high up into the air and launched a rocket-punch at the pinwheeling furball. The blazing fist completely missed the cat, which fell somewhere among the marching band. The Danes tried to hand the King another cat but it was all too much for him. He clasped his hand, when it had returned, to his mouth to stop himself from throwing up out of shame and ran through the partying crowd to nowhere in particular.
And then, on the far side of the Laeken Palace grounds, at the mouth of the heavy woods that served as the King's personal hunting/training spa - where Axe Axewound's animal friends now roamed and fed and bred and grew mighty - inside the warm little cottage whose lofty windows caught the forest-filtered light just so, slept an old priest and a broken werewolf. Father Dominoes was all tuckered out after a hard day of healing Axe Axewound. Axe was tired simply because his body didn't work properly.
Father Dominoes had spent much of the past month-and-a-bit in prayer and meditation, fasting as hard as he could, in order to discover which parts of the Bible would even work on a werewolf. His god, Yahweh – a tough old desert god, contemporary of Ba'al, who'd made a name for himself when he had teamed up with a newfangled sun god and a netball team of Mother Natures and changed the whole god game around – was not in a revelatory mood. Heaven was disturbed by the political situation in Europe, the King's Father was in a tizz, there were rumblings coming in from all the factions of the extant gods and no one had heard from the Devil in weeks. All Yahweh wanted to talk about was which verses of the Bible hurt werewolves, or hurt the Celtish, or which could hurt anyone. This was helpful in itself but Father Dominoes had to pray very carefully to tempt him out of his bad mood.
Despite this, progress had been good. Father Dominoes wasn't just any fat old man with a drinking problem. He'd helped Axe Axewound mend to the point where he could stay awake for an hour or longer and he was quite able to move his arms in any direction he wished without experiencing much pain. His grip was weak and it would be an age before he could walk, but it was a great improvement over the insensible lump he'd been a month previously. And so the priest dozed on his bed after a hard day's healing and a stout drink. His attendants had all retired to their own quarters within the Palace. The sounds of the forest hid the nervous bleats of the goats outside and no one saw the old man walk over to the bed and whisper in the warrior's ear.
End of Chapter 94
Interlude PART 2 - Intermission wars.
Guys!
Everything is still okay!
I think it is time to reveal to you the many plans that swirl beautifully around the bathtub of the inner mind, in space.
Here are the illustrations for Chapter One of Saga Of The European King:
But hold your horses and nail down your hats, fellows, because that's not all! Here is the first of many Kingcasts - mysterious objects that play a recording of a particular chapter in the Saga when moved to do so.
On these words lies the Kingcast for the very first chapter.
And here is a special, crazy preview of what lies ahead in the special, crazy future of Chapter 11.
And on that same vein, here are some freestylin' character studies of all of your favourite SOTEK (As we call it in the office) characters, except if your favourite character is a girl or Cajun. The man behind most of the voices is called Mano Camatsos. He used to be my neighbour.
Click to awaken:
- Guest starring my housemate (and friend, I guess), Kasia.
and finally,
That should keep everyone busy for a little while. Is it the required etiquette to tell everyone that the voice workshops are NSFW? They contain swearing and some outrageous stereotypes. Also, canonicity is questionable!
More story soon. You deserve it!
Interlude - On the edge of Giant War
Hey everyone in the world and you, I think this story is going great. So great that I'm going to stop it for a while to get some drawings and recordings done. That's right. The King and his story are going to be represented in other media than plain old boring text. This will make it easier to tell your friends about the King and to make them understand.
But don't worry, I won't be away for long. Every part of me burns to tell the rest of this story and to answer the questions that may be sprouting in your manymind -
Who is the traitor?
Is there really going to be a Civil War? How awful!
What's Terrorthaw up to in the Ancient Past? No good, I expect.
How's Axe Axewound doing, is he okay?
I miss Sally Minefield! (Not really a question)
Is the King going to get his Super-Chastity back?
When are they going to kill Winter, please?
What's up with Scruff? Is he magic?
When is Ba'al coming back?
What's the Cowboy Angel got planned for the Old Man?
There are probably other questions and I'm going to answer them too. I'll also be filling in the old chapters with the illustrations and recordings I'm making, but I'll tell you when those happen.
Things are about to get awesome and sad.
Chapter 93 - Dese Days Part Six – Permanent Trauma.
Astrid Gimmerleck sped away from the abbey and all away at full pelt down towards the beach. She was fit and lithe and good at running. You had to be, really, if you were a Vikinca archeologist. The slow ones get chomped by a ghost or strangled by a mummy in their first week on the job.
But, fast as she was, it seemed to her that it took an age before she arrived at the beach. She darted about the chattering, idle European and United Statesian troops until she found Colonel Glowfist inside one of the many, many hospital tents that had sprung up like mushrooms all around the base of the Tower of Super-Chastity. Europe was the most compassionate place in the world and compassion doesn't just mean looking after your own guys when they fall in battle, but the other fellow's guys as well. Those hospital tents were full to the brim with troops from both the European and United Statesian sides. They were being looked after by scores of European priests, physicians, bards and alchemists, in addition to the United Statesian Medical Corps of shamans and dancers. Those tents were so busy with all the healing going on! Everywhere you looked, potions were being cooked up, Bibles were being read, leeches and brandy were being applied or something smelly was being set on fire to the accompaniment of wailing. All the wounded people were getting better or else dying. Bernadetta Leathervest was in there too, healing up real nice, getting access to the priests of the highest levels, the fattest leeches and the most magical of potions. She was being treated so well, of course, because she was a friend of the King's. This might seem unfair, since most people in Europe considered themselves a friend of the King, but everyone understood how the system worked and they were okay with it.
Because of all the smoke and bustle and noise, you might have thought that the good Colonel would have been hard to find, but Astrid only had to poke her head into a dozen tents or so before she found him. The Colonel is the kind of guy who stands out in a crowd. He is, remember, impossibly fat and even though he'd got his grooming problems more or less under control by that point, the fatness still counted for a lot. Also, he and David were popping out spells like the most fluid of the squits: mostly low level haste spells and resistances to fatigue for the hospital staff, along with a lot of confusion, stun and sleep spells to anaesthetise the patients. This was cool and modern and no one had really thought of it before. When Colonel Glowfist saw Astrid hurry up to him, he smiled and made to welcome her, for he had not seen his fellow Adventure Friend for many hours and there had been a war on and all, and he'd been a bit worried about her. But then he saw how serious and pain-stricken her face was and he had to know what could make a face look like that.
“He's in trouble,” was all she said. Colonel Glowfist knew who she was talking about – the King, of course, and all of the Europeans in that hospital tent knew it too. The noise and the bustle dropped suddenly as they all stopped dancing or praying or getting better and looked at Astrid Gimmerleck, their faces turning just as serious and pain-stricken as hers had been. Quite a few of them died right then, even if they hadn't been very ill. Colonel Glowfist wasted no time and summoned two Awesome Horses, which wasn't such a wise move because then he had to lead the demon horses carefully out of the hospital tent and try not to trample anyone or anything. But that was okay because it gave Roxy Tripfoot and Cajun a chance to find him.
“One of my informants – whose name I shall not reveal – told me there was a King Related Incident (KRI) emerging in this operational sector,” said Cajun. Roxy tried not to roll her eyes at Cajun's lamezoidness because he was an Adventure Friends now and you don't roll your eyes at Adventure Friends. It was one of the worse things you could do.
“Yes, I saw Astrid run in here. What is wrong, Colonel?”
“He's in trouble,” said Colonel Glowfist and then he summoned up a few more Awesome Horses, which they carefully led out of the tent and then they were off!
David had not failed to notice that he had not been included. He stood outside the hospital tent and watched the Adventure Friends rumble off into the distance on their Awesome Horses. He didn't think this was fair. He had his coffee tin and his invisibility cloak and he was getting better at magic all the time. He'd killed at least two United Statesians on the beach during the invasion and he didn't even feel too bad about it (though maybe he would later, in dreams), so he didn't see why he shouldn't be allowed to help his dad out if he was, indeed, in trouble. He switched his cloak to 'on,' conjured up an Awesome Shetland (he couldn't do a whole horse yet) and rode on invisibly after them. Of course, the Awesome Shetland wasn't invisible, but David was doing his best. When he arrived at the abbey he saw some terrible things. Just inside the open front doors, Cutty lay on the ground, babbling not unquietly to himself. David snuck up to to the sword, turned his cloak off and tapped him on the handle.
“- oh no, don't listen to stupid old Cutty, he -never- knows what's going on -”
“Cutty, hey, hello in there?”
“Oh, Prince David, I didn't see you. Thank heavens you're here. Now you're here, you've got to get out of here, I'm not kidding around.” There was a terrifying racket upstairs and David could hear his mother's voice.
“Cutty,” he whispered, “Is my mom up there?”
“You've got to go, David, it's not safe. Your father, the King, His Highness, the Chief – he's done for. There's nothing you can do, now get out of here, please!” But David ignored Cutty, of course, and charged inside. He found Roxy Tripfoot, his beloved, spicy, bride-to-be, lying still and beaten upon the stairs leading up to the maire's bedroom. For a strong female character, she sure was getting knocked around a lot. He wanted to go to her and touch her hair and tell her that she was all right but there were other terrible things that demanded his attention. At the top of the stairs, almost blocking his way, was Colonel Glowfist, gasping on the floor in the midst of a heart attack. David watched helplessly for two long moments as his teacher shook and grabbed at the air, then there was a cacophony of light and screams from the maire's bedroom and within that terrible blaze of noise, David could hear the King moan and his mother shriek. He apologetically hopped over the Colonel's body and ran down the hallway into the bedroom and saw the most terrible thing there was to see. Oranje was electrocuting Cajun, but that wasn't nearly as terrible as the way in which she was doing so. She was shakily suspended in the air by a pyramid of lightening, the apex of which was located just above the womb from which he himself had been formed. His father was joined to his mother at the crotch, his body rose and fell with hers, his eyes were dead and staring as his head lolled back over his shoulders. Inarticulate moans and pants escaped from his lungs with every twitch and shake of Oranje's electric supports. He was entirely naked, as was she. David had never seen the King naked before. No one had. At first he wasn't sure that the poor creature dandling off his mother's waist even was the King, but there was no mistaking that sweet face, that noble beard, that invincible wooden hand. Oranje stopped electrocuting Cajun when she saw David enter the room, which probably saved the United Statesian's life. Her eyes widened to saucers, she squeezed her hips to narrow the lightning-pyramid to a pencil-thin beam, slowly dropped to the floor and then peeled the King off of her body. He folded over onto the ground as she walked slowly over to greet her son.
“David. So nice to see you baby. I'm all finished up here, let's go fetch your sister.” David could not say anything. His mouth was full of horror. His hands were wrapped white-tight around his coffee tin. In the corner of his eye he saw Cajun, burned and weak, crawl over to the King and check his pulse. Oranje smoothly took a few steps closer. There was a crash from behind her as Cajun hurled himself and the King out of the bedroom window. She turned to look behind her, “Oh dear. Doesn't matter. David, what's important is that you're here. What's important is that I love you.” David threw his coffee tin with fortunate accuracy at his mother's head. It struck her a glancing blow on the temple, which surprised her and knocked the lid of the tin off and produced an astonishing, deafening explosion of displaced air, orange light and over a thousand hungry and terrified woodland animals just next to her face. David caught a too-long glimpse of the nonsensical folding of space as the room filled up with every kind of fur, claw, muzzle, wing and tooth and his mother was torn to confetti in the churning inferno of gore that followed the explosion with such shocking speed that it was all over even before he had run away. Later, he could not even remember his flight from the bedroom, the short scream down the hallway and the tumble over Colonel Glowfist's blubbery obstruction. He woke up with his head buried in Roxy Tripfoot's side, at the bottom of the stairs, with Father Dominoes standing over him with all the sympathy in the world vibrating through his eyes.
“My poor boy,” he said, “My poor, poor boy.”
“Is my mom okay?” asked David, hopefully.
“You get some sleep,” said the priest. He hoisted his solid gold Bible up to reading height, deftly flicked to the correct metal page, marked his place with a nimble finger and read aloud the verse that makes young boys go to sleep.
David awoke once again, this time in a comfortable bunk bed inside one of the barracks that surrounded the Tower of Super-Chastity. He was in the bottom bunk. This made him feel a bit childish. The top bunk is where the action is. He stared at the wooden slats of the top bunk and wished himself up there. Wishing made his head hurt. He touched his forehead and discovered a bandage there. He groaned and the groan summoned a face from the edge of the top bunk. The face was that of a plump girl's, quite pink, framed by a glossy bookmark of shock-white hair that dangled almost half the way down to David's bunk.
“You're my little brother,” said the face. “Daddy says I'm allowed downstairs now and my job is that I'm supposed to say when it is you're awake. They say I'm not supposed to play any of my games with you but that's -nonsense.- Oh, Father Dominoes, my little brother's awake now. Are you a eunuch? You look like one. You killed mummy, you know.”
“Princess!” cried Father Dominoes as he waddled over to the bunk beds. His sleeves were rolled up and he was sweating. He'd been praying hard. “You are to leave your brother be. He's a very brave young man. He saved the life of your father and all of his Adventure Friends and the last thing he needs now is you giving him a … ah, hard time. Let him rest!”
“Fine!” pouted Princess Princess and, with a yank of her silver mane, her face disappeared and she went back to cuddling her eunuch. Father Dominoes had not approved of her dragging Eunuchophles from upstairs into the bed with her, but she'd been more than adamant and he'd had a lot on his plate and couldn't really spare the time to argue and the King had insisted very strongly that she'd be there in the makeshift Adventure Hospital with them and, well, she hadn't done anything too weird yet so maybe there wouldn't be a scene.
“David!” came the King's voice, strangely hoarse, from behind a crowd of priests and witches that were all jostling to get their healing spells in. “Clear away, the lot of you! I'm fine, can't you see I'm fine? Let me see my boy!” The crowd reluctantly parted and turned some of its attentions to Colonel Glowfist, who occupied two beds scooted up next to each other just beside the King's. The King climbed out of bed and staggered over to David's bunk. He looked old and frightening. He knelt down and poked his head just a little too close to David's. “You did it, boy. You defeated the worse villain in European history. Even I was not strong enough to best her. She stole my Super-Chastity, you see. She took it and with it, she made herself even more powerful. It's a thing that Lady Draculas do. I should have seen it coming! But I'm glad that it was you that did her in, son. It wouldn't have been right if it had been anyone else. Do you understand?”
“Yes dad.”
“Good,” said the King. Then he brought his wooden hand up, gripped David's hair a bit too hard and shook the boy's head softly around. “Good,” he repeated. “Your sister is back with us now. She's safe from You-Know-Who and she's been through some tough times, but we'll look after her with all our might, you and I. Do you understand?”
“Yes dad,” said David, grimacing at the hair-pulling. The King took no notice.
“I can't actually look at her just yet – all things in time, all things in their time – so you're going to be the one to look after her, to show her the wonder and splendour of Europe and to protect her from -” he closed his eyes and shuddered, “-predations.” He opened his eyes. They had the old stuff in them. “The two of you are the good part of your mother. I watched it happen, when all the good came out of her. I didn't see it with Princess, but when you came out of that, of that – void, David, I could not bear the sight of it, it did not make sense. It was like watching a fish be gutted, only the offal that spilled was light, pure light, my sweet David – there you were. All the light that was inside of her was you all along. How could there be anything left inside of that … vessel that lay bleeding and spent, useless, there on the sheets? I should have killed her right then, you understand. But of course it was not my right. You. You made it right.” The King let go of David's hair. David squeaked. He wished that he was not crying. He wished that he could allow himself to exhale, or make a sound that was not a squeak. He wished that he could wish without making his head hurt. Father Dominoes appeared and placed a caring hand on the King's shoulder.
“Come now, Your Highness, I think it's time you got some rest.”
“What were you talking about just then, daddy?” chimed Princess Princess, draping silver over David's bunk again.
“Ah!” said the King, shielding his eyes from the sight of his daughter.
“Come now, we've changed your sheets,” said Father Dominoes softly. The King moved uneasily to his feet and was led across the room by some NPCs and put back to bed. Father Dominoes leaned down to David's ear and murmured, “He's really not well. He's not been quite himself since he awoke. She took away such a vital piece of him – I fear he may never be the same. Keep him company while he recovers, it's what he needs, there's a good boy.” He stood up and walked back to the King. “All right, Your Highness – you're going to need lots of rest. Weeks of it. I recommend – no, I insist – no quests, no adventures and no more wars – aha – for at least a little while yet. I'll have to be back to my duties in Hell soon and no doubt the poor Devil will need some looking after, so you won't have me to fuss over you. So, standing orders – no more adventures until you're all better, do I make myself absolutely clear?”
The phone rang. The King looked up, then leapt out of bed and poked about in his robes that lay by the bed. He held the Magic Telephone up to his head and spoke for a short while. The call was from General Majesty, of course. He had good news and bad news. The good news was that the Angel Cowboy had taken the very same United Statesian army which had attacked Normandy that morning, marched them up to the Chillinous Plains and leased the whole outfit, to a man, back to Europe for an exorbitant fee. General Majesty had inspected the troops and found them to be very impressive. Also, Fort Majesty was being rebuilt by a mysterious Engineering Corps of demons, also hired out to them by one Mr. A. Cowboy. They were reportedly doing a speedy and splendid job.
The bad news was all that, well, the reason -why- General Majesty had to resort to mercenaries to fill the garrisons was because there were no fighting fit Europeans to be found anywhere. They'd looked so hard and found nothing. He wasn't supposed to tell the King this, but Mechanicus was in the kitchen, so he thought now was the opportunity, but they'd discovered where all the able-bodied men of Europe had gone and what had happened in the years that separated the time he lived in and the time the King lived in – There had been … there was going to be a European Civil War. It would start quite shortly, relative to the time in which the King was living.
The King hung up and slumped down into his fresh sheets. He covered his eyes with his hand.
“More adventures coming, everyone!” he screamed.
End Of Chapter 93
