Why I Can't Have Nice Kings Read online

  “If you won’t do it out of dedication to your country, what can I offer you instead?” he asked.

  “Fine. I’ll do it if I get to go out on a date with the actress who plays Teragonna.”

  His eyes erupted in flames. The scope-like light reappeared between my eyes but eventually lowered back down to my mid-section. “You’re very lucky that I need you, little man. My wife is off-limits. Think of something else.”

  Jeez. This guy was way too into his character. They weren’t even married in real life . . . although they actually could be. I guessed I could cut him some slack in case that was true. “Fine. I want to be the hero.”

  “You will be the hero if you complete this mission.”

  “No, I want to be made to look heroic. You know: digitally add a bunch of muscle, cover up my gut, and give me a cool scar. Also, I want you to edit out all of the cowardly and inept things I’ve done so far.”

  “I can’t really change the past, but we could build a statue in your honor or something. The chancellor and I are still friends. I’m sure he could throw together a parade.”

  “That’s a start, but I want to win all of the fights from now on and have every woman fall in love with me.”

  He grumbled. “The chancellor might have some men about that he could have lose some fights with you, and those might lead to women falling for you. That’s the best I can do.”

  I considered pushing for commercials featuring all of my brave exploits, but when someone’s eyes are on fire, it’s probably a good idea not to push your luck. He looked like he’d crush my hand if I shook it, so I nodded in agreement.

  The flames and the light died down, and he abruptly disappeared from view. The way he disappeared was pretty cool, though the effect was somewhat lessened by his grumbling out new and refreshing insults about my manhood. What had the little guy ever done to him?

  I shrugged and walked away. The sooner this was over, the sooner I’d be back home and would get to see how awesome this whole thing made me look. Plus, I was afraid he might come after me.

  “The fate of the kingdom rests on your shoulders,” he shouted at my back.

  I hastened my pace and called back, “This isn’t my kingdom, so you’d better make me look good,” as I got out of hearing range.

  At least the mist faded when the sun began to rise, and I could finally see where I was going. I soon saw the occasional indication that humans must have traveled this way: a soleless shoe here, a broken bow there, though nothing in a Garandian or Atlian style. At first, I thought that must be an indication that I was headed away from the show, but given the show’s blatant inaccuracies, I realized it really didn’t tell me anything. The fact that the forest was thinning should have told me where I had gone, but the exertion of running made thought difficult.

  With my eyes glued to a particularly shiny object, I ran face-first into the back of a particularly hairy man. As we tumbled down, I landed on top of him. While he was rather soft, he also smelled like burnt popcorn and rotten fish. I assumed this must be some sort of homeless man, until I saw the rusty sword lying next to us. He appeared to have small twigs in his long, shaggy black hair.

  I quickly stood up to avoid the smell and was finally able to take in the scene around me. Cat was engaged with another one of the smelly extras, while two more seemed to be pretending to be dead. The fake blood was really lifelike, too. Geoff was furiously attacking an opponent who was unseen and possibly non-existent. Wolf must have had quite the struggle with an exceptionally large man—judging by his sword’s temporary residence in a tree and very real-looking cuts on his knuckles—but Jackal turned the tide by emptying her quiver into the giant’s back.

  The smelly man in front of me took advantage of my distraction and reached for his sword. I drew my blade, but it slipped and went flying into a nearby bush. A scream echoed from the bush, indicating that I had either hit some unseen opponent or that the sound effects guy was having an off day. When I turned back around, I saw that my opponent lay sprawled on the ground. I had either inadvertently hit him or the actor was pretending I had. As Cat finished off his last opponent, he nodded to me in respect and gave the prone, stinky man a kick before he could get to his weapon.

  When my heart stopped pounding, I turned around but saw no new opponents. The sounds of battle died soon after that. I guessed they hadn’t had time to tell the actors to make me look heroic yet. The party regrouped as Geoff finished off his imagined partner, and I ran into the bush and retrieved my sword. Fortunately, the “dead” man released my sword relatively easily from his chest. He was either too dedicated to playing dead to struggle or had fallen asleep.

  “Mine’s dead,” Wolf said.

  “Three here,” Cat said. “Harry caught one trying to get me from behind. Good work.”

  “I must have fought off twelve of ’em,” Geoff said.

  Jackal smiled condescendingly. “I saw you get at least fourteen.”

  “I told you Harry hadn’t abandoned us, Wolf,” Jackal said. “It was all a ruse so he could perform an elaborate flanking attack.”

  Cat giggled. “They charge extra for that it in Sculan.”

  “That’s not what a flanking attack is.”

  Wolf shook his head. “No, but that’s what Cat thinks it means. After years of working with him, I find it easier to go with his definition rather than argue with him. We lost one of the previous Jackals while I was arguing with Cat over what a flower was.”

  “Flower is another word for penis.”

  “According to him, almost everything is another word for that.”

  Cat stuck his hands over Jackal’s ears. “How can you say ‘word’ in front of a lady, Wolf? Have you no manners?”

  Jackal shook Cat off and pointed at my slowly rising captive.

  Wolf pushed Stinky back down with his foot. “So, there are no known settlements out here?”

  “They must be bandits on the run. Why don’t we ask him?” Jackal said.

  Wolf removed his boot from Stinky’s mouth. “Whatence you wantzen?” Stinky asked.

  “Who are you?” Wolf said.

  “I isen Blackie.” He stuck his finger in his nose.

  “Okay, Blackie. Who are your people? Why did you attack us?”

  “Weez isen, Bull Moose. You isen, Lito. No Lito lives in Bull Moose landen.”

  “Any of that make any sense to anyone?” Wolf said.

  “I think he said they live here and kill all trespassers on sight,” Jackal said.

  “Never mind. What should we do with him?”

  “Kill him,” Cat said. “He tried to flank me, and I only let the ladies do that to me.”

  “Wait,” Jackal said. “We can use him as a guide to safety, or a hostage if need be.”

  “I don’t know,” Wolf said.

  “Look, it appears my knowledge of this area isn’t as good as I thought it was. We need an expert, and he’s the closest thing. Now, how do we get out of your clan’s territory?”

  “Thisens way,” Blackie said, pointing straight up. When we all responded to him with confused looks, something seemed to click, so he stuck his other index finger in the same nostril and then pointed off the path with his left foot.

  The Abominable Chieftain

  As we slowly climbed the large, boulder-strewn hills, Geoff ceaselessly pestered Blackie about his people. I considered tossing my newly returned pack at both of them. I won’t annoy you by giving an exact account, as Blackie’s speech pattern was incredibly annoying and often incomprehensible. I was deathly afraid they were using leftover Jar Jar Binks lines. The highlights were: Blackie’s people had lived in this unexplored rock garden for as long as their history went back, they had remained undiscovered by killing all trespassers, and he really liked pie.

  “Doens you havens pie?” Blackie said.

  “No, Blackie,” Geoff said. “Now, are there other tribes or clans that live in these hills?”

  “Yeses, there ins da Grey Moose,
da Left Moose, da Blue Moose, and da Bull Moose.”

  “Are all of the hill people called the Moose?” Geoff asked. “If not, what do you call all of your collective peoples?”

  “There ins da Grey Moose, da Left Moose, da Blue Moose, and da Bull Moose.”

  “Never mind. How do you feed yourselves? This terrain is too rocky for crops.”

  “Enough, Geoff,” Jackal said. “Are we heading into the territory of another clan, Blackie?”

  As if on cue, the sound of drawn blades echoed across the highly acoustic landscape. I suspected that Jackal’s line had been, in fact, an actual cue to attack. The hill people sprang from behind the numerous boulders and easily surrounded us, so there would be no fighting our way out of this one. They were very dirty and dressed in the same mish-mash of bedraggled clothing as Blackie’s associates, though their hair was of a lighter shade. Remembering my agreement with Hammurabi, I drew my sword from its sheath, but Jackal begged me to drop it, so I agreed. She must have gotten word from the showrunners that now was not the time.

  The tallest one, who seemed to be in charge, gestured for his men to take our weapons and horses, and they soon began to grab and push us forward on the path. The nearly toothless fellow escorting me smelled strongly of a mixture of alcohol, urine, and cupcakes. To this day, I can’t eat a cupcake without remembering that smell. Needless to say, I don’t eat a lot of cupcakes anymore. Do you think I can sue for that?

  Their leader grunted for us to speed up. Now, normally, I don’t like to be grunted at. My usual response to a grunt is, “Use your words,” but after Blackie’s barely coherent gibbering, I wasn’t complaining. I now almost look fondly on being grunted at. By the way, when you smile at someone who has grunted at you, it generally doesn’t draw a friendly reaction. Their leader gave me a smack on the side of the head, fortunately not in the same spot as Cat’s secret handshake.

  “Blackie,” Geoff said, “which tribe is this, and what do you think they’ll do to us?”

  “Demses da Left Moose. Meeses no know. Chiefsas of Left Moose ees crazy.”

  After about fifteen minutes of fast marching, minus a few breaks for us to vomit from the smell, we arrived at the Left Moose village. I use the term “village” very loosely. A better description is: slightly organized pile of junk assembled by a pack of eight-year-olds. The buildings didn’t look very sturdy; they consisted of rocks and random scavenged large objects stuck together with any available sticky substance. The walls surrounding the village were of a similar quality but a few feet taller than the buildings. Clearly, the Left Moose Tribe had not heard of building inspectors or fire codes.

  Colonel Grunty lead us to the center of the “village” and limped toward an even taller man who I assumed must be their king, given his crown—even if it was made out of one cup from a very large bra with a hole in the middle. He was also the only person I could see with two shoes on, though each was on the wrong foot and they were from different sets, one a dainty slipper and the other a sandal.

  Grunty and the leader talked quietly together, with much gesturing and head-shaking. After what felt like an hour, it seemed like the leader had won their exchange.

  Grunty stepped toward the group. “Yousss preesoners step forrrrrward.”

  Oh, great. Stuck in a town full of people who talked like Blackie. I wondered if they’d scavenged a few bottles of aspirin.

  The leader nodded, and we all did as we were told. I was deathly afraid that if my closest escort, One Tooth, stuck me with his shovel, I’d get tetanus.

  “Yousss in presenccccce of Archibald Feniworth IV, chiefsss of Left Mooses.”

  “I say, dear Elworth,” Archibald Feniworth IV said. “You muuust get that throat looked at. You sound positively like a serpent.”

  I wasn’t sure why this actor thought that using a 19th century, upper-crust English accent was appropriate for his character, but at least it was intelligible and several degrees less annoying than Blackie’s gibberish. My headache began to fade, so I decided not to complain.

  “Ssssorry, bosss,” Elworth said. He then left, hopefully to find a lozenge.

  “Now that that business is out of the way,” the leader said, “let’s have a look at you. Hmm . . . We have some veeery well-accoutered knights here. Bravo on the armor, gentlemen. It’s smashing. And what are your names?”

  “Wolf and Cat,” Wolf said. “Now, what are you going to do to us?”

  “In due time. In due time.”

  The leader walked over and stood in front of Geoff. “Your glasses are a delight. And I do admire that wonderful hairstyle of yours. I simply muuust get the name of your stylist.”

  He patted Geoff on the head, then moved in front of me. “My, you’re a strapping fellow. Not a fan of that beard, however. Not. At. Awlll. You reeeally should grow it longer. It is the fashion.” This guy was like a cartoon of an English gentleman. He must have gotten his lines from an episode of Scooby-Doo.

  Next, he came to a stop in front of Jackal. “My heavens! What a vision! Release the prisoners, immediately! My sincerest apologies, my dear lady. I was unaware that I was in the presence of a goddess.” He then leaned in and kissed her hand gently.

  This gesture would normally have been very charming, but remember: this man had half of a bra on his head, was coated in dirt, and smelled like he used garbage as deodorant. Jackal recoiled and put her other hand over her mouth. Smart move, as the hand he had kissed probably needed washing with an entire bar of soap just to stop smelling like a dead cat. Her eyes began to water, and I was greatly impressed that she managed to hold back her urge to retch.

  “My dear, you look like you might be coming down with something. Perhaps I should call for a doctor. I can’t have you falling ill as I begin to court you. Momentum is everything in this sort of situation.”

  “No, I’m fine, really.” She waved him away, but in doing so, moved her smelly hand a little too close to her nose.

  I hadn’t been aware that vomit could be blue.

  The leader shook his head. “The fairer sex is always the same, never wanting the help of a man unless there is danger abounding. Nonsense! I shall send for One-Eye at once. Reginald, summon the healer.” He nodded and one of the tribesmen ran off into the village.

  “I really just need to move around a bit,” Jackal said. “This isn’t necessary.”

  “Your modesty and fortitude are astounding, but Alistair is a wonder. Ah! Here he comes now.”

  From around the other side of a house (three boulders with an old bedsheet over it), Alistair wandered towards us. I thought the other members of this tribe were dressed ridiculously, but Alistair One-Eye was outrageous even by his tribe’s standards, with skin dyed bone white on one side, purple on the other, and glowing red hair shaved completely down the middle with each side stuck together into a large spike. As both of his eyes bore patches, he used a small child on a leash for navigation. True to form for his style-challenged clan, he was wearing a pale blue ball gown with frilly lace, and his underwear was bunched around his ankles.

  Jackal stood there for several minutes, clearly at a loss.

  “Good heavens! The sickness has spread and seized her voice from her,” Archibald said. “What can you do, Wise One?”

  “Copious amounts of excrement should alleviate this ailment.”

  “No. No. No. No. No,” she said. “I can speak perfectly fine. I think the smell of excrement is what caused this in the first place. I just need some fresh air. Thank you for your concern, but please leave me be.”

  “The only cure for excrement sickness is to cover your body in excrement,” One-Eye said. “It is a cure that has been set down through the ages. Please take your clothes off so we can begin.”

  “Yes!” Archibald said. “We must do this immediately. Allow me to assist.”

  “If you try that, I’ll punch you,” Jackal said.

  One-Eye shook his head. “Hmm . . . uncontrolled anger. Filling the ears with excrement usually cur
es that.”

  She backed away. “Is there any ailment that isn’t cured with excrement?”

  “Sadness.”

  “And what, pray tell, cures that?”

  One-Eye put his hand on his chin. “A nice smile and a kind word. Excrement usually makes it worse.”

  She frowned. “Well, I’m sad, then.”

  “Oh . . . you have very pretty boots.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “Do you feel better now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Splendid.” Archibald slapped One-Eye on the back. “The doctor is a marvel, is he not?”

  “Quite.”

  “My lady, may I have your hand again? This is a tad embarrassing. I am not happy with the quality of my first kiss and would like to request another attempt. My sincere apologies.”

  Panic overwhelmed Jackal’s still watery eyes, which darted around looking for anything that might excuse her from more contact with the smelly chieftain. She quickly found one and pointed toward Geoff, who had his hand raised like an obedient student.

  Archibald rolled his yes. “Yes, yes. What is it, chap?”

  Geoff lowered his hand. “Where do you acquire your sustenance? This soil does not look like it can maintain much in the way of crops, and with so little plant life, I doubt there can be too many animals about.”

  “That brings up a splendid idea. Why don’t we show you all how it’s done? This will provide me with ample opportunity to display my masculinity to my future consort. Ready a hunting party. To the peaks!”

  “Huzzah!” the tribe yelled as one.

  Chief Archibald grabbed his spear, an old broomstick with a rusty nail attached, and most of the men in the village hoisted equally decrepit, inefficient weapons. Our war party marched out of the village with what seemed like every able-bodied man present—somewhere around a hundred total.

  We headed toward the crest of one of the tallest hills while our hosts sang one song after another, all of which sounded like children’s songs from the eighteenth century. While we technically were not captives, our group was positioned firmly in the center of the party, with no way of getting out. Jackal was trapped in the constant, flirtatious attention of Archibald, never getting a moment to gather her thoughts.