Why I Can't Have Nice Kings Page 5

  That slight turn put me back into the peripheral vision of Weel.

  “Axin! Our detainee is attempting a withdrawal.”

  “No, he’s not, idiot. You still have him tied to your saddle.” Axin pointed at Geoff.

  “Not him. The other individual.”

  “What other one? We came here looking for our escaped scribe, and then Arik and Verix helpfully reminded us that we had had him tied to your saddle the whole time.”

  “We had two scriveners. Recall the mud monster?”

  “That’s right! And the fellow running away looks kind of like him.”

  “That is our mire fiend. Now, go obtain him. My equine cannot hasten with any alacrity while this other transcriber is affixed.”

  In a matter of seconds, Axin had chased me down and was circling in front of me. I was fearful of being hit in the head again, so I covered it and cowered in a ball. Don’t think too poorly of me; I’m a writer, and my brain is my most useful asset. Some might argue my only useful asset, but they probably haven’t seen me naked.

  I could hear another horse closing in behind me, so I peeked between my fingers. It was Weel. He, surprisingly, had moved slowly enough to not drag Geoff on the ground. Perhaps he was not as despicable as he was advertised.

  Weel said, “First, we have the duo over there, Axin, who are too valiant for their own prosperity, and then we have this invertebrate who cannot even impersonate a man for a millisecond.”

  “And I was so looking forward to smacking him around.”

  “You can nevertheless, companion.”

  “But there’s no challenge when they get like that.”

  “Have you heard of polo? You could smack him with your hammer from horseback. It would be good practice.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  Axin charged his horse toward me, but I managed to roll to the side before he got to me. I was so upset that he had nearly hit me that I almost stood up and yelled at the idiot actor, but it dawned on me that he had probably missed on purpose. They couldn’t afford to harm their star.

  “Let me display how it is accomplished, compatriot. Observe this exhibition of excellence.” Weel charged his horse as well, but it stumbled. “Something is unbalanced about this beast. Oh, yes: the scrivener. My recollection neglected him.”

  Fortunately, he had noticed Geoff after he had only dragged him a little way. I’d imagine it still hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but Geoff only had a few scrapes and nothing worse. I was really hoping that Geoff’s mouth might swell shut, but that was highly unlikely. Does thinking that make me a bad person?

  “Let me cut him loose for you,” Axin said. “I know you’re right-handed, and that cut will be awkward for you.” Axin moved his horse to the left of Weel’s and a little behind him.

  “I can get him myself, thank you. I am cognizant that you are merely attempting to disparage me in front of our master.”

  “I am not. He’s not even looking at us. Just let me help.”

  As Axin attempted to cut the rope, Weel grabbed him, and they started to wrestle while still in their respective saddles. Geoff, having learned his lesson from before, grabbed Weel’s fallen sword and quickly cut himself loose.

  A moment of bravery and inspiration hit me. I stood up from my crouch and waved my hands toward them. “Hey, dummies. Neither of you will get me if I run away.”

  I took off in the opposite direction from Weel.

  Surprise and confusion registered on Axin’s face. He immediately stopped fighting, and in his disorientation, assisted by Weel’s jostling, attempted to turn his horse sharply in my direction. Unfortunately, Weel was also attempting to move forward, but not at quite the same angle. As I had planned, they ran their horses together.

  I stopped to view the carnage, though I really should have continued running. It’s really hard not to stop and stare at an accident. I was sure the horses would be all right, as they both stood up immediately after depositing their masters on the ground. They had to have been those specially trained stunt horses.

  I begrudgingly waved Geoff toward me in my quest to run away. At the very least, he could provide a distraction from my eventual pursuers.

  I Shall Call Him Moppy

  With the sound of pursuit passed, we arrived at a beach that seemed to stretch into oblivion. The crystal-clear water appeared fairly calm, with the occasional wave limping in to the sand. No shore was visible across the way, so I assumed it must be Lake Superior or one of the larger lakes of Minnesota doubling as the Garandian Straits.

  Finally, out of breath, we came to a much-needed stop. No cars or other indications of modern civilization were in sight, so my plan to escape this production had so far failed. The charade would have to go on a while longer. I was rather impressed that I hadn’t seen a camera so far. They really did a good job of hiding them.

  “Geoff, do you know of a safe place nearby?” I asked.

  “Well, my best friend Geoffio is on a ship not too far from here. They’ve been hauling supplies and troops for my benefactor, the magnanimous Lord Hartin.”

  “Wait. Geoffio? Why don’t they call him Geoff instead? Doesn’t that get confusing?”

  “No, we refer to him as Moppy.”

  “If your name is Mopansin, why don’t they call you Moppy and him Geoff?”

  “He likes to mop. He excels at it.”

  “Then, why do they call you Geoff?”

  “Because Moppy was taken already, naturally.”

  “Couldn’t you go by Pan, then? Oh, forget it. Lead the way to this ship.”

  Fortunately, Geoff had learned the art of moving and talking at the same time, and he began to move forward. “Moppy and I grew up together, you know. We were quite the rascals in our youth. The townsfolk in our home, Durnstil, called us the Three Wrapping Rapscallions of Repast. Care to guess why they called us that?”

  “Not really.” I was starting to learn my lesson with him. Unfortunately, he was only able to move and talk at the same time. Expecting him to listen as well was too much.

  “Well, at our annual harvest feast once, the three of us snuck in early. We were all twelve at the time. Upon seeing the colossal feast before us, we, being the troublemakers that we were, decided to make a little mischief. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but no, we were not the kind of rogues who would do something dastardly, like contaminate the food; we merely made up our minds to . . .” He had to stop for a good three minutes to contain his laughter, which gave me time to think over my life choices. “We . . . oh, my . . . we . . . took all of the food and replaced it with a very lifelike painting of the same food. Can you believe it?”

  “Yes. Now, can we move on?”

  “We then put the food back in the opposite order. Oh, our parents were so angry at us.”

  “That’s great.”

  “The three of us were quite the trio. You know, I should tell you about the time we caught the reeve’s three-year-old son. That one really got us our nom de prank, as it were.”

  You’re probably wondering why he kept referring to himself and Moppy as three. Well, I, being thoroughly annoyed by the copious volume of uselessness projecting from his mouth, decided, in my infinite wisdom, not to ask, for fear of dying of old age waiting for him to get to the point.

  “Fascinating. Now, the ship?”

  We walked in surprising silence for the next ten minutes. His mouth must have finally gotten tired, as improbable as it seems, but I could think of no other explanation. I thought about running off into the trees, away from where this terrible show was taking me, but I could hear hoofbeats in the distance; clearly, they knew how to keep me here.

  Geoff eventually led us into a pass between several large boulders, one that I would not have been able to see without his guidance. The path wound down to the sea, or the lake, or whatever it actually was.

  We approached a small cargo ship that sat there like it was waiting for someone to wake it, or for a couple of actors to arrive. It
s crew looked like a tattoo parlor had exploded onto a baldness convention. I hadn’t seen that many shiny heads since I’d passed by a Vin Diesel lookalike contest. Clearly, this collection of baldness was not due to heredity, as the crew was probably the most ethnically diverse group I’d encountered outside of the It’s a Small World ride at Disneyland.

  “Does the captain only recruit bald men, or does he make them shave?” I asked.

  “They are not all of the masculine persuasion.”

  Hmm . . . he was right. Some of them had breasts, and not man-boobs, as they were a rather fit group. Is it wrong that I was a little turned on? For some reason, most men find bald women very unattractive. Is it wrong that I’ve even asked, “Is it wrong that I was a little turned on”? I was, and still am, very confused.

  “Why are they all bald?”

  “The captain is of the opinion that their having glossy craniums will make his crew lighter and quicker.”

  “That can’t make much of a difference.”

  “He’s also self-conscious about his baldness.”

  “Is he going to make us shave?” God, I hoped not. Baldness is usually not a good look on a white guy, with a few notable exceptions like Patrick Stewart and . . . Patrick Stewart.

  “He usually won’t make passengers do it, unless he’s in a really foul mood or it’s his birthday.”

  “On his birthday?”

  “He came into this world sans hair, so he thinks everyone else should be bald to celebrate that event.”

  “Do you perhaps have any other friends on boats nearby?”

  “Well, there is Pan, but his captain makes everyone strip naked.”

  “Wouldn’t everyone get sick in bad weather? What with being wet and naked, I mean.”

  “They do have a rather high mortality rate.”

  “Moppy’s boat it is, then.” I sprinted toward it to get this over with as soon as possible, and Geoff dutifully followed.

  “Hail, good Moppy!” Geoff (Mopansin, not Geoffio) said to the boat of shiny-headed men and women.

  A young, tanned man stuck his head over the side. ““Geoff! What brings you around?”

  “I heard you were hauling supplies for my glorious patron, the Lord of Hartin. Are you perhaps going back to his beautiful and abundant territory soon?”

  “We are under contract with Lord Hartin, but we’re not going back to Forestin. Hammurabi Joudisz is aboard. We’re heading to New Atlia City.”

  In my books, Hammurabi Joudisz was the New Atlian representative to Garandia. The semi-autonomous region of New Atlia was founded within Garandia by the survivors of Old Atlia after its fall about seventy-five years ago. The Atlians were the pillars of learning and intellect on this world. They were also the only practitioners of magic, outside of the Old Gods, who hadn’t been heard from in a few hundred years. Most people assumed they had all retired.

  “Do you want to travel there instead?” Geoff said to me.

  “Anywhere is better than this.”

  “May we book passage, Moppy?”

  Moppy disappeared from view, but I could hear him ask, “Captain, do we have room for two more passengers? I’ll vouch for them.”

  The captain peeked over the side. “Can you pay?”

  Geoff pulled out a few coins from his shoe, and I pulled out another silver dollar. I was so glad that my grandpa had taught me to always carry a few silver dollars with me. He had told me, “You never know when you’ll need one,” which, until this journey, had never been true. I mostly kept them on me as a way to remember him.

  “Will this do, Captain?” I said.

  “Get on, but hurry up about it. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  A rope ladder rolled over the side.

  “Do you think we’ll have to shave our heads?” I whispered to Moppy.

  “The captain wouldn’t dare make a high-ranking official such as Hammurabi Joudisz shave, so you should be safe.”

  We both quickly climbed the ladder.

  “We’re about to shove off,” the captain said. “All passengers need to be below while we prepare. And stay out of my way, if you know what’s good for you.”

  I almost asked if we needed to also set our tray tables in the upright position and remain seated, but thought it best not to upset someone who had the power to shave me bald.

  After paying the captain, we quickly went below deck to meet our fellow passenger. Geoff wanted desperately to catch up with Moppy, but his friend had told him to go below or else the captain wouldn’t stop at just shaving his head.

  In my books, Hammurabi was the highly intelligent, moral compass for the empire of Garandia. He didn’t drink, smoke, gamble, swear, cheat on his taxes, jaywalk, or do anything else that’s morally or legally wrong. He was like a less religious Jesus, but dark-skinned. (Unless you believe Jesus had dark skin; then he was exactly like Jesus.)

  I grinned like an idiot as I approached Hammurabi. It’s so cool to meet one of your characters in the flesh, even if he’s being portrayed by an actor. (And, no, a fat white guy in a homemade costume at a convention doesn’t count.) Hammurabi was dressed perfectly in the hooded multi-toned purple robes of the healer caste. He was sitting at a small table joking with a few crewmen.

  As I got closer, he looked up. “What the &%$! are you looking at, you goofy #*^%?”

  My jaw dropped. “Hammurabi Joudisz is supposed to be the pillar of moral virtue. Who do you think you are, taking such license with my character? Also, why are you speaking in symbols instead of using actual curse words?”

  Hammurabi stood, towering over me. “I think I know who I am, you lily-white #$%^#$*. And who appointed you the moral police?” Then, he slapped me.

  Evidently, my views on man-on-man slapping were not as widely held as I had thought. Being on camera during a slap fight with one of your best-known characters is probably not a good idea. Hilarious, sure, but probably not good for your reputation. I wondered if the director of this show was trying to get a good clip for advertisements, so I decided not to retaliate. Well, that and the fact that Hammurabi was about fifty pounds of muscle heavier than me.

  “My apologies, sir,” I said. “What exactly is there to do around here?”

  The tension slowly drained from Hammurabi’s face, and his left eyebrow rose slightly. “Do you have any money, gentlemen?”

  “A little. Why?”

  “Would you like to play a few hands of Garandian Slims? Buy-in is two trakons.”

  Did these writers even read my books? The next thing I knew, this character was going to bring in some prostitutes, down a keg of ale, and slap a few babies. Maybe they could follow that up with a remake of Lord of the Rings involving a seven-foot-tall Frodo and a female Gandalf?

  Hmm . . . Shaq as Frodo and Betty White as Gandalf might not actually be too bad.

  “I suppose,” Geoff said. “There does not appear to be much else to do. I am a wizard at mathematics—no offense, sir wizard—so this should come easily to me.”

  “So, you two have never played before?” We both shook our heads no, which made Hammurabi grin widely. “Splendid! I think I’ve found some new friends.”

  I sighed and tossed in my last two silver dollars.

  Shiny, Happy Pirates

  After a few hours under the exhausting gaze of Hammurabi, I managed to break even. I guess it helps when you’ve invented the rules of the game, though not as much as you’d think. Hammurabi was an expert of the game, unfortunately. He cleaned poor Geoff out of everything he had on him, minus (fortunately) the clothes on his back. Most of the sailors did little better than Geoff. One of them did literally lose the clothes off his back, and I do mean everything. It seemed the captain didn’t stop at shaving his crewmen’s heads; either that or this sailor had lost another game where he had somehow managed to gamble away every hair on his body.

  “I think that’s enough for me,” I said.

  “We still have at least an hour,” Hammurabi said as he finished off his fi
fth beer. “What’s wrong? Are your lady parts acting up?”

  “Says the guy in the dress.”

  I know it’s wrong to taunt a guy for wearing exactly what I wrote him in (and doubly so, since a robe isn’t a dress), but it’s not right for a guy to make fun of the creator of the world he’s in. He looked like he was going to reach across the table and do not-so-pleasant things to me, so I scampered out of his reach.

  “My associate, here, is all out of money, and he really needs to talk to his childhood friend above. So, I think we’ll be going.”

  “That’s quite all right, Harrold,” Geoff said. “This game is fascinating. I think I’m getting the hang of it. I don’t suppose you could spare a little for a comrade in capture?”

  “Harrold?” Hammurabi said. “Aren’t you the guy that Axin and Weel had their way with?”

  “How could you possibly know that?” I asked. “We only escaped from them a few hours ago.”

  “Hammurabi knows.”

  It really sucks, having one of your most famous sayings thrown back in your face. I gave him a dirty look, though not too dirty, as he still looked like he wanted to hit me.

  “So, you are the guy, then?” Hammurabi said.

  “No, and they only had me prisoner for under an hour.”

  “There’s a lot you can do in under an hour. I do miss my single days. It’s said that all of the prostitutes in Garandia wept for days when I got married.”

  I decided that enough was enough and that I had to get away from this highly inaccurate representation of my peerless character. Being that he was my only possible excuse to get away, I grabbed Geoff from his chair and dragged him along. Fortunately, Geoff weighed only as much as one of those large colonial dolls with the big frilly dresses—not that I’m an expert on those.