Why I Can't Have Nice Kings Page 8

  How much longer could this whole thing possibly take, anyway? While I had included a map of Garandia in my books, I hadn’t put a distance scale on it. I shuddered to think of what they’d come up with next, all in the interest of “good” television. Vegetarian werewolves and sex-crazed eunuchs weren’t out of the question, but I’d let those slide if they were Muppets; everything is better in Muppet form.

  As we came to the end of the surprisingly well-lit stairs, Geoff turned toward me with intense worry in his eyes. I darted a look around, wary of some unseen danger, but I could find none. I looked back at him for some further direction to his reaction.

  “Do you think I should do something with my hair?” he asked. “I know what I have is a classic look, but after seeing all of those members of the warrior caste, I was thinking of going with a Mohawk. Do you think I have the right hair for that look?”

  I smacked myself in the forehead, but as usual, he was oblivious to my actions.

  “No one looks good in a Mohawk,” I said. “Plus, I think if any Atlians saw you, they’d be insulted.” I know, Mr. T rocks the Mohawk, but all of these actors were stuck in character. Geoff would most definitely pretend he didn’t know who Mr. T was, which qualifies as blasphemy where I come from. God, how I wished that, just once, I could get one of these actors to talk like a normal person.

  “You may have the right of it. What are your thoughts on pigtails, Harrold?”

  “Could we walk in silence, please?”

  Geoff didn’t respond.

  “Well, can we?”

  “You said to walk in silence.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Are we walking in silence or not, Harrold?”

  I nodded.

  He nodded back.

  When the tunnel turned slightly, I walked into a wall and made a noise similar to the time I’d bounced my friend’s hamster off his stomach.

  What? Don’t look at me that way. I was seven when it happened, and he bit me—the hamster, not my friend. OK, my friend bit me too, but I had just tossed a hamster at him, so he was well within his rights. Please, don’t turn me in to PETA. I was seven, and the hamster was fine. I, however, was not. Thanks for asking. I had to get twenty stitches and a shot. It had turned out that my friend was rabid.

  “I was under the impression that we were to be silent,” Geoff said. “That crash was rather noisy.”

  “Have you ever silently run into a wall before?”

  “Oh, yes. The last time I ran into a wall, I didn’t make any noise. When I woke up afterwards, I distinctly remembered how quiet it was.”

  How had I gotten into this strange TV show? Had I really drunk so much peppermint Schnapps that I hadn’t noticed someone moving me to the middle of a field? It had only been half a bottle. Plus, it was afternoon when I woke up, and it couldn’t have been past 11 p.m. when I fell asleep. I bet whoever had set this show up had drugged that bottle or my food earlier. There had to be a lawsuit or twelve in this somewhere. I knew I hadn’t signed any waivers, though my publisher sure had required a lot of signatures on my first contract. Had they snuck a waiver in there? Note to self: read contracts more thoroughly.

  This was all starting to smell distinctly like the work of my rival, Billiam von Cummerbund, and not just because the passageway smelled like wet socks and bath salts. The jerk had written a whole book with the sole intent of mocking the first book in my series. I’m also convinced that he had somehow been responsible for my third book being “mistakenly” credited to Hairy Smallcock on the first edition. As bad as his “parody” had been, this idiotic production was starting to look even worse. Something like this had to involve him somehow.

  Well, if they were going to sneak things into my contract, I was going to sneak off their set at the next opportunity. They had foolishly removed Hammurabi from the story, and since there was no longer anyone to scare me into line, I was free to pursue other opportunities—opportunities that paid my bills, like the book I was supposed to be writing. Opportunities that didn’t involve rivals with stupid names.

  As we exited the tunnel, we saw two armed men in a clearing. I assumed these were our escorts and my new keepers. I would have to wait until later to escape, when they had their guard down. Teragonna hadn’t really given us a description of whom we were supposed to be meeting, beyond that they would be outside the tunnel and be three in number. She really should have given us more to go by. A description would have been nice. A secret handshake would have been even better.

  I’d wanted to have a secret handshake since I was a kid, but my imaginary friend hadn’t had any hands. He’d also said I shouldn’t need one since I already knew what he looked like. When I pointed out that I couldn’t actually see him, he’d said he’d go find another kid with “more imagination and better hair.”

  I approached the man closest to us, a very muscular fellow in his late twenties with a sandy blond mustache. He had on shiny bronze armor with an open-faced helmet shaped like the head of some great cat.

  “Do you know the secret handshake?” I said.

  “Yeah, sure.” He reached out and smacked me on the back of my head.

  “Ow! That wasn’t very handshakey.”

  “And that’s the secret! It’s good to have a secret handshake in case we’re ever in disguise. If you’re ever not sure whether it’s me or not, just ask, and I’ll be sure to give you the secret handshake.”

  The second man shook his head. “That’s why the rest of us wear helmets. And you made a very ugly woman, Cat.”

  “Who’re you kidding? I was gorgeous.” Cat blew a kiss at his companion.

  “Wearing the wig over your helmet didn’t help.”

  “You still mistook that woman for me, Wolf.”

  “Well, she had a mustache, and arms bigger than my thighs.”

  “And that’s why we need a secret handshake.” Cat nodded at me.

  The second man held his hand out and I shook it. He wore a nearly identical suit of armor to his companion, the exception being that his helmet was shaped like a wolf’s head instead of like a cat’s. I guessed him to be the leader by both his demeanor and the obvious age difference. A faint scar just above the left side of his jaw broke up his graying stubble. I placed him to be in his early fifties.

  “We should introduce ourselves. You’ve ‘shaken hands’ with Cat. My name is Wolf, and our newest member is Jackal, who is skulking in the trees somewhere. We are the famed mercenaries, trackers, and bodyguards, the Fanged Trio.”

  “Ahh, of course. The famous Fanged Trio.” They were so famous, they didn’t exist in my books. “I’m Harry, and this is Geoff.”

  Having heard the commotion, the third member of their group came out of hiding. Although her helmet was of the same style, she had little else about her that would draw any connection to her two hairy companions. If she hadn’t been wearing armor, I might have mistaken her for a cheerleader, though no cheerleading squad would likely ever let a member wear anything as skimpy as a chain mail bikini in public.

  I had put chain mail bikinis into one of my books because they seemed awesome, but looking at one in real life, it was obvious how impractical the thing was. There was no way it could protect her from swords and axes, let alone poison ivy or even a slight breeze.

  “That’s . . . nice armor you have there,” I said.

  “My father, Werin the Finder, gave it to me before I struck out on my own. He said it would toughen me up for the harsh realities of the world.”

  Werin the Finder was the greatest detective and tracker in all of Garandia. I had written him as a gruff, tough man’s man. Misogyny wasn’t too much of a stretch, but I guessed they were using it as an excuse to put an attractive woman in something skimpy.

  “I’d imagine frostbite can be rather harsh. If your dad’s not here, why not change out of it?”

  “I can’t afford anything better. I just joined. Anyway, I go by Jackal now, I guess.”

  “Cat!” Wolf said. “Where
’s the armor we bought her?”

  Cat pulled a bag out from behind him and handed it to her. “Nuts. I was going to initiate her. Can I still do the other part of the initiation?”

  “Not this time,” Wolf said. “We need her tracking abilities. With her knowledge of this area, we can’t have her distracted by whatever nonsense you have planned.”

  “No fair! When do I get to initiate someone?”

  “You could go initiate yourself.”

  Cat rubbed his hands together diabolically. “Oh, goodie! I’m gonna shave my head while I’m sleeping. That’ll show me.”

  “Remember to put the razor away before you fall asleep this time. We can’t afford to find a healer again.”

  “What? My nose grew back.”

  “You’re hilarious, Cat,” Jackal said. “I think this’ll be fun. Mount up, everyone, while I change.”

  Wolf handed Geoff and me each a backpack and pointed at two horses. There was barely enough room in my pack for Teragonna’s silly package.

  After about fifteen minutes of trying to get the horses to stand still long enough for Geoff and me to mount, we were finally on our way. It’s really hard to climb on the back of something that clearly doesn’t want you there, and I got the feeling that the horse could sense my dislike of him.

  As Geoff and I were bouncing everywhere, Jackal kindly gave us several tips on horsemanship. Teragonna had instructed her to avoid the main roads for fear of parties interested in our cargo. I had no idea what we were carrying, but I really didn’t care, as I thought this might be the perfect opportunity to escape. I could sense the cameras staring at me even if I couldn’t see them.

  Burning Bushes That Don’t Require a Doctor’s Visit

  The thick forest seemed to go on forever. I was beginning to develop an intense dislike of bushes, and with the way they kept poking at me, the feeling was probably mutual. The only wildlife I saw was an occasional rabbit and one particularly naughty fox who tried to bite my ankle off. It wasn’t my fault he’d been sleeping where my horse happened to step. Also, why did he attack my foot and not the horse’s? Hat had always told me my left foot smelled like artificial bacon, and perhaps that was true. Wolf was kind enough to smack it away with the flat part of his sword.

  “Does anyone hear anything?” Jackal slowed her horse and fell behind us.

  “No. It’s kind of nice,” Cat said. “All those birds have finally stopped their chirping. Now, I can finally concentrate enough to figure out where I put my sword.”

  “It’s in your hand,” I said. “The better question is what you did with your pants.”

  “Quiet.” Jackal motioned for us to stop, and we complied.

  Wolf and Cat dismounted and readied their shields.

  “Just like I taught you, Cat, and your father taught me before that. Protect the non-combatants, then, if possible, pick off anyone who lets their guard down. Remember, our first goal is to protect that thing in Harry’s backpack.”

  I couldn’t hear anything, but Jackal soon pointed to the left, toward a large bush. We stared at the bush for what seemed like an hour, but nothing came out. Right about the time I decided that I had better things to do and would go charging into the thing because they wouldn’t kill their star, the bush finally made a noise.

  “Give me the package, and I will let you leave unharmed.”

  “Did that bush just talk?” Geoff said.

  “Erm . . . yes. I’m a large shrub that has developed the capacity for speech. All despair the speaking shrub!” It shook its branches.

  Cat lowered his shield. “I make it a point to always listen to talking plants, like when I’ve been drinking and the trees tell me to pee on ’em. I think we should do what it says.”

  “Amazing,” Wolf said. “You’re not afraid to charge headfirst into a trained army of spearmen with no clothes or weapons, yet a bush says a few words and you’ll do whatever it says. Your father would be so proud.”

  Cat stared down in shame. “Pointy thorns are forever the weakness of the pantsless.”

  For the record, there were no talking trees or any other plants in my world. I wasn’t sure if this was yet another inaccuracy, or if there was someone standing in the bush with a megaphone. I had a really wicked idea if it was the latter, but Geoff beat me to the punch.

  “I am not the woodsman that my benefactor, the brilliant Lord Hartin, is,” Geoff said, “but perhaps one of you could start a fire to dispel this nasty spirit? I would imagine that, even though it is sentient, it still possesses a mundane bush’s weakness to flames.”

  “Your suggestion of flames does not frighten me.” The bush glowed bright green at the word “frighten,” causing my companions to jump. I am proud to say that I only jumped back half as far as anyone else. “Err . . . you don’t have a fire, do you?”

  Jackal pulled out a flint and tinder and began rubbing them together to make a fire. Wolf held a torch from his pack toward her and soon had it alight.

  The bush glowed brighter, almost blinding us. “Now, you idiots,” the bush said.

  Three Mohawked Atlians came charging from the bush, straight at Wolf and Cat. Jackal recovered enough to send off two quick shots from her crossbow, but her hands were shaking almost as much as I was. She missed both shots and cursed. Still, she did manage to slow their charge enough to give Wolf and Cat time to regain their composure. Wolf caught one with a brilliantly executed shield slam right in the mid-section. Cat intercepted one Atlian’s sword with his shield and sidestepped the second. Geoff let out a bloodcurdling cry and charged his horse right through the middle of the battle, making contact with no one. At least he was out of the way.

  I, not wanting to be murdered on camera in the middle of my own world and not having the time or skill to make a fire, tossed my sword straight into the middle of the talking bush. I really hoped I broke whatever equipment they were using to project that voice, the more expensive, the better.

  The bush let out a shriek. The two standing Atlians immediately broke off and retreated into it.

  “Brilliant move, Harry,” Cat said. “I’ve always suspected that talking bushes were weak against swords, though I still think they’re weaker against beef gravy. Wolf, did you bring any gravy?”

  “No. Whenever I make any, you immediately pour it in your helmet, and I’m not paying for another new helmet.”

  “One of these days, I’m going to make a gravy-proof helmet, and then we’ll all be rich.”

  Wolf put his boot on top of the prone Atlian he had downed. “Go round up the other two while they’re distracted, then we can see who Harry hit.”

  “Err . . . Jackal,” Cat said. “I hate to have to ask this, but could you get them? That bush seems to have a No pants. No shoes. No service. sign on it, and I’m all out of pants.”

  “Wolf,” Jackal said, “you’re our HR rep. Why is he allowed to not wear pants, again?”

  “As his unofficial guardian since his father’s death, I’m slowly weaning him off some of his worst habits. Every three months, he’s required to wear one additional article of clothing.”

  Jackal crinkled her eyebrows. “Why weren’t pants the first thing you made him put on?”

  Wolf sighed. “If you saw what he’d shaved into his chest hair, you wouldn’t have picked pants either.”

  “It’s a social commentary on the female form,” Cat said.

  Wolf motioned to Cat, and they changed places guarding the prisoner. Wolf cautiously led the way into the bushes with Jackal behind. I was expecting the sounds of battle and was disappointed to only hear voices instead. My first thought was that the actors were trying to figure out how to explain the scream when my blade had connected with a crewman, but I was proven wrong when the two Atlians dragged Artenarix from the bush instead. I thought it was rather rude of them to not bring my sword as well, but the actor playing Artenarix was fidgeting and moaning pitifully, so I decided not to hold it against them. (Doubly so since I was sure no one had even bother
ed to give the other Atlians names).

  “As a non-combatant, I demand to know why you propelled your blade at my personage. That is against all of the rules of chivalrous combat.” I’d never seen anyone scowl and cry at the same time before, but I usually don’t hold mirrors up when I battle the local kindergarteners.

  “So is pretending to be a bush.” Cat looked at Wolf. “Isn’t it? I know I pretend to be bushes all the time, and you’ve said I’m the antithesis of chivalry. Also, what does ‘antithesis’ mean?”

  “It means the opposite,” Jackal said.

  “Oh, good. That makes even more sense. I’ve always thought he was calling me chivalry’s Aunt Thesis. If anything, I’m its adopted second cousin.”

  “I’m guessing this man is an enemy of our benefactor,” Wolf said.

  I nodded. “His name is Artenarix, and he really hates . . . the guy or woman who hired us.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for games.” Artenarix paused to spit out some fake blood. “We all know that the recently exiled Hammurabi Joudisz hired you and that you are in possession of an important item.”

  “I thought a woman gave us the package,” Cat said.

  Artenarix wheezed out a laugh. “Well, now I know for certain that you do indeed have the item I am searching for, even if it will do me little good in this state. If this were any other time, I would despair at such an injury, but I can survive anything now that I know Hammurabi has been finally exiled. Fortunately, there is one thing I can do.” He held up two fingers, and one of his men ran off at full speed.

  Jackal ran after the man, but Geoff came crashing through the brush before she could get her shot. After she had finally calmed his horse, she looked back at us and shook her head.

  Artenarix tried to laugh again, but it came out as more of a cough. “You may have defeated me, but I am not the only one.”

  His eyes closed, and the only sound around us was the sobbing of his lone conscious companion. Wolf grabbed the man’s sword and knife without him even seeming to notice.

  “Should we tie him up?” Jackal said.