A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot (25 page)

After the noise died down, Head jumped onto the stage and, ignoring the pain in his wounded, fetid leg, roared, “You have just applauded the departure of a false King! Before he died, King Barfonme declared the new ruler to be his brother, Slobbert!”

In unison, the crowd cried,
“Who the hell is Slobbert?!”

Head answered, “The rightful heir to the throne!”

In unison, the crowd cried,
“Why haven’t we heard of him until now?!”

“One of Bobbert’s dying wishes,” Head explained, “was that Slobbert be introduced into the story in a dramatic, surprising fashion!”

In unison, the crowd cried,
“That’s a really good literary device! But that doesn’t mean this Slobbert guy should be King!”

“I agree,” Head agreed. “But do you want young Goofrey ruling the roost?”

In unison, the crowd cried,
“Not particularly! He’s kind of a dick!”

“I know, right?” Head said. “So how about we give this Slobbert fellow a chance?”

Tinyjohnson said, “How about you shut your mouth before Sandstorm cuts off your lips.”

In unison, the crowd cried,
“Ooooooooh!”

Tinyjohnson pointed at Lord Barker and, addressing the audience, yelled, “People of Capaetal Ceity, do you want to see this man executed?”

In unison, the crowd cried,
“Not really, but we don’t have anything else going on this afternoon, so go for it!”

Tinyjohnson turned to Head and pointed out, “The people have spoken. Are you ready to die?”

“As a Lord, I am always ready to die, eunuch…”

“I’m not a eunuch!”
Tinyjohnson screeched.

“… but before you begin the execution proceedings, I’d like you to taste this.”

And then Head reached behind the throne and picked up an onion cream pie, which he threw across the room with the speed, accuracy, and élan of a snake coiling and uncoiling.

And then the lunacy began, lunacy that ended in the arrest and possible death of Lord Headcase Barker.

Wordless screaming, incessant curse words, and rapid-fire splats: For the life of her, Malia Barker could not figure out what the noises from the throne room signified. Part of her wanted to open the door and look, but the other part of her wanted to track down her father and finish preparing for her return trip to Summerseve, and yet the other part of her wanted to divorce herself completely from the proceedings, as the page count was starting to pile up, and even though Malia was not much of a reader, she knew there was a point when enough is enough … for instance, when you get to, say, page 527, it might be time to call it a day. Finally, after much deliberation, for the first time in years, Malia took the path that would keep her out of trouble.

Or so she believed.

On the way to the staircase that led to her and her father’s respective bedchambers, Malia was stopped by ten men clad in full Knight regalia. “Halt!” the commanding officer commanded. “State your name and your business!”

The Knight to his left mumbled, “Sur, you already know her name and business. It’s the youngest Barker girl and she’s looking for her father so she can finish preparing for her return trip to Summerseve.”

The lead Knight bonked his subordinate on the top of his headgear, then explained, “I know how to read, Sur Whalewhipper. I’m just following Goof’s orders to detain and question everybody named Barker.” At that, all ten Knights broke down in laughter, after which the leader chortled, “Ahhhh, Goof Barfonme giving orders, what a joke. The kid’s an idiot. I give him a week.”

“If that,” the subordinate giggled.

Once the laughter died down, the lead Knight ordered, “You are to come with me. We have been ordered by good King Goofrey…”

One of the Knights in the back whispered, “You mean
dumb
King Goofrey.”

“… to put you in a nice room with a comfortable bed.”

The Knight to his left mumbled, “Sur, we were ordered to bring her to the basement and flog her so she wouldn’t stop us from murdering her father.”

The lead Knight bonked his subordinate on the top of his headgear, then explained, “That
comfortable bed
thing was supposed to be misdirection, Sur Whalewhipper. The girl knows how to fight, and if she becomes aware that we are going to jail her, then murder her father, she might engage us in a battle. Whereas if she believes she’s being taken into a nice room with a comfortable bed, she will be less likely to…”

Malia interrupted, “I will
not
be imprisoned,
never
!” To the head Knight, she called, “You: What Pittsburgh Pirates player had exactly three thousand career hits before dying in a plane crash?”

The Knight asked, “Who?”

“
Wrong!
Roberto Clemente.” At that, the Knight gagged and died.

To the second Knight, Malia called, “You: What franchise has lost the World Series a record twelve times?”

The second Knight asked, “What’s a franchise?”

“
Wrong!
The Dodgers of both Brooklyn and Los Angeles. But I would have also accepted if you had just answered Dodgers.” At that, the Knight keened and croaked.

To the third through ninth Knights, Malia called, “You seven: name the first five players elected to the Hall of Fame.”

At once, all six Knights said,
“Um, I don’t know, maybe Jesus Chryst?”

“
Wrong!
Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, Honus Wagner, Christy Matthewson, and Walter ‘Big Train’ Johnson.” At that, the six Knights retched and kicked the bucket.

Malia and the lone remaining Knight stared at each other, then finally, the Knight brandished his sword and pointed it at the girl. With a noticeably unsteady hand, the Knight nervously stuttered, “You’d … you’d … you’d best stand down before I … I … I attack!”

Malia took one step closer, and asked, “Would you like me to be merciful, dear Knight?”

The Knight fell to his knees and wept, “I beg you, m’Lady, for the love of Gods, please be merciful! If you’re going to kill me, show a modicum of compassion! If you have a kind bone in your body, you will not ask me a question about baseball!”

Nodding, Malia murmured, “I shall show you compassion, good Sur. Put down your weapon and remove your headgear.” After the Knight followed Malia’s requests, she pulled Syringe from her dress and stabbed the Knight in the face 412 times.

With his dying breath, the Knight gasped, “Tis far more noble to have perished by the miniature sword than by the trivia battle!” At that, the Knight retched and expired.

Malia regarded her good work, put Syringe away, then called, “I’m coming for you, Father!” And then she began a journey through the castle that might or might not end in the death of a main character.

Lolyta Targetpractice’s womb was so stretched that she felt as if she were going to give birth to a horse, which stood to reason, because chances were quite good that she
was
going to give birth to a horse.

As Loly lay in bed, barely able to sit up, Ivan Drago held her hand, kissed away her tears, and sadly repeated, “Ooga booga. Ooga booga. Ooga booga.”

With a brave smile, Loly said, “Thanks, honey. That’s sweet of you to say.” She took a deep breath, then continued, “I’m frightened, Ivan Drago. This thing in me is so big, and it’s going to tear me up on its way out, and I’m so scared, and I feel so clueless, and I think if I knew how it all worked, I might feel a little comforted. Oh, how I wish you could explain it all to me, darling. I see the wisdom and love in your eyes; if only there was a way you could express it in words.”

Ivan Drago walked to the other side of the room, peeked out of the window, then closed the curtains. He said, “Okay, here’s the deal, babe: Childbirth—which is also referred to as labor, birth,
partus,
or parturition—is the culmination of a human pregnancy or gestation period with the birth of one or more newborn infants from a woman’s uterus. The process of childbirth is categorized in three stages of labor: the shortening and dilation of the cervix, the descent and birth of the infant, and the birth of the placenta.” Ivan Drago then went on to explain in lengthy, graphic detail about the machinations of having a baby. After he finished, he asked, “Now that that’s out of the way, what do you say we go to the village, grab some grog, and have sex in front of everybody, like Dorkis have always done, and Dorkis always will do, even up through books six and seven, which might or might not eventually be written.”

Poleaxed by both her birthing lesson and the newfound knowledge that the husband she had previously believed to be a monosyllabic idiot was actually a verbose genius, Loly agreed, even though the last thing she wanted to do in her physical state was get stabbed in between her legs by her husband’s enormous Dorki love-sword.

When the KERBANGER and Ivan Drago arrived at the center of town, the crowd, sensing some voyeurism in their near future, buzzed with anticipation. A Dorki woman tapped Loly on the shoulder and said, “Yowza, yowza, yowza, KERBANGER. Chuckle chuckle doo.”

Ivan Drago told the Dorki woman, “Back off on the yowzas, Ivan Betsy. She knows.”

Ivan Betsy smiled at Ivan Drago, then said, “Oh. That’s cool.” Turning to Loly, she added, “KERBANGER, I look forward to watching you guys get it on. I don’t know if you’re taking requests, but I’d love to see some ass play, and possibly…”

“Alright, Ivan Betsy,” Ivan Drago growled, “that’s enough. Be gone. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow night.” He raised a fist to the sky and said, “Power to the people.”

With a fist in the air, Ivan Betsy answered, “Power to the people,” then trotted off.

When they were again alone, Loly asked, “What was that ‘power to the people’ business about?”

“You’ve had enough schooling for the day,” Ivan Drago claimed. “We’ll go over Communism tomorrow.”

An elderly manhorse galloped over and panted, “Ivan Drago, Ivan Drago, waggle gaggle maggle! Boo boo boo boo! Fraggle fraggle…”

“Chill, Ivan Dirk. She’s cool.”

“Thank Gods,” Ivan Dirk sighed. “I was running out of nonsense syllables.”

“Yeah, me too. So what’s up?”

“Word at the trough is that somebody wants the KERBANGER dead.”

Nodding, Ivan Drago pointed out, “Old news, Ivan Dirk. We’ve known about this for months.”

Loly cleared her throat and growled, “Um, what do you mean by
we,
kemosabe?”

Grimacing, Ivan Drago hemmed and hawed. “Yeahhhhh, I was going to tell you eventually, babe, but I figured our lines of communication weren’t quite open yet, and I didn’t think it would be the most romantic thing in the world for ‘There’s a price on your head’ to be the first real words you heard come out of my mouth.”

“I’d say saving my life is pretty romantic,” Loly pointed out.

“Ahh, don’t worry about it. Nobody’s going to kill you.” He pointed to one of the vendors and said, “Let me grab you some grog.”

Motioning at her gigantic gut, she noted, “I can’t, Ivan Drago. Grog isn’t good for the baby.”

“That’s what the powers that be will have you believe,” he argued. “It’s all a big conspiracy. The Illumynati’s behind that one. We’ll also discuss that tomorrow.” He took a mug from the vendor, handed it to his wife, then cajoled, “Bottoms up.”

She sniffed the grog, wrinkled her nose, and noted, “It smells funny.”

The vendor gave her an offended look. “Pardon me if this is disrespectful, KERBANGER, but I sell only the finest grog. If I may.” And then he removed the mug from her hands, chugged it down, and grunted, “Mmmm, deeeelicious, best grog I’ve had the pleasure of tasting. A fine vintage if I’ve ever…” He then grabbed his stomach, moaned, “Ooooooohhhhhh, crap, I forgot about the poison,” and promptly dropped dead.

Gawking at the dead man, Loly whispered, “Ivan Drago, please take me home. I need to be alone with my eggs.”

As they trudged back to the castle, Ivan Dirk called, “Yo, KERBANGER, does this mean you guys won’t be screwing out on the lawn?”

“Oh. My. Gods. What is, like, going on there? It sounds totally like a pie fight. With, like, onion cream pies.
Grrrrrrrossssssss
. And not to mention deadly to the max.” Sasha Barker then raised her eyes to the heavens and sighed, “Dear Gods, please keep Goof safe from the pies. You know I’m, like, radically in love with him, and we’re totally getting married, but he won’t be a good husband if he’s, like, dead.”

Sasha sat down on the floor beside the throne room door, rested her back against the wall, and contemplated not a whole lot, because Sasha was not the kind of girl who contemplated. Just when she was about to come up with a complex idea—and this would be the first complex idea that Sasha Barker had ever had, so it was a good thing she was interrupted, for complexity would have literally burnt her cortex into ash—she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Mind if I join you?”

Sasha sat up a bit straighter and said, “Like, totally, Queen.”

Cerevix Barfonme hunkered down next to Sasha and explained, “I had to get out of there. The boys weren’t playing nice.” She then whispered conspiratorially, “It’s important for boys to play nice, right?” Sasha nodded, then Cerevix added, “It’s important for girls to play nice, too. Especially if they’re going to be the Queen someday.” Again, Sasha nodded, then Cerevix continued, “You know how to play nice, don’t you, Sasha?” Again, Sasha nodded, then shook her head, then shrugged. Cerevix draped her arm around Sasha’s shoulders and explicated, “If you want to play nice, well, when two people love each other very, very much, they get certain feelings, feelings of excitement, and their private parts—the man’s is called a penis, and the woman’s is called a vagina—become sensitive to the touch … but in a good way.”

“Oh, I totally know all about that junk, Queen,” Sasha noted. “At first I thought it was, like, totally gross, but then I did some stuff in between my legs with my hands, and I decided it’s totally awesome.”

“It
is
awesome, isn’t it,” the Queen agreed. “And you know when it’s even more awesome? When that person you love very, very much is somebody you’ve loved for your entire life. Now who have you known for your entire life, Sasha?”