Me! Me! Me! The King Who Shouldn't Be-Excerpt

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"Lucky, lucky, lucky, we're so lucky. Lucky, luck-" Justice stopped singing when his mom rode up in a cloud of dust, jumped off Blue as she plowed to a stop, looked Justice in the eye and said-

"Trouble."

"Mom?" Justice took Blue's reins.

"The King's Royal Messenger will be here within the hour." Jill swiped blonde hair full of road dust out of her eyes.

"But they...they've never sent..."

Jill shook her head, "They did once. You were a baby, nineteen years ago. Nineteen years, no trouble. Damn." She blew out a sharp breath, took a long look out over Humble Haven Farm, frowned deeply.

Justice felt his gut tighten at the look on her face as she scanned their family farm.

Like a long last look.

"Maybe...maybe it won't be...be that bad?" He heard how feeble his attempted reassurance sounded.

It was normally an ordinary messenger who would tack a notice up on the village's bulletin board.

This was where the citizens of Gorge Valley could find King Gorge's delusional edicts, which grew in outrageousness apace with his ever-expanding girth, receding hairline, and infinite, infantile idiocy. The latest stupidity was awarding himself yet another fictitious medal for a non-existent accomplishment to hang upon a ribbon where the gold medallion would dangle on his chest, secured snugly, and without sway, between his growing breasts.

"Maybe not that bad?" Justice said more forcefully.

Jill rolled her eyes at him and Justice instantly went, "HEEKKU!" Hiccups always betrayed his rising nervousness.

Jill patted his shoulder, "Nothing wrong with trying to stay positive."

"Breakfast!" Bobor called from the house.

Jill winced toward the thatched roof cottage. "I have to tell your father." She sighed, "We'd better make contingency plans."

He watched her walk away as Biscuit, their small curly haired blonde dog, ran onto the farm. Jill turned back to Justice, calling, "I couldn't wait for her."

He remembered then why she'd left the farm so early; a veterinary emergency. "How'd the emergency go?" He called out.

"Great, thank goodness!" She called back, just before entering the house, muttering, "At least the day started well."

Justice pulled Blue's saddle off and hung it on the top rail of the pasture fence. He unbridled her and turned her out to the pasture with their Holstein dairy cows and calves. He smiled as the blue roan bucked and ran with joy and set off the calves to running and bucking with her.

Gorge Valley didn't take calves away from their mothers as other shires did. They didn't get as much milk from their cows but the denizens of the valley preferred happier, stress-free cows who never got mastitis. Justice was glad to live in such a kind place. He felt his stomach lurch at the thought the King's Royal Messenger would bring news that would substantially change this place he loved so.

Biscuit trotted toward him down the long curving farm road. The tall, narrow poplars lining the road always reminded him of sentinels guarding the farm. They seemed magic to him as a young child. He wished now he could still believe in their power to protect their home and all the beating hearts who dwelled within.

He brushed the wavy brown hair out of his brown eyes as the wind picked up. The stand of aspens bordering the farm with their shiny trunks and shimmering shushing leaves sent the earthen fragrance of the forest to him. He closed his eyes as the light wind now also brought lavender, lilac, and wild rose to his nostrils, 'Lucky, lucky, lucky.'

He opened his eyes. "We were so lucky." And then silently kicked himself, 'Don't be such a pessimist.'

He squatted down to hug Biscuit as she leaned into his legs. "Come on, girl, let's get breakfast." It was one of the deep pleasures of farm life that breakfast came after hours of chores that worked a body and stoked an appetite.

As he and Biscuit walked toward their cozy cottage, he thought about his parents and the conversation they must be having over this breakfast. Jill and Bobor were much more concerned with the politics of the Royal Court than Justice. He thought it was because he hadn't faced any challenges as difficult as his parents had before they built Humble Haven Farm.

It was humble. It was their farm. And, most certainly, it was their haven.

Justice was born and had grown up here. He wanted 'here' to remain as it had always been. He had banked on the fact it was on the far edges of the Kingdom and King Gorge hadn't bothered with this place for all of Justice's life. And so, it remained the same.

That was all Justice ever wanted. The same. Same was good. Same was safe. And safe was the same as happy.

***

Biscuit growled, so Justice slowed as he approached the top of Home Hill. He peeked over the crest of the hill and saw the largest crowd he’d ever seen gathered on Only Street.

Biscuit growled again. He patted her, “It’s okay. It’s okay, girl.”

Every time Justice walked Only Street, he thought it was the prettiest street in the world, not that he'd seen any other street. On Only Street, every storefront was a different bright colour, with contrasting shutters and window flower boxes. Pretty benches lined the street. At Only Cafe, townsfolk chatted at the outdoor tables. Happy shopkeepers waved at Justice as he strode past every afternoon.

Today, they were all in the street. As Justice made his way through the crowd, he heard a lot of grumbling: ‘What do they want now?’ ‘Why can’t they just leave us alone?’ ‘Do you think it’s true?’

Rumours had been flying for months around the valley about some outrageous new tax levied, as always, only on ‘Ordinaries’ as the King called anyone not High Born. They couldn’t do anything about the tax, but the village had a gesture in place if it turned out to be true.

Justice looked for Cobbler Joe and Cobbler Jane. He spotted them easily by their bright red hair.

“Heaps o’ goody good there, young Justice.” Cobbler Joe greeted him.

“And Heaps o’ goody-gooder there, Cobbler Joe.” Justice replied, tipping his felt hat.

Cobbler Jane looked past him, “Where are Jill and Bobor?”

“One of our cows is sick. They sent me to see what the messenger has to say.”

Joe and Jane exchanged looks, Joe cleared his throat, "You know it's the King's Royal Messenger coming."

Justice nodded. "Mom and Dad would have been here but a cow was sick." There was no sick cow. He hated lying to his good friends but he couldn't say why his parents were avoiding anyone from the Royal Court.

Joe nodded, said, “Wondering for a favour there, young Just.”

“Yes?”

Cobbler Joe described an onerous task Justice did not want to do. So of course, Justice said, “Yes, of course.”

He said, 'yes’ to all the onerous tasks the townsfolk requested. Did it make them respect him anymore? As much as Light? Did it as heck like.

The sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestones silenced the crowd. The King’s Royal Messenger rode in, impressive in his red and gold caped uniform atop his palomino steed. The crowd hushed and Justice noted their impassive faces. They were doing a good job of not looking 'full of the bitters' even though they were.

The Royal Messenger pulled a scroll out of the saddlebag and unrolled it. His voice boomed out, “Subjects of King Gorge pay heed now to Your Lord God King God King Gorge’s very own words this day.”

The Messenger cleared his throat and concentrated on the scroll. “‘My loyal subjects who be subjected to your Lord God King God King Gorge’s beautiful and historical best-est leader-ing in historical histories, I, me, your Lord God King God in infinite wisdom-ness and smarty smart-ness, decrees, decries and declaims that each subject of the Kingdom of King Gorge be assessed a piddle poo tax calculated thusly: three pee pees and one poo poo per day at a cost of six gorges per pee pee or poo poo. This tax applies to Ordinaries and Lowly-Lows only. Royals and High Borns are exempt-er-rated from such taxings. Your Lord God King God King Gorge loves all his loyal subjects. Except, of course, the Cheaps. Long Live Your Lord God King God, ME!’” The Messenger looked at the crowd. “That is all!” He spurred his horse and galloped off.

"All?" Justice said, "We already knew that tax was coming, why send the Royal Messenger?"

Cobbler Joe said, “I’ve never seen a Lowly-Low or a Cheap.” as the crowd grumbled amongst themselves.

Justice said, “What a thing to call people. But I’ve heard the Cheaps only live in the Capitol.”

Cobbler Joe shook his head, “No, young Just. My in-laws live in Fairlifeshire. There are some over there and in Smithshire and yes, they do all the toughest work in the Capitol. Poor sods.”

“Poor souls.” Cobbler Jane said, then turned to Justice and smiled. “Young Justice, have the boots I made for you yet trod beyond this valley?”

Justice sighed inside. Always the same question. “Uhm…not yet.”

“But soon? Yes?” She put her hand on his shoulder. “What about adventure? Adventure is for the young. And for all the young souls.”

“I read about adventure. Lots of adventures. I read about all the adventures in all the books.”

Jane leaned against Joe, gave him a peck on the cheek, laid her head on his shoulder. “What about romance? Companionship? It too is for the young. And young souls. Everyone.”

‘I’m nineteen not ninety.’ Justice wanted to say. ‘There’s time. There’s lots of time.’

Hoofbeats. They looked toward the sound. The King’s Royal Messenger stopped his horse in the village square.

He leaned down and looked at Justice. “What village is this?”

“Gorge Valley.”

The messenger straightened and barked out, “People of Gorge Valley. The King has a further message for you.” He cleared his throat. “Subjects of King Gorge pay heed now to Your Lord God King God King Gorge’s very own words this day.” He pulled another scroll from his satchel, unrolled it. “‘Your Lord God King God King Gorge announcer-ates that Gorge Valley is to be honoured by your Lord God King God with its choice as the site of your Lord God King God’s most exciting-est project ever in the historicals of histories, the most beautiful sight your ordinary eyes will have ever behold-ed. Long Live the King forever and ever and ever. ME!’” The messenger shoved the scroll away. “That is all.” He reined his palomino in a tight turn, spurred him on and galloped away.

Cobbler Jane frowned, “That is all? All what? More King’s gibberish and falderal.”

Murmurs arose within the crowd: ‘What does that mean?’ ‘Chosen?’ ‘What project?’ ‘What’s he going to do now?’ 'Why doesn't that tiresome twat leave us alone?'

They grumbled and muttered as they went back to their shops: the butcher, dry goods, produce shops; the cafe, livery stable and tack shop; the haberdasher, bakery and library. As Justice watched them reopen their doors, he wondered again why anyone would ever want to leave this place. It had everything anyone could ever want or need.

As Justice, Cobbler Joe and Cobbler Jane watched, the shop owners unfurled new signs over the old ‘Gorge Valley’ signs. Now they were: Piddleshitshire Butchers, Piddleshitshire Produce, Piddleshitshire Fabrics, Piddleshitshire Haberdasher. The citizens had been awaiting this day for several months because of the rumours of the new tax and swore they would rename the town and village. Although still technically loyal to the King, they did not want to carry the name of King Gorge any longer. They had thought of Piddlepooshire, but it didn’t have the same zing.

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