Me! Me! Me! The King Who Shouldn't Be - Pt. 2

***

“Damnit!”

Near midnight, unable to sleep, Justice got out of bed, threw on his coat, and left the house.

He leaned on the top rail of the pasture fence and watched the cows and their calves lounging in the moonlit, dewy grass, fireflies like little stars dancing around them. He looked up at the full blue moon and took in a long breath. He let it out slowly as his eyes took in the most beautiful sight in the world to him: Humble Haven Farm was magically azure tonight.

“Sssshhhhhhhhh,” sighed the aspens.

He closed his eyes, listening to them, feeling the breeze that had awakened their voices caress his face. Wishing he could stop time right here.

But The Old Lady’s voice came back to him. “Your name is Justice.”

He shook himself, “It’s just a name,” and headed back across the farm.

With a last long look out on Humble Haven Farm and thoughts of freezing time, he closed the front door of the house. That sound of the door latching always meant one word to him. Home.

He slept but it was fractured by sudden thrusts of anxiety and wakefulness followed by exhausted falls into disturbing dreams.

And out there, on top of the barn, the iron horse spun round and round and finally shuddered to a stop a hundred and eighty degrees from previous. Heavenly blue faded to stormy grey.

***

Smoke. Smoke ahead. He ran the rest of the way up Home Hill, toward the black sword of churning smoke slicing apart the grey clouds. Biscuit growled as they ran.

His lungs burned, his legs shook. He knew his brother would have zipped up this slope like a lightning bolt.

Then he was over the top, and he saw her. “NOOOOOO!” Kendria. Burning.

Her branches flailed in the storm of flames consuming her. “NOOOOOO!”

They looked up at him. He gasped and ducked back behind the hill. Those four men wore the uniform of the King’s Guard.

He rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut, but the tears were already pouring. When he opened his eyes, he gasped.

The Old Lady was standing over him, Companion perched on her shoulder. Her penetrating blue eyes burned into his brown ones. As always, it was hard to look her in the eye and impossible to look away.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because…THE KING IS A CHEAT!” she shouted to the wind. Companion flapped his wings on her shoulder.

Justice sat up. “SSSHHHH!” He nodded toward Kendria ablaze.

“I do not care.” She straightened and shouted, “THE KING IS AN EVIL MORON!”

Justice leapt up. “The…they…they’ll hear.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, pointed her other down the hill. “They’re already walking away. Duty done.”

Justice swallowed. “Wh-why…why did they do that?”

The Old Lady lifted her hand from his shoulder, looked further down the valley, and said, “Golf.”

“GOLF?”

The Old Lady turned back to Justice. “The King has already built a shelf for his trophies. As we speak, the metal smiths and wood workers are working on his trophies for the golf not yet played on the course not yet made. The painters are painting portraits of him holding the trophies not yet made for the golf not yet played on the course not yet made. The decorators are looking for spots in the castle to hang the portraits of the King holding the trophies not yet made for the golf not yet played on the course not yet made.”

“Golf? He’s building a golf course here??”

“Of course not. That would be too difficult. It is just a putt-putt course. All the greens are designed with troughs so he can sink a putt from any position.”

“But, but won’t everyone putt the same?”

“There is no everyone. He will be the only player ever to play here. He has ordered a trophy designed for every hole. There are going to be 11,780 holes. One for every time in his life he has cheated. Though he calls it ‘one for every time your Lord God King God King Gorge has won.’ The course will take up the whole valley and the village itself. Burning Kendria was a test. King Gorge is going to burn the valley and the Village of Piddleshitshire. Because he’s a shit.”

She stroked Companion’s head. “What is King Gorge, Companion?”

“Shit!” Companion squawked.

Justice sat heavily on the grass. The air left his lungs in a rush. The Old Lady kicked his leg with her pointy shoe.

“Ow!”

“Get up. You have work to do.”

He tsked with annoyance but got up. “What are you on about? I’m not going.”

She withdrew a scroll from her satchel and smacked him on the head with it.

“Ow. Again.”

“Respect, young Justice. I demand respect. I have earned it.”

“You have, and I am sorry. I am.”

“Did Bobor and Jill teach you such disrespect? I think not.”

Justice hung his head, shook it. “No. They taught me respect. And I am sorry. Truly.” He nodded in the direction where Kendria stood. “I am upset. But it is no excuse.”

The Old Lady touched his arm. “I understand your loss. And I am endeavouring to save your precious safe place.”

His jaw dropped at her words. “You…pardon?”

“Do you think I do not understand what this place means to you since Light left us? It means something to all of us but you…” She looked into his eyes, studying him in a way no one had studied him before. He swallowed and took an involuntary step back. “It means the most to you of anyone, including me, though I’ve lived decades more, seen the valley through flood and drought and beautiful summers. Light died Out There. So, you wish to stay In Here, where you think it is safe. And where you think ‘safe’ equals ‘happy.’”

She shook her head and handed him the scroll. “Your parents can look after the farm themselves.”

He held the scroll in his hands for a moment, and his heart raced. The tic under his eye fluttered, his head filled with cotton, and sparkles appeared in his vision. The Old Lady took his arm. “Sit down before you fall down.”

She guided him to the ground, where he squeezed his hands into fists rhythmically as his mother had instructed when he felt close to fainting. The sparkles and the tic stopped. His head cleared, and he unrolled the scroll. As he read it, his eyes widened. “Y-you are joking.”

“You won’t be completely alone.”

“Your person on the inside?”

She shook her head. “No. It is safer if neither of you know you are allies until the time is right. In the meantime, gather as much information as you can on your own. You will be very close to the King and inside the Royal Court. Remember this: keep your mouth closed and your ears open.”

Justice imagined the look on his face matched the alarm churning in his guts because The Old Lady put her hand on his arm. “Justice. You will not be alone because I will send you messages. And you can send messages back.”

Justice nodded at the raven. “Companion?”

The Old Lady laughed. “Ravens are too smart to be messengers for humans. They would just tear the message off their leg and look at you like you are an idiot for trying such a thing. Wouldn’t you, Companion?” She kissed the raven’s head. Companion made a kissing sound in return. “Besides, they don’t have a homing instinct, like a…” She raised her eyebrows at him, compelling him to finish the sentence.

“Homing pigeon? But how would it find me? And the people employed in the castle are High Borns. Why would he employ me?”

“The King doesn’t trust the ‘High Borns’, so he’s looking for, as he delightfully calls all the rest of us: ‘Lowly-Lows.’” She smiled at him, reached into her satchel, and pulled out a pigeon.

The bird had iridescent blue-grey plumage. She calmly perched on The Old Lady’s forearm.

“This is Amelia. She was raised in the quarters of the person whose job you will be taking. She receives no food there. She gets her food from me. When I have a message for you, I will release her. She’ll fly home. You’ll take the message from her. And if you have a message for me, you’ll roll it up and put it in this tube that attaches to her leg, release her, and she’ll fly to me to get food. If you don’t have a message, release her anyway, and she’ll come to me. But do not feed her there. Just give her water.”

“That’s…it’s…it’s a long way.”

“It’s nine hundred miles. She can fly six to seven hundred a day.” The Old Lady petted Amelia’s head. “Can’t you, girl?” She looked at Justice. “She’s friendly. You can show your appreciation for her by giving her a warm bed for the night when she brings a message. And petting her. She likes pets on the back of her neck.” The Old Lady moved her forearm, and the pigeon, closer to Justice. He petted the back of Amelia’s neck, marvelling at her smooth, soft feathers. He felt her lean against his finger.

The Old Lady smiled at him. “Justice, you are qualified for this very particular job. And my insider has already secured the position for you. I will tell you the story we have written for you, explaining how you came to secure this position.”

“Wh-when do I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

A shock ran through him, and The Old Lady noted how his face fell. Her voice was raspy suddenly, with emotion or fatigue, Justice wasn’t sure. But her words came with more gravitas now. “Today you have seen the start of what the King has in store for your home and mine. In sixty days, that wrinkled old prune is having a thirtieth birthday party for himself. Forty years late. His birthday candles apparently did not provide enough fire and flame for him, so he has arranged for our village and valley to be burned on his birthday. He’s even sending artists to paint the scene.” She took his hand, squeezed it with strength. “The time is now.”

Justice tried to show more bravado than he felt by squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “Good. The sooner this is done, the sooner I can come home.” Do…or die. Either way it would be over. “I just have one more thing to do before I go.”

He walked down to where his friend Kendria had stood just yesterday. The Old Lady followed him. He squatted down, picked up a handful of her ashes. He felt the nonexistent weight of the ashes in his hand. “How insubstantial,” he said. “And she was so substantial.”

The Old Lady handed him a small jar, and he filled it with the ash remains of his most strong, silent, and comforting friend in the valley.

***

“You are WHAT?” Bobor shouted and pounded the wooden table. Jill stared straight ahead, her gaze trained on nothing.

To Justice, she looked frailer than her slight frame, and her skin was almost translucent. Her hair tumbled in gilt waves to her waist, framing her face with sunshine until, in this moment, a veil of darkness enveloped her.

“Mom?” he asked. He squatted down beside her chair, put his hand on hers. She blinked rapidly then, as though being shaken awake from a dream…or a nightmare.

“After all we have done to keep you safe.” She turned to Justice then, ran her hands through his hair. “What about this?”

Damn. He shook his head. “I didn’t think.”

His father pounded the table again. “Of course not.” He stood up. “I cannot talk about this anymore. You can stay the night. With the dawn, you’ll leave for the Capitol…and never come back.”

Justice stared at his father’s craggy face: sun and wind burnt, tough and kind, strong and tired, merry and sad, mischievous and righteous. The face of a man connected to the land.

Was this the last time he would see his father’s face? Bobor turned and walked to the door of the small bedroom he shared with his wife. And then he was gone.

“Why would you do this?” his mother asked.

The Old Lady had been clear that he could not say why he was going Out There. He could say nothing about the king’s plans for the valley because the people might panic and do something that would bring the king’s unwanted attention down upon their heads.

“I…I want to make a better future for you and Dad.”

“The future is unknowable. But what your father and I know right now is that come morning, we will have no son. Come morning, we will be parents without children.” She paused, took a long breath. “I wonder…is there a name for orphaned parents?”

Justice nodded. “Ver waister Elternteil. I read it in a German novel.” He flinched then, thinking he should not have mentioned it. “Sorry.”

“Never apologize for knowing something, Justice. There are people in this kingdom who resent knowledge. We are not those people.” Justice felt relieved until she continued. “Come morning, they brand you a traitor to this place for which you profess such love.” She shook her head. “What of your grandma and grandpa? What of your aunts and uncles and cousins? Do you not understand there will be no more family Christmas here? No more games around this table? No more laughter? No more shared history? They will not come here again. No one will come here again. Our name will mean less than nothing here. We will bear the family name of a traitor to the people.”

Tears flowed down his face. He wanted to scream, I’M DOING THIS FOR THE PEOPLE! I’M TRYING TO STOP A CATASTROPHE!

She wiped at his tears with the back of her hand. “Last time I’ll wipe away your tears.” She blinked back her own tears and stood. She tugged on a strand of his hair. “You take after your father. Get rid of that before morning.”

She walked away from him. As she closed the bedroom door, he heard a sob break from her.

***

“Mom!” Justice gasped when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table next morning. She had cut her hair to just below her ears.

She glanced at his bald head. “Good. Sit down.” She slid a bag across the table to him. He knew what was in it before he opened it and found the blonde waves.

“Try it on,” she said and stood to adjust the wig.

“Did you get any sleep? Maybe you can go back to sleep after I’m…gone.” He grimaced as she moved the wig around on his stubbled head. Biscuit went under the table and lay her head on Justice’s foot.

“I have a surgery this morning. Cobbler Joe’s cat Shoehorn needs an infected tooth removed. I will sleep later.” She moved the wig around, picked up her scissors, and snipped here and there.

“It is to my shoulders?” Justice asked.

“That is the style in the Capitol.” Moving around to look at his face, comparing one side with the other, pulling a tendril here, snipping there. “I can trim the fringe a little. Is it bothering your eyes?”

Justice shook his head and felt her pull some waves forward to cover his forehead and then saw tears come into her eyes.

He gripped her hand. “Mom.”

She was breathing hard, and her words choked on her tears. “You look like Light.”

“I’m sorry.” What she said had cut him deeply. He fought to remember that she was grieving the loss of two sons now, and this son, the one still in front of her, suddenly looked like the one who could never come home.

She shook her head and sat down heavily; the strength drained out of her. “I cannot…I…do not understand why.”

Tears stung his eyes. If he failed, they would never know why he had gone to work for the King. And not just work for the king. He was to be the New Groom of the Royal Stool, the most intimate position in the Royal Court. And the most odious.

He stared at his mother. He was stalling. Now that the time had come to leave, his arms and legs were stone. Biscuit slept on his foot. He moved a little. The weight of her head on his foot was warm and comforting.

He braced his hands on the table and pushed himself up. His mother stared at the door. Biscuit jumped up, attentive, enthusiastic about going anywhere with him.

He walked around the table and bent down to kiss his mom on the cheek. She cupped his face in her hand. “Just come back.” He stood, squeezed her shoulder, and picked up his rucksack.

Biscuit was beside him as he strode to the door. He bent down to pat her. “Good girl. See you later.” He opened the door just wide enough to slide through.

Biscuit began barking as he walked on down the curving farm road. Step one. Step two. Step three. Her cries faded behind him, as he continued alongside the pasture where the cows regarded him curiously and mooed, anticipating feed, water, pets. He ran. At the end of the road, he stopped. He looked at the pigeons Light had carved for the fenceposts on either side of the drive.

Anxiety landed. The ground tilted under his feet. The first time it happened, he’d thought there was an earthquake. The only quaking had been inside him.

He swallowed and turned to look back at Humble Haven Farm. He tried to burn the image into his mind: the winding road bordered by poplars, the cows watching him, the green pasture, the barn, the iron horse weathervane, and that thatch-roofed house that held warm fires and his whole lifetime of memories. All of it was grey this morning. All of it was beautiful still. And beautiful in its stillness.

“Goodbye, Mom and Dad. Goodbye, Biscuit. Goodbye, friends.”

***

Cobblers Joe and Jane stared at him in disgust. Through the carriage window, he gave them a weak little wave as he went past. They turned their backs.

As though all the blood had just drained from his heart, it went hollow, empty, and cold. Tears stung again.

Townsfolk at the Only Cafe tables pumped fists at him. People on benches lining the street and walking with their daily shop turned away. His community. His people. No more. Nausea pinched at his guts with icy claws.

Splat! A tomato struck the carriage. The driver stopped and looked down at the red slimy mess. “You’ll pay a cleaning fee for that, traitor. Your new position in the Royal Court is the only reason you’re not walking to Gorgetown.

Gorgetown. He was headed for Gorgetown. He swallowed and it felt like a ball of ice landed in his stomach.

He was going to the place that killed Light.

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