Part 6 Chapter 6 - The King's Shenanigans

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I approach the Poet Hall with wariness and trepidation that have been trained into me over time, exposure, and some very distressing learning experiences.  Bronwyn seems to echo my concern. Then again, no one approaches the Poet Hall completely at ease - too many shenanigans have happened here.

 

Just as I think that, I'm almost barreled into by my second Poet today.  I raise an eyebrow at him.  "Is there some emergency, Jhe Blackirons?"

 

He jumps, then makes a smarmy little bow.  "Sorry sir, it's just with your son back, we have to give Gerald the bounty now!  So I'm gonna go fetch that."

 

I lift my eyebrows in concern.  "Not another sandwich?"

 

He chokes back a laugh.  "Oh, no sir.  Nothing near so special as that.  By the way, how is Mikhal?  I haven't seen him since he ate that thing.  It's been over a week now."

 

"Jhe Devisch shall walk again someday, or so I'm told.  If your Poet bounty does worse to my son, I might see that you share his fate.  Now go off and waste someone's time."

 

Jhe Blackirons pouts up at me from that last statement, then shrugs and dashes off.  I don't pay it any mind.  I've got things to do.

 

We enter the Poet Hall.  I stare around the receiving area while mentally scanning, then raise an eyebrow.  "Jhe Averseen?"

 

Bronwyn jumps.  "Ah, yes sir?"

 

"By my reckoning, I do believe Jhe 'hLogos is not sleeping in his quarters.  Perhaps you can aid me in seeking him out?"

 

"Oh!  Of course, sir!  I'm sure he's just...resting somewhere else.  Here, I think I sense his presence this way..."

 

And with that, I'm dragged off down a random hall in the Poet complex.

 

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I'm still not exactly sure how I got dragged here.  Jhe 'hLogos is supposed to be in bed, right?  Not in a big room full of weird wooden boxes, pictures of squirrels, and balls of yarn.  There's a weird brass contraption in the corner that's gathering dust, and a collection of quills and papers. "Here!" he says.  "Try this one."  I pick up a quill.

 

"Sire?  With all due respect, you know that I'm not exactly an artist."

 

He shakes his finger at me.  "Gerald, I taught you your arts myself, and made sure to grind it into your head then that it is not the technical skill behind the quill that matters in Poetry nearly so much as intent.  Besides which, I need only for you to sign your name.  I've had so many Poets out of the Hall as of late that I was short just one more to complete this project."  He smiles.  "It's been a long-running one, but I think you'll enjoy it.  Jhe Stevane thought of it while having coffee with me."

 

I pause.  "Wait, you had coffee?"  Jhe o'Radia has handed down instructions to all the Poets and Armed in Radia to only give the Poet King coffee under Imperial authority.  Apparently the Poet King is only allowed so much stimulant in a day.

 

"We had it with Jhe Luciprochoros.  He had a new blend delivered that he simply had to share with educated palettes.  I was only up for three days afterward.  In any case...here, sign your name.  It won't take long after that.  Then..." his eyes twinkle.  "Then you'll see."

 

I'd say something, but the Poet King is a very persuasive individual, and I'm not going to refuse an order just because it sounds a little...shifty.  After all, this is the Poet Hall.  Besides, he's a King.  He knows what he's doing.  I apply my signature.  After that...

 

Well, after that, things get a little fuzzy.

 

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Jhe Averseen stops suddenly, looking ahead of her with some confusion.  She rubs her head, furrowing her brow.  I lean down to see what's wrong, but she only shakes her head.  "It's nothing, sir.  I think...I think somebody must have just now written something really weird.  I have the feeling I just helped, though, and that's a bit strange.  Well, the King does have his projects that we all help out with.  Maybe he just finished one."

 

"Ah.  I thought he should be resting right now."

 

She sighs.  "Of course, sir.  It's probably someone else, I'm sure.  He's a hard worker but he wouldn't endanger his health...not at a time like this."  She sounds so dubious of her words that she must just be saying them for the show of it.  Most of all, though, she sounds very worried.  That concern is beginning to rub off on me.

 

Maybe that's more a sense of impending doom.  I can feel a strange energy building up.  Something very fast...very chaotic...and like nothing I've ever sensed before.  I run ahead towards the room we're approaching.  What if Camden brought something else with him when he brought Ebrellin-i and Cade?  Elete's in no condition to fend off an attack - even if it's from within his own Hall.  I burst into the room.

 

I am consumed by...fluffiness.  Disgusting, mewling, purring fluffiness.  I summon Diyn.  Diyn does not come.  I realize, at the worst ever possible time to do so, that Diyn refused to enter the Poet hall since about fifteen years after Elete took office in it, due to a ridiculous incident that almost cost three Poets their lives and Elete his dignity.

 

I decide that the best course of action is to set what's attacking me on fire.

 

"Tesynnodai!  Please don't kill them!  They've committed no crime!"  I would feel more moved by his plea if Elete didn't sound like he was choking back a laugh.

 

"ELETE.  GET WHATEVER THIS IS OFF OF ME."  I flail, only to have my arm covered in more of it.  Or, possibly, them.

 

"I err...well, I don't know what to call them yet, 'Sy.  We've only just gone and invented them...they're really quite interesting, however.  Here, Gerald, you can pick them up.  Oh!  Jhe Averseen, my dear.  Thank you so much for helping.  My, my, I didn't think there'd be so many.  At least one for every Poet that signed!"  He sounds so...proud.  As he speaks, the small furry...parasites are being removed from me, one by one.  "Stevane thought we could use little helpers, you see.  That could fetch, and carry, and take messages...like hawks, except better for the indoors, and trained for litter boxes.  And then I thought, cats would be so efficient if they had opposable thumbs.  And we figured we should keep the wings, for speed and...well, more efficiency.  But we added some squirrel in for...was it balance?  Yes.  It was balance.  And one of the Poets thought it would be nice if we could feed them nuts, though I'm not sure how much of a use that would be...but it sounded plausible at the time.  In any case, they're very young now, and...my, they do like you a great deal.  Do you keep a lot of cats?  I've not seen that many at your house."

 

I glare at him, now that my face is exposed.  I am still wearing a fuzzy helmet made of...whatever these things are.  "Cats annoy me.  Every one of them seems to know this, and thus they all...oh for fuck's sakes, are these things all nesting on me because of that?"

 

Elete chokes back a laugh behind his hand.  "It's a distinct possibility."  He looks one of the things in the eye, then hands it to me.  "Here, see?  There's no harm in the little thing."

 

I peer over the small animal in my hands.  It's a tiny kitten, though it's older than a newborn.  Probably old enough to be weaned, though if it's a Poet creation it wouldn't have a natural mother.  On its back are a pair of bird wings, like those of a small songbird.  It has a squirrel tail instead of a cat tail.  It meows at me, begins to purr, and then disappears.  A second later, the damned thing has nested on my head.  I look over at Elete.  "Teleportation?  Was that necessary?"

 

He smiles, eyes twinkling.  "Very convenient, don't you think?"

 

I shake my head and curse under my breath.  "You and your infernal shenanigans are going to be the death of me, Elete."

 

"Ooo!  Shenanigans!  Jhe 'hLete, that's the perfect name for them!"  Stevane's voice cheers out from behind me.  We're then joined by both her and my errant son, who is blinking at everything around him as if he were a newborn foal.  There's the Poetic dance of oh-what-are-you-doing-isn't-this-fun-let's-babble-on-like-idiots, and then Stevane suddenly glares at Elete with no warning whatsoever.  "All that aside, just what are you doing out of bed, Jhe 'hLete?!"

 

Elete is about to give a retort to Stevane when he looks over at me.  The dawning, morbid, extremely delayed realization of the fact that he has been caught out of bed is warring with a strange smile.  I realize that Stevane and I's faces look identical right now.  It might almost be too much for the Poet King.

 

Then he collapses backwards, proving that it, in fact, was the very last straw.  Gerald, ever looking for a use in life, catches the King before he lands on a mewling, fighting pile of shenanigans.  Wouldn't that just be awful.

 

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