A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot (10 page)

“She’s a she. She’s the one who got away.” Bobbert sighed. “The lovely Googlit Altavista. Kind. Warm. Intelligent. Gorgeous. No gag reflex. A keeper. But I let her go.” He took a guzzle of grog, then said, “I met her at a joust. She liked me right away. I was skinnier then, you know…”

“I agree,” Head agreed.

“… and I had more hair, and I could get it up
whenever
I wanted, however many
times
I wanted.”

Uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was heading, Head said, “Shouldn’t we be on our way? Capaetal Ceity awaits.” He pointed at the hundreds of men, women, children, and horses surrounding their campsite, and noted, “And I’m sure these people want to get home, do their Easterrabbitarian duties, and make sweet, sweet love to their relatives.”

After another guzzle, Bobbert said, “Capaetal Ceity and these people can bite my bum.” Raising his voice and shaking his fist, he yelled to his posse,
“You’re all a bunch of ingrates!”
Then, to Head, he predicted, “I give it two weeks before you start hating everybody in the Godsdamn place. No, make that
one
week. No, make that one
day
. No, make that one
chapter
. No, make that one
page
. Now back to Googlit and her deeper than deep throat. She did this thing with her tongue that—”

“Alright,” Head interrupted, “enough.”

Bobbert said, “Fine. Be that way, you Godsdamn prude.” He finished off the contents of his mug, then noted, “Me and you, Heady-Boy, we have something in common, something that you might not know about.”

“What’s that?” Head asked.

“Jerkoffs. I’ve one of my own.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Head said.

“Actually,” Bobbert slurred, “I have twelve of my own.”

Choking on his grog, Head choked,
“Twelve!”

Bobbert shrugged. “Maybe more.”

“Does Cerevix know?”

“Who cares?” Bobbert shrugged. “The bitch doesn’t love me. Plus the bitch is as frigid as the Wall is cold. Plus, well, she’s a bitch.”

Head wanted to agree, but held his tongue.

“I have jerkoffs all over the place,” Bobbert continued. “A jerkoff here, and a jerkoff there. Here a jerkoff, there a jerkoff, everywhere a jerkoff jerkoff.”

Bobbert belched, and Head cringed at his friend’s alcohol-tinged breath. Standing up, the new Foot advised, “Time to go. Are you okay to drive? Or do I have to take your reins?”

The King pulled himself up from his chair, then promptly fell on his backside, straight into the mud. “Nah, I’m good,” he claimed.

Head and Bobbert’s journey to Capaetal Ceity was long and boring, and not worth recounting here. If you feel shortchanged, read this paragraph 261 times, and that will replicate the length and monotony of their excursion.

When the Barfonme/Barker traveling party—which, for reasons that might or might not become apparent, included Sasha and Malia—
finally
arrived at their destination, they were greeted at the castle door by a short, pale, cherubic man, who lied, “It is a great honor to welcome home the King and his new Foot! Nothing pleases me more in the world than to gaze upon these two transcendent beings. So excited am I that, as we speak, I am erect.”

Bobbert told Head, “He’s not erect. He’s a eunuch.”

“I am
not
a eunuch,” the short man insisted. Unbuckling his belt, he asked Head, “Would you like me to prove it?”

Rubbing his temples, Head sighed, “No, that’s alright, I believe you.”

Bobbert hopped off his horse and said, “Head, meet my Secretary of State, Lord Petey Varicose Bailbond. You may call him Tinyjohnson. He may be small, but he does the work of two men.” Head and Tinyjohnson fist-bumped, then Bobbert asked Tinyjohnson if he missed anything while he was in Summerseve.

Tinyjohnson looked shiftily to the right, then to the left, and then mumbled, “There’s news from Dork. Word on the street is that Lolyta Targetpractice got hitched to the King of the centaurs.” After a couple more shifty glances, he whispered, “Word is, they made love
inside
the castle.”

Bobbert rolled his eyes and refuted, “Nonsense. Everybody knows the Dorkis only do the do outside, in front of crowds.” To Head, he said, “And don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Head threw up in his mouth a little bit.

The King then asked Tinyjohnson, “Anything else?”

“Before you left, you asked me to prepare a good foreshadow for your return, so here goes: Barring some sort of battle of wits with a rival family member, Functionary Aaron’s son Bobbby Aaron will be ruling House Aaron before the Summer arrives.”

“Excellent foreshadowing, Tinyjohnson, simply excellent.” Bobbert then asked Head, “Hey Barky-Boy, when’s Summer coming again?”

Head shrugged. “No idea. All I know is that Summer is coming.”

“You sure about that?” Bobbert queried. “You’re sure Summer is coming.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Summer is coming.”

“Let me get this straight. Summer is coming?”

“Yes. Summer is coming.”

“To clarify: Summer is coming?”

“Yes. Summer is coming.”

“Just so we’re one hundred percent clear, Summer is coming?”

“Yes. Summer is coming.”

“So what I’m gathering from you is that Summer is coming.”

“Yes. Summer is coming.”

“Great.” King Bobbert smiled. “Summer is coming. Now that that’s settled, let’s go get our grog on.”

Gateway Barker stood on one side of her son Allbran’s bed, with Maester Blaester on the other, both staring sadly at the sleeping boy. Gateway sighed, “There’s no improvement, is there?”

Mirroring Lady Barker’s sigh, Blaester explained, “Not even a little bit.”

Allbran’s eyes popped open, and he said, “Of course there’s no improvement. Because there’s nothing to improve. I’m feeling tip-top.”

Nodding, Blaester said, “I’m certain you are, young man.” He whispered to Gateway, “He’s delirious.”

“I heard that,” Allbran exclaimed, “and I’m not delirious!”

Gateway whispered, “That’s exactly what a delirious person would say.”

“Hel-
lo,
” Allbran said. “I’m right
here
. I can
hear
you.”

Blaester patted Allbran on the arm and soothed, “There, there, young man. You’ll be fine soon enough.” And then he punched young Barker square in the nose.

Wiping the blood from his face, Allbran kvetched, “Hey, that hurt.”

Gateway said, “I know you’re in pain, my love. You’ll be fine soon enough.”

Allbran roared,
“Aargh!”
then pulled the covers over his head.

“That’s right, sweet prince,” Gateway said. “Sleep the sleep of healing. You’ll be fine soon enough.”

Allbran repeated,
“Aargh!”
then went silent.

Just then, Bobb Barker burst into the room and roared, “Lady Gateway Barker, come on down! You are the next contestant on…” And then he trailed off.

After a moment or two of awkward silence, Gateway asked, “I’m the next contestant on what?”

Bobb scratched his head and said, “I forget. So how’s Allbran?”

From under his bedsheet, Allbran said, “Peachy keen!”

Gateway contradicted, “In massive pain.”

“I’m certain he’ll improve quickly,” Bobb opined. “So Ma, now that Pa’s off Footing it up in Cap Ceity, let’s talk chain of command. Who’s running this rodeo?”

Gateway said, “No idea.”

“Well, I do,” Bobb pointed out. “Firstborn male trumps the Lady of the House. All me, all the time.”

“Is that correct?” Gateway asked. She had not read the endless House Barker Charter in many seasons—when you are
in
an insanely long book, it’s well-nigh impossible to
read
an insanely long book—so it was possible Bobb was right.

“Sure,” Bobb said. “What, you don’t believe me? You think I’d make up some crazy rule just so I could be the leader? You think I’m a power-mad death merchant who wants to lead his House into battle strictly so he could taste blood?”

Allbran popped his head out from under the covers and said, “Yes,” after which Maester Blaester elbowed the boy in the head, after which Allbran fell silent for the remainder of the chapter.

Bobb continued, “I’m the firstborn male, and it’s my show now. No matter what that bigmouth Alyxandyr Hayg says,
I’m in charge
.”

Taken aback by her son’s vehemence, Gateway took a step back and said, “Okay, okay, you’re in charge, you’re in charge. Jeez Louise.” She then thought,
This is great. I won’t have to do anything around this dump
.

Bobb screwed up his face and queried, “Wait, what do you mean you won’t have to do anything? And you honestly think this castle is a dump?”

“Did I say that out loud?” After Bobb nodded, she grinned. “I was kidding! These are the jokes, folks!”

Bobb shook his head and said, “Leave the funny stuff to Tritone Sinister, Mom. Okay, then, I’m outta here. Maester Blaester, what say we figure out how, when, and where to blow some stuff up?”

“Yes, m’substitute Lord.” Blaester bowed.

After the two men left, Gateway pulled some Godsweede from her cleavage, lit it up, took a soothing puff, and lowered herself to the floor. As she leaned against the wall, she decided it might be a good idea to plan how she would keep House Barker in order while Head was off getting on the good Foot, and Bobb was off being a power-mad death merchant, but then she got hungry and lost her train of thought.

A few puffs later, she heard a flock of cats meowing from across the castle … but that was far from uncommon, as auditory hallucinations were among Godsweede’s side effects. But the meowing grew louder and realer, so she managed to get herself on her feet and stumbled down the hallway toward where the meowing seemed to originate: the library.

Gateway counted a dozen cats wandering around the small, dark library in a daze, a daze that most likely stemmed from the small pile of Godsweede that was smoldering next to the Fantasy Fiction section. She did not remember Godsweeding it up in the library, but she had a tendency to not remember much, so she was not particularly concerned.

After she stamped out the roach, Gateway returned to Allbran’s room, where she found herself face to face with … herself. Smiling at her doppelgänger, she said, “Goodness, you are one beautiful woman.”

The Lady smiled and said, “As are you, m’Lady. I apologize for my unannounced intrusion, but have wanted to meet you for a long time now, because I think we will be great friends, because aside from the fact that you and I look remarkably alike, I understand you worship at the altar of Nestamarley.”

“I have been known to partake,” Gateway admitted.

The Gateway lookalike pulled an onion-sized ball of Godsweede from out of nowhere and offered, “I offer this to you, m’Lady. A gift from one worshipper to another.”

Gateway gawked at the ball of weede and said, “This is huge. No way I can bogart this all to myself. Care to join me?”

“No,” the lookalike said, “this is all for you. It is my pleasure. And I should advise you that this is so pure that you can chew it.”

“Then chew it I shall,” Gateway exclaimed, before putting a large pinch between her cheek and gums.

One swallow later, the room disappeared, and Gateway Barker found herself floating in a red void. Her heart rate skyrocketed, she broke out in a drenching sweat, and she started panting. As she drifted through the scarlet nothingness, Gateway’s entire body shook as if she were riding a hungry horse bucking for oats and onions. Then her entire body became cocooned by a bright, warming light, and she felt a sense of peace that was transcendent.

Gateway had no idea how long it was before she regained her faculties, but when she returned to some semblance of normal consciousness, her hand was bleeding and her near twin was crumpled in the corner, her face a mélange of blackness, blueness, and bloodness. She looked around the room and noticed a bloodied knife on Allbran’s bed, then put two and two together, and even though she came up with five, she realized that the fake Gateway had tried to kill Allbran.

At that moment, Lady Gateway Barker decided it was crucial, no, essential, no, vital, no, imperative that she gather her troops and trek to Capaetal Ceity, because that’s what all the royals in Summerseve did when somebody tried to kill a member of their family: Gather up a bunch of people and horses, and go from one place to another.

Tritone Sinister and Juan Nieve took their journey to the Wall, which was long and boring, and not worth recounting here. If you want to know what the trip was like, watch the moving picture
Eesy Ryder
on mute while listening to Garryson Keylor on Nationyl Publyk Radiyo.

“Oh. My. Gods. Dinky, you are, like, totally cute.”

Sasha Barker’s direpanda, Dinky, was far from the sharpest onion in the patch, but that didn’t stop Sasha from loving the animal as if he were as smart as the great Easterrabbit scientist Steevyn Hawkyng. Sasha loved him, and petted him, and squeezed him, and called him George, which was quite confusing to Dinky, because even though he was not particularly bright, he did know his name.

The two of them were wandering along the muddy banks of the muddy Capaetal Ceity River, mud muddying up their feet and/or paws, neither with a care in the world … or that is what Sasha told herself. The truth was, she could not stop thinking about Goofrey Barfonme, and how valiant he was, and what a wonderful couple they would make, and how she was going to love him, and pet him, and squeeze him, and call him George. But she was not sure he would like that. For that matter, when it came to Goof, she was not sure of anything.

Sasha heard a voice cry, “Think fast!” then she felt a smack on the back of her head.

“Oh. My. Gods,” Sasha simpered. “That, like, totally hurt.”

Malia skipped up to Sasha—her direpanda, Stinky, was right behind her—and chuckled, “Wimp. That wasn’t even as hard as I could throw.”

“What
ever,
” Sasha huffed, then stomped away. Dinky stayed put, however, and started nuzzling Stinky … and this nuzzling took place below Stinky’s belt.