A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot (6 page)

Attempt after attempt failed spectacularly, as a wobbly sword constructed from anything other than Corinthian leather made for a useless weapon. His attacks were so feeble that, upon seeing Jagweed, the Kings who were under fire inevitably went on a laughing jag that led to them choking on an onion, which led to them dying without the benefit of Jagweed’s sword. This earned Sur Jagweed the moniker of the “Not-Kingslayer.”

After Jagweed tripped over the House Barker threshold, he was accosted by the red-haired loudmouth, who asked the Not-Kingslayer, “Jagweed Sinister, what was it like to work with Martyn Skursaysay?”

Again perplexed and fed up with the proceedings, Juan called over Fourshadow. The direpanda, who, in a mere three days, had grown to the size of a pony, staggered to his master. Juan gawked at his pet’s face and asked, “
Santo mierda bolas,
⁴
Fourshadow, what have you gotten yourself into?” He kneeled down and stared at the area around the animal’s mouth, which was covered with some sort of pinkish/purplish stain. Foreshadow gave Juan a huge lick on his face, and the jerkoff immediately discerned the source of the discoloration. “Your breath smells like a distillery. Where in the name of
Dios
⁵
did you get the grog, Fourshadow?”

Fourshadow belched, gave Juan another lick, then collapsed to the muddy Earth, where he promptly fell asleep. Juan scanned the area, concerned that Fourshadow’s loud snoring would alert somebody to their presence.

Sure enough, Juan heard a man call from the not-too-distant distance: “Who dares to intrude upon this feast of feasts? I bet it’s some jerkoff!”

Recognizing the voice, Juan smiled and said, “I’m not just some jerkoff. I’m
el más grande más enorme, apestosa
⁶
jerkoff!”

Approaching Juan, the man joked, “You sure are, Juan Nieve. You sure are.” And then the two embraced.

“Sinjean Barker,” Juan exclaimed, “my uncle from another mother.”

“That I am, Juan Nieve. That I am. So, as usual, you’re on the outside looking in, I see. That’s unfortunate. You want me to put together a doggie bag for you?”

Rubbing his stomach, Juan admitted, “That red, chunky stew looks mighty interesting. Do you know what it is?”

“Venison with red onions,” Sin explained.

“Exactly what my stomach is calling for,” he rejoiced. “A heaping serving,
por favor
.
⁷
And the more, the merrier. I need my strength.”

“What for?” Sin asked.

Pointing to the North, Juan exclaimed, “I must protect the Wall!”

Sin pointed to the South and explained, “I believe the Wall is that way.”

“Are you certain?” Juan asked.

Sin scratched his head. “Actually, I’m not. All the maps of Easterrabbit are too small to discern. Especially the one in the mass market paperback.”

“And good luck finding a hardback.”

“I know, right? You can’t even get a trade paperback, let alone a hardcover. And those map replications you see online are a joke.”

“No kidding,” Juan complained. “
Mudo
⁸
bloggers.”

“Anyhow, why do you even want to go anywhere near the Wall?” Sin asked.

“I want to be like you, Sin. I want to join the Fraternity of the Swatch!”

After a long sigh, Sin whispered, “I think I know why you want to be a Swatchman.”

“Is that so?” Juan queried. “And why is that?”

Sin put his big hand on Juan’s thin shoulder and said, “My friend, no matter how hard you work, no matter how many lives you save, no matter how many of the Others you kill…”

From the distance, a voice cried,
“We’re not the Others! We’re the Awesomes, asshole!”

“… you will always be a jerkoff,” Sin finished.

“I understand,
compadre,
”
⁹
Juan said. “But why should I not strive to be the best jerkoff House Barker has ever seen?”

“Why?” Sin exclaimed, his face becoming cloudy with anger. “
Why?!
Because you don’t know what it’s like on the Wall, man. You don’t know what it’s like down there in the shit. You don’t know what it’s like to have Charlie breathing down your neck day after day after day, to know that some Commie sniper has his rifle pointed at your heart from the second you get up, to the second you fall asleep. You don’t know what it’s like to see your buddy get fragged, then hold him in your arms, and hear him say with his dying breath, ‘Make sure you tell LaShonda and the kids I love ’em.’” Sin wiped a thin film of sweat from his forehead, then continued, “On the plus side, the acid down by the Wall is pretty good, so there’s that.”

Juan roared, “Nothing you say will change my mind!
Nada!
”
¹⁰

Sin asked, “Is that right? Ever heard of Rush Year, young Juan?”

“No.”

“Ah,” Sin mused, “Rush Year. It’s sheer hell. Degrading. Insulting. Embarrassing. Lots of drinking. Full of boring contests that bring the story to a grinding halt. And that’s all I can say, because I took an oath of silence.”

Puffing up his chest, Juan blustered, “None of that scares me,
ese.
”

Sin shrugged. “It should.”

“Well, it doesn’t. I’m pledging whether you like it or not.”

Sin clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You do what you have to do, Juan Nieve. You’ll never survive, of course.” He looked at the castle, said, “Alrighty then, off to onion-fest,” and wandered inside.

Juan felt an anger build within his soul, an emotion unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He spun around, took three running steps, tripped over the sleeping Fourshadow, and fell onto a man who was sitting in the mud. Jumping up, Juan said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“That’s the first time anybody’s ever said that about me.” After the man pulled himself to his full height, Juan understood what he meant.

The jerkoff gawked at the stick-figured giant and asked, “How tall are you?”

The giant shrugged. “No idea what unit of measure they use around here. Feet? Meters? Cubits? Mud balls? My balls?” He offered Juan his hand and said, “Tritone Sinister, House Sinister’s resident japemeister.”

Shaking hands, Juan said, “Juan Nieve, House Barker’s resident jerkoff.”

Grinning, Tritone exclaimed, “You’re a jerkoff? Godsdamn it, I’m a jerkoff, too!”

“Stop fooling with me,
comediante
.
¹¹
You look like a Sinister.”

Tritone pointed at his long legs and said, “Do these legs look like those of a Sinister? I may be a full-blooded Sinister, but when you’re the only person in your family who has to duck to get into any room, you get treated like a jerkoff. I feel your pain, Shecky.”

“How can they deny you? You look just like the Not-Kingslayer,” Juan noted, pointing at Tritone’s blond hair.

“Gods forbid.” Tritone winced. “Jagweed’s so ugly, it looks like he fell out of an ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. He’s so ugly that when he was born, our mother slapped the doctor. He’s so ugly that calling him ugly is an insult to ugly people.”

Juan looked toward the castle. “I don’t know. He seems attractive enough to me.”

“You think he’s handsome? Well, I don’t swing that way, but that’s cool. I’ll put in a good word for you if you want, but he’s already spoken for. And you don’t want to mess with his significant other. She’s nuttier than he is. And just as ugly. Similarly ugly, for that matter.”

As Fourshadow let loose with a growl, Juan gave the giant a cockeyed grin. “You amuse me, japemeister.”

Tritone patted himself on the back and said, “That’s why they pay me the big bucks, Shecky.” He pulled a leather pouch from his back pocket and thrust it at Juan. “Want a snort? We’ll get ripped and talk about the joys of jerkoffdom.”

Feeling completely accepted for the first time in a long time, Juan took the pouch, took a guzzle, and burbled, “Nothing would make me happier.”

Eyes closed, lips parted, and chest heaving, Lady Gateway Barker moaned, “That’s it. That’s it. Right there. Wait, slow down, slow down.”

Headcase adjusted his rhythm, then sighed, “I don’t know what to tell Bobbert. Should I, or shouldn’t I?”

Digging her fingernails into her husband’s shoulder, Gateway breathed, “You should, lover. Do it.
Do it!
”

“Just like that?” he asked. “Leave my family behind? Leave my kingdom behind? I’m the Lord of House Barker. I can’t just get up and go.”

Gateway wrapped her legs around Head and groaned, “If you speed it up,
I
can get up and
come
.”

Head mindlessly grinded faster, then explained, “If I become the King’s Foot, our life as we know it will be done.”

“If you lean to the left and pick it up,” Gateway ordered, “this act as we know it will be done.”

Noticing his wife’s frustration, Head said, “Apologies,” then made love to his wife the way a good Lord should.

That went on for a solid three seconds until the door burst open and an elderly white-bearded man stuck his head into the room. Without preamble, he uttered, “M’Lord, m’Lady, I…”

In unison, Head and Gateway yelled,
“Go away!”

The door opened wider, and the man stepped farther into the room. Cupping his ear, he called, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that. Repeat, please?”

Gateway shoved her husband off of her naked body and onto the floor, covered herself with a sheet, and roared at Head,
“I thought you were going to put my purple scrunchie on the door when we’re busy!”

Maester Blaester, the white-bearded gentleman who had been Headcase’s trusty assistant for the past two Summers, said, “I thought so too, m’Lord.”

Unconcerned about his unclothed tumescence, Head said, “Forgot. Distracted with this Foot business. What do you need, Blaester?”

Blaester looked up at the ceiling and asked, “Would m’Lord like to cover himself?”

Head gave Blaester a dismissive wave and explained, “We’re all friends here. What brings you to our marital room?”

Still staring at the ceiling, Blaester handed Head a small square package. “This was delivered to you. By a
raven
.”

Gateway stood up, pulled the bedsheet around her chest, and sneered, “
Ooooooh,
a
ravengram
. Nothing’s more important than a
ravengram
. Nothing takes precedence over a
ravengram
.” She got down on her hands and knees and peered under the bed, then queried her husband, “You seen my stash, Head?”

Ignoring Lady Barker, Head took the package from Blaester and carefully removed the covering paper, then opened the box. Inside the box was a smaller box. Inside the smaller box was an even smaller box. Inside the even smaller box was a box that was even smaller than that. This went on for six more boxes, until Head finally came to an envelope. Without even looking at what the missive said, Head noted, “This must be from your sister.”

From under the bed, Gateway said, “Did she do that thing with the boxes again?”

“Indeed,” Head harrumphed, opening then silently reading the letter. After two minutes of silence, Head Barker barked,
“Ha!”

“What?” Gateway asked.

“Get this,” he snarled. “Your dear sister thinks a Sinister murdered Functionary. Lysergic actually thinks that one of those inept chowderheads made it through the woods, climbed the mountains, got past the guards at the front gate, got past Functionary’s personal bodyguards, and made Functionary laugh himself to death? Tritone Sinister would’ve clocked himself on a branch. Sugyrray Sinister would’ve gotten knocked out on his way up the first hill. LaDaynian Sinister would’ve gotten tackled before he got anywhere near the throne.”

Gateway, having tracked down what she was looking for, wiggled out from under the bed, grabbed a match, and held it to the tiny ball of weede she’d rescued. She took a deep inhale, then coughed, “I agree that it probably wasn’t Tritone, Sugyrray, or LaDaynian, but it sure sounds like Jagweed’s M.O.”

Head’s tumescence shriveled. “It does, doesn’t it?” He snatched a pillow from the bed, covered up his midsection, and mumbled, “Hmm, intrigue. Suddenly, after several relatively uneventful chapters, things are becoming interesting. Perhaps I should take Bobbert up on his offer. Perhaps I should be the Foot.”

Gateway mumbled, “Perhaps you should.” Gazing ruefully at her unfulfilled lap, she sighed. “I can take care of myself here. Alone. As usual.”

Lord Headcase Barker smiled. “Then it is settled. To Capaetal Ceity I shall go! I must spread the news!” He dropped his pillow and left the room, still naked.

Watching him go, Gateway said to Maester Blaester, “And there, good sir, goes your Lord. Makes you proud to be part of the Barker braintrust, doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does, m’Lady,” Blaester said. “Yes it does.”

Malia Barker glared at Sasha Barker as if her older sister were a multi-tailed rodent who had found its way into the kitchen, then gnawed through a freshly killed yak that was to be the centerpiece of a holiday feast for the squad of Knights who had saved Easterrabbit from an attack by an otherworldly being that was so huge and powerful, it could only be described and named by modern scientists, but there were not any modern scientists in Easterrabbit, so said being went undescribed and unnamed, but it was nonetheless vanquished by the Knights who eventually ate a different yak, so it all worked out in the end.

Wrapped up in her breathtaking macaroni sculpture, Sasha Barker did not notice her sister’s glower.

Malia’s anger stemmed in part from the fact that her macaroni art was not going as well as Sasha’s. (Of course it was not going well. Up until the previous day, this had been a sewing class, but the head of the school, Pryncipal Prynce, decided that sewing was a useless skill in Easterrabbit, an understandable choice, because it was impossible to sew an outfit that would survive the ever-changing elements. Malia did not care about the weather. Malia loved sewing. Malia hated pasta. But it did not matter what Malia liked or did not like, because be it macaroni or sewing, there had to be some sort of arena in which it could be demonstrated that the Barker sisters were loving rivals … except without the loving.) Malia’s circles were ovals, her squares were triangles, and for the life of her, she could not figure out how to make layers. Sasha, with only several hours of practice, had become a pasta magician, a craftsgirl with the skills of a noodle artist thrice her age, this despite the fact that she had never previously touched a piece of spaghetti. Right now, she was at work on what was turning out to be a masterpiece: a bust of her father Head’s head. The rest of the class gazed at it adoringly, and the teacher, Sistyr Glynda Roesy Raegan Melvyn’s expression was a combination of pride and ecstasy.