He Whom Laugheth Last (Throne of Jest, Part One)
By: Tom Sadira
Tags: Comedy, Fiction, Fantasy, Game of Thrones, Humor

BEFORE THE KING

“…and, finally, the new ViewReady™ Boiling Cauldron has been prepped and cleaned to perfection, Your Heinous.” The squat, rat-faced man ticked one last checkbox on his parchment. “That makes forty-two infernum tormenta devices ready for today’s guests.”

“Explain this new cauldron to me one more time.”

“Of course, Your Heinous. It’s made of a new material we’ve developed — we’re calling it glass. Light passes right through it, allowing those of us on the outside to view the boiling in real time. It’s durable enough to hold four hundred gallons of water, and, as you requested, up to three adults. In our tests, all the subjects — ”

“Enough!” King Magnus held up a hand. “It pleases me that you’ve solved for the boiling problems of yore. After all the screaming and thrashing was over, ’twas such a pity to lose sight of those being boiled alive.”

“Yes, Your Heinous! No longer will you have to imagine what’s taking place inside the cauldron. Everything will be visible until the very last blob of fat has been rendered.”

The king arched an eyebrow. “Has it been tested thoroughly enough?”

“Yes, of course, Your Heinous. I’ve personally seen to it, on over a dozen occasions.”

“Are you willing to stake your life on it?”

“Yes, of course, Your Heinous!” From behind greasy lips he flashed a crooked mosaic of jade tiles, then bowed deeply. “I live only to execute your will, Your Heinous.”

“Good. Then before we use this new cauldron on today’s guests, it would please me if you would take it for one final, personal test.”

The rat-faced man dropped the parchment and shrank back. “My Lord, are you ordering me to…”

“No, I would never think of ordering such a thing!” King Magnus brought the tips of his fingers together in front of his face and closed his eyes. “I’m merely requesting. Since you’ve such faith in your hellish invention, why not put your teeth where your torture is?”

“B-b-but, Your Heinous!” he started to protest as the king’s eyes flew open and flung daggers down upon him. He sighed and slumped away. “I’ll go stack the firewood.”

“General Spinaco!” King Magnus turned to the only other person in the room. A giant of a man, he stood twice as tall as the rat-faced torturer. He bore a suit of shiny black armor and a helmet made from the skull of some ancient, fanged beast.

“Yes, Your Heinous.” His deep voice shook the candelabras arranged on either side of the throne.

“Have you made sure to evacuate the throne room?”

“Yes, Your Heinous.”

The king’s eyes became narrow slits. “And all adjacent rooms and hallways?”

“Yes, Your Heinous.”

“And you’ve made it clear that should anyone disobey this evacuation, they — and their entire family — will pay with their eyes, tongues, and fingers?”

“Yes, Your Heinous.”

“Good,” the king said, relaxing back into his shimmering, alicorn throne. “Once the guests are brought in and I begin my interrogation, I request that you do one more sweep of the premises before locking the door behind you on your way out. My eyes must be the last to witness their treasonous performance before I send them off to the dungeon. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Heinous.” General Spinaco bowed, turned, and marched through the pair of giant iron doors that stood opposite the throne.

A moment later, one of the doors slowly creaked open. A ghost-white face with mud caked around the edges peeked inside.

“Enter!” King Magnus bellowed.

Max slipped inside, nervously tugging at his belt and flattening his dirty tunic. Bart, Old Kook, Fing, and Toby appeared behind him looking equally traumatized. They all adjusted their clothing and took slow, tender, bowlegged steps toward the throne.

A second later, the door creaked open again, revealing Hypatia, Gabrielle, and a gaggle of giggling nuns. Unlike the male troupe, the ladies’ faces were flush and serene.

“Thank you, Reverend Mother!” Hypatia gushed, holding the old lady’s hand in her own. “Thank you for that most thorough and delightful inspection!”

Gabrielle, looking heavily drugged and unable to speak, simply nodded and fluffed her rat’s nest.

“‘Twas our pleasure, m’lady,” the Reverend Mother whispered, adding a wink. “‘Twas the least we could to for our doomed sisters.”

“Oh, right, the performance…” Hypatia trailed off, suddenly noticing where she was. Her smile melted into a frown. “Well, I must be off then. Blessed be, Mother.”

As soon as the sisters left the room, the massive doors slammed shut. There was a heavy, metallic clank followed by two booms, as if a huge fist had pounded from the outside.

The two women sprinted to catch up with the men.

“Stop! Line up,” the king ordered, then pointed to Max. “You. Are you the leader of what my subjects are calling Lord Chamberpot’s Men?”

“M-m-me?” Max swiveled his head, hoping the king was speaking to someone else. “Well, uh, our group has no leader, really. We’re more of a democratic collective, Your Highness. See, we believe — ”

“What did you just call me?”

“Y-y-your Highness?” Max screwed up his face. “Oh, that’s right. Please forgive my mispronunciation, Your Most Heinously Heinous. See, I’m from the south, and my accent sometimes alters the sound — ”

“Silence!” King Magnus pounded a fist onto his throne, then swept a finger slowly across the troupe. “I know you all better than your dear, dead mothers! Maximilian Flitpick, the wordsmith. Hypatia Boudica, manager. Gabrielle Dashwood, service wench. Old Kook, spiritual advisor. Fing Schway, driver and stagehand. The orphan Toby, musician. And finally,” he leaned forward and half-scrunched his bushy brow, “Bartholomew Boyle, actor — and, from the looks of it, my own dear reflection.”

The king produced a small, jeweled dagger from his lap and set it on the arm of his throne.

“Aye, don’t forget about Ympe!” Old Kook spun around, bent over, and lifted his robe. A dark brown hole peeked out from between two saggy cheeks. “Come on, you! Be polite! Say hello to King Maggots!”

The rest of the troupe stopped breathing. Gabrielle fainted, and if not for Hypatia’s Amazonian reflexes, she’d have hit the ground hard.

“Not now, you old fool!” Max slapped the old wizard’s robe back into place and spun him around. “Sorry for that, Your Heinous. This one’s got a few bats in his belfry, if you know what I mean.”

“I ain’t got no bats anywhere! Got an imp in my arse, that’s all,” Old Kook managed to say before Max jabbed an elbow in his ribs.

“It’s a harmless imp, Your Heinous,” Max explained. “Probably. Well, now that I think about it — ”

“Enough!” King Magnus bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. “I fear nothing, magical or otherwise. This ring here,” he lifted his hand, “protects me from all types of magic. No spell in Grogania can touch me. And this amulet,” he lifted a heavy moonstone from his chest, “protects me from any form of physical harm. I’m immune even to the damage caused by old age. Death itself will be forced to yearn for my soul for all eternity!”

“Don’t look like he’s yearning at all, Your Maggotry,” Kook laughed. “He’s right over there — smiling — ain’t he?!”

Max pulled the hood over Old Kook’s face and clapped his hands. “Let’s ignore him, shall we? You should know, even without those charms, you’d have nothing to fear from us, Your Heinous. We’re merely humble actors, earning our crust of bread by providing entertainment to your loyal subjects.”

“Is that so?” The king brought his fingers together in front of his face. “Because what I hear is that you’ve been stealing from me.”

“Stealing?!” Max put his hands to his gaping mouth. “Your Heinous, we would never think of stealing from our king! Heavens, no! Your soldiers most generously took our wagon — which contains all we own besides the rags we carry on our backs — and I’m sure they found nothing but worthless props and stage bits.”

“From me you steal something else. You steal a crop which I’ve spent a lifetime cultivating. Grogania’s most valuable commodity.”

“Dung?” Bart asked.

The king narrowed his eyes. “Fear.”

Max took a step back. “What?! No! See — ”

“You pluck it from the heart of everyone who sees your little performances. You replace it with something like a feather. A breeze. A light.” He spat at Max’s feet. “This I cannot tolerate. Spreading joy is the highest of crimes. For this, you shall pay a penance greater than any soul who’s passed through my dungeon.”

Hypatia took Max’s hand. Bart took Gabrielle’s.

Suddenly, the whole troupe was clinging to one another, trembling as one.

King Magnus’s eyes brightened.

“But,” he said, “I’ll give you one chance to save yourselves. Your wagon and your props are over there. I wish to see one of your performances for myself. If you make me laugh — alas, even if you make me smile — then I will return your wagon and send you on your way. If not, well, then…” He ran his fingers across the dagger. “You’ll beg for this knife before the sun sets. Is that clear?”

“Y-y-yes, Your Heinous!” Max bowed, then pulled the troupe into a huddle. “Come on, guys, put those ghastly faces away. We’re actors! We can do this! Just remember the lines I gave you earlier, and perform like your lives depend on it.”

“Sure thing, wordsmith,” Hypatia said. “I, for one, have a backup plan.”

“What is it, m’lady?” Gabrielle asked. “Set the wagon on fire, sharpen our wooden spoons into shivs, and fight our way out?”

“Hmm. Not bad, actually. But, no. If we fail, I intend to run for one of the windows and leap to a quick death.”

“Save the drama for the stage, Patti!” Max started shoving everyone toward the wagon. “Fing, position the stage! Gabi, get the costumes and makeup ready! Bart, get the props in order! Toby, find the bloody cat!” He pulled Old Kook close. “And you, you old fart, keep your arse to yourself!”

They scattered, each doing their part to prepare for the most important — and quite probably, the final — performance of their lives.

Soon, the stage was set. The players took their positions. After announcing the title of the play, A King Reborn, Max pulled back the curtain and the show began.

Act One began with Queen Meretrix, played by Hypatia, traveling along a country road. At once, her caravan is attacked by a cloaked figure, the vicious and evil Ravencloak, played by Max, who ruthlessly slays her guards and steals her away to Threepwood Forest.

Act Two cuts to the throne room, where the King, played by Bart, is brought news of the queen’s ransom. All his royal advisors, played by Fing, Old Kook, and Gabrielle, try to convince him to abandon her to the thieves and spend his gold on finding a new, younger queen. From the shadows steps the court jester, played by Max, who risks a lengthy soliloquy designed to thaw the king’s icy heart. The scene ends with Lord Chamberpot contemplating the jester’s suggestion of shifting his legacy from one of fear and pain to one of hope and heroism.

Act Three returns to Threepwood, where the lone king battles beasts, razes raiders, and spars with spirits. Finally, he confronts the ugly and treacherous Ravencloak, and they duel to the death. The king is triumphant, and upon slaying his rival, his heart is freed from the shackles of tyranny. He scoops up his queen, kisses her fiercely, and returns with her to the castle to begin a new era of benevolence and justice for all.

When it was over, the lights dimmed. Suddenly a single spotlight appeared on the stage — facilitated by Fing hanging upside down from the rafters with a candle and a polished shield. Max stood in his jester’s costume and addressed the King with an epilogue.

“The king exiled those in his court who’d whispered darkness and temptation into his ears. He promoted the wise jester to the rank of Royal Counselor, and together they began the hard, yet worthwhile, work of forging a new future for his kingdom. In the eons that followed, the people could name no monarch as legendary as he — the immeasurably great and noble and merciful Lord Chamberpot.”

The lights came back up, and the cast stood side by side on the stage. They held hands and bowed as Toby, running behind them, flung handfuls of rose petals over their shoulders and banged a cymbal he’d attached to his head like a hat. Old Kook faced the wrong direction, and as he bowed, his robe hiked up and revealed his saggy cheeks once again.

When the artificial fanfare had ended, the troupe stood watching the king’s face.

King Magnus sat immobile on his shimmering throne. He seemed not to even blink or breath. Max squeezed Hypatia’s and Bart’s hands.

A strange noise erupted from the king’s direction. It sounded like a bird choking on a grub, or a dog hacking up a bone. His eyelids drew back. His lips quivered. Then, suddenly, his mouth burst open and a raspy snicker escaped.

“We did it, guys,” Max whispered out the side of his mouth. “We did it!”

The king’s big belly jostled up and down as he wiped tears from his eyes. Max hopped down from the stage and strode toward the throne.

“Your Heinous, ’twas a pleasure — no, ’twas the highest honor of my life — to bring a smile to your face.” He bowed deeply and rose with a relaxed grin. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Now, we won’t take any more of your time. I’m sure you have a kingdom to run, so, if it pleases you, we’ll just show ourselves out.”

The king exploded into a more intense bout of laughter. “Yes, run along! My dungeon awaits!”

Max stopped and spun on his heels. “Your Heinous, you gave us your word that if we made you smile, you’d let us go…”

More laughter. King Magnus had to catch his breath before answering. “You think I’ll keep my word? I’m not sure what’s funnier, that you think your stupid little play could convert me, or that you think I’d ever let you leave here alive?” At that, he began another round of uncontrollable laughter.

“B-b-but, we did what you asked. We passed your test!”

The king didn’t answer. He was hunched over his huge stomach, mouth open, laughing so hard he made no sound.

Max looked back at his troupe. Their faces lacked any sign of color. Their knees clacked together. He saw Hypatia’s pouty lips mouth two words to him, “Good show”. He turned back to the king.

“Your Heinous, please listen. I’m the one who wrote the plays. I designed everything from the costumes to the stage. The burden of the crime falls on me, and me alone. Let them go, and give me their penance to bear. I’ll pay it all myself, I promise.” He fell to his knees. “I beg you. Please, take your fury out on me, but let them go.”

King Magnus jerked from the throne like a marionette, writhing with pleasure. His knees shook with delight as he howled with laughter. Between shudders, he tried to speak. “You think…a noble gesture…will move me…to mercy?” He clawed at his red face and cackled into the air. “How delightfully stupid! How hideously hilarious! How — ”

His voice cut off, as if again he was unable to audibly laugh.

Max turned to his companions on the stage, shrugged, and let loose an exasperated sigh.

“Despite what old King Maggots says, you did it. I want you to know I’m proud of each and every one of you. What we did here today was a feat worthy of — ”

Hypatia screamed and pointed toward the throne. They were all staring wide-eyed at the king. Max turned.

King Magnus was still standing, but his face had changed from red to blue. His bejeweled hands clutched at his throat, then his chest. His mouth and eyes opened wider than they should have, and he teetered forward. The next moment, his large frame was rolling down the throne steps in a bundle of golden robes.

His body stopped at Max’s feet. His face was frozen, eyes pointing to the rafters. He was still.

The troupe jumped down from the stage and surrounded the motionless body.

“Is he…?” Hypatia trailed off.

Fing started swearing in some foreign tongue. Toby dropped the cat. Gabrielle gasped and looked away.

Max knelt and put his fingers to the king’s throat. Then he held his nose closed, poked him in the eye, and slapped him hard.

“Yep,” he said, wiping his hands on Old Kook’s robes. “The old bastard is as dead as a lump of frozen mud.”

“I didn’t think things could get worse,” Hypatia steadied herself on Fing. “We’re beyond doomed.”

Max hopped to his feet and grinned light-heartedly.

“There you go again, Patti, with all the negative vibes.”

“Are you mad, Max! Imagine what they’ll do to us for killing the king!”

“Dead king? What are you talking about?” He took the crown and turned it over in his hands. “I don’t see a dead king.”

“I’m not sure what’s worse than an imbecile, but you’ve just achieved it,” she said.

“It’s all about how you look at things, my dear Hypatia. The truth matters not when you can spin a good story, right? You may see a dead king and doomed troupe.” Max knocked the dented pisspot off of Bart’s head and replaced it with the crown. “But what I see is a murdered actor, a king reborn, and his new royal entourage!”

A boom came from the iron doors.

“Your Heinous, shall we come in yet, or do you need more time?” a muffled voice yelled through the door.

Max nudged Bart. “Well, Your Heinous, command him!”

“Uh. Come back later!” Bart yelled back, then added, “You stupid heads!”

“We’ll have to work on your lines a bit,” Max said. He started pulling at the king’s robes, then stopped. “What are you fools standing around for? Help Bart get those rags off! Give me a hand stripping this old sack of fat! We have a permanent performance to prepare for!”