Saturday's Storyteller: "The king and I do not get along."
by Belinda Roddie
The king and I do not get along. At least, we haven't for many years. I still reside within his dominion, and freely, too - the village of El-Ay is proof of a thriving town without the monarch's filthy fingers creeping too much into our festivities. The markets have plentiful food, and the taverns plentiful drink. I reside at the Madman now, quaffing my third pint, feeling a vice grip my heart that I have not felt since I last saw the man's face.
My name is Vincent Giovanni III. But you can call me Vinnie for short. I did not always live in El-Ay. I did not always sit like a sad sot day in and day out of the Madman Tavern, contributing heavily to the barkeepers' income. I actually lived with the king, since I was a young boy - an appointed companion, an assigned friend to keep him company in the castle as he grew up. The vast corridors, surrounded with heavy stone walls, could make anyone feel quite lonely. But the king and I became inseparable. We rode horses. We played chess. We practiced dueling, and we stayed up into the late hours of the night, feasting and belching and telling terribly rude jokes. It was delightful. Some of the best years of my life were spent in that gargantuan fortress.
Leave it to me, a fool, to wish to become more than a platonic consort. By the time puberty struck me with all the strength and sharpness of a jouster's lance, I had fallen deeply and madly in love with the king. But he did not love me back. He was wedded to a princess, of whom he admitted to me he was quite fond, over cold turkey legs and pig's feet and thick, copious wine. No...he did not love me. He preferred a queen. And he murdered me for it. Not literally, of course, but my heart was split like the hoof of a dying steed. I could not recover. And so I left the castle for good, under the pretense that I was going to university. So now I'm here.
And now murder must be countered with murder. That man, that vile ruler, still resides over us all with his wife. Forget his reduction of taxes! Forget his practice of peace over the land. Forget the extensive healthcare programs and charity he's provided. None of that matters when you're a dead man forced to live in this world still, watching the one you loved so dearly prosper. There is nothing else left but vengeance. I shall - I must - kill the king.
But how? Using what method? Should I be reinvited to his castle - as an old, long lost friend - how could I commit such a dastardly, yet necessary, deed? Hmmm.
Another pint, my good man. I have some plans to scope out.
***
Okay. My brilliant plan is complete. Now I must go over it. Mentally. No one must know my machinations.
My great murder scheme? I call it...Boxception.
You ever had one of those friends who got you a present, and you opened it,a nd there was another present wrapped up inside? So you opened that one, and yet another present waited you? So you opened that, and then you opened a smaller one, and then smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and smaller...
He'd go mad, the great liege! He'll blow a blood vessel in utmost frustration and rage! Boxception! BRILLIANT!
...No. Not brilliant. Rather stupid, in fact. These drinks must be kicking me harder in the head than I thought.
Ahem. Break for water, then let's try this again.
***
Phew. Hydrating is always good. Right, then. My second plan.
The king likes...ugh...women, I suppose. So I may as well play to his fancies. I shall dress up as a woman myself. I do rock some painted nails and eyeliner...no, not guyliner, eyeliner. Big difference. Own your fabulousness, good sirs of the village El-Ay. And I'll get myself a lovely dress and corset. The man will be wooed, of that I have no doubt. I will seduce his majesty. We shall sit for dinner, he'll propose a toast...with the cup I'll have poisoned. Yes. YES. Poisoned brew to keel him over!
...Though his wife is an issue. Hmmm. I don't want to kill the queen. She's not responsible for her husband's poor taste and lack of batting for the other team. And what if she stopped me? I don't want to murder her, and surely, I don't want to die by her hands.
Confound. Barkeep, stronger mead! Being sober is not helping.
***
Woooo-wee! I do love me some good mead! Seriously, the dwarves know how to make a strong drink.
Plan C, hearties! It's so simple, I'm surprised I wasn't bright enough to come up with it first. I'll frame the king...with treason.
Yes! Treason against his own kingdom! He'll invite me back as a friend, and I'll plant treasure from the kingdom's coffers on his person. I'll have him read a speech that has him condemning the peasants. I'll forge a letter that offers bribery to another country. They can't acquit him of that! Not ever!
And he'll be tried, and he'll be found guilty, and he shall be executed. And the public shall watch, and I shall watch with them. It will be a glorious day, and I shall drink my face off when it's done! Haha! HAHAHAHAHA!
...But he wouldn't have done it. He'd be innocent.
I would have gotten him killed for something he didn't do. Not for breaking my heart. Not for destroying my livelihood.
...No. I can't have that.
I can't have that at all.
...My tab, barkeep. And keep my horse parked. I'm walking home.
***
The air's nice in El-Ay. Not nearly as smoky from the markets. I'm craving a roast chicken leg. Or some lamb stew. Something meaty in my mouth. Heh, heh...meaty. In my mouth. I'm a dirty, dirty man.
Maybe this is pointless. Maybe I just don't have it in me to kill the king. I mean, I'm better than that, am I? I, Vincent Giovanni III, come from a line of other Vincent Giovannis who never shed blood with their own hands. Am I murderer? A heartless killer? A butcher? No. I can't be. I won't be.
It's not right. A Giovanni's hands must be clean. They must not leave fingerprints on a throat, or drop arsenic into a goblet of wine, or plunge a blade into a neck. I was never a warrior. I can't even kill flies. So what am I to do?
...Hire a hitman, of course!
Yes. Yes! Perfect. I have spare funds. The inheritance from Vincent Giovanni II is still plentiful. Thanks, Pops. Now I can hire the best assassin to scale the castle walls and murder the king himself. But I'll be close by, of course. Oh, yes. I shall invite myself to the palace as a friend, then perch upon a tree by his window...watch him undress...hem. And the hitman shall do the work.
And then I will watch him die.
This week's prompt was provided by my 4th block English 2 class. Thanks, other sophomores!
The king and I do not get along. At least, we haven't for many years. I still reside within his dominion, and freely, too - the village of El-Ay is proof of a thriving town without the monarch's filthy fingers creeping too much into our festivities. The markets have plentiful food, and the taverns plentiful drink. I reside at the Madman now, quaffing my third pint, feeling a vice grip my heart that I have not felt since I last saw the man's face.
My name is Vincent Giovanni III. But you can call me Vinnie for short. I did not always live in El-Ay. I did not always sit like a sad sot day in and day out of the Madman Tavern, contributing heavily to the barkeepers' income. I actually lived with the king, since I was a young boy - an appointed companion, an assigned friend to keep him company in the castle as he grew up. The vast corridors, surrounded with heavy stone walls, could make anyone feel quite lonely. But the king and I became inseparable. We rode horses. We played chess. We practiced dueling, and we stayed up into the late hours of the night, feasting and belching and telling terribly rude jokes. It was delightful. Some of the best years of my life were spent in that gargantuan fortress.
Leave it to me, a fool, to wish to become more than a platonic consort. By the time puberty struck me with all the strength and sharpness of a jouster's lance, I had fallen deeply and madly in love with the king. But he did not love me back. He was wedded to a princess, of whom he admitted to me he was quite fond, over cold turkey legs and pig's feet and thick, copious wine. No...he did not love me. He preferred a queen. And he murdered me for it. Not literally, of course, but my heart was split like the hoof of a dying steed. I could not recover. And so I left the castle for good, under the pretense that I was going to university. So now I'm here.
And now murder must be countered with murder. That man, that vile ruler, still resides over us all with his wife. Forget his reduction of taxes! Forget his practice of peace over the land. Forget the extensive healthcare programs and charity he's provided. None of that matters when you're a dead man forced to live in this world still, watching the one you loved so dearly prosper. There is nothing else left but vengeance. I shall - I must - kill the king.
But how? Using what method? Should I be reinvited to his castle - as an old, long lost friend - how could I commit such a dastardly, yet necessary, deed? Hmmm.
Another pint, my good man. I have some plans to scope out.
***
Okay. My brilliant plan is complete. Now I must go over it. Mentally. No one must know my machinations.
My great murder scheme? I call it...Boxception.
You ever had one of those friends who got you a present, and you opened it,a nd there was another present wrapped up inside? So you opened that one, and yet another present waited you? So you opened that, and then you opened a smaller one, and then smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and smaller...
He'd go mad, the great liege! He'll blow a blood vessel in utmost frustration and rage! Boxception! BRILLIANT!
...No. Not brilliant. Rather stupid, in fact. These drinks must be kicking me harder in the head than I thought.
Ahem. Break for water, then let's try this again.
***
Phew. Hydrating is always good. Right, then. My second plan.
The king likes...ugh...women, I suppose. So I may as well play to his fancies. I shall dress up as a woman myself. I do rock some painted nails and eyeliner...no, not guyliner, eyeliner. Big difference. Own your fabulousness, good sirs of the village El-Ay. And I'll get myself a lovely dress and corset. The man will be wooed, of that I have no doubt. I will seduce his majesty. We shall sit for dinner, he'll propose a toast...with the cup I'll have poisoned. Yes. YES. Poisoned brew to keel him over!
...Though his wife is an issue. Hmmm. I don't want to kill the queen. She's not responsible for her husband's poor taste and lack of batting for the other team. And what if she stopped me? I don't want to murder her, and surely, I don't want to die by her hands.
Confound. Barkeep, stronger mead! Being sober is not helping.
***
Woooo-wee! I do love me some good mead! Seriously, the dwarves know how to make a strong drink.
Plan C, hearties! It's so simple, I'm surprised I wasn't bright enough to come up with it first. I'll frame the king...with treason.
Yes! Treason against his own kingdom! He'll invite me back as a friend, and I'll plant treasure from the kingdom's coffers on his person. I'll have him read a speech that has him condemning the peasants. I'll forge a letter that offers bribery to another country. They can't acquit him of that! Not ever!
And he'll be tried, and he'll be found guilty, and he shall be executed. And the public shall watch, and I shall watch with them. It will be a glorious day, and I shall drink my face off when it's done! Haha! HAHAHAHAHA!
...But he wouldn't have done it. He'd be innocent.
I would have gotten him killed for something he didn't do. Not for breaking my heart. Not for destroying my livelihood.
...No. I can't have that.
I can't have that at all.
...My tab, barkeep. And keep my horse parked. I'm walking home.
***
The air's nice in El-Ay. Not nearly as smoky from the markets. I'm craving a roast chicken leg. Or some lamb stew. Something meaty in my mouth. Heh, heh...meaty. In my mouth. I'm a dirty, dirty man.
Maybe this is pointless. Maybe I just don't have it in me to kill the king. I mean, I'm better than that, am I? I, Vincent Giovanni III, come from a line of other Vincent Giovannis who never shed blood with their own hands. Am I murderer? A heartless killer? A butcher? No. I can't be. I won't be.
It's not right. A Giovanni's hands must be clean. They must not leave fingerprints on a throat, or drop arsenic into a goblet of wine, or plunge a blade into a neck. I was never a warrior. I can't even kill flies. So what am I to do?
...Hire a hitman, of course!
Yes. Yes! Perfect. I have spare funds. The inheritance from Vincent Giovanni II is still plentiful. Thanks, Pops. Now I can hire the best assassin to scale the castle walls and murder the king himself. But I'll be close by, of course. Oh, yes. I shall invite myself to the palace as a friend, then perch upon a tree by his window...watch him undress...hem. And the hitman shall do the work.
And then I will watch him die.
This week's prompt was provided by my 4th block English 2 class. Thanks, other sophomores!
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