Chapter 40: Royal Ideas.

Chapter 40: Chapter 40: Royal Ideas.

...Scene Takes Place Before Chapter 39...

"Khob, go back inside. You’re gonna get stuck."

"I’m not stuck."

"Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be! So get your ass back inside before you fall."

"I won’t fall!"

"Oh, like you’ve never fallen before?" Montrel snorted, neck craned at an awful angle so he could stare skywards as best he could. "I wouldn’t wanna fall from up there, man. It’s pretty far down."

"I’m not gonna fall, so shut up."

"He is really giving that a go, isn’t he?" Yaka commented with a low whistle, squinting against daylight as he joined in the small party of guards that had gathered at the foot of the tower to see what on earth their guest was up to this time. "No one’s ever climbed all the way down before, right?"

"Never," Bongo replied, shaking his head and squinting to get a better grasp on the situation. From where he was standing, Khobi looked like some kind of ungainly spider, fanned out against the stone and clinging to it with surprising ease.

For now, at least.

"I think this is probably his best attempt yet," Montrel admitted lightly.

"You’re just saying that coz you haven’t got hurt yet."

"Hey, can you guys shut up?" Khobi snapped from where he was precariously manoeuvring down the wall, stone by stone. The guards below didn’t miss the filthy look he flung down in their direction. "I’m trying to concentrate."

"Well sorry for trying to stop you from escaping," Montrel nettled back dryly, "No offense, but it’s kinda our job."

"Well, no offense, but you’ve been pretty shit at it."

"Ooh, Khobi, I don’t think they liked that," Binny remarked breezily, glancing down over the window ledge to see the guards all turning to their Captain as if to say would you look at this fuckin’ kid?? "And not that I’m disagreeing with you or anything, but believe it or not; they’re actually pretty impressive fighters."

"Yeah? Well, I don’t believe it," Khobi snorted hotly, glaring up at him from under his bangs with heat.

Binny remained unfazed, leaning heavily on the windowsill and watching over the proceedings like he was more than a little inclined to laugh.

"Now, now," he tutted playfully, "I know you don’t mean that –move your hand a bit to the right...there you go –now, just come back inside, will you?" If Khobi’s hands hadn’t been occupied, he probably would’ve flipped him off. "I have cakes."

"I don’t want your cakes."

"Well, I don’t want you to splatter into a hundred pieces on the ground," he shot back, chomping down on one of said cakes with a satisfied little hum.

Crumbs spilled everywhere, some of them scattering down into Khobi’s hair. "Look, it’s not too late to just give up and come back in," he added, mouth full. "...Couple more feet and it’s gonna get ugly."

"You shut up too," Khobi snapped, pointedly dropping a little lower and catching himself on some jutting stones. "What, you’ve climbed this wall before, or something?"

"Who me?" Binny snorted, "No way. Weren’t you listening? No one’s ever gotten all the way down."

He shrugged, licking his fingers thoughtfully as he sank down onto the windowsill –out of sight of the guards, and his expression invisible to the man clinging to the wall below him. "...I’ve seen someone try though. Couple of times....’Course, he gave up eventually," he added with a shrug, tone light, but thankfully Khobi was busy looking at the ground, because he didn’t see how forced Binny’s smile seemed in that moment.

"Look, Khobi, not that we don’t love watching you get yourself into a mess," Bongo interrupted from the ground, sounding tired, "But this is getting ridiculous."

"You tell him, Captain," Montrel sighed supportively, before yelling, "Kid, never heard of quitting while you’re ahead?"Briefly, Khobi made the ill-advised decision to remove one of his hands from the wall to flip the guards his middle finger.

"That’s a no, then.""Captain, he’s never going to listen," Fricha muttered, shaking his head in resignation – a sentiment that his fellows seemed to share. "I say we just let him get it out of his system. Maybe he’ll wear himself out."

"You’re right," Bongo admitted dryly, rubbing his brow in exasperation, "He’ll be up there all day." "All day, you reckon?" Yaka mused curiously, glancing up the wall as though appraising a particularly perplexing riddle.

"I don’t know..." "What?" Montrel frowned, raising an eyebrow, "How long do you reckon he’s gonna be up there for?"The silence was long and uncomfortable, to say the least."I give it a couple of hours," Hasbar shrugged.

"...Oh, I’ll take that bet."" –Half a day, at best.""A day easily –seriously, guys, do you know him at all?""...I don’t know...no one’s lasted more than a day before.""I can hear everything you’re saying, and I’m not stuck!" .

...

"What do you mean he’s stuck?

With what could only be called a scathingly melodramatic eye roll, Vogrid adjusted his glasses and set his icy gaze upon a particularly resigned-looking Third Captain.

"Exactly that, Your Majesty," Bongo replied, his deadpan more of a grimace that usual. "He has climbed out his window, and is stuck, partway down the wall."

"Oh. How unfortunate," Gurdet mused lightly, taking a sip of his wine and glancing down at the absolutely impossible amount of letters he was going to have to deal with. Bringing an army back to base was really such an immeasurable hassle sometimes. "How far down did he make it?"

"Not particularly far, Your Majesty."

"Unsurprising," Vogrid remarked flatly, as though this entire meeting were completely unnecessary, "...They never do."

"Now, now, Vogrid, no need to be so prickly," Gurdet tutted, like he was speaking to a particularly crotchety child, before addressing his Third Captain again. "...And here I thought he was finally starting to behave himself."

"We’d hoped as much, too," Bongo admitted, disguising his disappointment as best he could. "Your Majesty...How long is this going to go on for? All due respect, but you can’t expect to keep him locked up forever."

"On the contrary," Gurdet scoffed dismissively, "Although locked up is really such a harsh way of looking at it."

"...He’s shut up in a tower and the doors are bolted shut," Bongo reminded his king as firmly and as bluntly as he dared, "...You don’t get more locked up than that. Something he does not enjoy, apparently," he added with a long-suffering grimace.

"Apparently," Gurdet echoed thoughtfully. "In any case, it was never my intention to let him rot away in a tower," he added, a sly, wily smile spreading across his face, "What use would my dear nephew have for him, then, hmm?"

Was it just Bongo’s imagination, or did his king’s attendant look just an increment more pinched than usual at that?

"...Besides," Gurdet continued, ignoring or oblivious to his attendant’s tangible disapproval (probably the former), and opting to sift through the letters on his desk with obvious boredom. Finding nothing of interest, he brushed them aside and settled himself deeper into his chair with a most worryingly thoughtful expression imprinted on his face, "...The noble houses have been getting rather smug lately, haven’t they, Vogrid?"

"...The...current housing arrangements...do appear to please them, Your Majesty," Vogrid replied dutifully, adjusting his glasses, "Greatly, even."

"Smug, Vogrid " Gurdet corrected with a light wrinkle of his nose, "They’ve been smug, which is almost worse than being pleased –and I really cannot have that now, can I?"

His tone indicated that he intended to change just that, and probably quickly and dramatically, at that. Oh, and there was that malicious little glint in his eye that confirmed to Bongo that his king was up to something. Which, inevitably, was nothing good.

"Your Majesty..." he sighed, having to remind himself that pleading never got anyone anywhere when Gurdet got like this, "...Surely it’s only a good thing that there have been fewer complaints –" For how much Gurdet seemed to detest dealing with the petty concerns of the noble lords and ladies of the castle, he sure didn’t seem to appreciate the notable decrease in complaints.

" –Well, yes, Bongo, but at what cost?" Gurdet lamented darkly, "...This really won’t do at all." He let out a dramatic huff like a man who’s just realised that if he wants a job done right, he’d best do it himself.

Or, at least orchestrate it himself.

"Bongo, my good captain, get Montrel to flush out that nephew of mine, would you?" he commanded flippantly, "I’d advise you get him on Trent’s tail right away. I haven’t seen him skulking about in a while, so I imagine it’ll take some time to find him –and Vogrid, if you would be so kind, I would like to –

"Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty –"

" –Oh, I’m sure –"

"...Whatever you’re planning..." Because there was no doubt in his or Bongo’s mind that their king was planning something. "...I’m sure your daughter would not approve," Vogrid interrupted, sounding like he already rather disapproved himself, even if Gurdet hadn’t yet made his intentions know. Especially since Gurdet hadn’t yet made his intentions know. And Bongo was inclined to share the sentiment.

And when Vogrid’s reproachful reminder caused their king’s expression to curl into a wily grin –the kind that a scheming man might wear while rubbing his hands together with glee –well, that proved not in the least bit reassuring.

"On the contrary, Vogrid, I think she’ll be quite pleased." If nothing else, Gurdet sure sounded (and looked) rather pleased with himself. He licked a droplet of wine from the corner of his lips and turned back to his letters with discomfortingly more fervour than before, though his smirk betrayed where his anticipation truly lay.

"Make the arrangements would you, my good man," he asked of his attendant rather nonchalantly, the wicked glint in his eyes belying his aloofness.

"I think it’s about time we invited our dear guest to breakfast."