32. King's Play-Eric

Three shackled men are led down a dark, stone hallway by a guard. Under the sconces, their silhouettes slither like snakes down the hallway. The guard is a hairy, burly man. He looks as if he were nothing more than a big, red beard. He is wearing field plate and a large ring of keys, making him jingle with every step. Occasionaly, he thumbs the handle of the large axe, strapped to his side. He pushes Joseph hard, tumbling him down. He kicks him.

"Get the hell on yer legs rat, before I slice you but good!" The guard yells, brandishing his axe.

Joseph scurries to his feet, rejoining the line. They continue stumbling down the hallway, to a large, wooden door. The guard unlocks the door, shoving them into the dark room. A few rats scurry around scattered bones that once filled out the manacles. The shiver; their breath rises like whisps of smoke in the air. In the back of the room, three large quills and bottles of ink lie on a dusty, wood table.

Portious, a pot bellied wine bibber bellows a large laugh. Joseph and Mick stare at him in wonder.

"What the hell's so funny?" Mick says.

"I'm drunk, mates."

"Great, how are we supposed to work on the story now?" Joseph says.

"I dunno, I'm a wine maker. I taste the king's wine. A little too much of it lately, I might add. I'm not a writer."

"I'm no writer either. I'm a cook." Mick says.

Joseph sighs.

"I'm the only writer here. Who cares, you're going to die just the same as me if we don't come up with a play." Joseph says.

Portious belches.

Jospeh turns away in disgust, but then snaps around back and says,"Listen to me you idiot! This isn't a game here, we're going to die in three days if we don't come up with something stellar. You need to sober up."

Mick scratches the side of his mutton-chop jowls. He pulls a large piece of buttered bread from under his bib and begins chomping on it. After a few bites he looks up bright eyed.

"I got it. I do better with a full belly. Okay, let's do a play about these three men. See, they're imprisoned wrongfully. And what happens is, one night the king has a bad dream. He wants to forget it in the morning, but he just can't shake it. He knows it means something. So he calls all the wisemen in the kingndom to interp-"

"Stop, stop, stop. This story sounds too familiar. I think it's been used before." Joseph says.

"Ahh, Shakespear stole just about everything he wrote. He did a might fine job of spicing it up a bit, but all the same. Boy, I'm sure glad I have some wine to keep me warm here. This cold can kill a man."

"Okay, at least we're getting somewhere. What do you think, Portious?"

Portious belches.

Joseph looks at him as if he were a bucket of bile and says, "That's the smartest thing you've said all night."

Portious smiles and says, "Well, I like the idea about the three men. I'm not a writer like I said, but I think we should go with that, but change it a little. The king doesn't have a dream. What it is, is he's a jealous king, and sly. Oh, is he sly. He's grown up his whole life deceiving people to get what he wants. Poisons the best playwrite in school, so that he can't show him up. See, this guy is a real rat, never been able to be square with anyone. Always trying hard at socials to be the wisest. You know the type. This guy even posions his brother for the throne-"

Joseph gasps, breaking Portious off.

"Damn, it's might cold in here. Don't know how long we're going to last. What I wanted to say was, it sounds like I've heard this before too, at least a few bits. We're probably ripping someone off. Oh well. Continue."

"As I was saying. The guy is a no talent fraud. Always surrounding himself with writers, painters, and musicians, stealing their work. Their very souls even, because he's just not an artist. And he hates himself for it, but he hates the artists even more. So, what he does is, he finds some reason to imprison them cause he thinks will produce great, glorious works of art. He'll even imprison common citizens cause when your arse is being held over'n oven, you'll start becoming one damned hell of an artist in a jiff."

Joseph bites his nails, staring at the quills on the table. Mick helps himself to morsels of bread.

"Wonderful, I think you're on to something! It'll be like The Rape of Sabine in Rome. He steals all their works and pawns them off as his own. Come the Spring Fest and he'll win hands down." Joseph says.

Mick stops chewing and stares at them. He says, "I guess we can relate to our arses being over the fire right now. I like the idea though. And what happens is at the Spring Fest competition, he becomes the envy of all the kingdoms. Even the king of France bows down to him. But after a while, when the fire is barely smoldering he needs to blackmail and coerce more citizens into writing or composing more. It's a never ending cycle, until his wife, the Queen finds out."

Joseph grabs a quill and dips it into the ink bottle. He pulls out a parchment and begins writing.

"Yes, I think we have something."


Several weeks later thousands of citizens are cheering and celebrating. The three are seated together at a large feast, smiling and conversing with one another.

Mick leans over a mug of beer and whispers to Jospeh and Portious.

"I still can't believe he had a heart attack when he saw our play."

Joseph leans over his plate of mutton and says,"Truth hurts."

The queen prances by, winking at him.

In a dark dungeon below, the guards screams and curses, smashing his axe against the stone wall.