By Jess Welker
The kingdom shimmered in anticipation of the king’s birthday, and Blackguard grimaced at the iced cupcakes, foil balloons, and dragon bobble-heads in shop windows. Beneath his stealthy feet, the cobblestones glistened from a recent scrubbing; around the castle’s main courtyard, the lampposts with their fresh coat of paint flickered low in dawn’s light.
A festal pennant waved atop the nearest lamppost. Blackguard shimmied up the post and yanked the little flag from its holder. He tossed it aside and slid down. Skipping the next lamp’s pennant, Blackguard strategized that stealing every third—or even fifth—flag would resemble a young boy’s first whiskers and create a more awkward look than a thorough theft. He removed several more pennants at random. As his aching knees protested the seventh climb, a voice called up to him.
“Who told you to do that?” A woman peered up at him indignantly, a laundry basket perched on her hip.
Blackguard leaped to the ground and smirked. “No one.” He had a speech prepared in case he was caught, and he launched into the opening line. “The king is a sorry—”
The laundress pried the pennant from his fist and dropped it into the basket with the others she’d retrieved from the ground. “I told my boy I wouldn’t be able to iron these until the last minute. Do you think he listened? No, he strung them all up anyway. Fetch the others for me.” She jabbed his ribs with a commanding finger.
Surprised into obedience, Blackguard reluctantly climbed up every lamppost in the courtyard, moving slower and slower as the pain in his knees spread to his thighs and calves.
At last, he abandoned the clean-shaven courtyard and slunk into the castle kitchens for another sally against his enemy.
A large pot bubbled on the hearth, its contents resembling dog food; Blackguard had heard the king was fond of his dog. He limped farther into the kitchen and found a silver tray with a still-steaming steak reposing on it. Blackguard chuckled. Only the best for the king’s birthday breakfast. He returned to the hearth, which yielded a delightful handful of fine gray ash, and rubbed the new flavor into the steak with all the culinary panache of an evil court jester.
“Why is the breakfast still here?” a man snapped.
Blackguard spun around.
The chef dropped a large bag of flour onto the countertop with a thud. “As if I don’t have enough to do on a day like today. Take it up. Go!”
Blackguard concealed a smile and carried the tray from the kitchen. To serve revenge to the king on a platter! It was almost too perfect. He imagined the king’s ugly face contorting at the first bite, spitting meat and ash at the startled queen across from him.
He asked a servant for directions to the king’s chambers and was pointed to a flight of stairs. He knocked at the door.
The king shouted from inside. “Wolfy! Breakfast!”
Before Blackguard could react, the king swung open the door, and a flying wall of fur filled the doorway. Blackguard crashed to the ground under the weight of the massive dog, who gobbled up the steak, wagged his tail, and danced his heavy paws across Blackguard’s internal organs.
“Ugh…” Blackguard groaned.
Laughing, the king pulled Wolfy off. “He loves his birthday steak.”
Wolfy broke free and slobbered kisses all over Blackguard’s face, splattering him with tiny chewed pieces of meat and trickles of ashy drool.
The king pulled the dog back again. “Come in. I’m sure I have a handkerchief somewhere.”
Blackguard clawed at the wall to pull himself upright and staggered forward. The king, having ordered Wolfy to sit, rummaged through a drawer. On a table behind him, the birthday crown sparkled, an ornate and very much out-of-fashion gold affair that the kings of the kingdom had worn but once a year for generations. With galvanized menace, Blackguard snatched it and bolted. The king shouted. Down stairs, through corridors, and out the doors ran Blackguard, clutching the iconic birthday crown to his chest.
In the streets, guards pursued the dastardly thief. Crowds of early rising revelers cheered at the sight of the famous relic, but Blackguard pretended they cheered at his triumph.
But his triumph weakened to wheezing. He had shimmied up too many lampposts and been body slammed by too many horse-sized dogs to outrun the guardians of justice. So he impulsively tossed the crown into a compost wagon destined for some distant field, turned, and faced his captors. He took deep breaths so he could give his speech.
The guards encircled him and leveled their swords.
Blackguard put his hands on his hips and spoke boldly and proudly between pants, “The—king—is—”
“Here!” a civilian shouted.
The guards snapped to attention and parted to let the king in. He was breathless too, Blackguard noted with satisfaction.
“Where is the birthday crown?” the king demanded.
Blackguard wiggled his eyebrows in a practiced expression of evil. “You’ll never see it again.”
“Oh, bless you, good man!” The king strode forward. He embraced the disconcerted Blackguard and thumped him on the back.
“The crown is gone forever,” Blackguard said, in case the king had misunderstood him.
The king squeezed Blackguard’s shoulders and blinked back a tear. He whispered, “I am forever in your debt. That crown was hideous.” The king faced the gathered crowd and raised his voice. “This man has made my birthday one of the best. He has transported the birthday crown to an infinitely secure location.”
“And he helped with the laundry!” a woman called out.
The king clapped Blackguard on the shoulder again. “Make sure you attend the feast today. You’ll have a front row seat at the dragon show tonight too.”
Blackguard nodded helplessly. As he shifted about the streets that day, searching in vain for his vanished revenge, he was everywhere recognized, welcomed, and lauded as the king’s new best friend.
Rate this story:
(0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 3)
You need to be a registered member to rate this.
Loading...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tell us your thoughts!