Read Old Bones: A Collection of Short Stories Page 15
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In the Wake of Annihilating Kings
THE BANQUET HALL was large and windowless, which, as banquet buildings go in the land of Nortepius, north of Ridgewood, was simple in design and customarily uncared-for. The dark and damp interior was carpeted throughout in fungus. A single candle, nearly spent and lumped upon a mountain of wax vaguely encasing an ancient gold candelabrum, lighted its dreary center. Suspended by dry, twisted hemp sooty and black, the waxy mountain sprouted long spidery arms of wax that descended and attached themselves to the top of a long rectangular oak table. Faint yellow light flickered as the candle flame threatened to extinguish itself. A groan came from a dark figure scaling the northern side of the waxy wattle. He had a new candlestick clenched between his teeth and he was exerting his unpracticed body to reach the dimming flame in time.
“Sulliac!” King Mimalaus called out from his dirty brown throwdown. “Don’t bite that one in half. The blue ones taste ugly.”
Sulliac the Loyal grunted in agreement and continued climbing.
“You incipient vacillator,” a shadowy figure chided from the northwest corner of the room; “The entire world knows that the blue ones are an acquired taste of the sophisticated and dexterous. Why, with just a pinch of yellow yeast glob a blue becomes the finest meal man will ever consume.”
His nasally voice echoed throughout the hall. Then a long, low belch sounded from the king’s area. This was King Mimalaus’s sound of disapproval and it made the winded Sulliac the Loyal smile as he finally reached the small and flickering candle.
“Put that in one of your pictures, Couchiniti,” the king grumbled. “If you can find the right color.”
Then a quick booming belch from the king marked an end to the conversation. After all, Couchiniti was renowned for his lengthy rhetorical rambling and the king was in no mood to be subjected to such torture. This was to be a day of respect in Nortepius and he was looking forward to the arrival of new fleece throwdowns.
The dining hall grew larger as Sulliac the Loyal lit the new candle and placed it at the top of the wax-heap. From his perch, he could see the tall and frail Couchiniti biting his right forearm. Couchiniti did this whenever halted from giving the hall a verbal round of his antiquated conjecture.
Seeing the sulking crafter suckling on his arm made Sulliac the Loyal hungry, so he stuck his fingers in his mouth and licked at the rhizopus that had accumulated from his ascent of the waxy wattle.
Hearing the sucking and slurping made the king hungry too, so he began cleaning between his toes. The three snacking statesmen did not hear the low rumbling outside, nor were they able to see the blinding white light that blanketed the countryside. Hot winds blew at the walls of the dining hall as trees and small buildings were swept away. Another rumble followed as the ground began to shake.
“Another quake!” the ever-observant king shouted as the hall began shaking. “Let’s celebrate!”
The vibrating building knocked Sulliac the Loyal from his perch and he fell hard onto the table below. Luckily, he fell feet first and was able to cushion the impact with his legs.
Couchiniti’s easels fell over and palettes of paint and brushes were knocked to the dirty marble floor. A large clay bust of Couchiniti fell from its podium and shattered. Couchiniti grabbed up his paintings while the king danced at the base of his throne. Then it was over.
In unison, the three men sat down on their tattered throwdowns and laughed. They laughed for many minutes as tears welled and flowed from their eyes. The king’s sides began to hurt, but he kept laughing. He was happy for the extra light and warmth that had crept into the hall. Moreover, he was ever so grateful that the ugly bust of Couchiniti was ruined.
“Our new throwdowns should be here by nightfall,” he cried. “I can’t wait.”
“Hear, hear, O Great King,” Sulliac the Loyal sang. “Hear, hear, O Great King.”