Goodbye Pontifex.
The dog didn’t let go.
What was this bunny made of? Steel cable?
Wendsday and the rabbit went flying into the air. The dog realized it was in danger and let go, the rabbit arced twenty feet into the wall.
The dog ten feet into the soft dirt with a yelp and a whine. She tumbled and rolled. The rabbit bounced and after a brief moment where the dog collected her bearings. She grabbed the now torn corpse of the bunny and proudly trotted over to me with a playful growl.
I guess that must have been fun.
Not that I would do that again.
The dog bashed the dead rabbit into my leg, begging for more tug.
“You encourage the beast O Lion!” The rook chuckled. “You shall make a Mankiller out of the wee hunter yet!”
Wendsday was big enough to eat small kids. Her wild tiger eyes didn’t convince you she wouldn’t.
But the proper way she didn’t ask too much and retired to chew on the fresh kill said she might be a reincarnated princess of some sort.
Is the life of a feral pitbull an upgrade or a downgrade for the average princess?
And was a rook always so disrespectful?
Yet I was at a loss at how to playfully jab back.
“I’d like to hear more of this western assault of yours.”
“To hear is to obey your majesty.” He responded and handed me the reigns back.
“It’s been nice to talk war with you, but I must keep riding before I squander the day!” I told the Rook.
We bumped fists and went our opposite ways.
I didn’t know rooks and kings were homies like that. It felt entirely natural, like we had done this ten thousand times.
It wasn’t an awkward one like the girl at the gym back…
Home? The old place I only missed in terrifying instants?
The rook was wearing gloves, like a pro.
I was only up twelve to fourteen feet and hadn’t had any trouble in that cozy stable only an hour ago.
But now? What a terrible case of vertigo.
The dog grabbed the bunny and ran away a distance with it, as if worried the horse and I united would-steal it from her.
Here I was practicing peace I didn’t understand talking about war I also didn’t understand.
I guess I prefer war because it follow logical rules.
I’m oversocialized or something, I used to think getting a girlfriend would allow my mind to mellow, but now that I was married to the queen my mind raced in ways i had forgotten it could.
I felt like I aged a year this week.
I needed to wash bunny gore off my hands.
Gross.
Why hadn’t I worn gloves?
I realized I was in my night robe.
It was regal enough, but it was still pajamas. Heh…
Funny guy I am.
I felt tears in my eyes. Because of events almost a year ago. Which reminded me of events three years ago, which reminded me of events… events eight years ago. Really?
Where had the time gone and shouldn’t I be happy I had avoided watching myself and perhaps worse people my age, getting old?
I should go home pick up my queen and tell her I love her, just to avoid making her life sad, even if she should be in hell.
Wasn’t I supposed to be a king? Who cared what women thought, the number of them I left behind disappointed was a respectable score.
Nobody cares for a loser, but everyone laments the loss of a heartbreaker.
My sticky hands guided the horse and it gave the little dog, too polite to be human, too rude to be a horse, a wide radius.
My castle in the southern tip of my kingdom. Mountains near impassible to my south, shaded valley trees to the east, open semi developed valley to the north, rolling scrubby hills to the west.
Clouds misted and condensed around the warming morning air. It felt as if the day would be warm. Perhaps sticky.
Was I just trained wrong? Or maybe everyone else was just a demon who deserved a worse world?
Words nothing more than tools and all… at least Dove was honest, and seemed to like me.
But I had not properly met common the demons of this world. Perhaps the my wife was the worst thing out there.
Unsatisfied with the walk around the castle, I entered into the kitchen and washed my hands with spirits and water.
I didn’t trust the public basin or the well, I didn’t want to contaminate them either.
Forget toothbrushes, perhaps I would enforce rigorous hand washing.
I equipped gloves of safety and shielding (leather) the more respectable clothing of a man about business. Then missing the cozy sweatpants not yet fabricated in this realm I snuck up to my bed chamber and found the chessboard placed upon it’s starting table.
The queen and I were slobs and the maids had hid the effects while they still lived, but it had been a few days since then.
Bishop to D three.
And I was out in the courtyard again, looking a little more put together. Waving to a stable hand and hopping aboard a new courser horse. Waving again to the guards who would open my mighty gate I met the Pontifex also waiting for the heavy iron to make our path passable.
“Any plans for D three?” I asked.
“I’m going to meet the missionaries.” He said glumly.
“Perhaps some will be cute women.” I clapped him on the back and briefly cursed Mormons in my mind.
I didn’t drink coffee, didn’t smoke, and until last week I didn’t drink, I was practically a Mormon in the past life. For such temperance they managed to become a salacious religion.
“Nonsense, only one in ten missionaries is a women, it is primarily a method to get excess men out of the home.”
“My queen would offer them up for service in the pawn forces.”
“Indeed their parents may agree, war is glorious but non-productive.” The Pontifex dimly examined the gate as it rose before us. “Better to teach them to read, preach and be polite.”
“You don’t like war it seems, you see little opportunity?”
“Bishops, as a rule, prefer peace.” The Pontifex confirmed.
I wondered if the indirect, individual, and corrupt nature of the trade was the reason.
“What of the late quartermaster? From what I hear he was a bit of an offcolor guy.”
“Offcolor doesn’t mean he likes war.”
“I was rather wondering how he got the job.”
“That’s queen business, she probably knows, I don’t, practically his entire world is invisible to me, as mine is… er was, to him.”
“Sadly I don’t have a far reaching understanding of these things, I just see what’s nearby, what people tell me”
“A king’s life is busy and confusing O Lion, tis natural law. Divine law.”
“Well there has got to be a way to make the whole process more efficient isn’t there?”
“O king do not get ideas, to empower thyself is to defeat thyself, I have read it and I have taught you of this in your youth, I had thought you were aware there was no turning back once a claim to throne made. Indeed a throne is naturally a source of stability, not chaos.”
Uh oh, I must be saying things I didn’t understand.
“Forgive an anxious man.”
“Anxiety? Perhaps it is noble in the morning like this. But I eagerly await your decisive confidence O Lion, I beg you do not keep us waiting.”
In the presence of others, the guards who waved this morning saluted. Perhaps I and the Pontifex looked more noble riding together on blinding white horses. My queen told me not to salute back, as to her it was a childish urge. But I saluted gently back, as if I was tipping a non-existent hat.
The Pontifex didn’t of course, he was not a soldier or warrior or goblin or knight and therefore had no desire to be a part of the peaceful agreement not to raise weapons in anger.
I had three weapons on me two concealed, one sword very unconcealed, four weapons if you count my horse, six if you count my fists… and we can stop counting there. I felt like a child playing at ninja, but after yesterday it didn’t seem as silly as it might have.
Can you teach goblins to salute? That might be a more fun iseaki. I could probably teach my horses.