The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (story books for 5 year olds .TXT) 📕

“He did it on my authority. I did it! He didn’t ask me, he didn’t tell me, he just said it. God. That’s horrible. Torture.”

“It’s period.” A wry smile flickered on the older king’s face.

“You wouldn’t laugh if you were in charge of this mess.”

“No, I wouldn’t. But in a very real sense you aren’t either.”

Estoc took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be. I just wanted to give Camellia a fancy party. Oh, God.” He buried his face in his hands.

They waited for him to recover. When he straightened up Cinnamon made a handkerchief appear in his hand. He nodded thanks.

“I could fire him. I nearly fired him in Court.”

“Yes, you can. Who will you replace him with?”

“I don’t know. He was the only guy who applied for the job.”

Queen Dahlia said, “Not many people want to spend war weekend working instead of playing. Being in charge of how much food everyone gets—that they’ll fight for.”

“Yeah.”

Cinnamon poured a half-shot into Estoc’s glass. The king tossed it down.

“I don’t know what to do. What Camellia did to us was bad but she didn’t deserve to die for it. And Stitches. I can see executing people for murder. But mutilating them?” Estoc shuddered.

King Ironhelm waited for his fellow king to say something more. When the silence continued he said, “You have three decisions to make.”

“Oh God.”

The time Ironhelm kept waiting until Estoc couldn’t bear the silence.

“Dammit, Camellia made all the decisions. She talked to everybody and researched stuff and, and, and I trusted her. Fine. What’s the first one?”

“Will there be any additional punishment or pardon for Stitches?

“No. No. I’m not going to execute her just on my say-so. That would be murder. And I’ll be damned if I’ll do anything nice for her after what she did to—what she did.”

“That’s settled then,” said Ironhelm. “Next. Do you want to appoint someone else to handle administration of justice?”

“Take it away from Sharpquill? That’s a good idea. I could appoint Duke Stonefist. He’s a lawyer in mundane life. Everyone respects him. He’d be a good judge. Don’t know what I’d call the job though.”

“You could let him pick his own title,” suggested Queen Dahlia.

“If I do that he’ll be the Lord High Executioner.” A hint of a smile appeared on Estoc’s face for an instant.

“Which might be useful in making some of the boys behave,” said Ironhelm. “Most important decision. Are you replacing Master Sharpquill?”

“Damn. I don’t know. That’s tough.”

Dahlia took another turn as good cop. “Break out the pros and cons. What’s the good points of keeping him?”

Estoc paused to think. “He’s done a good job of holding us together. Everyone’s getting at least a little to eat. He’s made some bad decisions but some of those were probably because of Camellia’s . . . influence.”

He accepted a mug of water from Cinnamon. Sipped. “If he stays in place we avoid a shitstorm of drama over his replacement. People wanting the job, not wanting someone else to get the job, knifing each other over the job.”

“Does he want to keep the post?” asked Lady Cinnamon.

That surprised Estoc. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“The way he was acting in Court just now seemed . . . self-destructive. The rudeness, disrespecting the Crown. The sentence.”

Ironhelm sighed. “I didn’t want to share this. A few days ago Sharpquill’s sleeve slid up and I saw hesitation marks on his arm.”

“What marks?” asked Estoc.

Lady Cinnamon answered. “When someone tries to commit suicide by cutting their wrists they make some weak cuts before they actually do it. That leaves shallow cuts, scabbing over, where they hesitated before making the lethal cut. Hesitation marks.”

“Oh. I can see that. He misses his wife.”

“He’s married?” asked Ironhelm.

“Yeah. Or he was. His wife was supposed to bring their two boys here Saturday morning. Guess they’re safe back home. But he misses them. I can see losing his wife making a man suicidal,” the widower said bitterly.

“Or he could have been trying to escape the mind control,” said Dahlia.

“Maybe.” Ironhelm shrugged. “How can we know?”

Estoc drank more water. “If he commits suicide I can replace him without it being my fault. But that would still be a shitstorm.

“The real con of him staying is bad decisions. I think he’ll do better than anyone else we can put in the job. I’ll look for parts of it I can carve out and give to someone else.

“So—I’m keeping him. And I hope he doesn’t kill himself.”

Ironhelm stood. “It’s settled then.”

“If we don’t want Sharpquill killing himself he needs a hug at least,” said Lady Cinnamon.

Dahlia said, “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. But keeping the linchpin of our food supply in working order is in my own self-interest.”

“What?” asked Estoc.

“I’m going to go see what I can do for Sharpquill.” She lifted the tent flap.

“What if he wants more than a hug?” protested the younger king.

She shrugged, and vanished.

***

A hand tapped on the tent canvas. “My Lord Autocrat? Are you there?”

Sharpquill lifted the flap to see his visitor. “I am. Come in.”

“Thank you.” Cinnamon, Chief Lady in Waiting of the Visiting Court, swept into the tent. She stood in the middle, studying its neat arrangement by the light of three candles on Sharpquill’s desk. The big bed was rumpled on one side. Two small cots were neatly made up.

Sharpquill said, “I presume you have a message from Their Visiting Majesties?”

“No, I’m here on my own business,” said Lady Cinnamon. “I am very impressed with how you handled that unpleasantness in court.”

“You seem to be the only one.”

“Oh, no. You’ve made it clear murder will be punished.”

Sharpquill mimed a pinch at