A von Schmect in Arcon's Court

[Lord Tellurine]

Baron and Baroness von Schmect had an expansive estate on the border of Arconia and Muu. Although they claimed to be Arconian, often stating they were the oldest family in Arconia, they did an awful lot of business with Muu, which up to this time had been an enemy of Arconia. They also ruled the land surrounding their estate like their own small fiefdom. Taxes were paid to the von Schmects; peasants were made to vow their loyalty to them, and a von Schmectia anthem (Written by failed Strahfurt minstrel Bartholomew Plunk) was always played in the morning when the flag bearing the von Schmect crest (A bear biting down onto an eagle) was raised over the von Schmect estate garden.

Flying over this garden this rainy evening and onto a perch by a guardhouse was a homing pigeon. The pigeon was supposed to go to Arconia Castle, that is to say, the sender intended that, but the 2 Seasons Inn was owned (in a silent partnership) by Baron von Schmect who used the pigeons there to keep tabs on not only the inn, but of Arconian soldiers who stayed there. A guard slipped the message off of the pigeon’s leg and read it. His eyes flickered with delight. The pigeon cooed and crapped on his boot.

The guard immediately took the message into the estate. He stopped first to wipe his boot, then he went into study, where the aging Baron and Baroness were busy… well, aging.

The Baron was seated in his favorite chair, just like most nights. He was facing the crackling fire, mesmerized by it’s flickering flames. After a sumptuous meal that had been served hours before any decent human being under the age of thirty would eat he always came to the study to open a book of philosophy and open his mind to new thoughts. He was currently dozing off. “What do you want?” croaked the old Baron von Schmect as the guard opening the study doors disturbed him.

The guard dashed over to the fireplace and as Baroness von Schmect looked up from her needlepoint the guard handed the damp note to the Baron.

The thin lips of the Baron drew into a smile as he read it. “My sweet,” he articulated, putting the note down into his lap, “we’re going to Arconia.”

“Whatever for?” she sniffed indignantly.

The Baron stood shakily, refusing any help from the guard. “We’re going to claim the throne.” He waved the note towards her. “Not only is Arcon gone missing, but now Zelda has gone off dragon hunting.” He failed miserably at stifling a laugh. “The only thing that stands in our way is a pregnant scribe.” He threw the note into the fire and the words written by Queen Zelda to Lady Moon giving her authority to rule Arconia went literally up in smoke.

[Zelda]

OH ****!

[Lord Tellurine]

The first thing Baron von Schmect decided to do was to call for his manservant, Gustav. “Gustav!” he bellowed.

A few moments later a slightly portly and middle-aged servant with a neatly trimmed blonde mustache that had an upward curl on each end entered through the door of the study. Gustav acknowledged the presence of the guard by giving him a disdainful glower then he stopped in front of his master. “Yes, sir,” he asked obediently.

“The Baroness and I are going to the Castle Arconia first thing tomorrow morning. Ready the coach and pack our things.” The Baron stopped and took a breath. “That is all,” he added, dismissing the servant with a slight wave of his bony hand.

“Yes, sir,” came the polite reply and the man turned and began to exit the room. As he reached the study door his dreams of a Baron-less estate were interrupted by the Baron’s voice booming forth, “Gustav!” He turned and reported back to his master, once again giving the guard a suspicious look that guard was kind enough to return in favor.

“Tell our grandson, Silas, that we want him on this trip also.” The Baron took a breath and said, “That is all.” He once again gave the familiar wave of the hand.

“Yes, sir.” Gustav turned curtly on his heels and began to leave again.

As he reached the doors he heard, “Gustav!” Once again he returned to his master. He had a feeling that this was the guard’s fault so he openly sneered at him this time. The guard was too taken aback by it to respond. “Make sure Silas has his things packed by the morning also.” A breath, a wave, and a, “That is all,” soon followed.

“Yes, sir.”

He almost made it out of the room when he was called back again. “Gustav!” He returned to his post, completely ignoring the guard, which was a shame because the guard was crossing his eyes in a goofy way, in an attempt to trip up the servant. “We’re going to be there for some time, so I’d like you to come also.”

Gustav winced slightly. He was sure the Baron didn’t notice it, but the guard did, causing him to smile uncharacteristically. “Yes, sir,” he squeezed out painfully.

“That is all,” Baron von Schmect said, this time forgoing a complete wave of his bony little hand and instead just using a couple of fingers. Gustav finally exited the room and the Baron looked towards the guard. “Send a messenger to Arconia and track down Lord Tellurine. If he’s still slumming around in Arconia, then he’ll be invaluable to us.”

The guard stood attentively, as he had since the moment he had arrived in the room. He waited patiently for his “that is all” and the wave of the hand. He got none. “Get going!” growled the Baron. The guard scurried out. The Baron glanced at the Baroness. “I certainly hope the help in Arconia isn’t as inept.” He sat back into his chair ready to plan for his domination of Arconia, but instead dozed off peacefully.

[Lord Tellurine]

Lord Tellurine spent the rainy afternoon and evening in the Bitter End sitting next to Wooden Bob. Wooden Bob was the only person who would talk to him, and Tellurine passed the time counting Wooden Bob’s marathon of drinks. He surprised himself with just how high he could count.

“Life as a trapper isn’t that glamorous,” Wooden Bob revealed to Tellurine between sips. “I check my traps every morning. I come here and drink. I go home to bed.”

Tellurine asked, without a hint of interest, “What do you do if you trap something?”

“I celebrate with an extra drink.”

“Sounds like you have quite a niche for yourself.”

“A what?” Wooden Bob asked, his eyes shifting from his glass to look at Tellurine.

“A niche,” repeated Tellurine. “You’ve found a niche.”

“Whenever I find a niche I scratch it,” admitted Wooden Bob. He looked back at his drink. He contemplated for a moment then said, “Yep. Life is pretty good. And if I’m lucky, I’ll die right here on this barstool.”

Ophelia Roenseller, a waitress at the Bitter End, overheard this and sounded off a disgusted, “Ewww!”

“You’ll die as you lived,” agreed Tellurine. Then he said with some reverence, “There’s worse ways to live and die than on a barstool.”

“Like my cousin… When she was young, her family was torn apart…”

“Divorce?”

“Wild pack of dogs.”

Ophelia let out another, “Ewww!” This time she wasn’t overhearing. She was serving some actors at a table across the room. “What happened to your face?” she asked, without even remotely trying to be tactful.

“It was cut,” the blond actor replied.

“You should wear a bag over your head or warn people or something,” she said, the disgust showing visibly in her expression.

“Could we have another waitress?” another one of the actors asked.

“No problem,” said Ophelia, obviously relieved. “Jessira! This table’s yours!” Ophelia briskly walked away.

Jessira FitzUrse called over to the actors, “I’ll be right there!” She put a bowl of stew in front of Meera, who was seated at one of the tables in back. “Eat this.” She looked at the stew, which Steve had made from whatever was leftover from lunch. It didn’t look very good. “Try to eat this,” she said, with a weak smile.

“I looks like the cooking from that inn,” Meera said. That inn was the Holly Dayye Inn and the cooking there could make a healthy man sick just from ordering it.

“Well, then play with it until it congeals,” Jessira offered, out of options.

“Okay, mommy.”

Jessira looked at the next table where Ophelia’s younger sister Peggy was doing some schoolwork she had missed during her recent adventure. At her side was the stable boy Anton. “Can I get you kids anything else?” she asked politely. She had told the kids that because they risked their lives to save her daughter she would give them free food and drink at the Bitter End whenever they liked.

“No thanks,” said Peggy. “I overheard what Meera said about the stew.”

“I’ll have some,” said Anton, his eyes widening in anticipation. Anton either had a stomach lined with metal or had no taste buds what so ever.

Jessira said, “I’ll have Ophelia bring it over. I’ve got to get this table over here.” She walked towards the actors. “Ophelia, can you get Anton a bowl of stew for me?”

“Sure thing,” Ophelia said with one of her vapid smiles.

As Jessira approached the table she could hear the conversation was getting quite heated.

“What are we still doing in Arconia if you’ve been turned down yet again? She doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t want to talk to you!”

“I’ve never gotten the chance to talk to her yet, have I? Everytime I try, some muscle-bound goon gets in the way.”

“The last time she herself…”

“Don’t remind me, Bart.”

Jessira reached the table. She smiled and noticed one had a large scar on his face.

“Ewww!” Anton’s stew was being served.

[Zelda]

Tell you are comic gold! "Whenever I find a niche I scratch it,” is a classic.

[Lord Tellurine]

The Company of Royal Union Dramatists was a band of thespians that traveled throughout the countryside from city to city presenting plays. They were a big hit in Schoolcraftia, they were cheered in Strahfurt, and they were run out of Muu. Arconia had had its ups and downs. North Pottinghamshershire, a town destined to spend more money on municipal signs than any other town in Arconia, had been good, the village of New Meadowbrook, which was just a stone’s throw away from the village of Meadowbrook Heights, wasn’t that receptive, and the great art city of Hammershire failed to even notice their presence. “Shouldn’t have come during the Annual Pig Festival,” explained Holden M. Christian, the leader of the group.

Now they were in the city that held the seat of royalty, had gotten a chance to play in the castle itself, but were abruptly denied that chance when Holden realized the Queen of Muu, who’s wedding he was performing for, was an old flame he still pined for. The group needed to move on to the next town, but Holden was dragging his feet.

“Holden,” one of his fellow actors at the table started, “we can be in the next town by sundown if we leave first thing in the morning.”

“No, Reg,” Holden snapped, turning to look at his costar and old friend, Reginald Brown. “We’ll leave when I say we leave.”

Mary Thurgood, a small actress who often played the role of the old witch or grandmother, put her dainty hand on Holden’s arm, and said in her little voice, “She doesn’t have the same feelings for you as you do. You have to know when to give up.”

Holden snapped, “If I had the chance to talk to her, I could convince her I’m the man for her!” He pulled his arm from under her hand and knocked his drink over in the process. It splashed onto her dress. Wooden Bob gasped in horror from his barstool.

She stood from her seat. “Look what you did, you lummox!” She stormed away from the table towards the rear of the Bitter End, where her waitress, Jessira, was sitting with her child and two older kids. “Do you have a clean rag?” she asked cautiously.

“In this place?” said Jessira. She sighed. “I’ll see what I can find.” She stood and walked away.

Mary said aloud, “When will I learn to listen to myself and give up on HIM?”

“Who’s that?” asked Peggy Roenseller, looking up from her schoolbook.

Mary looked at the kids. Her faced flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

“We know that,” pointed out Anton. “What we want to know is who you’re not giving up on.”

“Holden M. Christian,” Mary said with a sigh.

“The actor?” asked Peggy. “I’ve read he’s quite talented.”

“He is,” agreed Mary with a knowing smile. “I’ve loved him from the moment I joined the troupe. No, actually, from before I joined the troupe. He’s the reason I joined it.”

“And he doesn’t feel the same way about you?” asked Peggy.

“He doesn’t know I exist.”

“I have that same problem,” said Anton nudging Peggy next to him.

“I KNOW you exist,” Peggy told him plainly, “I just wish you existed somewhere else.”

Mary said aloud to nobody, “I wish I could get him to notice me.”

Anton puffed out his chest. “Don’t worry, miss. When it comes to matters of the heart, I’m an expert. I’ll help you.”

Peggy butted in, “Don’t listen to him. He knows nothing. He once tried to give me a dead rat as a present.”

“You said you liked animals.”

“Alive ones… And not disease carrying rodents.”

“Thanks anyway kids,” Mary said half-heartedly. “I’ll have to figure this one out myself.”

Peggy got an idea. “You know who can help you? My sister! She’s the biggest flirt in town. She knows all the tricks!”

“Who’s your sister?”

“That waitress over there.” Peggy pointed at Ophelia who was busy talking to two royal guardsmen who had stopped in for an after-duty drink. As she turned to place their order, one of the men pinched her rear. She giggled naively and skipped away.

“She’s good,” said Mary.

“She’s easy,” said Peggy.

“I hope it’s genetic,” said Anton. Peggy slugged him.

[Lord Tellurine]

Peggy Roenseller, the bookworm, Anton the stable boy, and Mary Thurgood, the actress, sat around a back table at the Bitter End discussing how Mary might win the heart of Holden M. Christian, the talented actor who was madly in love with another woman, who happened to be married, when they were interrupted. “What’s going on?” Harold Wesley asked.

“Harold, mate!” exclaimed Anton. “How’d you get out of solitary confinement?” Harold had been grounded for skipping out on his last grounding.

Harold simply replied, “I snuck out.”

Peggy snorted indignantly, “You’re going to be grounded again.”

“So?” said Harold with a flippant shrug. “You see how well that’s working!” He outstretched his arms dramatically and pointed his hands towards his feet to accentuate that he was currently standing in the Bitter End, thusly proving the point that even though he was grounded he wasn’t about to let that ruin his social outings.

“You’re just in time mate,” said Anton excitedly. “We’re trying to help out this bird.” He glanced at the actress.

Harold smiled at her. He thought she was pretty, but then immediately thought he was going soft and girls were icky. His smile faded and he asked, “What’s her problem?”

Peggy answered knowledgeably, “You wouldn’t be much help. It’s a matter of the heart.”

“Is that all?” Harold shot back with an arrogant smirk. “My Dad has the same problem. Don’t eat so much spicy food.”

“Moron,” Peggy snapped back. “It’s not heart BURN. It has to do with love.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” argued Harold. “My dad LOVES spicy food!”

Peggy rolled her eyes in disbelief. “The problem,” she began slowly and deliberately, “is that she is in love with an actor over at that table that isn’t in love with her.” Harold glanced at the table that had three members of the troupe sitting around it.

Mary added, “He loves another woman… A woman who is not in love with him and otherwise spoken for.”

“Huh?”

“She’s married,” translated Peggy.

Harold asked Peggy, “So why waste time on the jerk? Sounds like a loser to me.”

“I love him,” Mary answered, the emotion rising in her voice. “He’s incredibly charming, kind, and sensitive. This other woman has turned him into a obstinate maniac.”

“Wha’?”

Peggy told him, “This other woman has turned him into nut job.”

“Oh. Well, what ideas do you have so far?”

Anton responded, “We were thinking Peggy’s sister Ophelia could talk to her. Give her some pointers on bagging guys.”

Mary said, “I’ve been told that she is wise in the world when it comes to the wooing and stimulating of the masculine sex.”

Peggy started explaining, but Harold waved her off and replied, “I know this one. You’re sister is…” He caught a glimpse of little Meera at the next table. “…experienced.”

Peggy smiled politely. “Correct.”

Harold thought a brief moment, sucked in a deliberate breath of air, and said, “Girl advice is all well and good, but the best way to fight an enemy is to know an enemy… I’m going to go talk to him.” Harold started over to the table.

Peggy rolled her eyes again. “He’s got no idea what he’s doing!”

Anton watched in awe. “He’s got a plan…”

Mary commented, “He’s got chutzpah.” Peggy and Anton looked at her in confusion. Mary blushed and explained. “On his shoe… I thought something smelled.”

As Harold made his way to the table Holden was telling Reg and Bart, his dining companions, what he wanted to do professionally while in Arconia. “An original production depicting some great event that happened here in Arconia.”

“A great event that happened here?” repeated Reg with hesitation.

“Certainly Arconia has a story in it somewhere,” argued Holden.

“I seriously doubt that.”

[Lord Tellurine]

On his way to the actor’s table Harold saw an old acquaintance. It was Lord Tellurine. He was seated next to Wooden Bob. He marched over to him and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to turn around on his bar stool. He spat, “You evil plotting villain.”

Wooden Bob, noticing that his drinking budding was gone, turned around, and looked at Harold. “Hi, Harold,” he said with a drunken wave. He looked to Tellurine. “He knows you?”

“No, that was just a lucky guess.” He glared at Harold. “Hello, Wesley,” he said.

Harold’s eyes seethed with anger. It was Tellurine’s fault that he was grounded for skipping out on his last grounding. “I thought you were told never to step into Arconia!”

“Right,” Tellurine said slowly, pretending to remember that. “The threat you kids made… Well, golly… I guess I forgot…”

“When I tell Lady Moon…” Harold began.

“Go right ahead,” interrupted Tellurine. “She’s my boss. She’ll want to know where I am.”

This took Harold aback for a moment. Wooden Bob was also taken aback. He had momentarily forgotten that he had turned around on his barstool and was no longer facing the original direction. He was about to ask who had stolen the bar AND his drink, when Harold said, “You work for Lady Moon?”

“Queen Buffy of Muu, yes. I am an agent of Muu. I serve the crown.”

Harold processed that information. He blinked. “You’re a good guy now?”

“I always WAS the good guy. Now we work on the same side… It’s all how you look at it.”

“Wow,” was all Harold could say for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s all for the best… Rumor around the castle is that not only is Arcon missing, but so is the Queen, AND Lady Moon and her sister… If you weren’t on our side, I could only imagine the trouble you would cause.” Harold shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Tellurine… on our side…” he said as he slowly walked away.

Tellurine laughed nervously. He wished Harold hadn’t told him any of that.

Wooden Bob leant forward onto the bar, which was now behind him. He ended up on the floor. It was like visiting an old friend.

[Lord Tellurine]

Holden M. Christian was in the middle of telling his favorite story about being offered a plum role in an opera in the great art and farming community of Bridgewater, but had turned it down, because purple was not his color, when a young lad approached the table. “Excuse me, sir,” Harold Wesley said.

Holden shifted in his chair to look at the boy. “I don’t give out autographs when I’ve been drinking,” he said with an obviously insincere smile. He looked at his companions, and explained, “My signature is worth less when it’s sloppy.”

“How do you know that?” asked Reg.

“Ebae, the trinket dealer in Googville, told me that.”

“He knows his stuff,” said the other companion, Bart. “I’ve sold a couple of things through him.”

“Like what?” asked Reg.

“Some Cabbage Patches.”

“Some what?”

“Patches I make out of cabbage. They were a big fad a couple of decades ago.”

“No wonder all your costumes stink.”

Harold interrupted, “I don’t want an autograph. Just some information.”

Holden gave the kid a quizzical look. “What do you want to know?”

“Which one of you is Holden M. Christian?”

The table, with the exception of Holden, erupted in laughter. Holden cheeks grew rosy with embarrassment. Reg stopped laughing first and said, “Well, I’m Reginald Brown. Master of 1,000 voices.”

“Really?” asked Harold. “Let me hear one.”

Reg’s voice became tight and wavy. “All right, sonny. Don’t rush an old man.”

Harold was mildly impressed. “Not bad.”

Bart then introduced himself, “I am Bartholomew Plunk. Minstrel to royalty.”

“Is that true?” asked Harold with skepticism.

“Certainly,” replied Bart. “I remember singing for a fine lady once… and she said, ‘If you’re a minstrel then I’m the Queen of Strahfurt.’” He and Reg began another laughing fit.

Holden waited for the laughter to die down before saying, “I am Holden M. Christian. Actor, singer, comedian, play write, and director or the Company of Royal Union Dramatists.” He bowed his head slightly, but dramatically.

“What are you doing in town?” Harold asked unimpressed.

“The Company of Royal Union Dramatists is currently looking for a new production that we can produce and present for the public of Arconia.”

Harold’s face was contorted in thought. “What did you say the name of your group is again?”

“The Company of Royal Union Dramatists,” Holden repeated quickly. “So if you know any fascinating stories that could be dramatized…”

“Wait a minute,” Harold interrupted. Company of Royal Union Dramatists… C.R.U.D.? You named your group C.R.U.D.?”

Holden glared at Reg. “I TOLD you someone would figure that out!” Holden looked at Harold. “You’re quite a kid…. Uh….”

“Harold. Harold Wesley. Yeah. I’m pretty special. Not top in my class or anything… But I’ve been on some pretty good adventures… Like when I had to track my classmate who’d been kidnapped.”

Holden’s eyes lit up. “You don’t say?” He looked at Reg and Bart. “A story of adventure!”

“Me and my friends captured the bad guys.”

“A story of heroism!”

“The best part was at the inn, where we had the wacky misunderstandings and the constantly coming and goings through a variety of doors.”

Holden just about peed his pants in excitement.

[Lord Tellurine]

Harold rushed back over to Anton, Peggy, and Mary. He was giddy with excitement. Anton noticed it right away and told the girls, “He did it! He did it! I knew he would!”

“What happened, Harold?” asked Peggy. “Did you find out his intentions? Did you tell him about Mary’s love for him?”

Harold gave her an odd look. “No. I pitched a script idea.”

Peggy’s mouth fell open. Anton had no idea what he said, but took a cue from Peggy and stared in disbelief also. Peggy finally asked, “You did what?”

“I told him about our adventure saving Meera. He wants to meet all of us tomorrow evening… Right here. So we can give him the whole story.”

“That’s amazing,” said Anton, who began seeing his character being played by a strong handsome actor.

“That’s outrageous,” countered Peggy. She let her displeasure show with a scowl. “You were supposed to be helping Mary here.”

“Oh, right, Mary!” said Harold, snapping out of his excitement. He looked at Mary. “Holden’s very disappointed in you. Here you were sitting with us, when Holden himself had to get the story.” He gave her a hard look. “You’re in trouble.”

Mary gulped unpleasantly. “I better get back there.” She looked to see her troupe mates getting up from their table. “I mean, I better catch up… I’ll see you kids tomorrow.” Mary rushed across the Bitter End and exited through the door behind Bart.

“You’re an idiot,” Peggy told Harold.

“Yeah, well, I hope the dog they get to play you doesn’t bite.”

Peggy showed her teeth. “You’re lucky that I don’t bite.”

Harold took a step away from her, just in case she did.

[Darion McNair]

The royalty was gone from Arconia and that made Enoch a bit on edge. There was a time when he would have enjoyed such a thing, a time when his economy could go the extra mile and setup a few gambling rings, perhaps some cock fights to make things interesting. His organization would have raked in at least 2000 gold before the little Highness Hiatus had come to a close and their well-rested bottoms were back in their cushy thrones and they themselves were back to ruling the kingdom. But with new times also came new measures, with even the head of the military absent he felt it his duty to be a steward of this land until they returned.

Enoch walked down one of the main thoroughfares in Arconia. His long knife and officer’s sword secured tightly in his belt were concealed by his war color cloak, the hood of which he had pulled up to cover his head. To his left was Gaius in a similar garb and behind them three bodyguards with pike blades. Enoch was the only one with his hood pulled up, for all the others kept their heads bare and kept careful watch about them.

As he walked everyone was avoiding them and making sure they kept out of the way, even though it was known that the Syndicate was allied with Arconia against the Russic, few trusted that. All made a conscious effort to pass by on the opposite end of the street except one poor, unfortunate soul.

The young man walked forward head down and he seemed to be preoccupied with something. Walking straight for Enoch he did not to notice him until he bumped right unto him, jostling Enoch hard.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gaius roared as the entire street moved on. He grabbed the boy violently and pushed him out of Enoch’s way. No one saw a note change hands in the process. “Keep your eyes open next time you fool!” Gaius called as they moved on. Slowly the rest of the public got back to their business.

Gaius waited a few moments before quietly handing the note off to Enoch who read it. It seemed the Von Schmects were getting ideas. He had assumed that the Syndicate wouldn’t have a hard time keeping the peace in this city but suddenly Enoch thought he could be mistaken.

“Our old friends are making a push for more than a little territory this time, Gaius.” He told him. “See to it that young agent receives a commendation from me.”

Gaius nodded. “Do you expect this to get ugly Chair Consul?” he asked.

“We shall see. Our sources inside the Von Schmect estate suddenly became good deal more valuable, we have work to do.”

[Lord Tellurine]

The gardens surrounding the von Schmect estate were a kaleidoscope of colors, aromas, and textures. On this early summer morning, the rain droplets from the previous evening rain still clung to the prickly stems of the white roses, assorted small birds pecked at the soft mud easily snatching up a juicy worm for breakfast, and a warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the lilac bushes.

“GUSTAV!” The morning calm was suddenly shattered as Baron von Schmect exited his estate and bellowed forth. “Gustav, where are you?” he called into the warm morning air. Gustav was never outside, unless ordered to be by the Baron, so why the Baron was looking for him outside was a mystery nobody could solve.

Gustav appeared behind him from inside. “Yes, sir,” he responded to the Baron’s back.

The Baron spun around, as fast as an elderly man could, and said, “I’ve been calling for you, Gustav.”

“I know, sir,” Gustav replied politely.

“What’re you doing inside?”

“I’m always inside,” Gustav informed as politely as he could. See? A mystery!

“It’s time to leave,” the Baron said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I was calling you to tell you it’s time to leave. I called for you inside. You didn’t answer… So I came out here to call for you.” Oh, well, I guess the mystery is solved.

“I WAS inside, sir… I was going… sir.”

“We’re going now, Gustav.”

“I was going before we went, sir.”

The Baron gave him a confused look. “What?”

“My father always taught me to go before a long trip.”

The Baron eyed him like he was from another planet and was speaking a language unknown to him. “How can you ‘go’ before you ‘go’, Gustav?”

Gustav sighed an embarrassed sigh. “I tinkled, sir,” he finally said.

The Baroness appeared, dressed in her finest travel wear. “Such language!” she decried. “Have him whipped, dear,” she told her husband.

“We haven’t time. We have to go,” he said back. He glared at Gustav. “That is if it’s all right with people who’ve already gone.”

The Baroness ignored the last thing her husband said and turned to Gustav. “Remind me to have you whipped when we get to Arconia.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied back.

“And don’t you try to not tell me… I’ll have you whipped if you do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The elderly couple climbed into their carriage. Gustav followed them in. The Baron asked him, “Where’s our grandson, Silas? Don’t tell me he’s going before we go too?”

Gustav answered, “No, sir. He went already.”

“So where is he?”

“He’s gone.”

“I KNOW THAT! Why isn’t he here?”

“He left last night, sir. As soon as I told him the situation in Arconia he gathered a group of twenty guards and headed out last night. He wanted to get things ready for you there.”

“Such a good boy. Driver, let’s go!”

The carriage lunged forward and began its journey. Before reaching the end of the garden, though, it stopped. The Baron had to go.

[Lord Tellurine]

Lord Byron Tellurine was taking a mid-day stroll through a small little-used courtyard on the outskirt of town. He was pondering what Harold Wesley had told him about the King and Queen both being gone. Had he been the man he was a few days ago he would have exploited the absence of royalty, but now he was bound to protect Arconia, as it was the wishes of the new King and Queen of Muu, who he dutifully served. The stroll through the courtyard helped Lord Byron Tellurine’s brain try to grasp this concept of helping rather than destroying. The courtyard boasted a handful of ill-cared for shrubs, a forgotten water well, and a distant voice calling out, “Help! Somebody get me out of here!”

Lord Byron Tellurine stopped, momentarily glaring at the writer for his habit of continuously using his detested first name, and wondered where the voice could be coming from. “I’m in the well,” came the well timed, if not predictable, reply.

Tellurine hurried over to the well and peered down into its darkened depths. He could see nobody. He called out, “Anyone down there?”

“Yes,” came back the voice. “I’m Julius Abernathy. I was performing an experiment in the well down here when my rope snapped. Can you send down a new rope?”

Lord Tellurine did.

“Could you now send down a new rope that is tied to something up there?” Abernathy now requested.

Tellurine rolled his eyes in annoyance and did what he was asked to do. Soon, Dr. Abernathy was pulling himself out of the well, squinting at the noontime sun. Tellurine asked, “What kind of experiment do you do at the bottom of a well?”

“An unsuccessful one, I’m afraid,” the soaking wet doctor declared. “I was attempting to disprove the notion conceived some years ago of what happens when a body is submerged in water.”

“That the water is displaced and the volume of the displaced water equals that of the volume of the subject placed in the water?” Tellurine offered.

“No,” disagreed Abernathy quickly. “That as soon as you submerge yourself in water something starts ringing.” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, twisted it, and squeezed some water out onto the stones beneath his feet.

“And the experiment was unsuccessful?” queried Tellurine.

“That it was,” admitted Abernathy. “I thought by using this well I would avoid the household disturbances that can occur, but as soon as I lowered myself into the water, the bells of the St. Craig Cathedral starting ringing the hour.” He sighed in defeat. “Then as I tried to climb out, my rope snapped, and I got stuck down in there.”

“Well, perhaps in the future, Doctor” Tellurine said helpfully, “you should stick to healing the sick and leave the well alone.”

Abernathy took a good look at his rescuer for the first time. “Have we met before?”

Tellurine winced. That only other time they had met was months ago when Tellurine was using the name of Kliff Fauldergraft and was trying to incite a riot against King Arcon. “Nope,” he lied effortlessly.

“Then how did you know I was a doctor?”

Tellurine grinned weakly. “Lucky guess?”

“Perhaps… And you are?”

“I am Lord By… (He cleared his throat purposely, catching the attention of the writer.) I’m Lord Tellurine. Special agent to the King and Queen of Muu.”

Dr. Abernathy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Meekal and Buffy! You must be very proud to serve them.”

Tellurine bit his tongue and said dryly, “I am ecstatic.”

“I’m going over to the castle later this afternoon to check on her condition. You know, she’s with child.”

Tellurine became suddenly enraged. “That’s hardly the way an agent of Muu would like to hear his King spoken of!”

Abernathy blushed with embarrassment. “No, no… Not Meekal. She’s pregnant. She’s going to have a baby.”

“Oh.” Tellurine wondered what kind of wedding night they had had and gave a reminder to himself to get some pointers from Meekal. “And to think I was going to suggest she go on a low cart diet.”

“A what?”

“It’s all the rage in Muu. You don’t eat anything that’s transported around in carts… Breads, vegetables, fruits…”

“Just meat?”

“That’s it.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“It is. Anyway, if you’re going to see the Queen of Muu this afternoon, I’m afraid you’ll be out of luck. I’ve been informed that she’s left town.”

“She left town?” Abernathy puffed indignantly. “In her condition? I’m going to have to give her a talking to when she gets back into town. One about being not so selfish!”

“Can I watch?” Tellurine asked excitedly.

Abernathy peered at Tellurine thoughtfully. “As her special agent, I’m surprised you haven’t gone with her.”

“It’s better all around if I work away from her Highness. We have a rocky history together.”

“I see,” nodded Abernathy, not knowing what he was referring to. “I guess this way you can keep things running smoothly here then?”

“Exactly,” smiled Tellurine.

The conversation suddenly came to a stop as a group of guards dressed in the von Schmect colors and headed by Silas von Schmect galloped by, heading for the castle.

Abernathy asked, “Wasn’t that Silas von Schmect?”

“It certainly was,” Tellurine said, his eyes continuing to watch them as they disappeared around the corner.

“I wonder what he’s doing here? Someone should tell Queen Zelda.”

“If only they could,” mumbled Tellurine. He added, “Perhaps I’ll go do that.” Tellurine rushed off.

Abernathy was taken aback by Tellurine’s sudden and hasty departure. He exclaimed, “Well!"

[Lord Tellurine]

Lord Tellurine took a shortcut he was aware of (through a vegetable garden) and arrived at the castle just as Silas von Schmect was dismounting at the front gate. A bewildered Arconian Royal Guard watched cautiously. Tellurine, gasping for air, and pulling cabbage leaves out of his bootstrap, told Silas, “I need a word with you, Silas.”

“Tellurine!” Silas exclaimed, looking the Lord over with a blissful sneer. “I’m glad you’re here. My grandfather wishes your assistance. The von Schmects are taking over Arconia.”

“Excuse me?” asked the guard, who stood a few feet away.

“Never you mind,” snapped Tellurine, who then turned to Silas. “I’m happy to hear that,” Tellurine said to Silas with a fake smile. “Obviously, you’ve heard of the absence of the royal couple.”

“As have you, it seems,” admired Silas. “I’m surprised you’re not in there right now, ruling in the name of Muu.”

The guard gave a perplexed look and asked, “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Tellurine told the man. “Silas,” Tellurine explained softly, “Muu is under new leadership.”

“I heard that. A Prince Meekal, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The Daft Prince.”

Silas offered, “I imagine you have him under your control by now, don’t you, Telly?”

“Don’t call me that,” he insisted un-amused. “It’s not quite that simple,” he said in hushed tones. “He has the Swordsman’s protection and his wife… Well, let’s just say I’ve been on the wrong end of a sword too many times with her.”

Silas laughed. “Whipped by a pampered princess, Telly? You have lost your touch.”

“Please, don’t call me that. She’s not your usual pampered princess… She’s Arconia’s royal scribe.”

“Lady Moon of the Quill?” snickered Silas. “That pregnant hack can be a bore, but certainly not a bother.”

Tellurine wondered for a moment how he knew she was pregnant. He thought maybe Meekal was just being very vocal about his wedding night escapades, but then decided it was just a convenient plot hole. He asked, “What do you plan to do here?”

“I told you,” said Silas, nonchalantly, “the von Schmects are taking over Arconia.”

“Um, excuse me again,” said the guard, who seemed to be growing nervous. “Did you just say, ‘the von Schmects are taking over Arconia?’ Because if that’s the case, I’ll need to get my supervisor.”

“You best do that,” Tellurine told him with a discourteous smile. As the guard went off, Tellurine said to Silas, “What do you plan to do once you take over?”

“We’ll rule Arconia… Except it will no longer be the Kingdom of Arconia. It’ll be the United Nation States of the Protectorate Under von Schmect.”

Tellurine took a moment to let all of that sink in. “Plan to spend a fortune on letterhead, don’t you? Look, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. The Swordsman has agents about, and I’ve heard rumblings that the Syndicate has aligned itself with the crown.”

“Pure poppycock,” Silas spat. “That’s always been your trouble, Telly. Not smart enough to know an opportunity.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that!” A right hook later, Silas von Schmect was on the ground. Silas’s men began to approach, but Silas waved them back. “If you want some advice: You can go through with you little plan to take over, but you face obstacles you’re too stupid to recognize… If you want any more of my advice, you can find me in the Bitter End.”

A few minutes later Lord Tellurine was sitting next to Wooden Bob. “I need a drink!” he told no one in particular. Steve took it as a cue to pour one.

Wooden Bob chimed in, “I’ll drink to that!” He did.

Tellurine announced, “This country is going to pot!”

“I’ll drink to that!” exclaimed Wooden Bob, taking another swig.

“Stupid royal couple left the government vulnerable! Now we’re going to have some badly named nation state protectorate thing!”

“You know what they say,” Wooden Bob said, “Practice safe government. Always use a Kingdom!”

Steve set a drink in front of Tellurine. “I’ll drink to that!” He promptly did.

[Zelda]

Tell, you are a certified genius...MORE! I want MORE! As for needing to get a supervisor, I wonder who is left of the higher ranks???

[Lord Tellurine]

The guard’s name was Horatio Woodson, but he preferred to be called Horace. His superior was Fortalin FitzUrse, but he preferred not have been called when he saw Silas von Schmect and 20 of his men entering the front gates. Horace said to Fortalin, “I told you.” Indeed he had. In a blubbering, rushed, and frantic way Horace had informed Fortalin that Arconia was being taken over. He also proudly stated that he had heard the entire plan. He didn’t point out that he heard the “plan to take over” while standing full in view just a few feet away.

“You did good,” Fortalin told Horace, not believing it for a minute. If he had done good Horace might have closed the front gate before abandoning his post to get his superior. Fortalin had no desire to blame Horace for this mess. Horace was the last choice to be given front gate duty and he never should’ve had it all by himself, but Royal Guards were in short supply these days. With the recent explosions, assignation attempts, and extra surveillance aimed at the Russ, compounded with the fact that the Duke of Angford and the Earl of Brenwyck had recently taken their troops back to their respective homelands, royal guards were in short supply, making taking over the castle a relatively easy task.

Fortalin smiled bravely and approached Silas von Schmect, who was also smiling, but not nearly as bravely. “May I help you?” he asked courteously.

“Is your King or Queen around?” asked Silas, knowing full well the answer.

Fortalin replied back cheerfully, “I’m sorry, they’ve stepped out. May I take a message?”

Silas stopped smiling. “No. I’m here to announce that Baron von Schmect, my Grandfather is coming to take over the running of the government.”

Fortalin continued to smile, but it wasn’t as bravely. “That won’t be necessary. You can tell your grandfather his services won’t be needed.”

Silas countered with, “I’m afraid it’s your services that won’t be needed. The positions of royal guards are being outsourced.”

This confused Fortalin more than it concerned him. “They’re being what?”

“Outsourced,” Silas repeated carefully.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re OUT and we hope you’re not to SORE about it.”

Now Fortalin was a well-trained guard and even if he didn’t know what outsourcing was, he knew there weren’t enough royal guards to take on Silas’s goon squad, so there was only one thing left to do. “Can I show you around?” he asked politely.

Silas smiled again. “I’ll let myself in.” He did. And he didn’t wipe his feet.

[Darion McNair]

Jeremiah O’Conner turned the corner heading quickly on his way to the office of one of the Royal Scribes. As an assistant to the queen’s scribes he was tasked with running errands and delivering messages that the scribes would record as notes or documents for the king and queen to look over when they returned. Jeremiah handled all sorts of information, from the little details of what was served for food on any given day to what economic business had passed in the kingdom lately. Four weeks it took for him to get recommended for this position. The position was coveted by no one but those who wanted to know everything. Jeremiah was definitely one of those people, you see, he had superiors much different from the Royal Scribes.

The commendation he had received from Commander Gracchus was a very valuable one indeed. He was well aware that with the royalty gone, his job had become that much more important to the Syndicate. He had to be the eyes and ears of the Chair Consul to ensure no one caused any trouble while Zelda and Arcon were away. It seemed however, that trouble was already brewing. The letter in his hand was an interesting one.

Outsourcing? Jeremiah thought to himself. It seemed several of the royal guards were being disposed of in the most business like way possible, they were being fired. Something had to be done quickly, the name on the letter that was fingered as the source of the putting out was closely related to Baron Von Schmect. He was making his move and the only one in position to stop him was Jeremiah, until he could bring to bear other forces in the Syndicate.

[Lord Tellurine]

The dinner special at The Bitter End was a new concoction that Steve had come up with. He took a perfectly awful piece of beef; some other inedible cow parts, ground them up, shaped it into a patty, and cooked it in a shallow pan over a high flame. Then Steve accidentally sneezed on it. He served it to Lord Tellurine, who took a big bite and chewed enthusiastically. After swallowing he asked what this new taste sensation was called. “That’s just a boo-rger,” Steve replied, quickly realizing the truth was not what he was asking for. Thus, a new food craze was born and another nail went into The Bitter End’s health code coffin.

Holden M. Christian sat at a table with his fellow thespians. He was there to eat, drink, and hear a story that would inspire a new play that he and his company could present to the huddled masses of Arconia City. When Jessira asked what he’d like to eat he replied, “I’ll have what he’s having,” and gestured up towards Lord Tellurine. “What is that?”

“I believe we’re calling that a ‘burger.’ It’s a new recipe.”

“Well, have him make one extra special for me.”

Bart, the troupe’s lead minstrel chimed in, “For him you better make it a HAM burger!” He laughed hysterically.

Jessira rolled her eyes and mumbled about how she hated actors, then turned to go place their order.

In the back of The Bitter End, Peggy and Anton were waiting for Harold to show up. “I suppose he’s been grounded again,” offered Peggy, who noticed it was getting close to dinnertime.

“That’s never stopped him before,” argued Anton, and was proven right when Harold showed up. “Had trouble escaping, mate?”

Harold flashed him a wide-eyed look. “No, mum and dad were a little pre-occupied to worry about me. Something strange is going on at the castle.”

Peggy asked, “What’s going on?”

“I’ve only heard rumors, but the talk is that the von Schmects are vying for control,” Harold answered, pronouncing the name with as much venom as he could muster. “Silas arrived this afternoon and started dismantling the royal guard. The Baron and Baroness just arrived themselves. Without the King and Queen around, there’s nobody to stop ‘em.”

“They can’t get away with that,” said Peggy. “Certainly the King and Queen appointed someone to rule in their absence!”

“Sure, but who? Nobody knows who that is!”

“Hi, kids.” The conversation was suddenly interrupted. They looked up and saw Mary, the young actress that had asked for their help in wooing Holden M. Christian. “I know you’re here to talk to Holden about a new play idea, but do you think you can help me with my problem too?”

Anton told her, “Mary, we got bigger problems than your love life!”

Peggy hit him. “Shut up, Anton. We promised we’d help her, and help her we shall.” She softened her glare from cheesed-off to friendly and looked at Mary. “Please ignore, Anton. I know I try to. Of course we’ll help you.”

Mary sat down at the table with them. “You said I should talk to your sister. Do you think she’ll help?”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “I spoke with her last night. She said she’d help only if you didn’t use her secrets of men snatching to lure good looking men away from her.”

“I won’t,” Mary said with a smile. “I just want Holden.”

Anton interjected, “You’ll have to wait to get a guy before you’ll get any of that.” Peggy elbowed him violently. “Ouch!”

“I’ll get my sister over here,” promised Peggy and she stood and walked away.

Anton smiled warmly at Mary. “No worries, Mary. Peggy’s sister is a genius when it comes to bagging men.”

Ophelia Roenseller was a beautiful young lady, but she never relied on just her looks to “bag a man.” It took cunning, trickery, and most important of all, a vapid expression that threw men off her manipulative tactics. “Like, hi!” Ophelia greeted enthusiastically, her large bright eyes blinking dramatically.

“Hello,” said Mary, slightly taken aback.

“So you need men help, huh?” Ophelia asked, getting right to the point.

“Yes. I love a man who does not know I exist.”

Ophelia gasped in astonishment. “Are you kidding? A beautiful woman such as yourself?”

Mary’s face shone red with embarrassment. “Am I really?”

“No, not really,” revealed Ophelia, “but the important thing is to make him believe you are. Like I just did with you.” She stood triumphantly.

“Oh,” replied Mary, just a little crestfallen. “How do I do that?”

“Jealousy. It’s a simple as that. Let your man see you get the attention of another guy and suddenly he’ll realize what he’s missing.”

“What guy can I get the attention of?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ophelia took a sweeping look through the Bitter End. “Not much here to go by… Unless you like drunks… Tell you what! The next man who walks through that door, you throw yourself at! That’ll get your man’s attention!”

Mary considered the plan for a moment then announced, “I’ll do it.” She stood and marched over towards the door so she could pounce on the next man who walked in.

Ophelia sighed triumphantly and went back to work. Harold looked at Peggy, “Do you think that’ll actually work?”

Peggy answered, “I haven’t a clue, but if there’s one thing my sister knows… And there really is one thing my sister knows, it’s guys.”

Anton moved his chair closer to Peggy’s. “You know… I’m a guy. So, if you ever want to do some research on the subject…”

Peggy gave him her usual look of disgust. “Fine. I’ll take the correspondence course.”

Harold interrupted, “All right, now that that’s all settled, let’s talk to Holden about our script idea. Then we can focus on the von Schmects.”

Peggy laughed. “It’s a good thing you didn’t mention the von Schmects when Ophelia was around. She absolutely despises Silas von Schmect. He’s been wanted to marry her for years.”

Harold nodded in agreement. “They’re all scum. I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to marry him.”

Peggy thought for a moment. “Although, if he’s going to be ruling Arconia… She may change her mind. You know what they say… Power is an aphrodisiac.”

Anton asked, “Power is a spider?”

“That’s an arachnid.”

“Oh.” The kids walked over towards the actors.

[Lord Tellurine]

Baron and Baroness von Schmect gazed in awe at the Arconian Throne Room. “Ours,” croaked the Baroness. “It’s all ours!” Her artificial, drawn on, eyebrows raised in excitement.

“Let’s not get carried away,” cautioned the Baron. “We first need to solidify our power.” He punctuated that remark by squeezing his fist tightly. A few of his ancient bones cracked under the strain. “We need to root out those that are still loyal to Arcon and Zelda. GUSTAV!”

Gustav was standing right next to the Baron. He shuddered at the elderly man’s shrill voice. “Right here, sir,” he said promptly.

The suddenness of Gustav’s voice took the Baron off guard. He faced his manservant. “Oh… Good. Tell the cook we want a feast. Have her prepare the best of everything. Including my favorite soup: Turtle. And tell her to make it snappy.”

“Yes, sir.” Gustav bravely made his way towards the kitchen and the wrath of Nani.

The Baron licked his thin cold lips in anticipation of the meal. A sudden thought struck him. “SILAS!”

“Right here, Grandfather.” He had been on the other side.

The Baron spun around to face his grandson. “Where is Lord Tellurine? I wanted his assistance here in Arconia!”

Silas’s helpful smile turned sour at the Lord’s name. He intoned, “I met him when we arrived. He didn’t seem eager to help.”

The old Baron frowned and spat at his grandson, “I don’t care if he punched you in the mouth! I want to see him!”

“Well, actually he did…”

“Now!”

“Yes, Grandfather.” Silas quickly made is way out of the throne room and towards the exit of the castle. “Now, where was it he said I could find him?”

The Baroness smiled a cruel smile and wondered aloud, “I wonder where Zelda’s room is?”

The Baron joined her in an evil smile. “Let’s go see.” They made their way out of the throne room.

[Lord Tellurine]

“Good evening, Holden,” Harold said, after approaching the actor’s table.

“Good evening… Harold, wasn’t it?”

Harold smiled. “Yes, sir. Harold. May I introduce my friends, Anton and Peggy?”

“Hello, kids,” Holden said warmly. “Sit down, won’t you?” Harold, Anton, and Peggy sat down around the small table with the other troupe members. “So, tell me this adventure filled story.”

Reg, one of the other actors spoke up. “Should we wait until Mary’s back over here? She’ll want to hear this too.”

Holden got a perturbed look on his face. “Where is she anyway?” He scanned the room, finally seeing her by the front door to the inn. “What is she doing over there?”

“Waiting for someone,” answered Peggy quickly. “She met a lover here in town and he’s coming by to see her tonight.”

Holden’s face contorted in thought. “When has she had the time to meet new people?”

“You’d be amazed at how fast you can meet someone here in Arconia,” offered Harold.

“Really?” asked a bewildered Holden.

“Yeah,” added Anton. “For instance. I just met you like fifteen seconds ago.” Peggy gave him an exasperated look.

Bart, the minstrel laughed. “The kid’s got a point, Holden.”

“Fair enough,” relented Holden. “Now, first tell me… What are the characters of this tale?”

Harold thought a moment then answered, “Myself, Anton, and Peggy. Meera… She’s the kid we saved… Holly Dayye… That’s the proprietor of the inn. Gregory Thatch… He’s dead. Lord Tellurine… He’s sitting over there by Wooden Bob.” Harold pointed towards Tellurine.

“Really?” Holden said, eyeing the lord. “I’ll have to get his viewpoint of the story also.”

“That’s not advisable,” cautioned Peggy. “He’s not the most reliable person.”

“Fine… fine… Anyone else?”

“Well, there’s Fortalin… That’s Meera’s uncle. And Meekal and Moon…”

Holden’s eyes widened. “Lady Moon?” he asked.

“Yes,” Harold answered. “Although, now she’s…”

“Queen of Muu,” finished Holden.

“Yeah. Word has it she got back into town this afternoon. I wonder how she’ll take this von Schmect business?”

“You know,” said Holden thoughtfully, ignoring Harold’s last few words. “I really do need an adult’s point of view on this story… And since Lord Tellurine over there isn’t a reliable source, perhaps you can take me to Lady Moon at the castle?”

“I suppose,” Harold said with trepidation. He gave Peggy and Anton a concerned look. “The only problem is, there’s something going on at the castle right now…”

“Poppycock! I’ve performed in every royal court there is. Why the King of Strahfurt was overwhelmed by my impression of him. You see it’s all in his lisp… Once you have that down you are gold.”

Harold perked up. He asked, “Could you do an impression of King Arcon?”

Holden thought it over as Peggy and Anton gave Harold a look of puzzlement. “Yes,” he finally answered slowly. “Yes, I think I could.”

“Costume and everything?” pressed Harold.

“Certainly. We have all types of costume at our disposal.”

Harold bit down on his bottom lip as he formed a plan. “If you dress up and act like King Arcon, we’ll take you to the castle to see Lady Moon, er, the Queen of Muu.”

“Why do I need to…?” he started.

“So it’ll be a surprise to her,” offered Peggy, who began to understand Harold’s scheme.

Holden declared, “I’ll do it! Let’s go!” They all stood from their table and Holden led them out the side door, which took them towards the actor’s encampment.

Suddenly, the front door opened and Silas von Schmect entered. Mary rushed up and threw her arms around him. “You’re finally here, lover!” she exclaimed, kissing him on the cheek. She turned to see how Holden was reacting to her flaunting. He was gone. Her stomach turned.

Silas gave her an odd look, and then shrugged. “No wonder Tellurine comes here.”