The Seven Kingdoms (3)
The Third Kingdom – Part I
Reading time: 8 minutes
Image: ShenXin
Satisfied, fulfilled, yet empty and tranquil, he woke up from a dream in which he was a cell amongst billions of other cells, swimming their tails off to get really fast to what looked like a giant pink sphere with a seemingly impenetrable wall. When his eyes opened, what at first appeared to be the inside of the sphere, turned out to be deep red velvet curtains all around him. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he then saw four wooden posts full of ornaments at the corners. There were other vague hints reminding him of something familiar in the form of pillows and sheets, and quickly he realized he had ended up in a huge bed. Slowly he crawled to the foot-end, making sure he didn’t hear nor make any noise, and when he reached the curtains, before opening them he sat in complete silence long enough to convince himself there was nobody else around.
The giant four-poster stood at one far end of a rectangular room which measured almost two normal-sized living rooms. At the opposite end of the room stood a large mahogany desk which was placed in front of a giant painting of an obviously very important person, towards which the guest chairs in front of the desk were facing. The man in the painting wore a formal, probably military, uniform, since it was bright red with blue stripes and decorated with all kinds of honours and awards. The face was long and slim, with cheekbones sticking out and eyes buried deep in their sockets. Andy felt the hairs on his back sticking out as the portrait seemed to stare right through him.
Similar velvet curtains to the ones which hung around the bed were draped on either sides of the three immense windows on his left, but these were of such a deep green that one could have mistaken them for black. The sunlight revealed their true colour though, and the decanters on top of the cellaret in front of the middle window served as prisms from which all the colours of the rainbow spread out like a Chinese fan over the floor. On either side of the cellaret stood a large Chesterfield armchair, each accompanied with its own hand-made, mahogany side-table on one side, and a marble ashtray on a tall, slim stand on the other.
Andy was overwhelmed with the quality and quantity of luxury he found himself surrounded with, and as his gaze slowly turned toward his right, one of two doors, the one closest to the desk, opened inward. A man in a black suit followed in its wake. Andy’s breath stopped halfway down his trachea and his heart seemed to miss a few beats, but the man seemed totally absorbed in some bureaucratic matter as he approached the desk and sat down behind it while putting his paperwork down in front of him. Then he looked up.
An excruciating headache combined with a big bump on his head were the tangible manifestations of his struggle with the guards. He had tried every trick in the book to get out of his predicament, but Mr. Dent, the man in black, couldn’t be moved an inch. Being unable to come up with a satisfactory explanation of how he had gotten into the King’s bed and why he was there, Mr. Dent had called the palace guards to escort Andy towards one of the barred guestrooms for the less well behaved. And even though he had done nothing physical which would have been reason for caution, his incessant pleading and wailing had been way more than the head guard was prepared to deal with, especially after three warnings.
When he was finally summoned out of his cell, three days had gone by. Three days where his meals had consisted of water and bread, and where lice had been his bedfellows. He was then showered, shaven, and put into a brand new suit, after which he was escorted to what looked like a knights hall. Like in your average church or courtroom, the room was filled from the back until almost halfway down its length with rows of wooden benches. This area was sealed off with a low wooden fence where a few guards were posted. In front, on either side, were benches and in the middle, at the far end, the King was sitting on a throne made of gold and precious jewels. On his left, on a slightly smaller but no less spectacular throne sat the Queen, whose beauty shone so bright one almost needed sunglasses to gaze directly at her.
“Next case: Farmer Abramson versus Jones the bookkeeper. Please take your seats.”
The benches behind the wooden fence on either side were now being occupied by average folk in their best dress, accompanied by lawyers whose design clothing made their clients look like vagabonds. Opening statements were made and it was obvious to Andy that he had to explain himself to the King, but first he was made to sit in the back to await his turn, and, judging by the size of the crowd, he expected this was going to be a long day.
However, as time went by, his terror was slowly replaced by a certain hint of confidence, because in his rulings the King actually appeared to be a rather wise man, which is to say that in most cases he was able to bring the quarrelling parties to a mutual understanding. If he already had these abilities at such a relatively young age, since Andy was only 36 and he estimated the King not much older, surely he could show understanding for Andy’s rather unusual story.
“Next case: Andy Hoover versus The King.”
“The King?” Andy heard himself yelling out loud. “But I have nothing against the King! I didn’t do anything! Long live the King!” Yet as soon as he recognized the figure at the far end of his peripheral view as being the head guard, he quietly took his seat.
“Well well, mister Hoover. You may think to have made no act against me, but if I am not mistaken, you were found in my bed, is that not correct? And unless my memory plays tricks on me, having never met you before in my life, I could hardly have given you permission to do so. Or did my lovely Queen forget to tell me something I should know?”
While the King and his assembly laughed and the Queen’s gaze shot fire at her husband, Andy’s eyes filled with tears and all his accumulated hope left him like breath leaving the about to be deceased.
“So, tell me mister Hoover, were you or were you not found in my bed without my permission?”
It was as if Andy’s throat was being squeezed to the point of not being able to breathe, let alone talk, so his appointed yuppie-lawyer elbowed him in the ribs as an inclination to answer the King’s question.
“Yes, sir.”
“Before we proceed, mister Hoover, you will address me as ‘Your Majesty’, is that clear?”
“Yes sir. I mean, excuse me, yes, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Now that we have that out of the way, before we go on to the ‘why’, first I am very intended on finding out the ‘how’.” And while emphasizing that last word he suspiciously eyed the head guard, who then sheepishly stared at the ground in reply.
Andy didn’t know what to say, and soon after that thought another elbow hit his ribs.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Your Majesty, for I honestly don’t know how I ended up in your bed…”
“Stop right there, mister Hoover. Before you proceed, you need to know a few things about my palace, which is a fine and impenetrable fortress if there ever was one. It’s designed to keep even mice out if that were to be my wish, which it isn’t, and during my reign no living being has ever made it so far as past the outside gate without permission. For you to then all of a sudden be found in my bed, could evoke the assumption that this palace is actually as waterproof as a colander. Be that as it may, mistakes are made – we’re human after all – and I am very keen on learning where our security failed. So please, if you be so kind as to tell us exactly how you got past all our security measures and into my bed, I’d be much obliged.”
Certain individuals now looked anxiously at Andy, particularly those responsible for safety rules and regulations, which didn’t pass the King unnoticed. What they didn’t, and couldn’t know, was that Andy’s terror outweighed theirs by a factor of ten.
“Your Majesty,” he pleaded, “I honestly don’t know I ended up in your b…um…that place where obviously I should not have been. I wish I could tell you more, but this past week has been the craziest I’ve ever had! I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with the security of your palace, but I have no idea how I ended up there!”
A frown appeared on the King’s face.
“Are you seriously suggesting I ought to entertain the possibility that you arose out of thin air into my bed?”
Andy felt the last bit of courage leaking away and needed all his might to not faint right then and there, and when hopelessness turned into fatalism, he decided to tell all he knew.
“Yes Your Majesty. Well, I mean, no, but…*sigh*. Okay, here’s what happened. The last thing I remember before waking up in your b…um…room, was this giant party in the queendom of Queen Svadhisthana where people were dancing and laughing and…um…dancing, and so on. I was having a wonderful time but I don’t know where and when I fell asleep. Then next thing I know I woke up here and met Mr. Dent. I’m so sorry I can’t be of more assistance, but that’s the honest truth!”
Somewhere in Andy’s subconscious there appeared to be a hint of a perception of a split-second twinkle in the King’s eyes when he spoke out Queen Svadhisthana’s name, but other than that the King’s face was an impenetrable mask, which now exactly resembled the face Andy had seen on the painting in the bedroom. The eyes appeared to drill holes into Andy’s forehead, and cold sweat broke out on his back together with the heebie jeebies all over his body.
“I see. Well, mister Hoover, I guess that wraps it up. Take him away.”
A sigh of sweet relief was clearly visible on many faces in the room, except on Andy’s, which resembled that of a pretty young lady who’s about to be slaughtered in a B-slasher movie. Before he knew it, he was back in his cell.
It could have been six days or three weeks; he completely lost all track of time. Yet while reflecting on his hopeless situation and simultaneously creating new depths in the realm of pouting, suddenly he heard a key entering the lock of his cell, and within seconds he was being dragged out by two huge men in black suits. Since one of them had said: “You make a noise, you die,” Andy meekly went along with what appeared to be a speed-walk through a maze; entering secret doors, passing low corridors, stairs going up, entering a hall and leaving it again through an invisible hatch cover, stairs going down, and so on.
After what seemed like forever, they finally entered a space with darkness thicker than a fog curtain on a British cemetery at 3AM during new moon. Yet the men obviously knew their way around because they dragged Andy right into it, took him effortlessly down a small staircase and placed him on something soft.
“Stay.” They turned around, walked back to where they came from and closed the door.
End of part I
What kind of predicament has Andy found himself in now? Will he get out of it and find what he’s so desperately seeking? Find out in The Third Kingdom - Part II which will be published soon.
For now,
Jolly greetings,
Erik Stout
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