The Manic Monarch

Wormwood [Riverdale], Cirith, Darkfur, Guards [Darkfur]

The day has grown old, but it's difficult to tell in the windowless throne room. The chandelier splashes its flickering yellow glow over the width and length of the hall. The throne stands empty, as if embodying the acephalous atmosphere that hangs over the day's events. Wormwood sits at a desk that has been dragged in for that purpose, dabbing at his brow and generally absorbed in his duties.

Cirith comes in, a bit dumb strucken

The heavyset rat continues to scribble on a piece of parchment, seeming quite urgent as he goes. He seems not to notice Cirith's pawsteps upon the threshold.

Cirith says, "graet, just great...I made Oilrag whant ta kill me...just great..."

At last, Wormwood looks up. He blinks rather dully twice and, still grasping his quill betwixt thick but dextrous digits, he inquires, "And what do you mean by that? Have you /seen/ Oilrag?"

Cirith says, "yes, and now he whants to hang me"

Wormwood's lips tighten into a sharp line. He drops the quill. "/When/ did you see him?" he demands.

Cirith says, "earlyer this day..."

Wormwood pushes away from the table. "And you failed to apprehend him?!" he cries, throwing his stubby arms forward in a gesture of strangulation. "You, a slaver! And you did not thwart him!" He sets his jaw. "The king must be told of this--this, this in/com/petence!" He rubs a forearm across his damp brow. "No, no--first. Think, which way did he go?"

Cirith says, "Punch come and siad that the king reolesed the mastak he made...and than tuke Oilrag down to the docks..."

"Punch said. /Punch/ said!" Wormwood is livid, but his words are tinged with desperation, fear... doubt. "Do you take orders from Punch? He is a builder. A second-rate builder at that--underhanded, low-born little--" He stops--calm, suddenly. "Punch, you said. Now isn't that interesting."

Cirith says, "well...the guards obawd him..."

Wormwood scratches his neck. "Hmm. No doubt they are confused." He himself looks a bit confused. "These orders, this... revelation came so suddenly. It has thrown many of us into doubt." The recorder has regained his composure. "Impostors among us! And such convincing ones at that." He pauses on this point briefly. "But," (firmly now), "the king's word is law. It can not be countermanded by some /builder/."

Cirith says, "right...dose that mene I can hunt down Punch as well?"

Wormwood's ear tips redden. "I-I'm afraid I am in no position to give orders. Only the king's word can touch him. He is," he says with some distaste, "an advisor to the king, after all. One of the inner circle." He looks sharply at Cirith. "You were away during young Punch's... rather rapid promotion. I have always harbored my doubts." Wormwood clears his throat. "But! I think a matter of such gravity warrants an imposition upon the king's privacy. Come," he beckons the slaver toward the king's bedchamber.

Cirith says, "hm, yes sir"

After a moment's consultation, Wormwood convinces the guards to stand aside, and he enters the king's private chamber with Cirith.

Cirith comes in after him

The recorder takes a few steps into the darkened room and genuflects some distance from where the king is taking his rest. "Your Majesty," Wormwood utters in a deferential hush. He waits to be acknowledged before proceeding.

"This had better be news of those imposters captured." The king leans up and rubs his eyes. "What is it? Is it that?" The king is still regaining his senses, drapping feet over the side of the large, plush mattress and slipping them into equally luxurious slippers. Robe fastened, he approaches the other beast.

Cirith asks, "um, my lord, so you did not order to call of the serch?"

Wormwood remains on his knee, not daring to answer the king's question--and saved from having to do so by Cirith's question.

Cirith asks, "my lord?"

"Absolutely not! What on this isle would cause you to think I would just forget this matter altogether?" The emperor looks between them, one after the other, and approaches Cirith, "Absolutely /not/. Stay the course and bring our beloved late family to justice! Now is not soon enough to avenge them!" The king flinches, gritting his teeth and looking past her shoulder to the open doorway. He brushes past and runs down the steps.

"My lord!" she calls after him "it 'twas Punch who told me that!"

Wormwood rises at a measured pace (perhaps necessarily measured: he wheezes a bit at the effort). "Most interesting," he remarks at the king's fleeing back.

The Emperor grins, and grabs one of the sentries by the shoulders, "We'll have them soon, yes! Yes... your brother in arms is out there.. probably at this very moment apprehending those stupid impersonating villains! Do you want to know a secret, hm? Oh.. not now, here they come." He composes himself and starts to slowly descend the steps, "Ahem.. when they arrive back here, I will have to call council to meet. I would like both of you there. There is no doubt that whatever beast is responsible for this has the resources to bring this empire to its knees..."

Wormwood pants in behind the manic monarch. "I... shall... record it all in... detail, my lord."

Cirith says, "um, my lord, Punch was the one who tolled me tthat you called of the sirch"

Darkfur spins around, his face distorting in confusion and then registering an epiphanic glee, "Aha!! Yes, then he is not who he would seem either! It makes perfect sense - he is not here; he has gone before Viddick to seize up the Empress before she would be caught, and so is in league with her! To slow the chase, he is spreading lies! To think, I am trusting all around me without the slightest..." He pauses, and looks up at both of them. "Perhaps I am speaking my mind too freely in present company... yes..." He gives the guards at the top of the steps a nod.

At the nod, both guards descend and are ready for a split-second order, which is given at the last moment, "These two, seize them. We will see who everybeast in this court /really/ is, down to the last one!"

Cirith asks, "what? but, my lord"

Wormwood stands there, looking utterly pathetic, stupid from incomprehension. As recognition dawns, his dull face wilts. "Your Majesty!" he rasps in a feeble voice. "Your Majesty! I have given my life--my life! How do you not recognize me? I am Wormwood." He holds his short arms outstretched, limply fending off the approaching guards. "Your Majesty!! King Darkfur!" he pleads.

Darkfur laughs. "My goodness, well you will get your chance to prove it soon enough. Surely there must be some proof that you are who you say you are; I am a reasonable beast, and if no other explanation is offerable to the contrary, and you /are/ who you claim to be, then nothing to fear. Goodness, you /are/ trembling, though.. hahahhh..." He folds his paws, mirthful at himself for his own 'wit'.

Cirith says, "um..."

As the guards grab her, Cirith says, "my lord, why do you dout who we are?"