King Tonzi (Part 4) Confessions in the Pristine Chapel

In the vaulted magnificence of the Pristine Chapel newly appointed Pope Wilkes the Patient prepares to hear the confessions of his liege, King Tonzi the Wunturm.

PW – Before we begin, your majesty, I have news from the submariners that may shed some light on the total absence of marine life in our oyster reefs. It appears a monster of the deep is devouring anything that moves in the lower river reaches.

KT – What manner of creature could wreak such carnage? Be it a kraken?

PW – Nay sire, ‘tis a mere bull shark, but one that has grown so huge, belligerent and mutated from feasting on the stale ale dumped into the river by the Boathouse Inn keepers that it threatens not only our oyster reefs, but the whole look and feel of the river itself. The peasants in their infernal ignorance have christened the beast Boris and made of him a mascot of sorts.

KT – God’s teeth pontiff! This cannot be tolerated! Place the owners of the Boathouse Inn under arrest and decree that any peasant found in the act of Boris worship be flayed alive! Then order that all future stale ale shall become the property of the crown. We shall colour it with witch hazel and sell it to the outlanders as chardonnay. Those people have the palettes of a herd of warthogs and they shall never know.

PW – Sage advice sire and fiscally prudent as ever, but what of the monster?

KT – Have our mages lift the spell of suspended animation that holds prisoner the Great Pelican of the Foreshore! Strike down the iron cage that containth him! Let him glide once more unfettered and wild. Let this kraken taste the flaccid elasticity of the mighty beak as he slides down the razor-lined neck and into the befeathered gullet of oblivion. Let the peasants quake once more at the purity of our weaponry! Let them see the difference of our nature.

PW – Ah sire, the thing is, er, that particular spell was lifted ere twenty years ago. The Great Pelican moves not, simply because he does not feel inclined. He has grown so vain from the adorations of the pilgrims, and so obese from the titbits they throw him, that motion of any sort is out of the question.

KT – Very well, if we cannot kill the beast we will capture it. Order Lord Trevor of the Lake People to cast his nets of steel, we will skull drag the serpent to the shore and hang its fetid carcass from our battlements as a grim reminder to all those who oppose the bringing back of the fish.

PW – Lord Trevor will not answer thy call sire, he is engaged in a blood feud with the dark magicians that guard the twin paths to the Gate of Hell. It seems that one of their number, only known as The Greybeard, has cast a slur on Lord Trevor’s forebears, claiming the ancient kings of the four lakes raped and pillaged the kingdom at will for their own gain.

KT – Treason! The Greybeard speaks treason! The ancient kings were the fathers of all we know! An insult to them is a hammer blow to us all. Rouse the pitbull, the dachshund, the cattle dog and the poodle. Tell them to raise their battalions and hoist the standards of war. Tell them tonight we smash avos on the Gates of Hell! Tell them we ride for the ancient kings and Lord Trevor. Tell them we ride for glory, blood, truth, ruin and the rrreeeddd dddaawwnnn!

PW – Yes sire, very stirring if not a trifle derivative, but I must counsel caution on a number of fronts. Firstly if you ride east with all your warlords this would leave the Lady Ingrid to rule in your stead and I’m not sure…..

KT – Lady Ingrid! Lady Ingrid! Lady Ingrid! All I ever hear these days is Lady Ingrid! We have had this discussion many times before pope. The Lady Ingrid poses no threat to our ambitions. She is a mere woman. Her earnest manner is no match for my dark charisma and rugged charm. She will find no seconders amongst the peasants. Anyway, it will be a short campaign – no more than two years. What possible harm could a slip of a girl like that do in such a short time.

PW – Ooohhhh Christ!

KT – Pray not for me, holy man. I will hear no more about the Lady. What are thy other concerns?

PW – The dark magicians themselves, majesty. They are an unknown quantity to us and it has oft been said they can exercise mind control over mortals. Indeed your predecessor was rumoured to have been troubled in this regard. We should avoid conflict with them at all costs and discourage Lord Trevor from doing likewise.

KT – Indeed your holiness, sometimes in the hours before dawn I too am plagued by ghostly voices whispering to me of strange things … sustainability institutes … triple bottom lines … Zen! Could this be the work of dark magic? Should I seek exorcism?

PW – Nay sire, I have seen this many times before in my capacity as royal adviser. It is no wizardry, merely the sounds of thine own relentless propaganda rattling around like a lone lotto ball in the steel drawing barrels of thy mind. Fear not, it will pass.

KT – Thank God for that, but once again my blood has been stirred by talk of war. Has the swordmaster been released from the stocks? I long to hear the clash of steel on steel once more. Send him to me!

PW – Ah sire, the swordmaster, that is a sorry tale. It seems he was spied by a squire tampering with his lance at the weekend joust. The blaggard was allegedly carving baffles down the length of his own lance with a razor sharp paring dagger, the theory being his lance would spin in a reverse direction upon impact with his opponent, thus giving him massive and unfair advantage.

The squire quite rightly reported the matter to the dachshund and the other referees. However, when the swordmaster was approached by officials he sought to hide the paring dagger down the front of his trousers, thus emasculating himself. The dachshund said he had not seen such an explosion of blood and testicles since Baron Tarantino’s production of Reservoir Pelicans at the Kingdom Arts Centre last year!

KT – Damn this kingdom to hell! My every move, my every desire thwarted by idiots! I must have Respite book me a retreat at Godsgarden, old friend, so that I may gather my wits!

PW – Certainly sire, willst thou be using Inn BandB this time?

KT – Nay pontiff, although Inn BandB is insanely convenient and cheap as a peasant’s footwear, I found the bed linen has a faint waft of non-compliance and tax avoidance that disturbed my slumber. We shall stick with the established henceforth.

PW – As you wish, majesty!