The King Without a Kingdom

THE KING WITHOUT A KINGDOM By Susan Skeele and John Flax Once upon a time, there was a dreary land of grey stone and poor soil, where the people worked hard to eke out a meager living. The brightest spot in their country was the palace on a hill at the top of a long staircase of white marble. Unfortunately, the palace lay empty. The grand rooms once filled with courtiers and jesters who doubled as lawmakers now gathered dust, and the only sounds from within were those of rats chewing on the tapestries. The last king had died without heirs and had not named a successor. He had, however, called his most trusted advisor to his death bed. This advisor was also the king’s principal jester. His real name long forgotten, he was called “The Imp” for his pointed ears and greenish skin, even though he was of normal height. The king had whispered in The Imp’s ear, drawn his last breath and died. The people had waited to hear the King’s dying command, but all The Imp had said was, ”The next king shall climb the steps to the throne.” The people were confused and did what they always did in troubled times: they beat each other up. They held countless tournaments, but each time noble knights or knightesses showed prowess on the battlefield, and attempted to climb the steps to the throne, they found themselves standing again at the bottom. Meanwhile, The Imp sealed himself away in his secret rooms under the city, and no word was heard from him for many years. In this kingdom without a king lived a shrewd and ambitious landowner, who coveted the crown. He had no skill for jousting or sword fighting, however, and dared not compete with the endless line of would-be royals. So he bided his time, sure there was another way to climb the steps. He collected coins, piece by piece, torn from the gnarled hands of his tenants, and hid them in his basement. Night after night, he counted his money, thinking, “Tomorrow, I shall have enough to buy the crown, and the whole kingdom shall bow at my feet!” The time came, however, when the landlord struggled to climb even the cellar stairs of his own modestly garish house after counting his coins. He saw that the steps to the castle were now beyond him. So he laid his hopes in his children. One son in particular, showed promise; he was cunning and brutish—just the qualities needed to scheme and fight his way to the throne. When this boy was a child and still in diapers, his father sent him to military school. His mother bemoaned her son’s lost childhood: frogs, dirt, climbing trees. But our would-be prince ever heard his father’s voice loud in his ears, urging him to fight hard, play rough, and become strong and rich enough to claim the throne. He learned early on to bully his classmates out of pocket change and gumballs, and later, to make them do his homework. Even when the other boys grew as big as the prince, they continued to cower and trip over their own words whenever he was near. One day, when the boy was eleven years old, The Imp re-emerged. He dropped by the military school to deliver a talk on ‘caprice as a weapon.’ “It doesn’t matter who you are punishing, or what the punishment is, only that the punishment is unexpected. Keep everyone off balance and you will be the calm at the center of the storm.” Our prince, who did not usually listen to his teachers, was particularly attentive. Afterwards, he took a special interest in colored socks. Does anyone here have colored socks? The young prince did not like colored socks. Or perhaps he did, but by claiming he didn’t, a ritual was born. Every day after breakfast, he examined each boy’s socks and determined punishments depending upon the day and upon the boy wearing the socks. The prince graduated from military school and went to college where he continued to ignore his teachers. During this time, his father died, leaving him a sizable inheritance. After college the prince floundered, trying to become the calm within the hurricane as The Imp had instructed. Each step forward seemed to be followed by a step or two back. He amassed more gold but much of it came with promises he might not be able to keep. He had a glass smith make him a large mirror and place it at a certain angle so that, when his one or two admirers came to visit, it looked as if there were three or four. He married one of these flatterers, who also liked to look at her reflection in the big mirror. Meanwhile, the fog that befouled the land had become thicker and more noxious, and the people worked harder and harder for less and less. A group of city councilors had taken control in the absence of a king. Our prince, eager to curry favor with these men, followed them one evening. Shrouded in mist, they crept to a large white stone at the edge of the city. The prince was shocked to see the stone rise up like a trap door to reveal a shadowy figure with pointed ears and greenish skin, who beckoned the councilors down, one by one, slamming the heavy stone behind him. What a stroke of luck! It was The Imp, who had taught him his most important life lesson and who, as rumor had it, held the secret to the kingdom. This gave the prince a new and excellent notion. The next evening, he followed the councilors again, and when The Imp lifted up the rock, the prince popped out of the fog, flinging a bag of gold at The Imp’s feet, and stumbling over his tongue, tried to make his case. When The Imp understood that this rude and incoherent young man wanted to hire him as a mentor, he was disgusted and disappeared before the prince had even finished his plea. But the city councilors stayed. In exchange for the bag of gold, they told the prince, “The Imp will never be swayed by ordinary gold. He lusts after Troll’s gold, which can be used below ground.” They further informed the prince that there was a Troll living under a nearby bridge who sometimes helped them enforce their laws and might be open to bargaining. The next day, the prince visited the Troll. Stammering at the sight of the enormous beast covered with weeping sores and armed with a huge stone club, the prince managed to ask what the Troll might exchange for a bag of Troll’s gold. The Troll hemmed and hawed for quite some time, and just when the prince despaired of leaving with even a single piece of Troll's gold, the Troll managed to convey in gestures and strange grunts that what he wanted more than anything in the world was brains, so he could do simple figures and read the newspapers, and that only the freshest baby brains would do. The Prince had another excellent idea. In exchange for a hefty sack of Troll's gold, he promised the brains of his first-born son. It was a good bargain all around. The Troll lolled under his bridge, dreaming of how smart he would be with his big new baby brain, the city councilors took their cut, and The Imp fingered the shining Troll’s gold pieces, and bit them, begrudgingly agreeing to train the prince. Everyone has their price. When the prince arrived at The Imp’s subterranean lodgings, The Imp was in a foul mood. He really didn’t want to tutor some arrogant wannabe, and was tempted to slink away down the tunnel with his Troll’s gold. Then he saw the prince perform the colored sock ritual on The Imp’s own servants while awaiting his first lesson. Perhaps this strange young man was a worthy protégé after all, and could even be the key to a retirement of luxury. Time went on and all agreed that the apprenticeship was a good match. The prince learned not to like anyone at all, only to get them to do his bidding in more and more subtle ways. He also learned to always claim he had more than he actually did, unless, of course, the tax inspectors were asking. Most importantly, he now wanted the kingdom more than ever. 
But, The Imp grew old before his protégé achieved anything at all. The prince was disgusted by the warts of age that increasingly covered The Imp. He wouldn’t come close, so The Imp had to croak his most precious, final lesson from across the room, more like a frog than an esteemed Imp: “Up is down and down is up. Scramble what they know and you will be the calm and the hurricane itself. Now go. Claim your kingdom and leave me alone.” And with that The Imp mumbled an old spell, lifted a flat grey stone and disappeared. Soon, the prince’s first son was born, and things were starting to look up. On the day of the boy’s christening, the Troll came calling to collect the brain he had been promised. This was a problem on several counts: First, the prince had forgotten about the bargain he had made in haste so long ago. Second, the Troll could easily overpower the prince and his servants. And third, the public certainly couldn’t find out that the prince’s son had been born with only a pea knocking around in his oversized head, and no brain at all. So he invited the terrible Troll into the happy feast in order to gain time and make a plan. While the Troll ate and drank, the prince had his lackeys destroy the Troll’s bridge. When the men whispered that the deed was done, the prince suddenly slammed his plate against a wall, sending gravy across the room and shocking the party. “Tiny Troll,” he said very calmly, consciously taking deep nose breaths, ”my men tell me your bridge has suddenly collapsed. How dare you beg for my support under false pretenses? You are not the Troll who lives under the bridge because there is no bridge. What’s more, the city council has just banished Trolls. If you could read, you’d see it in all the newspapers. If you want to live, leave now under the cover of darkness. I offer you the leftovers of this feast even though I’ve never met you before, because you seem quite pathetic.” Like the bigger boys at the school, the Troll forgot that he was more powerful than the prince. Sobbing great, snotty troll sobs, beside himself with fear and grief, he filled his empty sack with gnawed bones and half-eaten biscuits and slunk out of the prince’s estate, never to be seen again. Meanwhile, the people of the land had finally had enough of working so hard for so little and rose up against the city councilors. Even the knights and knightesses grew tired of fighting each other and joined the people. Soon, the whole region was in chaos, with many groups vying for power and declaring war against each other. The castle steps were in danger of being pulverized. The prince, sensing an opportunity, had his tailor make him a magnificent military costume, white with shining gold epaulets and costly braid. He smiled a rare smile to himself, looking in his big mirror at his fine figure, knowing this was his chance to win the kingdom and prove his worth. But then a cloud dimmed the light and the image in the mirror darkened. He imagined how war would stain his pretty jacket, roughen his sensitive feet and tear his golden epaulets. Shaking with fear, he tried to imagine what The Imp would do and absently mumbled an odd series of words the old thing had muttered in times of danger. Suddenly, the mirror blurred like water and our prince fell into it, tumbling down an endless well, landing many days later with a thud. “Ouch, damn!” But no one came to comfort the prince. “OUCH, DAMN!” he yelled a second time. There were no footsteps of lackeys or servants, just echoes of his own voice trailing into silence. No bones were broken, however, so he brushed off his beautiful costume and made his way along a path that appeared. What wonders! The woods were filled with golden sunlight and flowers bigger and more colorful than anything he had ever seen. The dirt smelled rich and he heard the croaking of frogs. A light in the distance caught his attention so he hurried towards it. When he crested a hill, he could see that the light was sunlight reflecting off the shining tower of a magnificent castle. He could see that the path widened to become a broad road that led right to a high wall surrounding the castle grounds. Following this, he arrived at a large gate. No one came to greet him when he knocked, but the gate opened slowly and silently. He walked through the carefully manicured grounds, with the greenest grass he had ever seen, and trees, thick with low limbs, nicely spaced so that even a small boy could make his way to a good height. But then he heard a voice that reminded him of his dead father’s: “Climb the steps. You’ll have plenty of time for frogs and trees when the castle is yours.” So he hurried across the moat bridge and took a deep breath as he stepped onto the marble stairway. Slowly he climbed the steps, expecting at any moment to find himself back at the bottom. But, finally, he stood panting at the top. He had done it, what no one else had been able to do! Was he now the king? A gnawing fear took hold of him at that moment, for it had seemed far too easy. He glanced back at the stairway, but saw only the wide marble steps and the peaceful gardens. So, he strode ahead, pushing through imposing wooden doors into a great hall, and gaped at the towering ceilings, gold walls and marble floors. In the next room, a sumptuous feast was laid near a laughing fire in a fireplace big enough to step into standing up. “Sit down,” said a voice. “You must be hungry,” said another voice. The prince wondered where these voices came from, where the host was, and the court. Immediately handsome knights and gorgeous knightesses filled the room and took their places all around him. They were laughing and talking. He smiled back at them, his cheeks aching with the effort. Suddenly the great hall grew quiet, and a golden chalice overflowing with a red liquid appeared in the center of the long table. The whole court turned to him, and he understood he was meant to drink from the kingly cup. Now, if he had been tutored by a proper Imp, and not just a greedy charlatan, he might have known not to drink or eat anything in this place. But, he did not know, and was dazzled as he gazed at all the courtiers bowing to him. He stood up and slowly lifted the goblet, gulping down the liquid in three huge swallows. The prince immediately fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he was sitting on a golden throne with the knights and knightesses gathered around him. Their smiles were gone, replaced by hardened faces. He felt he must address them but all he could think to say was that everything was fine and he would be the best king ever. They seemed to laugh at this but he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. Then an old knightess with deep wrinkles in her golden skin, led him with shaking steps to a window in the tower, saying, “This kingdom is now yours, all the land and subjects, for as far as you can see. But you must stay here forever, all the days of your life, and never, ever, leave.” The prince, now king, thought of his pea-brained son and his preening wife, and felt lost, but only for a moment. Leaning away from the old woman so as not to catch anything, he looked out at his vast new kingdom, and thought he could see the edges, grey and lapping with something that looked like an ocean of arms and legs. But, no, it couldn’t be. Then he heard a voice that was clearly The Imp’s: “Beware, my king. Many in your court are not to be trusted and you will never know which. Watch, listen, punish those whom you suspect. Start now. You are the hurricane and the eye of the hurricane too.”