A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot by George R.R. Washington Alan Goldsher Page B

complaining about the neighbor coveting their wife, their manservant, their maidservant, and their donkey, not to mention playing their music too loud. Taking all that into consideration, it was little wonder that Bobbert spent ninety percent of his life inebriated.
    Another reason Head sympathized with his friend: the throne.
    Head did not know the history behind the Capaetal Ceity King’s throne, nor did he care to, because whoever devised that thing had to be a sadistic nutjob, and who has the time to read about sadistic nutjobs when there is mud to be slogged through, onions to be eaten, and main characters to be killed? The back of the throne was standard—black velvet covered with jewels, which, while certainly eye-catching, could not have felt good on the back—but there were no arms, and the seat was a white porcelain circle with a huge hole in the middle, and the chair itself was hollow. Whenever King Bobbert broke wind—which, while not as often as Head’s son Allbran, was still a regular occurrence—the echo could be both heard and felt throughout the giant, high-ceilinged throne room. Sometimes Head heard other noises coming from the bottom of the throne, noises that he could not or would not identify, noises that made him happy he did not have to sit there. (The Queen’s throne, it should be noted, was a bejeweled barstool. Cerevix had been trying to get the administration to allocate funds for a real chair for seasons, but she was always voted down, primarily because nobody on the Budget Committee liked her.)
    Head told his friend, “Before I grog it up, I’d like to get something in my gut.”
    Bobbert nodded. “I understand. And get something in your gut we shall.” Pointing across the room, he said, “But not until we deal with this.”
    Head followed Bobbert’s finger and gazed at the entrance to the throne room, where he was greeted by the sight of his youngest daughter in the grip of four of Cerevix’s cousins—he’d been introduced to all of the Sinisters upon his arrival at Capaetal Ceity, but they all looked exactly the same, almost as if they’d inbred for centuries—and Malia was squirming and screaming as if she were a toad who had eaten but not fully digested another toad, and the second toad was trying to jump up and down inside of the first toad’s stomach.
    “What’s going on here?” Head asked. “Did you eat but not fully digest a toad?”
    Queen Cerevix regally strolled into the throne room as if she were the Queen or something, followed by four blond Sinister cousins, and explained, “Your daughter, Lord Barker, appears to have made a fool of my son.”
    Bobbert slurred, “So what else is new?”
    “I guess I know who’s sleeping on the couch tonight,” Cerevix snapped. “Again.”
    “Oh yeah? You and whose army?” Bobbert grumbled.
    Cerevix gave her husband a confused look and said, “In any event, apparently your Malia threatened my Goof with a deadly weapon, then insulted him, then stole his horse. He doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, on either the page or the small screen.”
    Head shook his head, then pointed out, “My Queen, Malia couldn’t weigh more than, um, what’s the unit of measure they use around here? Pounds? Grams? Stones? My stones?”
    Bobbert said, “Let’s say she’s a skinny little tomboy and leave it at that.”
    “Fine,” Head agreed, “she’s a skinny little tomboy, and Goof is a strapping young man…”
    “I don’t know if strapping is the right word,” Bobbert said. “I’d go with nebbish . You get a gander of those pantaloons he wears? Makes him look like a weenie.”
    “I guess I know who’s sleeping on the couch tomorrow night,” Cerevix snapped.
    “Oh yeah? Well, put that in your pipe and smoke it,” Bobbert grumbled.
    Cerevix gave her husband a confused look, then said, “In any event, your daughter insulted my son, then she stole his horse.”
    King Bobbert snorted, then he chuckled, then he guffawed,