The Horrid Tragedy of the Counts Berok: A Comedy Fantasy

by Galen Wolf

  Jeremiah Foolscap whispered to Helena, "Go quickly lass, Go! I'll distract him with a pot."

  And so it was done. Jeremiah brandished a piece of Sixth Dynasty Earthenware he had been saving for his retirement. Axtos saw it and, Helena forgotten, his greedy lust for pots took over. "Bring it here, soldier. Let me touch it."

  "Jeremiah Foolscap, I be," said the old soldier.

  Axtos snarled. "I care not who thou art, wrinkled old man; give me thy pot and begone!"

  Thus protected by Jeremiah's sacrifice, Helena ran back down the street, back to her coach and William and Gertie who had finished the soup. For her part, she could not understand why it was that the Imperial Soldiery had not killed her but she knew somehow that it was down to the kind old soldier with the bony nose. She would not forget him.

  7. In the Autocrat's Parlour

  The clatter of dishes and rumbling of loud boorish voices emanating from the Autocrat's huge gilded dining hall could be heard all through the Palace. In the kitchen, cooks and skivvies shivered and returned to their work of chopping vegetables and stirring steaming pots of stew. In the still room, flushed waiters felt icy fingers walk along the corrugations of their spines in time with the cruel laughter of the Autocrat. It penetrated every corner of the Palace - terrifying even the small rodents which lurked waiting for the quiet of night and the forays to the kitchen waste bins it would bring. In the kitchens, through sheets of steam and the lingering odours of exotic herbs and spices, rang the rhythmic bustling sound of men working. Minor cooks filled up huge golden tureens with soup and passed them through to where immaculate waiters waited. These men were long practiced at hiding fear, even so great a fear as would send others gibbering and whimpering and earn them an entry into the day's 'most imaginative maiming' contest run by the Guild of Torturers.

  In the dining halls themselves the torturers waited, hooded and cloaked experts on the anatomy of human beings and the easiest way to effectively loosen it. Not that the easiest way was the one most commonly sought; they as artists in skin, bone and membrane often stretched their skill and their victims lives to the limit.

  In the resplendent dining halls, different noises were to be heard - fartings, all manner of burpings and the occasional vomit. The vomitings were not at all common as it was deemed unlucky by the gentry to throw up in the presence of the Autocrat. He was a man of ancient lineage and great breeding and as such, waged a personal war on all breaches of etiquette. One thing was sure - the man or woman who vomited in his sight would not live to do it again.

  The three dining halls each had room for about a hundred guests. They were constructed on a linear pattern connected by a long straight corridor, at the end of which stood the eating throne of the Autocrat. At the other end was the door which gave entrance to the lowest dining hall.

  The richer tradesmen sat with their wives in the lowest dining hall. If they were in favour with the Autocrat they could eat there every night although few did. It was unusual for any of the tradesmen to remain in the Imperial dining halls for any length of time without displeasing the Autocrat. The reason for this was that the Autocrat hated tradesmen and it was his delight to have them tortured and to confiscate their wealth. Some said this was the reason he invited them but they did not say it very loudly and none of them ever wrote it down.

  In the middle hall were the officers of the military. As commanders of the many regiments and units of the Imperial Army they had permission to dine here every night of the year and most of them did. Promotions for valour among the gaudy custards and exotic soups were very common. Sometimes they would promote waiters by mistake and skirmishes between the east side and west side of the hall were frequent resulting in many grievous wounds from the quail shot and jelly surprise bombs.

  Finally in the upper hall, were the nobility and the peers of the realm of Piraktesh. At their head was the eating throne of the Autocrat himself. There he sat every night in his military uniform, his flesh grey, unhealthy and distributed in generous folds around his body from his thighs to his head where fat made islands of two putrescent roll of fat small insects, flatworms and bloodsucking soft creatures made their home. Here he sat - his Imperial Majesty Axtos III.

  Now he ate, surveying the cool waiters who ladled soup from a kneeling position into his personal tureen. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his sweating, pig-like cheek. Around him the aristocracy, sycophantic, scraping lackeys that they were, sat smiling, fawning and under the tables caressing each other's wives. In their midst was an oddity - an empty place. Who dare resist the summons of Axtos III to have dinner? Furthermore, although no one sat there, the waiters continued to approach it and enquire courteously whether it would require a bread roll with its soup. Then they carefully tipped soup into the bowl that stood on the table before it. This happened every night and the soup stood until the time it would be replaced by the main course and so on through the thirty seven other courses up to the communal burp and the end of the meal.

  This seat belonged to Count Zamborg Berok, his by right as a peer of the realm. He had never eaten there but the Autocrat was enraged that anyone would defy him and so had commanded that this insult should be ignored by everyone and everyone acted as if Zamborg, the Fourth Count of Berok, was indeed sitting there. Zamborg's father Simon, the Third Count, had been the first of the line to refuse to sit there in protest at the Autocracy's cruel and inhumane treatment of the common people, and this stance had been carried on by Zamborg at his father's death. Axtos III really hated the Beroks.

  To the left of the seat sat the senile Earl of Khrumbesh who considered himself to be a close confidant of Zamborg's - a man he had never actually met. He believed it to the extent he thought he was privy to Zamborg's bedroom secrets and would mutter "Ooo saucy!" to the empty seat. Strangely enough he knew of Zamborg's chronic impotence although no one knew how. On the right hand side of the seat sat the insane Duke Bergasol who talked to no one but his pet toad Benjamin. The amphibian was allowed the nightly privilege of a bath in his master's soup while they two played peek-a-boo among the croutons. Bergasol and Khrumbesh had gravitated to their positions on either side of the empty place as they were the only ones who actually believed that Zamborg was there and therefore did not remind the Autocrat of the insult thrown at him.

  That night, after the first mid course execution of a beggar, two new aristocrats were to be introduced to the dining hall. They were the Count of Ziffo and his delectable wife Maureen Smythe-Batch. They were to be presented to Axtos III. Axtos coveted the lovely Maureen and had already written to her requesting samples of her underwear. In truth his winkle was too small to protrude beyond the fat rolls and so she was safe from any penetration, but Maureen didn't know that. Axtos slavered as he thought about her and his drool ran over his foul chin into his soup. Count Ziffo knew that Axtos would commit unspeakable acts on his young bride's body even without moving from the Imperial Sex Throne (to which he repaired after leaving the Eating Throne). Acts made more despicable because they would be preceded by thoughts so dirty they would blow up a normal man's head. Ziffo was only glad it was not his own lithe body that Axtos desired.

  When the next execution was over, the corpse of the unfortunate peasant was dragged away in one of the specially marked execution boxes. Axtos rubbed his stubby, pudgy hands and cried in a weak effeminate voice, "Show in the Ziffos!"

  The two young people walked into the room. Unused to Axtos's presence they were almost shaking with fear, yet Count Ziffo still had enough presence of mind to utter a warm, "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," and to extend his bony hand. The hand remained unshook. Speaking only the Countess Ziffo, Axtos said. "You look nice."

  Countess Ziffo curtsied and blushed. "Thanks very nice."

  "You'd look nicer sitting on my knee," said Axtos.

  Count Ziffo tittered. The Countess said nothing but her knees knocked and her stomach heaved silently.

  "But now is not really the time for personal introductions,"
said Axtos. "Come to the Chamber of the Sex Throne afterwards oh lovely one and make no change to your undergarments, which I hope you have been wearing all day long so as to render them aromatic. But now sit down."

  He gestured with a tubby hand toward a vacant space on the left side of the hall. Seeming to notice a mathematical imbalance, he shouted to a waiter. "Why is there only one place prepared scum? There are two Ziffos."

  The doomed waiter tried to answer but fear got the better of him and he ran screaming down the hall, waving his jazz hands. He only got a few paces before a gleaming poisoned dart from a blowgun embedded itself in his back. Everyone clapped and looked up to the rafters from whence it had come. Sitting there in a black cloak, his head covered in a cowl, sat the sinister figure of Captain Vardo - chief of the Pirakteshi Secret Police and rumoured by some to be the moving force behind the throne. This was in fact the case as often when Axtos was a baby he had moved the child's "Business" Throne to make way for the maid to clean the floor. What he was doing in the rafters, no one knew; he was everywhere. Too frightened to notice him, the guests began to nervously slurp their soup. The insane Duke Bergasol unfortunately swallowed his pet toad Benjamin and while asking desperately for aid from the non-present Count Zamborg Berok, choked to death.

  "Good one Captain Vardo," hissed the Autocrat at the waiter's death.

  Count Ziffo, now flustered beyond control, stammered. "It's all right. I don't want to cause any trouble. I'll sit over there." His hand outstretched, pointing of course to Zamborg's empty seat. When everyone realised what he'd done they sat aghast. Captain Vardo was so shocked that he lost his seat in the rafters and fell onto the banquet hall floor, damaging his leg.

  Count Ziffo, unfamiliar with the ways of the Court and as naive as he was, even he, for his part, began to suspect he had said a bad thing. He lowered his arm and began to shuffle out of the banquet hall. It was, however, too late.

  Axtos III turned green and without a word he signaled for Ziffo's end.

  Gleeful torturers in funereal black dragged Ziffo yelling and kicking to the torture cubicle. Axtos sat for a long while looking extremely pained and then at last he turned to his guests. He raised his shaking hands and cried in anguish, "Who will rid me of this arrogant Berok!"

  Three rough looking knights in rusting armour, their skin covered in scars and joke tattoos, had sat in the dining hall for long years, awaiting just this summons and a chance to make their names as murderers, arose. "We, sire - we the three rough knights who wait will." And with that, they went out.

  8. The Murder

  Both Zventibold and his mother were quite late in arriving home that night. Zventibold had but newly returned from the sorcerous workshops of the enchanter Turvius Sullius and his mother had been on a rather unusual excursion to the cut throat area of Piraktesh down by the city walls. The walls were so high that they cut out a great percentage of the sunlight and it was reported that the babies there were often born blind. Helena had paid a visit to the discount murder shop of Jimmy Spots. Although the sight of suffering humanity everywhere had torn at her heart, she had had to force herself onward without giving away her sandwich, desperate to find out the truth of her lover's intentions for her dear husband Zamborg, Fourth Count of Berok. And she had found out. Or at least she thought she had.

  And after the nasty meeting with the vile Spots, who had done nothing but leer at her top, was done, she came back to her home. As she alighted from the coach outside the Palace Berok that evening she thought she saw a shadow lurking just outside the door, but outwith the cast of the lamp. She started - her heart pounding. William, the trusty doorman was standing just inside the well lit doorway. He made to come to his mistress's aid but she gestured for him to stay back. She thought the shadow was a pauper come to trawl for scraps of meat in the Palace dustbins. But by mistake he had come to the public entrance rather than the refuse end.

  "I'm sorry, pauper," she shouted, "but we hand out scraps from the other side and I'm afraid they'll all have been taken by now. You know what hungry rascals you guys are." Her voice was loud and cheerful but the shadow stood its ground - black and menacing. Helena began to be suddenly afraid. "William come and help me!" she cried breathily. At first William, who had gone inside and was chatting to Mavis, the buxom parlour maid, did not hear. But when she called again, her voice more urgent this time, he rushed out clutching a gnarled blackthorn club which he kept for occasions such as these. Upon coming out into the cold night air, he felt the cold and wondered should he go back for his heavy coat but the Countess's obvious distress brought him snarling onwards. The shape moved toward her but she, being possessed of a bravery not normal in the fair sex, stood her ground, though biting her Cupid's bow lips with fear.

  William shouted, "Get 'ee back, or I William FitzShogun will deal thy foul black 'ead a mighty thwack wi' me trusty blackthorn club!"

  At this, the figure came into the lamp's light. At first neither Helena nor William recognised it but both were awed at the aura of power that it gave off. Then, from the slight snuffling he made when he breathed because of his upturned nose, it became obvious that it was Zventibold. "It is I mother. Your Zventibold," he exclaimed.

  His mother was shocked. She finally spoke. "Zventibold what have you been doing? You're covered in soot."

  Zventibold brushed his cloak as if he had not previously noticed. "Never mind about that mum. Did you have a nice day?"

  Helena smiled and embraced her dear son. "Well dear, I've had a profitable day if not a nice one."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, I've been to see Jimmy Spots."

  "Oh how interesting."

  And with that they entered the well lit hallway. Mavis came to collect their coats. With her low cut bodice and hour glass figure she was giving rise to strange unwonted feelings in Zventibold that would give her great authority over him in the times to come. His mother tapped him on the nose like a naughty puppy. "Those aren't for the likes of you," she said, referring to Mavis's unsuitability as a match for her noble son.

  And so, they entered the brightly lit dining room where Zamborg the Fourth Count and his brother Zildak awaited them. Both men rose. Helena, Countess Berok, and young Zventibold took their places at the table. As Helena passed Zildak she whispered, "I'll see you after dinner in the drawing room."

  Zildak could not prevent a bawdy smile from spreading over his face. He pinched her bottom. Her husband, the Count, cleared his throat noisily.

  "I see you've had dinner, dearest," said Helena. "Have you had a fruitful day?"

  "Well my sweet," he began, "not too heavy you know. The usual Wednesday really. The Autocrat wasn't seeing anyone today but nevertheless we had a very enlightening debate on manuring grain crops on the western plains. And after that, Zildak and I had a very pleasant walk through Axtos III park - topped off with a lovely lunch."

  Zventibold sat in silence and ate his dinner when Mavis brought it to him, accidentally brushing herself against him as she did so. When he had finished he said, "I'll go upstairs for a while now. Daddy, can I see you later on? I quite fancy a walk in the garden."

  "If that's what you wish my son, then of course we shall go for a walk. I'll come and fetch you later." And with that, the boy made his way upstairs. After they had finished their wine, Zamborg informed his wife and his brother that he was going on a tour of the palace to look up some of the servants he hadn't seen for a while over in the West Wing - a place he hadn't visited since May.

  Helena and Zildak retired to the Drawing Room. Helena began, "I've been to see Jimmy Spots, and don't pretend you're not acquainted. He remembers you very well."

  Zildak looked sheepish. "I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for the right moment."

  "Don't give me that," she said. Zildak thought Helena looked beautiful when she was angry. She continued, "So what's it all about eh Zildak?" She went on. "Jimmy, and it's true what they say about the spots, said you'd been in to buy a knife which, as he put it (s
he mimicked a common accent) "is one of 'is special murderin' knives."

  The point seemed lost on Zildak. "So?" he said.

  "It's to murder someone isn't it Zildak?" she said, having to restrain her heaving bosom with a delicate hand. A gesture that was not lost on Zildak.

  "Well I suppose so," said Zildak, and then he began to sob wildly. "I can't live with this deceit. And it's deceiving my own brother. I can't take it alright?"

  "So what do you think we should do? Finish it? Finish this 'deceit' as you call our love." She turned away. She was deadly serious. "It might be for the best."

  He gasped. "Finish it? Finish loving you? How could I? I'd rather die. I'd rather kill my own brother." He drew the wickedly curved knife he had bought off Spots and all the while looking at her, anointed it with poison, which he kept handy in a pouch on his aristocrat's utility belt.

  "You can't mean it!" screamed Helena. "Not Zamborg! Not my own dear husband! I'll not let you!" And with that, she ran wailing out into the corridor.

  In the flickering red light of the parlour fire, Zildak, kissed the dagger and walked weeping from the room.

  At almost the same time, William the Doorman was aroused by three burly knights who wanted to know where the Count was. William directed them to the West Wing and then returned to his bed.

  However, Helena, Countess of Berok, did not find her husband quite as soon as she had expected. The fear that Zildak was out to murder Zamborg had upset her stomach and as she walked past the kitchen she was suddenly struck by a compelling desire for warm milk. All that she wanted to was to feel that warm white liquid in her mouth and to allow its smooth glow to enter her gullet; she had no thought at that moment but this. After she poured the hot milk into a glass from the little saucepan that had bubbled merrily on the stove, she sat down by the fire to drink it. Slowly, but surely the dancing flames and comforting heat lulled her into a light sleep.