A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot (21 page)

Allbran pointed out, “But Hinky and Blinky went East.”

“Shut up, gimp!”
Bobb roared.
“I’m in charge, and I’m a Godsdamn tactical genius, and I say you go North, and that’s all there is to it!”
He then smacked Allbran’s horse on its hindquarters, and the beast took off to the North, then, once it sensed Bobb was not paying attention, turned to the East.

Allbran scratched the horse behind its ear and grinned. “Atta boy. That’s a good horse.”

The horse mumbled, “Your brother’s a douche. And try not to fart on my back, please.”

“What?” Allbran screamed.

“I mean,
neigh, neigh, neigh
!”

Several miles later, seven horses and their respective riders emerged from behind a cluster of trees, their animals in a triangular formation. The lead rider pointed at Allbran and roared,
“Who art thou?! And why art thou trespassing upon mine forest?! Trespassers die!”

“I art Allbran Barker of the House Barker! Who art thou? And why art we speaking like this?”

One of the riders in the second row said to the leader, “Now that’s a damn good question, Brian. I thought we decided that Shakespearean crap was out.”

Brian said, “You hath made that decision. I hath not agreed.”

Another rider pointed out, “We voted, Brian. You lost. Deal with it.”

Yet another rider claimed, “This is why we still don’t have a name. Nobody can make a decision, and when a decision is actually made, nobody abides by it.”

“I declare the name hath been decided,” Brian declared, “and that name is the Sharks!”

Yet another rider insisted, “No, Brian, we’re not the Sharks. Three of us voted for Sharks, and three of us voted for Jets, and Warren abstained.”

Warren, the smallest of the riders, said, “Get off my back. They’re both good.”

Brian commanded, “Maketh a decision, Warren. Thou art holding up our jacket order.”

“Thou art being an wiener,” Warren pointed out.

Just then, Hinky and Blinky trotted over, covered in mud, tongues hanging out. Brian stared wide-eyed at the animals and asked Allbran, “Art those direpandas?”

“Yep, they sure art.”

“Methinks that direpandas are extinct.”

“Nope, they sure aren’t.”

“Methinks the Sharks should kill young Barker, then vacate the premises. And quickly.” To Allbran, he explained, “We art deathly allergic to direpandas. Yes, we know that up until several chapters ago, direpandas were extinct, so it might seem odd that we know we’re allergic, but it’s probably best if you don’t ask too many questions, because frankly, Easterrabbit is in danger of overstaying its welcome. At some point, the story has to end … especially when there are so many rambling monologues. Like this one.”

Allbran asked, “Will you not kill me if I call them off?”

“You hath control over the beasts?” Brian asked.

“Sure,” Allbran lied.

“Then we shall let you live. Tell thine beasts to depart!”

“You got it.” He called, “Hinky! Blinky! Take a hike!”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Hinky and Blinky hopped toward Allbran, stopping on their way over to give a loving lick to each and every one of the Sharks/Jets. The second the direpanda saliva touched the riders’ bodies, their skin melted, then they fell off their horses, and died a painful, ugly, foamy death. Hinky and Blinky high-fived each other, then hopped off to wherever it is that adolescent direpandas hop off to.

Allbran was so distracted by the bubbling corpses that he did not notice his brother’s arrival. “What the hell, Allbran!” Bobb exclaimed. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you run into this? Seriously, Mom’s going to freak. What happened?” After Allbran related the story of Hinky and Blinky’s killer spit, Bobb pointed at the dead bodies and mused, “Holy Gods, I’ve heard about these guys. These were some bad, bad men.” He scratched his chin, then thought aloud, “If I can have these ass-clowns on my resume…” and trailed off.

“What do you mean,” Allbran asked, “‘on my resume’?”

“Quiet, kid,” Bobb commanded, then jumped off his horse, unsheathed his sword, and stabbed each and every one of the dead men until his weapon was covered with their blood.

The two brothers silently stared at the bodies for a couple of minutes, then Allbran asked, “So, um, what was that all about?”

“As far as you know, I killed those gangsters fair and square. And if you say anything differently, well, if you think you’re in pain now, well,
phew
!”

“Bobb,” Allbran complained, “I’m not in pain.”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

“Yes, you are, and I’m in charge, and my word is law, and you were hurt worse than anybody’s ever been hurt, and I’m going to protect you from more hurt!”

“Okay, okay, okay, fine, I’m hurt. Ouch. Ow. Such pain, such pain.”

Bobb smiled. “There, there, Allbran. I’ll protect you. Because I’m in charge.”

“Of course you are, Bobb,” Allbran agreed, “of course you are,” then directed his horse back to the castle, secretly thrilled that he was only going to appear in two more chapters.

“Broheim Otter, I hate to complain, but might it be too hot for a campfire?”

Otter glared at Snackwell Fartly and sneered, “Maybe if you weren’t carrying around so much tonnage, you wouldn’t be
schvitzing
like a Frenchman.”

“
What-ing
like a
what
?” Juan Nieve asked. Before Otter could answer, Juan added, “It’s
muy caliente
⁴⁴
out here, Otter. Admit it.”

“But it’s also dark,” opined Pinto. “And I don’t know about you guys, but I prefer to have some light when we’re this close to the Wall.”

Bluto pointed out, “I hate to admit it, boys, but the jerkoff here might have a point. The Wall’s puddling up like crazy, and we’re making things hotter.”

D-Day gestured to Snack and offered, “If you’re worried about the Wall melting, we could always use fatso-comic-relief-metaphor-boy over here to plug up the holes.”

Juan butted in, “Gentlemen, is this what a Frat’s about? Pointing out your Broheims’ faults, and making fun of their questionable parentage? Is that why you’re all here? Is that what you left your families for? To tease and complain?
Repugnante,
⁴⁵
simply
repugnante
.”
⁴⁶

“It’s okay, Juan,” Snack sighed. “I’m used to it. Back at home, everybody would…”

“Guys,” Otter interrupted, “I’m bored as hell, it’s
still
muddy, the Wall is
still
melting, Snack’s
still
fat, Juan’s
still
a jerkoff, and nothing’s happening. How about we wrap it up here and see what Tritone’s up to?”

Juan smiled. “Otter, that’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.
Estimados lectores, por favor disfrute el siguiente capítulo, un capítulo que incluye, entre otras cosas, una conversación fascinante entre Tritone y Lysergic
.”
⁴⁷

From the floor of his jail cell, Tritone Sinister called to the guard, “Hey, tall, dark, and ugly, when am I getting out of here? This place smells so bad it’d make a skunk gag.”

The guard sauntered over and demanded, “Wait, you’re calling me ugly?
You?!
This coming from a guy who’s so skinny that he uses dental floss as toilet paper?”

“Whoa, great spritz! You and me, we’re two peas in a pod. Granted, if we’re hanging out together in a pod, people would have trouble telling your face apart from my ass.
Zzzzzzing!
”

Chuckling, the guard explained, “Nice one, stretch. Listen, if it were up to me, you could leave right now, but Lady Lysergic wants you to confess to your crimes.”

“Crimes? Brother, the only crime I’ve committed is joke plagiarism.” He paused, then asked, “Wait, did I say that out loud? I meant
parody
. Joke
parody
.”

“Well,” the guard elucidated, “that’s not what the Lady says. She thinks you killed Functionary.”

“Fantastic,” Tritone grumbled, annoyed that this was the second time he had been framed in the book, and curious as to which of his idiot relatives killed Lord Functionary Aaron.
It was probably Jagweed and Cerevix,
he thought.
You can never overestimate the stupidity of one blonde person, but if you multiply that times two, you’re looking at a level of idiocy that could … well … that could have them ruling Easterrabbit. Aaaaaaand there’s your motive.
“So let me get this straight, Shecky,” Tritone continued. “If I confess to some crimes, they’ll let me out of this dump?” After the guard nodded, he continued, “Okay, pal, you tell that crazy Aaron broad I’m going to confess like nobody’s ever confessed. I’m gonna confess my ass off to the point that I’ll need a new ass.”

Ten minutes later, Tritone was in the Aaron throne room, standing in front of Lysergic Bully Aaron, Gateway Bully Barker, and Sur Crayola Burntsienna. “Well, well, well.” The giant smiled. “If it isn’t the law firm of Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe.” After the three gave him a blank stare, he mumbled, “Tough crowd. Anyhow, word is if I confess to some stuff, I can go blow this pop stand.”

“That is correct, giant,” Lysergic explained. “You are accused of the successful murder of Lord Functionary Aaron, and the botched murder of Allbran Barker. Do you confess to your crimes?”

“Honey, I’ve got plenty of crimes to confess to. First confession—and this was a
true
crime—I produced
Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants
.”

“What?” Lady Aaron asked.

“The worst crime of Stevie Wonder’s career. I also confess to producing every Nickelback album. Chryst, I should be executed for those things alone.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, me neither. Seriously, how that band has a record deal, I have no idea. I also confess to producing Peter Criss’s solo album, everything by Creed, the Black Eyed Peas’ later stuff, most of that boy-band crap, Liz Phair’s self-titled set, Lil Wayne’s
Rebirth
—man, that thing was an abortion—this Nine Inch Nails remix album that I forget the name of, Madonna’s
Who’s That Girl,
and Lady Gaga’s
Born This Way
.” He paused, then added, “Wow, it’s great to get that off my chest.” He clapped once, then grinned. “So. Where’s my ride?”

Lysergic growled, “Confess to killing Functionary.”

“Couldn’t have killed him if I tried. That guy wields a bat like no other, plus, good luck trying to get a slider by him.”

Lysergic frowned, “What do you mean,
wields a bat
? And what’s a slider?”

“It’s one of those Godsdamn lost baseball jokes. Don’t worry about it.”

“Believe me, I won’t. Now confess to trying to kill Allbran.”

“Didn’t do that, either, but I had to be accused, or else this whole house of cards would’ve come crashing down, and you’d be looking at a short story, rather than a series of cash-cow novels. And when I say cash-cow, I ain’t talkin’ no bull.
Ch-ching
!”

Over Burntsienna’s chuckles, Lysergic roared, “You whacked Functionary, you tried to whack Allbran, and now you will pay with your freedom!” She turned to the door and called, “Guard, take Mr. Sinister back to his cell.”

Tritone held up his hands and said, “Hey there, ho there, whoa there, Shecky. No trial?”

“We have no evidence,” Lysergic explained. “Thus we have no trial, thus you’re sentenced to life in prison.”

Lady Gateway piped up, “Sister dear, that’s not the way we do things in House Barker. We don’t chop off anybody’s head until we’re good and certain they deserve it. And if there’s no evidence, we let them battle their way out.”

“Battle?” Lysergic asked.

“If they can beat up Headcase, they can go.”

“How’s that working out?”

Smiling, Gateway said, “Head’s undefeated. Eighty-two up, eighty-two down.”

Lysergic nodded. “That’s fair, and I suspect that’s the way Functionary would’ve wanted it. Fine, let the stick figure go down swinging.” She turned to Tritone and said, “So, murderer, I will allow you to fight for your life. For that matter, I’ll even let you choose your weapon.”

Tritone smirked. “Any weapon?” he asked.

“Any weapon,” Lysergic agreed. After a pause, she added, “But no mud or onion fights. We’ve already had plenty of those.”

“Fine,” Tritone said, “I choose my tongue.”

In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed,
“
Your
tongue?!”

Nodding, Tritone confirmed, “Indeed. My tongue. I want to engage House Aaron’s finest in an insult battle.”

In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed, “An
insult battle?!
”

“But not
just
an insult battle,” Tritone continued.

In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed, “Not
just
an insult battle?!”

“No. A ‘yo momma’ insult battle. Modern colloquialisms and contemporary references allowed.”

In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed,
“Noooooooooooooo!”

The mud was gone.

Head fell to his knees onto the green, green grass behind the castle and stared up into the blue, blue sky. He touched the lawn, reveling in its feel, its scent, its color, and its cleanness. As he was about to lie on his stomach and put his face in the luscious grass, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Without turning around, he intoned, “Yes?”

“Good morning, Lord Barker,” the voice said. It was a deep, guttural voice, yet somehow had a tinge of effeminateness. “How are you on this lovely morning?”

Head answered, “I’m wonderful.” Then he looked over his shoulder to find out whose question he was answering.