A Spoiled Rule

Chapter 2

Two guards lifted frail Gregory and carried him out of the room. The king felt he was acting wrongly. His instincts told him to exercise caution with Gregory, yet he could not be certain it was the plague, and until then, he must be rational. The palace was full of frantic people; he mustn't worry them further.
"And how are you, Your Majesty?" asked Doctor Hummings, peeling off his gloves.
"I do not require an examination," said the king, though he knew that Hummings meant to inquire outside of health. "We must all stay alert yet calm. Worry's time should be delayed. I must meet William at the collectors. After, I shall meet with the chefs, then hold a meeting with my guards." He strode out of the room down the long hall from which he came, his guards and Hummings in pursuit.
"I have not yet seen or heard of the advisors," said Hummings in a low voice so the guards could not overhear.
The king smiled faintly, recognizing Hummings' tone as that of a friend. There were rare moments when the doctor would attempt to talk as a friend, as they were constantly under the supervision of an advisor or citizen or guard. With William, even fewer opportunities arose, as he was more occupied than Hummings. "I have both heard and seen them," said the king, matching Hummings' tone. "Still, they plot against me. I fear that soon William will be under their hold."
Hummings scoffed. "His revision of Protocol Ninety-Three was absurd. Surely the advisors were behind it. We'd all be a disgrace and far worse at this moment had his revision been accepted. Your hesitation was wise."
"I only hope that I have not forced a wedge between William and I by doing so," said the king. He could not afford to lose William.
"It is his duty not to hold such a grudge against you," said Hummings as they crossed the grand hall. It was silent, and the king could hardly believe that just a moment ago the space had been filled. A guard held open a large golden-plated door for the king to enter through. As soon as he did, noise filled his ears. The chatter of the people echoed off the marble walls, and weaved through the beams up above. Three enormous, polished wooden doors stood at the end of the room, where most of the guards stood, resisting the temptation to argue with the people, who collectively angered at the sight of the guards.
The king needed to find the chefs. "Doctor Hummings, return to the medical wing and report to me Gregory's condition by nightfall."
Hummings nodded and left.
The king pushed his way through the crowd as passively as he could, attempting to reach the doors. He was not used to this treatment; all the obedience the people held for him moments before had gone. He passed a woman struggling to settle two children, a man with tears on his face, another whose complexion was red and voice hoarse from demanding to be let through the doors.
"Your Majesty, they wish to pass through the doors," said the nearest guard as the king broke through the crowd. The king looked back at the people and saw only a few tame faces gazing up at him, waiting for something. He could not let the people through. Though he trusted his people, he did not trust their stomachs. They'd devour the remaining resources stored behind the doors. "Where is William?" asked the king.
"The third door, Your Majesty," said the guard. He forced some of the people back for the king, who snaked between the wall and the people until he reached William. William wore a blank face, as was his specialty, though the king knew he was disgruntled. "William," said the king loudly.
William turned and gave a brief bow. "Your Majesty," he said. "We must not let the people pass until we speak with the chefs."
"Do you know of their whereabouts?"
William nodded toward the balcony that ran the length of the room. A line of ten chefs stood there in white coats, eyeing the people.
"Ah," sighed the king. "I shall speak with them and deliver my report." He continued forward until he reached the wall where beyond a thin door sat a stone staircase blanketed with royal red carpet. He hurried up the steps. He reached the balcony and spotted Lowinn, the head of the line.
"Chef Lowinn," said the king.
The man turned, along with the other chefs. Lowinn was a middle-aged man with unruly hair, which he casually concealed in a hat. His eyes were filled with stress, though he spoke to the king in his usual quiet, slow voice.
"Your Highness, we have just finished the count," said Lowinn.
"What is it?" asked the king.
"Two-thousand and forty-three," said Lowinn. "That consists of one thousand and ninety-three adults and nine-hundred and twenty children."
The king frowned. There were more children than expected. However, if this was not the plague, then the numbers would be relatively accurate. "How many of the elderly?"
"Thirty," said Lowinn.
The king could not help but recall Gregory. "And the collectors?"
"All three are full," said Lowinn. "Would you care to hear the estimate?"
The king nodded.
"Two years," said Lowinn.
The king's heart fluttered. "That's good," he said. "Perhaps we need not worry. We can wait until it is deemed safe to venture out." The king had nearly forgotten. "Were you able to gather food from outside the palace?"
Lowinn frowned, and his darting eyes suggested he was nervous. "I was unaware you ordered such a thing."
The king took a breath. "It is not your fault. Some are under the impression that we are to operate under the original protocol, others that we are to operate under the revised. It does not matter. We need only to be still."
Lowinn nodded. "We need only to be still. The people have yet to understand the significance of waiting. It is only the first day, the first hour!"
"They are not to blame," the king muttered, looking down upon the angry crowd. They were determined to rush the collectors. "They are-"
A loud, ear-splitting scream erupted in the hall. All the chefs and the king leaned over the balcony railing. At the front of the room, chaos burst in a plague of terror. A commoner was on top of a woman, behaving like a madman. The woman appeared to be the loud woman the king had encountered earlier, though now she was crying desperately. The man's screams overpowered those around him, even the woman's, and bits of flesh and blood tore from the woman as he ripped open her neck.
The king foresaw what would follow. He gripped the railing and watched the people, in their cries of fear, push against the collector doors. The guards were being overtaken. "William!" the king shouted over the madness.
A loud shot rang through the air. The people screamed. Two of the collector doors opened as the guards abandoned their posts. Only one door stood closed-William's door.
Someone grabbed the king. It was his guards. "Your Majesty, we must hurry to the dungeon," spoke a guard loudly.
The king shivered at the notion. "By no means will you do so," he said as he was pulled away from the balcony. He attempted to gain some space from the chaos unfolding by covering the length of the balcony, reaching a door at the other end. This golden door would take him back into the grand hall. He noticed his line of chefs following, quite eager to get out. Two guards in front of the king opened the door and allowed him to hurry down the marble steps. Immediately, the cries of the people were muffled by the thick marble wall separating the king from them. Two guards pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs, and the king and his chefs emptied into the grand hall. The royal doors were being pounded upon by something outside.
The king frowned. "Who closed those doors?" The question did not concern the royal doors, but the doors leading into the collector room. Those inside would be trapped.
No one answered the king. Astounded, he was about to demand the meaning of their absurd behavior when he was chilled to his core. Standing before him across the grand hall, beside a marble pillar, was Gregory. He appeared to have come from the direction of the medical hall, though the king had not ordered this. He knew then he had made a terrible mistake. Gregory's physique leaned to one side and was very pale and perspiring. Even at a distance, the king could see dark blood on Gregory's hands. Poor Hummings.
Gregory let out a horrific scream and ran for the king. The king felt one of his guards at his side, and simultaneously, he heard a mechanic click and a thump. Gregory was screaming, yet he had fallen to the floor, a large net constricting his movements. Fury flared in the king, and he turned toward the guard who had appeared at his side. The man was holding a net shooter. "I did not grant you permission to do that!"
"Your Highness, it was under Protocol Ninety-Three that I-"
"Under which revision?" roared the king over Gregory's thrashing.
The guard shifted nervously. Then, the man straightened his posture, remembering to whom he spoke. "Captain William's, Your Majesty."
The king's throat constricted. "As I denied that revision, you shall act according to the original protocol, as shall all others!"
The guard nodded quickly. "Of course, Your Majesty." The man grabbed a golden knife that was secured to his left thigh and threw it with a flick of the wrist. The knife flew directly into Gregory's skull, and immediately the poor man's suffering ceased.
The pounding continued from both the collector doors and the royal doors. The king hurried past Gregory's lifeless form to another set of marble stairs hidden behind some pillars. He ascended quickly, flanked by five of his guards. They showed no care in secrecy now. "Open the collector doors," the king ordered once he was safely on a balcony.
Two guards on the bottom floor unlocked the doors. A large mob of crying people spilled out, running over each other. The king watched, horrified, as children and the elderly were trampled upon. He noticed some in the back of the crowd whose physique was off: They were men and women who leaned to one side and snarled. "Knives will not be needed," the king said sadly. "Kill only those who are visibly infected."
Without question, guards began to shoot anyone in the crowd who snarled. It went by in a blur. The diseased pounced on children and the elderly. They all were shot. People nearest got scratched. They were also shot with those showing symptoms. In less than a minute, all that was left was a small group of twenty or so people who shouted at the guards to let them up into the balconies. Tears poured down their faces. None of those who remained were children. Only three were women.
"Your Highness," spoke a guard quietly, "The medical hall is not clear. All of the collectors have been contaminated."
The king responded without emotion. "Has the central balcony been prepared?"
"Yes, there are guards waiting for you as we speak."
"My people," the king said, his voice echoing off the marble pillars below. The people quieted. It was much easier to get their attention now. "During this critical moment, it is imperative that we remain diligent in mind and humble in heart, for as selfishness has already shown, disaster shall fall upon us should we forget our basic morals."
"But what are we to do?" a woman cried, holding the hand of a young man. "There is no food! It's all contaminated!"
"They still try to get in!" shouted a large man, pointing at the royal doors, which were shaking in their golden hinges.
"We are safe within these walls," the king replied, unable to keep his voice at a loud volume. Sadness had filled his heart. "I ask you to remain in this hall only a little longer, while I prepare adequate rooms for you all, away from the noise. You will be guarded while I do so." The king glanced at the guards below, then his eyes strayed to a woman whose arms were wrapped around herself. With a heavy heart, he turned into a hall branching off from the balcony. He walked without seeing. The air around him was eerily still. His guards resumed their secrecy so as not to disturb the king's thoughts.
The king turned to his right, where he emerged onto the central balcony, adorned with red carnations. Two high-ranking guards, those directly beneath William, stood amidst snarls sounding from below. The king leaned forward and glimpsed one of the below savages pounding at the royal doors. He then gazed over Harksgold, its elegant houses marked with golden trim, and the structures beyond stretching toward the sea, where large ships sat still. He gazed toward the funnels of black smoke rising into the sky out of Chroal. He could see flames on the horizon. Among the other concerns that burned at the back of the king's mind, one stood forth: The guards who were supposed to erect a wall about Chroal could not be seen.
"Your Majesty, we must hurry," spoke one of his guards.
There came shouting from behind. The king looked back, and though he could see none, he sensed his guards nearing. The people were trying to get to the king. The king gave a grave nod. He dismissed two guards who were accustomed to helping him and pulled at a small flap on the shoulder of his garments. Immediately, he felt his robes contract and press against his body. A second later, a thin but durable golden chest plate had been secured over his body. He stooped down and pressed at two smaller hatches on the heels of his boots. He lifted one foot at a time, hearing the small click that indicated the securing of the small suspensor plates on his heels. Two guards stepped onto the marble railing. Receiving a nod from their king, they leaned off the railing. The king waited, knowing nothing horrid would happen but still fearing it would. Thankfully, the king saw his two guards return in sight, flying parallel to the ground. They bent their knees and dug their heels in the air, and they stopped, hovering vertically, waiting.
"Scout the shores," said the king. He thought he heard a snarl amongst the yells nearing from behind. "Do not make contact should a Díne appear. Rendezvous at the portmaster's dwelling in no more than thirty minute's time."
The two guards nodded and pointed their feet, and they shot off toward the sea. The king dismissed a helping hand and stepped onto the railing. Two guards stepped up beside him. The king, ignoring his stammering heart, leaned forward. He felt the rush of wind against his ears, and gravity working against his suspensors. Then, he felt a slight tug on his ribs and feet, and he was flying parallel to the ground.