The Incredibly Consequential Life of Charlie Zappala

Chapter Twelve: The Bad Guy is in this One

The king sat up, as if his interest hadn't been piqued to its utmost by the brush with destiny. "Oh, please excuse our lack of hospitality, for I have yet to introduce you to my advisors. This collection of lords and scholars assure that the best decisions are made on behalf of the country."

Ah yes, oligarchy, far superior to monarchy in every single way. Charlie bit their tongue. If this was the way this place ran their government affairs, it was a wonder why the feudal system lasted so long here.

Perhaps it worked here.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Charlie waved shyly to the group of snobs. None of them did anything in response. If it wasn't for the occasional blinking, Charlie would have thought they were all mannequins. Enchanted mannequins, still on the table.

The advisor closest to the king moved in closer. He was noticeably pale with hunched shoulders and slick hair in the middle of its journey to gray. His clothes were barely noticeable compared to the amazing technicolor dream king, with long dark fabrics that lacked definition when monochrome paired with the distance from the spectator's view. Something in their expression turned Charlie off. They couldn't quite place it at first.

The advisor spoke in a hushed voice that was still loud enough for Charlie to hear. The look on his face made it obvious that was the intention. "Your majesty, can we really be sure that this person is the one who was prophesized about?"

Althea leaned over to whisper in Charlie's ear. "That's Anxo. My father's most trusted advisor. His right hand."

The king didn't worry about matching his advisor's muted tone. It seemed as though his only setting was a comfortable baritone boom. "Sure? Surely, you are paranoid. This person is the splitting image of the hero foretold."

The advisor noticeably eyed Charlie up and down. "There are discrepancies."

"Artistic license," the king waved. "If this is who the great sorcerers agree upon, then this is our hero. You mustn't lose faith."

Anxo stood up straight. "You, young hero. What are your skills?"

The question caught Charlie off guard. "Skills?"

"Yes, skills. If you truly are the hero foretold, I imagine you must have a particular set of skills that separates you from any other common person in this kingdom."

Charlie shrugged. "Uh, well I can use Microsoft Word? I can run a pretty mean Outlook, too." They resisted a nervous laugh. "I'm multilingual. Or, at least, I know a lot about other languages enough that I can understand a lot of them but I can't actually fluently speak any. Also those languages probably don't even exist here anyway so that's irrelevant." They thought harder. "I'm also pretty good at getting out of parking tickets and riding the bus without paying." Again, probably irrelevant.

The advisor raised an eyebrow. "What, so no etherics experience, swordsmanship, smithery?"

"No, but I heard smithery loves company."

"Ah," he replied dryly. "A jester."

Charlie shot him a pair of finger guns.

The back of the king's hand tapped the advisor's chest. "Please, Anxo, these things reveal themselves in the most mysterious of ways. We cannot hope to learn of something that will only arrive in the final, most needed of moments."

"May I remind you, your highness, that the reason this child is here before us today is because we went out and sought that something before it had the chance to rise to its occasion? I fail to see how proactivity was a wise objective in that case and foolish in this one."