He dubbed himself the Rat King when he foresaw the rodents crawling on his corpse, weaving in and out of his garments like a sensation, like a disease. Now he waits for them down in the ornate sewer home he fashioned. It is a fickle thing, the premo...
She knew he would not allow it, but the disappointment still stings. In the sparkling marbled floor, she watches as the Chancellor's oily face scrunches up into a grimace and she feels a mirror prang of upset. How long has it been since she has seen a fresh face? Her lip trembles and he says something again in his reedy voice.
The silence has not struck her as strange until she hears the familiar click of boots growing louder and louder in it. A thumb and forefinger grip a blue bead, lifting it up off the ground toward the white face. When black eyes connect with blue, the king straightens.
"I have changed my mind: let them in."
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Oh, what good fortune he has! Harren nearly skips down the hall, pushing past jumbled crowds of attendants and stopping to give the errand-boy a message. As the crowd accumulates, he beams.
"I want new curtains for the Grande Hall," he announces cheerfully and there is a collective groan. "I don't care if it makes your hands bleed, I want new curtains! Copper and crimson. You!"
He points to a girl holding a decapitated chicken. "Put that thing down and get the copper! And you—"
This time his choice is better: a robust blonde. "Get the crimson!"
When it becomes apparent that he will not leave, the servants become energized, perhaps hoping that the increase in speed will also hasten his departure. Unfortunately, he has already slipped back into his reverie and is quite lost to the suggestion.
He seizes the arm of the nearest serving boy and pulls him forward.
"Do you know what my greatest fantasy is?" he asks the bemused and increasingly horrified boy, but then something catches his eye.
"No! Crimson fabric, idiot!" He swats the back of the girl's head as she passes. Other maids stop, each swerving around to watch. He marches forward and his chest swells amidst the nervous appreciation of feminine giggles.
Ah, what a lovely day.
But as he struts out of the hall the Royal Inquisitor failsto see the hands clasped across mouths or the obscene gesture the blue-fabricgirl makes behind his back.
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