Sieged

Chapter Six

Sir Blouf stops abruptly and I almost walk into him. He turns. 

'Speak,' he blurts. 

'On the day of the theft, half the soldiers guarding the granary were ordered away by the king. I was just wondering if you advised His Majesty of such counsel.' 

'And why would you need to know that?' 

'Just so I can cross you off as a suspect,' I say, wanting to get a rise out of him. 

And I get it. 

Sir Blouf's face reddens, as bright as I've ever seen. 'How dare you. To suspect me, the king's advisor. This is treasonous. It's as if you were suspecting the king himself.' 

Treasonous? Who does he think he is? 

'My apologies,' I lie. 

'I should tell the king. But I won't. He doesn't need to hear this today. On my bri – on the princess' day of birth celebration.' Sir Blouf spins back around and carries on. 

Three servants scuttle by, holding a silver-laced gown as big as them. 

The queen's outfit for tonight I'm sure. 

'Slow down,' Sir Blouf barks at them, and they do, almost shrinking in fright. 

Suddenly, yelling explodes out of an open door down the hall. 

'You are an idiot,' shouts a voice. It's the king. 'I should punish you for that. A good wallop would do the trick. GET OUT! AND BRING MORE POWDER FOR MY FACE!' 

A young woman appears in a flurry, tears running down her cheeks. Holding a pile of clothes, she heads our way. But one look at Sir Blouf and she changes direction, eventually disappearing down the hall. 

At the open door, the dagger and ax emblem of the king etched large, Sir Blouf peers inside. 

'The sheriff is with me, Your Majesty,' he says. 

'Finally,' the king growls. 'Enter.' 

I traipse in alone, Sir Blouf taking his leave, and I see the king standing over his desk, naked, his fists propping himself up. His curly blonde locks glisten with grease and his face is caked with cosmetics. 

'Your Majesty,' I say, bowing as deep as my leg can take me. 

'I don't have much time,' the king snaps, not offering me a seat. 'Talk.' 

'About the investigation into the theft?' 

'What else do you think I want you to talk about?' he yells, spit flying from his mouth. 'My shirt and dress pants that my bitch servant dropped on the floor and wrinkled?' 

'My apologies.' I bow deeply again before lying, 'I questioned a very likely suspect today who lives in the Eastern Thatched district.' 

Now with an evil calmness and grin, the king replies, 'My dear brother, the late king, made you sheriff. Was that a mistake? Was me keeping you on as the top lawman of the city a mistake?' 

That's a likelihood, but I reply, 'No, Your Majesty, it was not a mistake.' 

'I look like a jester because my sheriff can't find the culprit.' 

You look like a jester with all that powder on your face, I want to say. 

'Sheriff,' the king continues, 'I want someone caught. Thrown in jail. No, beheaded. I don't care if the person did it or not. Find someone on their deathbed and arrest them.' 

I will never put an innocent person to death but I reply, 'Yes, Your Majesty.' 

'That will be it.' The king waves at me to get out.