The Mostly Danger-less Game Page #4

• Humour
• Satire
• Short story
• Fiction

								


When, for instance, Ludwig began muttering about invading the neighboring kingdom of Blexadonia over their ruler’s rejection of his invitation to Ludwig’s birthday celebration, Higgens subtly suggested organizing a hunt that would allow the prince a chance to consider his options. As with most similar matters, it was quietly dropped once the hunt had overtaken it in importance in the prince’s mind. Not long afterwards Higgens provided the prince with a very heartfelt letter of apology from the Lord Elector of Blexadonia and all was forgiven.

The operation ran smoothly for just about five years. It was then that a young man named Montigue came to serve in the Castle Balfor regiment of the National Guard. He was in every respect the perfect soldier. A magnificent physical specimen, in possession of both speed and muscle. Quick of wit and cunning of brain. A moral character that was beyond reproach. Predictably he was loathed.

His peers regarded him with envy and resentment. His superiors viewed him with suspicion and contempt. The only people in court who had any fondness for Montigue were the women of the castle. As the reader no doubt can deduce, this veneration from the fairer sex did him no favors with the opinions of fellow soldiers.

One such malcontent named Bernard took a particularly hatred of the young Montigue. This was because one of the women who was fond of the dashing guardsmen was Joanne, the same lovely lady-in-waiting that Bernard himself had been pursuing. He had put years of effort into wearing down her defenses. His relentless wooing of her, despite her apparent total lack of interest seemed to finally be on the verge of paying off, when in came this Johnny Come Lately with nothing more to offer then good looks and a reasonable personality. It was beyond the pale.

You might, dear reader, now be asking, what relevance does the seemingly impotent anger of a lone man of the guard might have? To understand that, you must first understand the unique power that Bernard held in his role within the Castle Balfor. He was you see, the keeper of the powder keg.

“Humph! Humph! Bernard!”, Sir Lawrence said as he burst into the armory and looked about  as if he had arrived there by accident rather than by design.

“Sergeant-at-arms!” Bernard said, bringing his heels together and snapping off a tidy salute. His tone seemed to say that even though it was taking him away from his duties, he was positively overjoyed to be in this great man’s company.

“At ease dear boy. Humph, humph, eh.”

“Thank you, sir! What brings you to the armory today?”

“The prince wishes to have one of his hunting expeditions on the morrow! Humph! Humph!”

“Ah, I see. He’ll be needing his trusty hunting rifle readied then milord?”

“Goodman, indeed, you know the procedure! Haha! Humph! Eh!”

“Oh, I do indeed milord, rest assured, we have the best supply of blank cartridges ever assembled.”

 “That’s the ticket! Have it prepared by eight of the clock sharp please and thank you, humph! Humph!”

“Shall do milord, shall do. If I may, which of the lads is up for the job this time?”

Lawrences grimaced, “Oh! Dear! Oh Dear! Humph! Eh, that blasted Montigue! Damed grasper.”

“Oh? Is that so milord?”

“Mmm, yes, bloody shame that one. Imagine if the corps was full of over achieving nonces like him!”

“Psssh! Unimaginable milord! Simply unimaginable!”

“Humph! Humph! Yes, yes! Good show! That is exactly why I like you Bernard, you have precisely what one needs to be a successful soldier. A lack of imagination.”

“You flatter me milord.”

“Humph! Eh, yes, indeed we shan’t see you ever overreaching your grasp or doing any flashy showing off shall we? Haha! If only we could have a hundred more of you and one less nonce like Montigue. Oh! Dear! Oh dear! Humph, yes well you shall have everything ready then?”

“Eight of the clock tomorrow milord.” Bernard said and snapped off an only slightly less vigorous salute.

Sir Lawrence nodded and patted him on the shoulder. Then he turned and proceeded to walk directly into the closed Armory door. 

“Allow me milord.” Bernard said, opening it for him.

“Oh! Dear! Oh Dear, Eh? Oh, yes, thank you.” Lawrence muttered as he wandered back out, rubbing his nose as he did. 

I do not think I need to insult your intelligence dear reader by spelling out exactly what had occurred to Bernard. What he lacked in imagination, he made up for with a species of base cunning. Enough at least to see an opportunity when one fell neatly into his lap.

“Accident.” He said to himself, just to feel out the word. “They happen all the time.” He continued. This was of course true. Children trip over roots and scrape chins when they are out running in the forest. Carts run off roads when the horse gets spooked and the axel cracks.  Live cartridges get mixed up with blanks. These things happen. No one could be blamed. 

The National Guard would be better off. Sir Lawrence had practically said as much. Bernard was not the brightest man on the world and was not familiar with the term “divine providence” but if one explained the concept to him, in words of a single syllable, he’d have been convinced that that was exactly was this situation was. Shortly after eight of the clock on the morrow, there would be a tragic, but rather blameless accident involving the prince, some mixed up cartridges, and a most unfortunately dead Montingue.

                     Quarter to eight in the morning.

“Well then, the prince will be along in 15 minutes, do you have your instructions master Montigue?”

“Oh Yes Lord Chancellor! I’m to stay close enough to keep an eye on him, let him wander the grounds a bit, then if he seems to be getting frustrated or fed up, make it seem as though I’ve stumbled in front of him.” Montigue said. He was dressed in a drab gray farmer’s shirt, brown vest and trousers. His flowing locks of blonde hair were neatly hidden under a tweed flat cap.

“Quite right! Good show. Don’t worry, it shan’t be long. An hour, two at most. The trickiest bit is tying to look sufficiently scared whilst also making yourself an easy target.” Higgens said, giving the boy a thump on the back.

“Ah, yes sir, that’s what some of the other lads said as well. That’s why I’ve been practicing. I thought I’d affect a sort of ‘frozen in horror’ image. Bit like a stag with lantern in its eyes. Here,” he mimed an expression of terror, widening his eyes and mouth, and throwing his hands up in mock alarm.

“Splendid!” Higgens said and once again thumped the soldier’s back. “Good man Montigue. You’ll earn your bonus my boy.”

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