Heavy Is The Crown- Chapter 12
Some kind of explosion rocked the entire castle, yanking Bowser out of a sound sleep. He was out in the hallway in seconds, roughly pushed aside by armed guards rushing past on their way to the north end of the castle. His mother, quartered across the hall from the boys, came out bleary-eyed from her own deep slumber, rubbing her arms. "What's going on," she asked blearily.
"No idea, mother," Bowser muttered. Then they heard a clang and clash of steel, followed by grunts and cries of wounded men. Hot on the heels of these sounds came a sound Bowser would never forget.
In a blood-curdling shriek, a man cried out, "All hail the Mushroom Kingdom! Death to the koopa scum!" From around the bend in the corridor ahead came sprinting a toadstool man in blood-spattered gray leathers, wicked, curved blades in his hands, face contorted in a madman's leering grin. He bore down toward them faster than anyone Bowser had ever seen.
His mother was on him in a flash, shoving Bowser roughly back into the boys' bedchamber. As he fell, Bowser reached out for her, the world before and around him slowed to an agonizing crawl. He watched as each of the knobby knuckles on his hand stretched out, his mother's eyes still squinted from the massive effort of shoving him out of harm's way. He heard the thud of feet behind her, watched helplessly as a hooked knife arced down over her shoulder, carving a bloody path through her throat as the assassin sprinted by. He smelled the thick, coppery tang of his mother's blood as droplets sprayed down toward the floor, her eyes now rolling up in her head.
As he hit the floor, time resumed its normal flow, and Bowser howled like a dragon over his mother's body.
For three days, life flowed over and around the young mutant koopa without seeming to touch him in any significant way. The evening of the assassin's run devolved into screaming, rushing guards, Meechum helping drag Bowser off to the infirmary, and the occasional word of news which filtered its way to the primary castle healer and his staff, overheard by Bowser on his bed. He didn't react to anything he heard that night, and only roused himself long enough to use the bathroom twice.
The morning brought Meechum, who withheld nothing from Bowser. He informed the numbed boy that guards in the lower village had discovered the remnants of a false hobgoblin skin left in a rented room, along with a letter from Prince Tangerine ordering his assassin to infiltrate the Empire and slay one of its Princes, preferrably Nurik. His lands being the border between the nations, this seemed to make sense.
The letter also instructed the assassin to kill anyone he had to in order to get away alive. Bowser didn't respond, but every word Meechum told him was being filed away in his mind, and these last ones came stamped in crimson with shimmering flecks of gold.
Moxy, Trim and Doko came by an hour later to sit with him and try talking to him, but Bowser just lay there and stared at the ceiling. The guards and staff were all in a tizzy, they informed him, nobody certain of anything beyond their need to listen to Douard. The sagely older koopa tried to keep everybody calm, to maintain order, but he faced an uphill battle.
Around midday, news reached the castle that Prince Dulaha, second son of the Emperor, was en route to assess the situation and take control of the territory. He would arrive the next afternoon, the staff said. Bowser lay silent in his infirmary bed and wondered how much more his life was about to change.
Second Advisor Limkin knelt at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Emperor's throne, head bent down, arms shackled behind his back. Ben Godash stood behind and to the left of the throne, barely withholding the urge to cackle like a hyena at the once-smug little man below. This used to be your spot, Limkin! Look up at me, and see me in victory!
The Emperor, his blue shell matched by brilliant robes in various shades of the same color, grimaced down at Limkin in disgust. "Advisor Limkin," rumbled the Emperor, his booming voice echoing around the marble throne room. The rounded, polished columns vibrated with his voice, causing a faint tremor to ripple through every surface. This effect was achieved with enchantments placed on the Emperor's throne itself, magic lent to the royal family back when Gora Empire was still the Koopa Kingdom. "You bring on an instructor from Hyrule, without getting any verification of who he claims to be. You send him into the castle of my youngest son. He turns out to be an assassin working for Prince Tangerine. He kills Nurik and several others, and sews panic in the east. Does that sound about right?"
"Yes, my Lordship," Limkin said through puffy lips. The guards had not been kind when bringing him before the Emperor.
"This level of incompetence is intollerable, and has lost me a son," said the Emperor. "Your grievous lack of judgment is hereby charged as treason. How do you plead?" Godash stood ready, documents tucked within his robes should Limkin do as he expected, and try to lay the blame at his feet.
"I plead guilty, my Lordship," Limkin said. Godash flinched, but just barely. This is not what I expected! What's going on here?
"Very well," said the Emperor. "You shall be executed summarily by beheading. Have you any final words, Limkin?" A black shell koopa in heavy armor, wielding a double-sided battle axe stepped out from behind a support column and slowly began ascending the steps toward Limkin on the first landing.
"Only this," Limkin said, raising his head. "The assassin struck from ambush, a coward employing trickery and subterfuge." Here, turned his head and full attention toward Godash. "I have known other men like this. You should beware them, Emperor." The condemned koopa glared at Godash a moment longer, then lowered his head, forehead pressed against a stone step, neck stretched out.
The Emperor waved a hand casually, and the executioner's axe fell, cleaving cleanly through, parting head from body. Godash should have felt jubilant, elated, but where those feelings should have pranced in the meadows of his mind, he found instead a barren dust bowl.
Something was wrong, and Limkin's acceptance of his fate felt like a sign of bigger problems ahead.
Bowser showered in the private bathroom attached to the boys' quarters, making himself presentable for the funeral service. He could feel Meechum's protective presence outside the chamber, as well as the nervous energy of Rompus and Willow beyond him in the corridor. His friends were already dressed and ready to go in the castle's main entryway, all of them giving Bowser his space.
He appreciated it, but the gesture made him feel lonlier than he had ever known. He turned off the water and stepped out, toweling off and putting his spiked shell on, fixing it in place without decoration. In his mind's eye he once more saw the assassin, bearing down on he and his mother, eyes perfectly sane, aware of what he was doing.
Everybody around him thought the assassin a zealot in service to Prince Tangerine. Bowser recalled those eyes, and wasn't so sure about that. He flipped the lights off and exited the bathroom.
Meechum, Rompus and Willow silently guided him to the front of the castle, where a long kart awaited them all. They loaded in and rode to the cemetery, located just west of the village. The service focused mainly on Prince Nurik, who would not remain in that resting place. The guards who had fallen were given collective rites, and of Bowser's mother, only a few passing sentences were uttered by the priest.
Yet her casket and headstone were immaculate, and Bowser knew without question this was Meechum's doing. Douard might have approved the expenditure, but that would be all. The elder koopa had too much else to contend with. No, Meechum had ever been close to Bowser and his mother. It was likely he'd hand-picked these for her.
Watching his mother's casket lowered into the earth, Bowser suddenly thought, I'm an orphan now. Not yet ten years old, and both of his parents now lay in the ground. In times of strife, however, this was not uncommon, especially among the lower castes.
This idea seemed to echo through Bowser's mind as the group rode back from the village. The class system the Empire used pushed good men like his father into menial jobs and lesser living conditions, while promoting and elevating the likes of Benjamin Godash, a conniving, cowardly lout. It's our system that causes our anguish, Bowser thought.
When they got back to the castle, Douard met them at the gates, looking haggard, diminished. Past him, filling almost the entire main courtyard before the keep itself, stood soldiers in full battle dress, their transport wagons bearing the mark of Prince Dulaha, a rounded shield covered with a silver spear. Bowser climbed down off the kart's extended back flatbed, heart racing as he saw that Douard's travel trunk and many of his bags and books lay in the dust alongside it.
"You've been sacked," Meechum said, approaching the older koopa, who nodded silently. Meechum reached out, and the two men briefly clasped one another. When Meechum pulled away, he looked past Douard's shoulder. "Who's this black shell coming our way?" Douard looked back and sighed, sagging.
"He's an Impirial Conscription Officer," said Douard. As soon as the words were out o his mouth, Bowser heard a commotion behind him, turning to see the two oldest children of staff who'd attended the funeral and their respective parents making a break to run away.
"In the name of the Emperor, you will halt or you will die," the black shell roared, stomping past Meechum and Douard, flanked by koopas and human soldiers bearing long bows. Most of those running stopped, but not Reggie, the oldest koopa boy, or his father Nigel, Prince Nurik's kart mechanic.
The Conscription Officer grunted, and arrows flew. Reggie and Nigel barely made a sound as they were made into bloody pin cushions, dropped to the ground in an instant. He looked around and offered a stone-faced glare at them all. "I am sergeant Alka Katool, of the Impirial Army. If you are fifteen years of age or older, stand over there," he said, pointing to one side. "Younger, over there," pointing opposite. As Bowser headed to his left, Katool barked, "Hey! I said over on the other side!"
"He is but nine years old," said Douard behind the sergeant. The black shell turned about, eyebrow raised. "He's a mutant, overdeveloped."
"I can see that. What's his name?"
"Bowser. Bowser Entem," said Douard. At the sergeant's bright, murderous smile, he cringed back.
"Bowser? This is the one who made the cannons and living shells?"
"I am," Bowser said proudly, puffing out his chest as Katool wheeled on him. "What of it?"
"Oh, kid, you're not going to the front lines," said the sergeant. "Nah, Prince Dulaha has other orders for you."