Heavy Is the Crown- Chapter Eighteen
Bowser waved as the Princess and her company headed off toward the Warp Zone, one which would take them just back inside Mushroom Kingdom's western border. If Peach could deliver on her end, then he would get a little closer to his goal of vengeance. He knew Ardin couldn't get at Godash, even as skilled as he was. The Shadow always kept four to six agents beyond Renoit's direct command, by order of the Emperor, to serve in the Heavenly Palace. The toadstool freelancer was good, but he couldn't escape the notice of six such agents.
A ballistic assault wouldn't work either, between guards, wizards and the Hammer Brothers stationed in the capital. But Ardin had knowledge of Godash's activities, and that could be leveraged. The overgrown koopa mutant thought on this as he headed inside.
Once back in the castle, he was met by Mason in the entry hall. "Master Bowser, your presence is requested in the library," the chief of staff said.
"By whom?"
"The major," Mason replied, veering off down an east-wing hallway as Bowser reached the north wing doors off of the entry hall. Usually, Mason would have accompanied Bowser after delivering such a message. This break from his normal behavior signaled to Bowser that something was amiss.
Mentally preparing himself for a wide array of tough conversational gambits with Meechum, he headed to the major's office on the ground floor. It took him only a few minutes to get to Meechum's door, which stood open a crack. Bowser pushed the door open, knocking as he did so.
He discovered Meechum staring down at a fabric map of the continent of Famicom, rolled out over his desk. He'd begun placing some figurines on the map, but only a few. Bowser cleared his throat lightly, snagging the yellow shelled koopa's attention. "Ah, Bowser," Meechum said vacantly, still in thought about his map. "Please, shut the door and come sit."
With the door closed, Bowser lowered himself gingerly into the chair across from Meecum and raised one fiery red eyebrow at him. "You wanted to see me?"
"I did indeed." Meechum began taking more figures from a box behind him and arraying them on the map. Each was remarkably detailed, little koopas and toadstools and old-fashioned war machines, horses, and mages of both races. Bowser took the translation immediately- each figure represented a full unit of fifty men for the grunts, and less for the specialized groups. He'd seen Meechum map campaigns before.
"Sir?"
"Just one more minute," Meechum replied. He positioned several more units, then stopped. "I've received orders from the capital to take command of the 17th Infantry in the northern end of the front," Meechum said, pointing to a figurine of a koopa with helmet, sword and shield. "I am to take this unit five miles east, then turn directly south and gather up other units and platoons until meeting up with the 2nd Infantry, here," he said, pushing his first figurine until it stood next to one just like it. "Once there, I am to await further instruction."
"So, you'll be leaving again," Bowser said, quirking his mouth into an annoyed pout. "It's never the same when you're not here, you know."
"I know, and I'm sorry. But I am a sworn soldier of this Empire. Now," Meechum said, flapping his hand at the map. "I don't recognize this kind of cease-fire troop movement from any of Douard's writings on warfare. Am I forgetting something here?"
Bowser searched his memory quickly, then shook his head. "No. This isn't Douard. This is Spicer."
"Spicer? I've never even heard of him," Meechum said.
"Few have. He was a military advisor and warfare philosopher, very popular about forty years ago. He died a couple of years before I was born. Those who know his work call him the 'anti-Douard', constantly contradicting Douard's combat theories. The army has only ever used four or five of hi manuevers."
"What's this one called?"
"'The Pitchfork'. It's designed for abrupt aggression to end cease-fires and bombard enemy forces by first appearing to consolidate for a retreat, while quietly moving a replacement force into the moving unit's former position. Then, three prongs strike hard and fast, the flanking posts empowered by a suddenly swollen central force. Meechum," Bowser said, legs shaking nervously. "The Emperor is about to kill a lot of people."
"I assumed the Emperor would have told you about my plan," Wunderweiss said, dressed in a clean, freshly pressed set of robes. "Of course, he did seem a little out of it." Godash sat in the lounge just off of the main mess hall, a plate of crumbs before him. While searching the Emperor's chambers, he'd come across a journal containing the conversations he'd had with his Grand Magus, including one labeled 'Operation: Bait and Switch'. "Allow me to go over it in brief."
"Of course," Godash said. The entry in the journal had been little more than a few vague lines about letting the Mushroom Kingdom 'capture' a valued target to trade for Prince Tangerine. The Emperor may have been dying, but his mind had still been sharp.
"Having my magical prowess allowed me to lay spell traps within the front borders of the Kingdom, if I could just get through. So, we leaked information about my visiting a unit mage on the northern edge of our lines, and I was 'captured' by enemy forces. So, you see, once I was escorted to the nearest village for questioning, I began laying the groundwork for a trigger curse, one I could set up and then activate at my leisure. It was laborious, having to restrain the flow of my magic as to be undetected."
"So, they have no idea?"
"None. After a few days, a 'rescue unit' was sent to come for me, but they were noticed and I was moved further east. All in all, I've got eleven villages set up for some nasty curses, including Orful, which is only a day from the Royal City and Palace."
"They weren't going to risk letting the Grand Magus any closer," Godash said plainly. "I see."
"Yes. It didn't take long for me to convince my wardens that I'd be worth the return of Prince Tangerine." Wunderweiss sipped at a glass of sweet tea and sighed with simple pleasure. "Which brings us to the last bit."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You see, once the Prince crosses back into Mushroom Kingdom, the Emperor will send Shadow agents to dispatch him. They're already tailing his caravan." Godash sputtered coffee; the sheer brutality of the Emperor's mind still stunned him at times. "It was the final part of the plan."
"He thinks of everything, doesn't he," said Godash.
"He still has it in him, yes," said Wunderweiss. "Can't be for too much longer, though. Five, six years at most."
"Well, we have to make the most of that time, then," said Godash. In his mind, he danced a little victory jig.
Throwing back the sheets, Bowser sat up on the edge of his bed, unable to sleep. He knew Spicer's strategems inside and out, just as he knew Douard's. Using 'The Pitchfork' could work at times, but the Mushroom Kingdom would have to already be reeling from something else to not realize what was happening.
They'd seen it once before, after all.
"Something else will happen first," he muttered to the darkened room. "A disaster, something to pull their focus away." Bowser knew that logically speaking, he should be thrilled that his home country was looking at coming out on top. He considered himself a loyal subject, even if he did disagree with the Empire's caste system. Yet he found himself wanting to warn the Mushroom Kingdom somehow, to tell them they were about to be duped.
If he sent a missive to Princess Peach, would it reach her before it was too late? Taking no chances, Bowser climbed out of bed and took up a pen at his writing desk in his bedchamber. If he was going to do this, the time was now, before he lost his nerve.
If anyone knew what he was doing, he could be charged with treason and jailed. But this was the right thing to do, he knew as much in his heart. He was no pacifist, but the line had to be drawn somewhere. His machines had killed thousands, and the notion of not intervening to save lives would only leave him feeling even worse.
And so he wrote, putting aside the feeling of guilt over helping the Kingdom. What sense was there in being loyal if it made you feel like a monster at the same time?
Prince Tangerine remained quiet as he rode along in the back of his wagon, trying to think of what to tell his father. Being imprisoned alone would not have changed him any as a man. Sharing a dungeon with koopas and goombas who'd spoken out against the war did.
One prisoner in particular, whose cell had been across the hall from his, had caused the greatest impact on his thinking. When Tangerine was first brought to the Heavenly Palace and thrown in the dungeons, he was beaten savagely, dragged around his cell and punched, kicked and elbowed about until his face felt like so much raw hamburger. When the laughing guards left, his neighbor across the corridor came to the bars of his own cell.
"One hell of a welcome wagon," the koopa said, an older red tribe man in robes that matched his shell. "Most of us in this wing of the dungeon don't get that much attention." Tangerine sat up with a grunt, and spat out blood from gums split by fists. "My word," breathed the koopa. "You're Prince Tangerine!"
"Astute observation," the Prince rumbled, slumping sideways against the bars. He looked off through the bars that divided his cell from those on either side of his, and saw he had an audience. His bunk and toilet were flush against the rear wall, partial concrete side walls offering a small measure of privacy from his immediate neighbors. It was then that he realized he was the only human present, and there were no toadstools. "I see only koopas and goombas here."
"Astute observation," replied the elder koopa. Tangerine looked over, saw that he wore a wry grin. He scowled at the older man. "Oh, come now, you know you had that coming," the koopa said playfully, a laugh just under the surface. Much to his own surprise, Tangerine snorted a short laugh.
"Yeah, I suppose I did."
"This part of the dungeon is reserved for political prisoners," the older koopa said. "We're usually treated well enough here, though we hear some awful noises from down around the corridor's bend. That's where the females are locked up." Tangerine shuddered to think of what he might hear in the night, and what it would imply.
"What is thy name, old dad," Tangerine asked, spitting aside blood and climbing to his feet.
"I'm called Father Time by my fellows down here," the koopa replied. "Or just 'Elder', as is custom when a group designates a post of honor based on age and experience."
"You don't want anyone to know who you are, I take it," Tangerine said.
"Just so." There had been little further conversation that day, but over the course of weeks, Father Time and the other prisoners shared with the Prince their frustrations with the Empire and its internal policies. Father Time spoke as one who had been an administrative insider, though he was always crafty when speaking of his own experiences, so as not to tip his hand about his identity. Tangerine found his shrewdness and conversational cunning marvelous.
While the others listened, the Prince and Father Time debated economic philosophies, societal isses, and military tactics. It was during one of these talks three days before his release that Prince Tangerine realized who he'd become companions with- the great Douard.
He knew it was him, but said nothing to anyone about it. When he realized the koopa was Douard, his entire view of how the Empire worked shifted. Here was a man who had once effectively run the entire military, yet had only commanded a single short campaign (and a brilliant one at that), who was as anti-aggression as one could be in such a post, and he'd been thrown in prison. Why didn't anyone know this?
"Because they would revolt," he muttered to himself as the wagon slowed to a stop. "If the people knew, they'd revolt against their own government." One of his escort guards poked his head in through the flap at the back.
"Too dark out now to carry on, Majesty," said the toadstool from behind his helmet visor. "We'll make the border in three days, unless we can be granted access to a warp zone."
"Very good," said Tangerine. "No need to make me a tent. I'll rough it back here." The guard saluted and went away, leaving Prince Tangerine to contemplate his next move. He could disrupt the entire Empire with a single fact, open the door for a crushing victory for the Mushroom Kingdom. But he couldn't do it himself. Thrusting his head back through the flap, he called out, "Guard!" One of his men came moments later, weapon held ready. "Sheathe that, and grab me a pen and parchment from your gear. This is a task for the mightier," he said with a wolfish smile.
He wouldn't have to engage the Empire in open warfare if he could help install a new government in the wake of an uprising. It would remain a separate nation, but why not make it one that served its people, as one led by Douard or someone like him would be?
The guard returned, and Tangerine wrote by the light of an oil lamp in the wagon, 'Dear Father'.
Two messenger birds flew in the early pre-dawn hours. One carried word from a loyal son to his father. One carried word from a young man to a friend. Humble little creatures, these, harmless things paid no heed. Yet on their legs rested the fate of not one, but two nations.
The lands of Famicom were about to undergo some changes.