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“My King,” Bdubs greeted, taking a bow.
Where once he lounged, Ren the King now sat completely straight on his netherite throne with a frown on his face. His eyes were set deep, his hair coming loose from a once perfectly manicured braid, and his ears were pinned back.
“Sir Bdubs,” he greeted. “Bring ye any news?”
“Well…” Bdubs trailed off. To be the bearer of bad news once was not pleasant. To be forced to tell his King the same bad news for the third time in only so many days was tedious and infuriating, not to mention the personal embarrassment.
“Well? You promised me that your own personal attempt at making the prisoner talk would succeed, where Sir Scar and Sir Iskall’s failed,” Ren demanded.
Bdubs shuffled his feet, taking a sudden interest in the carpet. Well, who could blame him? The Royal Architect. He built this place, he had every reason to want to look at that carpet, thank you very much!
“Imayhavestruggledtomaketheprisonertalk,” he said under his breath.
“What was that? Speak up, my man,” the King ordered.
“I said I failed to make the prisoner talk, alright?!” He said at a perfectly normal, level, and reasonable volume.
The King rose from his throne and began to pace, crown bouncing on his head.
“Is he still sticking to his lie?” Ren asked.
“Says he knows nothing of any kind of resistance,” Bdubs grumbled.
Ren shook his head, stroking his chin as he considered the situation.
“...And we are certain he is not telling the truth?”
“My King!” Bdubs gasped. “The man is a trickster! It was you yourself who discovered that the… the… tha slippery robot Grumbot had been used as a tool to orchestrate the rebellion. And who is the brain behind it? Who did it mention itself when questioned? That’s right! It’s very own father!”
“Hmm,” Ren hummed, taking a moment to consider Bdubs’ wisdom. “You are right, Sir BdoubleO, as you so often are. And for standing by your King in his moment of weakness, I too shall forgive you yours. I cannot blame you for failing to make that snake in the grass talk.”
“What?! Blame me?! But I didn’t- I mean , thank you, my King! You are most gracious.”
“I am, yes,” Ren agreed. “Now, what other methods of persuasion do we have left? there must be some resources we have not yet employed.”
“Well, there’s always the…” Bdubs paused, trailing off as he pondered. “What celestial body did we name it after in the end?”
Ren paused. “I’m… not certain. But I know of what you speak: The Drop.”
“Ooh, I like that,” Bdubs acknowledged. “A little less pizzazz, but much more ominous. Fitting of this dark time in our reign.”
“Perhaps,” Ren said, merely raising an eyebrow at Bdubs’ slip of the tongue. “But I do not want him dead, I want him talking. I have a better idea, something far scarier.”
Bdubs had seen people go instantly pale in the past and knew without a doubt that he had just done so himself.
“You don’t mean…”
“I am afraid so,” the King said direly. “Send for Lady Cleo. Let her know that her services are needed post haste.”
A severe punishment indeed. Cleo was scary!
“Very well, my King.”
“And in the meantime, have Cub do his netherite magic trick in view of the prisoner. That should freak his bean.”
For the first time, Bdubs paused to question whether or not they may be the villains of this story, but quickly dismissed the thought. After all, he had been the one to put Ren in charge, and Bdubs had never been wrong before… at least not very much.
“All will be as you will it, my King,” Bdubs said, taking another deep bow before he made his exit and set to work.
–
Somewhere in the belly of the Crastle, in an uncomfortably damp cell, was Mumbo Jumbo, bean already thoroughly freaked.
There he had been, just returned from a well-deserved holiday, when his good friends Iskall and Scar had come to say hello to him. How very kind of them!
Except they hadn’t come to say hello at all! They had dragged him away, and now he was here! Locked away in some castle, accused of high treason against the King, saying something about ‘father 1.’
Since when was there even a king for him to commit treason against?!
Mumbo groaned, wishing he had prolonged his holiday for another month.
He had a distinct feeling that
all of this
was somehow Grian’s fault.