Too many big words. But something Mal said . . .
Oren’s thoughts shifted away from wondering if skunks liked shiny things, and he looked into Mal’s enraged eyes.
Maybe he should pay attention.
“His son, Querul the Third, was no better, continuing the reign of terror of his father. And his wife—your grandmother, Oren—was the most evil woman to ever stalk this world. Since she died seven years ago we’ve done all we can to undo her influence upon the world and you—”
“She wasn’t that bad,” Oren feebly tried to defend her. He couldn’t help it. Even though she’d been gone for years, somehow she was still in his mind, pinch-lipped and pointing. That finger was gnarled and bony, but somehow it was the scariest finger in the world. And you couldn’t turn your back on it, or it’d get you.
“She disposed of your wife and two daughters, Oren!” Mal shouted. “Do you know what happened to them?”
That was one of those worrying things Oren found it easier to just not worry about. He timidly shook his head.
“Never bothered to ask, did you? Your wife couldn’t produce a son, and you can’t legally have more than two children, so your grandmother cleared the way for you to have more children by various women in the world to finally produce a male! And what about your own mother, Oren? What happened to her?”
Another worrying thing. Mal seemed to be strangely interested in those today. “Umm,” Oren began, although his grandmother also smacked him whenever he began a sentence so inarticulately, “they went for a walk. She just disappeared.”
“Just disappeared,” Mal repeated tonelessly. “The wife of the king, out walking with her mother-in-law, in a city of tens of thousands, and she just disappears. I know you believed that as a boy, but still? Oren, no one would ever have accused your grandmother of kindness. She didn’t want anyone else to influence her two grandsons but her.”
Oren’s mouth dropped open, and he absently rubbed his face where she hit him every day for the thirty-seven years she ruled his life. No—she was mean, certainly, but not . . . She’d never have—
“Then your father, Querul the Fourth, was an idiot! Not as big as you, granted,” Mal conceded, “but—”
“The chicken thing was just a misunderstanding,” Oren insisted. Here was something he did know about. “He didn’t want the pocks to—”
“The chickens were never infested with a pocks, Oren!” Mal barked. “Any other thinking man would have asked for a second opinion, instead of taking the word of cattle ranchers that the chickens were ill and advancing disease! Any other man would have asked a scientist before killing off ninety percent of the world’s poultry. It took years for the world to recover from your father’s gullibility.”
Oren bit his lip. Without even knowing what all those words were, he was beginning to suspect things weren’t going his way.
“And then there’s you,” Mal spat. “I’ve been tutoring you for years, but to no avail. Perhaps if your older brother Querul the Fifth hadn’t died as a teen, the world may have been in a better state today, but I doubt it. He was more closely knitted to your grandmother and her love of the execution squads than you are. I suppose we have that to be grateful for,” he added. “But the world is tired, Oren. Tired of your family, tired your abuses, tired your stupidity—”
“They could take naps,” Oren offered lamely, nothing else coming to his mind. “When they’re tired. I do. Every afternoon . . .”
Mal exhaled loudly. “Nearly half of our history has been dictated by your family, but no more. By nightfall, the world will find itself governed by a body of twenty-three experienced and wise professors from the University of Idumea. Tomorrow, the future of the world will be brighter because there will be no more Queruls or Orens in it!”
“What do you mean?” Now it was Oren’s turn to tremble.
Now he was sure this wasn’t going well, not at all.
The scribe scribbled so frantically that flecks of ink splattered around his desk.
“King Oren, today we are charging you with gross negligence and complete indifference towards the one million people of the world you have pledged to rule. You have done nothing to alleviate suffering, but instead increased it. You have not shielded your people from death, but brought more to them. You have not listened to their cries for help, but ignored them. We have not progressed under your rule, but have stagnated.”
Oren wondered when he had done any of that. All he could remember doing was staying in the mansion and doing what kings do.