‘Merek! Merek!’ cried God King, ‘Merek god damn it!’
‘Coming, Sire!’ yelled Merek, hurling a bucket down in another personal toilet and rushed to the throne room. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
God King was a vexed figure searching between the throne room and the corridor to his chambers muttering angrily to himself.
‘It’s lost!’ shouted God King.
‘Sire?’
‘It’s bloody gone!’
‘What’s gone?’
‘That letter I wrote!’
‘From last night?’
‘Yes.’
Papers flew up in the air.
‘When you were…in spirits?’
‘Drunk yes, where the hell is it?! Efexorian spies, that what this is!’
‘I believe you burnt it,’ said Merek.
God King stopped. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very,’ said Merek pointing to the end of the corridor; some embers still glowed from the fireplace that had consumed half the curtains overnight.
Paper debris continued to fly out of the window and down towards the city as it had throughout the night.
‘Oh thank God,’ breathed God King slumping into the throne.
‘Yes nothing to fear my lord,’ said Merek walking down to him, opening a few more windows.
The previous night God King had written a declaration of war to the neighbouring kingdom of Efexor in a drunken rage upon realising most of the city’s wine was imported. This hadn’t been an immediate reaction; he’d initially demanded lower prices and predominantly faster delivery, but when his trade advisor indicated an agreement may take several months, and possibly not at all, God King had flung into a frustrated rage declaring the need for wine was greater here because why would they sell? And so drunken thought ran into drunken accusation and soon it was determined that since the Efexorian soils were far superior, and demand was lower and unappreciated there, the wine should be acquired direct to source.
His advisors had suggested perhaps he simply magic the local farm soils to be nutrient rich, but they were rebuked with a reminder of His distaste of the unfair usage of His powers; plus Efexor was a mountainous land and he’d have to understand the complexities of the winemaking process which he had absolutely no interest in.
So war was declared in writing which everyone obviously agreed was a very good idea. Several drafts were enunciated and thrown in the fire for God King was nothing if not a perfectionist.
When he finally passed out the cleaners got to work again, stealing what remained of the premium wine.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
