A Short Story

Instead of my usual post I tried my hand at writing a short story. Tell me what you think and what I should write If I wanted to continue on the same story line. Any comments or criticisms are welcome.

Little T-tom

By Christopher Hunt      

                         

                “Wait! “said little T-tom, “that's not the way to go”. The band of travelers had started on the east bound pathway to Hansforth.  Ignoring the dumpy man, the group continued on their way.

 “No, no, no!” he exclaimed, “You mustn’t”.  Waddling along with short puffs of air, T-tom followed.

“I take it you have been spying on us for the past few days” said the tallest man in the group, not looking around.

“Jamaal, you know I have been trying to see the King ever since we separated.”

“We did not separate; we told you that you had to leave our party.”

“Yes, but do you know how important this is?”

 With a smirk, Jamaal chuckled “Not at all, please enlighten me”

“Well it’s about the east grounds outside the border, they…”

“Don’t take me for a fool!”

The chatter cut off for a moment while they worked around a fallen tree.

T-tom eagerly resumed his fusillade, “Anyways, we must turn around!”

“There is no ‘we’ here”

“But...”

“No more little man, leave us!”

With drooping shoulders, T-tom stepped aside and stood, watching the travelers continue down the path ‘they are going to die’.  

                The Kingdom of Acheron, bound to the east coast of Limenzule, was a small state. Based around agriculture and trading, it had a successful sea port and no military to speak of. With the three main towns all surrounding the capital (Greatsfin, Hansforth, and Beauning) Acheron was somewhat overpopulated. The King and his aides were receiving some pressure from a few unnamed activists who wanted the voluntary conscriptions of their cattle to cease and were pushing quite hard on the matter.

“Lee, tell Jacobs to write up some script or another to appease the brutes for now. And hurry along that malt brandy, my head is utterly splitting.”   

The old man went with a languished bow.

“I’m convinced he’s gone senile,” the King said to empty air.

                “We must act immediately, we must give the people appeasement, and we must do so now!” The council had just begun and Filon was already yelling. The King, sitting in his corner, was waiting, ‘these morons must really think me the idiot to let this problem breed into such a catastrophe.’ After on hour of pointless debating the King decided it had gone on long enough, and stood up. Gradually, after much hissing and grumbling, quite finally fell on the hall.

“Gentlemen, members of the most esteemed high council, my subjects; I have left you in the dark. I have let you believe that this so called invasion in Hansforth is real. You latched on to this rumor and fed on it like wild dogs. There is no trouble coming from the sea, there is no attack on our land. It is all a farce, dreamed up for the good of our land and the health of our people. I will tell you why shortly, but first I must inform you that if you were not such lumbering buffoons, I would never have educated you in the first place. I have sent a sortie of our most skilled psycho-adjusters all around the Kingdome to slowly spread the word of this invasion. They arrived in Hansforth just two days ago. After adjusting a select few, the citizens are now convinced that they are about to be attacked. But my men did not leave them completely without hope; we do not want the city abandoned.  I instructed Jamaal to instill in the Mayer the notion that we will defend the city with all our strength, and that a sea battle will take place.  You are asking yourselves why such an extravagant procedure that will displace hundreds of families and possibly risk many lives is being carried out. Shock politics and perceived weakness are both helpful in ensuring stability, promoting patriotism, and discouraging outside attack. “

The King sat down to a complete silence. There was a tangible aura of befuddlement and shock that seemed inserted far down everyman’s larynx so as none could speak.

A door opened somewhere and the King watched as the page that entered made his way through the crowd.

“Sire, a man outside wishes your presence immediately, he says it is urgent”

“Who is this man?”

The same door through which the page had entered burst open for a second time and a short man came running in.

“My King, you must hear me. We are being invaded! There is a plan to take our fair city of Hansforth!”

“Guard’s, remove this man straightaway”

Three guards were already in motion and dragged the man away. When he was nearly out the door the man screamed again “No! You must hear me.”

“Who was that man?” The King demanded.  Answering timidly the page said, “I’m not certain but he goes by the name of T-tom.”

 With a chuckle the king addressed the council, who if possible, looked even more confused, “as you can see Jamaal has been busy if not overly so. Lee! Lee! Where are you old man?”