~*~
The king paced his bedroom floor. He did this a lot lately and the queen hated it. She hated that it kept her awake, of course, but she also hated that her husband felt stressed enough to be doing it. All of their children shared his nervous habit. Pacing helped him think, he said, although she did not agree. He clung to the helping him think explanation as a way of rationalizing this otherwise irrational behavior, and he took great pride in being consistently rational. The belief made him feel better, so she just went along with it, knowing otherwise.
Her husband tried. He cared. Well, he cared about many things. Other things he remained almost oblivious to, not so much uncaring as unaware. He was not unique in this regard, though. To a lesser degree, it seemed like a common male trait.
“I’ve been thinking about what the boy said,” announced the king. By the boy, his wife knew he meant their son Donald. It was at least the sixth time he said something very much like it this evening. Each time, it preceded a dialogue between himself and himself with his wife just making encouraging sounds from time to time. All covered the same topic, the relative merits of the evidence surrounding the Gotroxian threat and the best way to address the situation. The ending point of each of these half dozen one-sided discussions, unfortunately for the king and his wife’s ability to get a full night’s rest, was different. Leonard felt annoyed by uncertainty, and he often managed to make the feeling contagious.
“The boy could be right. He’s not stupid, just inexperienced.” At least half of King Leonard’s previous trains of thought stopped at this station.
“Maybe he couldn’t raise the Warden because it cannot be done. That makes more sense to me anyway. Magic statues, my hairy royal ass!”
“Leonard,” Patricia said with just a suggestion of mild disapproval for his choice of words.
“Right. My hairy royal butt! Sorry. It’s the but that’s the problem. If it were just the rumors of that statue, I’d be less concerned. Sure, I would still have to do something but a few observers and maybe a beefed-up garrison nearby would be fine. But that’s not all there is. Every one of those damned advisers seems to be trying to outdo the next feeding me reports about Gotroxian intrigue. I doubt they’re all making this stuff up. For one thing, they aren’t that imaginative. There must be some truth behind their reports.”
“Um-hmmm,” encouraged the queen helpfully. She understood he must reach a conclusion on his own. She sincerely hoped he would find a peaceful resolution but carefully avoided trying to influence his thought process. It would not be a good idea for several reasons. She certainly did not want there to be a war, but the decision was not hers. It was her husband’s, and he took it very seriously. She knew he would choose well. He could be extremely good at sifting facts to find solutions. This situation, however, included more variables than just facts, strategy, and tactics. As best as she could tell, it contained a disturbing lack of facts and could include the need for some extensive diplomacy, an area in which she knew he was not quite as gifted.
“And, when all is said and done, I can’t be positive, not absolutely positive there isn’t some truth behind those Warden rumors, either. But until the nasty thing starts walking this way, how could I know? The problem is that nothing is definitive! I hate this!”
She did not need him to admit this. The thinning carpet on his side of the bed provided ample evidence already.
“All I get from my advisers and their spies are things that could be or may be or that suggest something. Sometimes I’d like to suggest something right back, like digging up a fact or two!
“And the why of it all bothers me. Mainly because with all these indications and possibilities they keep presenting me with, there is nothing to indicate why King Motte would want to start a confrontation with us now.”
“Maybe you should ask him, dear,” the queen said softly from the bed where she clutched the warm covers to her chin.
“What?”
“I said maybe you should ask him. He seemed a reasonable little fellow the few times I’ve met him. Perhaps he would tell you if you asked nicely. At least then you would have his answer as one of those facts you wanted.”
“I can’t just go over there and ask the King of Gotrox what he’s up to! For one thing, he’s not likely to tell me if he really is preparing to invade, is he? Besides, that’s just not how things are done. We have ambassadors and diplomats for that kind of thing.”
“All right, so send some of those diplomats you have, and have them ask him what’s going on. I’m not suggesting you have to accept what they are told as the complete truth, but at least you’ll know what it is he wants you to hear. That should tell you something.” And besides, arranging a diplomatic mission gave him something decisive to do. She hoped it would calm him enough so she could get some sleep.
“Hmmm,” said the king. He stopped pacing. “That cultural adviser,” he mused softly. “What was his name? Goodfellow? He proposed sending someone to Gotrox. Perhaps now is the time.”
“Good, dear. You can arrange all of that tomorrow, then. Now, you should get to bed. It’s late and we’re both tired.”
“What? Oh yes, of course.”