“Do you think you people have all day? You don’t! Where’s my main man? C’mon people! On the double! This meal has to be perfect! If you don’t hurry up, one random person of my choosing will be in charge of disposing the garbage after shrimp day!”
The voice blared across the ancient speakers and resounded between the stacks of modern porcelain plates. Waiters, servants, and chefs were bustling around the expansive kitchen like bees in a hive, carrying scalding pots of liquid or carcasses of lobster, squid, and shark. All the pieces were in order. The man of the hour, however, was nowhere to be found...
The unseen entity, quickly seeing that the victim had not stepped forth, proceeded to roar across the hall again, doubling the amount of ferocity and volume that had preceded the first roar.
“EDGAR! If you don’t get your good-for-nothing-shrimp carcass down here in 2 seconds, you’ll be cleaning fish tanks with nothing but a toothbrush and some hand sanitizer!”
A pocket-sized man emerged from the crevices of the main kitchen. He was dwarfish in size and could have been classified as a tall child or a condensed adult. His white vest had a splotch of red on the collar and his hair was stringy, long, unkempt, and uneven, like a ball of overcooked spaghetti. He quickly put on a hat and hid the tangled mess.
Edgar strode forward, his hands gripping the handle of the steel cart that he was pushing. The tires squealed and squawked as the cart rolled down the narrow hallway, as though resisting Edgar’s push, agreeing with him that volunteering to bring the king’s meal down was a bad idea.
“What were you thinking?” muttered Edgar angrily to himself, lifting up the platinum lid of the gold tray, peering in to make sure the contents were there, as if someone would have dared risk the king’s anger by leaving something out.
Smoke steamed up, providing a thin layer of mist over Edgar’s glasses but from what he could see, everything looked...alright. The lobster was pasted with a clear vibrant ruby hue, blanketed by buttery and oil-glossed noodles.
“This all looks so good...” Edgar said to himself with a sigh of relief. “But if that’s true,” said a little voice in his head, “why are you so nervous?”
“It better be good,” a voice said from behind Edgar. Edgar spun around, swerving the cart and almost knocking down the assailant who had startled him.
“Oh...it’s just you Quackenbush,” Edgar said, adding a layer of confidence in his voice while inside sighing with relief.
Quackenbush frowned, his face forming a mirror image of that of a squashed cockroach. “Of course it’s me,” he snapped in an irritated tone, “who else would they put in charge of organizing the King’s annual banquet?”
“Right right...just you, of course,” mumbled Edgar, trying to layer as much sarcasm in his voice as possible. Quackenbush smiled and puffed out his chest in happiness, this time his appearance changing into that of an upside down giraffe.
“Don’t you forget it,” he said after a long pause, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his eyes. “Now, hurry up! I can’t let one incompetent fool make me look bad on the day of my promotion!”
“You don’t need me for that to happen,” Edgar slurred under his breath.
“What was that?” Quackenbush snapped, plastering his face adjacent to Edgar, so Edgar could see how the facial features worked in unison to create the personification of a squashed cockroach.
“Nothing,” Edgar said, adjusting his bowtie and re tying his laces.
Quackenbush stepped back, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at the beads of sweat that had formed due to the heat of the meal.
“Our house rarely gets called to give the king’s meal,” he grouched, “so you better not disappoint.”
With that, he strode off, continuing to bark at the other waiters about how the marlins needed more seasoning or that the fruit salad required three full Rapoza mangoes instead of seven.
Edgar was able to make it to the far end of the hallway without any other major mishaps or interruptions. He felt powerful, being able to curtly address his fellow waiters by showing how important the task of delivering the king’s food was and brush past the security sectors without waiting for the lines. He felt in control, the dominance seeping out through him and plastering all of his actions. Before he opened the door that would take him to the heavenly palace of the king, he turned around and stared at the greasy and bustling room.
House 1313. The smallest of the houses, right by the sea, known for its marine cuisine... these were the banal descriptions of the home that had served him faithfully for many years.
I should be grateful, Edgar thought to himself. I mean, how many houses can say that they had served the king? Ever since the great divide, spots for becoming officials had decreased. No wonder Quackenbush was envious of him...
“Halt!”
The cart skidded to a sudden stop, knocking the gold silverware and the platinum napkins onto the floor. Edgar looked up to see a Stoic, misshapen, and yet amorphous frame of a figure, with the only identifiable thing being a muddled ruby crest that identified him with the king’s elite guard.
“I am so sorry...” Edgar exclaimed swooping down to the floor and fumbling with the fallen napkins and silverware, cursing to himself that he had not put them in his pockets. “I just didn’t see you there.”
Stoic’s bumbling mass of muscle congealed into a solid form towering several feet above the Edgar, and after sizing Edgar up and down, Stoic smirked and said“Don’t mess up in there” before pointing to the room that would take him to the king’s dining hall.
Edgar quietly entered into the hall, taking extra care not to creak the door as he closed it. His efforts were futile, and the wood scraped against the stone floors of the castle. Edgar winced but congratulated himself on at least making the effort to be courteous. His eyes then scanned the room. It was smaller and less extravagant than he expected, with no gold statues or colorful paintings decorating the walls. There was only one dull-colored portrait of King Arch, the previous king who had fallen in battle.
“Ahem,” a gruff voice said, “Are you not here to serve us dinner?”
Clearly defined by their bright garments, silver rings, lavish swords that hung beside their leather belts, puffy faces, and bulging bellies, were the officials. Known to speak too much and act to little, they were treated begrudgingly with respect and munificence. There was another man next to the officials; a scrawny and young boy, no doubt, perhaps not even the age of 18. He had scruffy hair and a face that radiated an authority and power that did not match up to his more modest physique. He must just be the spoiled brat of an official, thought Edgar.
“Of course. Right away, sir.” Edgar murmured in response to the official, “but the king isn’t here yet…shouldn’t we wait for him?”
“How dare you!” the official snapped. “You speak out of your place! I should have you fired! Killed! Tortured! Mutilated! Destroyed! You are an abomination to society, you are...”
“Relax Cramer,” the spirited boy said stifling a hidden smile, “I don’t have the appearance of a king so naturally this servant would not know of my status.”
Edgar bowed swiftly to the “newly named” king, spluttering nervously and barely catching his breath. “I’m sorry your majesty, I just didn’t...”
“It is fine,” the king said with a tone that indicated true understanding. “Now please, sit down with us and tell us more about what makes House 1313 so great.”
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