Jump ahead

The next few days fly by in a flurry of meetings, official functions, and, of course, a grand, solemn state funeral for Malcolm, late King of Mirantia. Stewart presided over all of it in a numbed sense of going through the motions. It is only after his mother has fully moved out of the palace and the routine of his new responsibilities settles in that it all really starts to sink in that he is the sovereign of this domain.

One morning, as he reads through his fifth official report of the day, Lord Mayweather approaches, looking excited.

“Your Majesty, we have just received a response to your offer to begin discussions with representatives of the magical community, in hopes of improving relations.”

Stewart is surprised. He had all but forgotten the initiative.

“Excellent,” he says. “What do they say?”

Mayweather’s excitement dims a bit. “Well, it’s a little unclear. The response comes directly from Altheshire, the de facto leader of the magical beings in the northern part of Mirantia. It is written in his own hand, and he writes in Old Gortenhäggen — a language that has not been used in these parts for centuries. I have attempted a crude translation, but I confess I am less than confident of its accuracy.”

Stewart takes the paper from Mayweather’s hand and studies the alien-looking script. Shaking his head, he reaches for the translation and reads, “Most-embalmed Leader, Stewart. Excited utterances! We are very squishy to smell you! Kindly spread your legs for my niece’s pruning sheers!”

Stewart looks up at Mayweather in confusion.

“That last bit might actually be ‘beloved panda’ instead of ‘pruning sheers’,” he offers. “As I said, the language is rather obscure.”

“I’m not sure I’m confortable spreading my legs for either one,” exclaimed the king, running his fingers through his hair, thoughtfully. “Surely this can’t be an accurate translation.”

“It’s the best we could come up with in Council, Your Majesty. How do you wish to respond?”