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'Don't I know it,' returned Kenneth sadly.
They sat in silence for a moment, recalling various school friends, I imagine.
'So, Zharky old boy, how can I help you?'
'It's the Rambosians,' he said at last. 'They just refuse to cede power to me.'
'How awkward for you. Is there any reason why they should?'
'Stability, old man, stability. The Rambosians have been responsible for numerous acts of savage satire in the Galactic Federation's daily redtop, Stars My Destination. They lampoon me constantly and the cartoons are shockingly insulting.'
'So you want to invade?'
'Of course not; that would be wasteful of resources. No, I want them to open their arms and worship me as their one true God. They will give ultimate executive power to me, and in return I will protect them with the might of the Zharkian Empire.'
'Hmm,' replied Kenneth thoughtfully, 'that wouldn't be because the planet Rambosia is composed of eighteen trillion tons of valuable A-class nutmeg, now, would it?'
'Not in the least,' replied the emperor unconvincingly.
'Very well,' said Kenneth. 'It is the Judgement of Solomon© that you make peace with the Rambosians.'
'What?!'
The emperor jumped to his feet and went as dark as a thundercloud. He wagged a finger at Kenneth.
'You'll never play golf at the Old White Male Club again,' he yelled. 'I'll have you blackballed so far out you won't be able to get your hat checked even if you come in the company of the Great Panjandrum himself!'
And so saying, he threw his cloak behind him, made a large huffing noise, turned on his heels and strode to the door.
'Well,' said Kenneth, 'tyrants are all the same – shocking temper when they don't get their own way! Who's next?'
30
Revelations
* * *
'Commander Bradshaw did much of the booksploring in the early years, before the outlying Rebel Book Categories were brought within the controlling sphere of the Council of Genres. Inexplicably, novels can only be visited when someone has found a way in – and a way out. Bradshaw's mapping of the known BookWorld (1927—1949) was an extraordinary feat, and until the advent of the ISBN Positioning System (1962), Bradshaw's maps were the only travel guide to fiction. Not all booksploring ends so happily. Ambrose Bierce was lost trying to access Poe. His name, along with many others, is carved on the Boojumorial, situated in the lobby of the Great Library.'
RONAN EMPYHE – A History of Gibbons
I couldn't find the three witches, no matter how hard I looked. Their prophecies bothered me but not enough to keep me from sleeping soundly that night. It was two days later that I came home from a long day of Kenneth's judgements to find Arnie waiting for me. He and Randolph were drinking beer in the kitchen and talking about the correct time to use a long dash to designate interrupted speech.
'You can use it any—'
'Arnie, I owe you an apology,' I said, blushing deeply and forgetting my manners. 'You must think me the worst tease in the Well.'
'No, that would be Lola. Forget it. Gran explained everything. How are you? Memories returned?'
'All present and correct.'
'Good. Dinner some time – as good friends, of course?' he added hastily.
'I'd love to, Arnie. And thanks for being so … well, decent.'
He smiled and looked away.
'Beer?' said Randolph, who seemed to have recovered from his Lola-induced trauma.
