Tis’ a speech to you, King, Queen.
Beware of such and such schemes, AfroSays,
THE FAIST-NUGGER’S SCHEME
May you be as loved as the pussy in the hands of an old woman, may your light shine over the people like a solemn balding spot under the sun, may your wisdom lead us forever and whether it be into prosperity or peril, may we be subject to it.
I stand here before you today as prefect of statistics and measures to give you the gross and the net of countings and weighings under your lordship and tell you whether it is better or worse than the last year. I know that if it is better, you will be pleased and there will be a feast in the evening for all the prefects and their captains and captainesses because gold is being spun and cows overflow the barns and soldiers are in the arms of young mothers. Because, it is well deserved. The evening feasts have never failed because, if this humble prefect shall be honest, it is why we work so hard all year, to please your majesty so much that we can dine with him during the harvesting season, neglecting our sons who lie under the stars on our abundant farmlands in exhaustion form the day’s work, getting drunk on your honeyed ale and sharing risqué jokes amongst ourselves.
Forgive my laughter.
But I fear to admit, your pompadour, that this benevolence which you extend to your servants has not been deserved these past five years. In times before now, peradventure there were not enough soldiers born, or not enough horses in the sheds in the country-side surplusing to the year before it, there would have no feast in your courts but vigilant accounting and auditing and a thorough investigation into the mal-affair. Perhaps I should remind you that Your Grace would require a head or two on the exalted spears at the city gates on occasion, but such remedies have not been taken for the past five years even though there has been a steady decline in the prosperity of the royal purse and the people. My grace, we have merried in the most riotous fashion, despite the economic circumstances.
Pardon my inner child.
Your grace, we are headed towards calamity; the accountings speak to the fact that there are no surpluses to be found under your rulership. We have been lucky that the gods have not struck us with a taste of the foul moods that find them on occasion. We are at peace and the rains keep to time. Your throne would be correct to agree with me that good fortune is a harlot and she only belongs to a man for a night or two or three, or a week if he is rich. I fear that she might leave us soon and if we are not prepared…
I am loath to laugh while presenting this matter!
It is not secret that we have all been happy overmuch. This happiness is the cause of our problems and the one who is called The FaistNugger is the cause of this happiness that will ruin us. He wandered into your courts while we were still a hardworking people and you granted him audience.
The joy that bubbles inside of me!
He was an alchemist, yes he was, but he is a wealthy man now. Out of his weathered cloak, he had retrieved a glowing potion that we could apply to our rivers every time our three moons are full – every thirty-seven years. He swore on the purity of all science that the populace would wear a grin, just like the moons do, when they are not round, while they are not round. He only asked for a place to stay.
Oh! Good spirits!
Oh! Gladness of heart!
He, The Faist-Nugger, his alchemy did work as he promised. I recall clearly, as I have been commissioned to, that we acquired this scheme to better rule the people. Your lordship and the council of prefects were convinced by the Prefect of the Police and Armaments that it would stop the few crimes that were brought before the court and we assumed likewise but really it didn’t. We, as a people, and as a council began to consider offences in exceedingly good nature.
We’ve been all too happy to beat our sons when they pinch from our purses or our daughters when we find them in the barn kissing Tedder, the Blacksmith’s son. The bastard has kissed all of our daughters, Your Grace, even Her Delightfulness, the princess too.
Give me a moment to recover from this deep mirth.
But we are too happy to do anything about it. Citizens are killed in joyous fashion. Women are raped and they laugh about it, even returning to the evening dances to be swung around by the same boys that defiled them. These daily evening dances have drained the surplus we’ve gathered from the time of your father till now.
I find this hilarious.
We are too happy to work. Your people are to happy to…
But the alchemist does not drink of our rivers. He collects our gold and loves our women but he does not share this crazy spirit with us even though it was his bewitchment. He is the organizer of these dances, he invites jesters and fire-eaters and bards and poets and an assortment of entertainment and collects our own gold on our own land. Ha-ha!
If the Faist-Nugger cannot cure us, let him create a new river right by the old one.
Haaaa! My ribs ache! My ribs ache!
Let him bring us another river from the springs in the mountains.
Let him… Faist… Ha-ha! The Faist..
He rolls into a laughing, coughing fit.