The King of The Hall was rarely heard of and never seen in public. He seemed to do very little at all in managing the affairs of his people. He was the type that one wondered if he really existed or was just a figure of power fabricated by The Counsel to instill a sense of respect and awe in the Readers. He was not the type that one would expect to call for your audience.
Which is why I didn’t believe Ginny at first.
“I’m telling you, Bethany, they’re here and you’ve gotta come right now!” Her frazzled appearance combined with her unkempt red hair gave an amusing impression of great urgency.
“Ginny…” I wasn’t even half convinced. “Given your reputation-”
“I’m not joking, Bethany, this isn’t a prank, I promise!” I cast her a doubtful look. “You better come right now, or you’re gonna get in big trouble.”
“I would believe you, Ginny, I would, but...”
“Bethany?” Mom’s voice called out from somewhere in the apartment.
“Yes?” I leaned out to project my voice down the hall, ignoring Ginny’s flushed look of frustration.
“Are you coming? Ginny, where are you?”
“Right here,” Ginny called back, shooting me a look of angered triumph. “Bethany won’t come.”
“Bethany…”
“Coming! I’m coming!” I glanced at Ginny in a dawning sense of dread.
Had she been telling the truth?
I brushed past her, mentally storing a reminder to apologize to her later if it turned out she was right.
But she couldn’t be. It’s absurd, the King would never call for me. If this is about my grades…
I didn’t have time to speculate on it any longer, for the sight of the King’s ironclad Guards posed regally in the entryway demanded my full attention.
“Bethany Revere?”
“...Yes?”
“Your presence is called for at the King’s Royal Apartment.”
“...I see.” I replied with feigned calmness. I cast a questioning look to my mom, hoping that she would see the fear beyond my eyes. She flicked her fingers urgently towards the door. “And we are leaving… immediately?” I desperately longed for a negative.
“Yes. The King is waiting.”
“Of course. Yes. That is, er, of course... I suppose…” My words became tangled and cluttered the air with nonsense as I groped in the closet for my Bookbag.
“Is Bethany in some kind of trouble?” Mom inquired calmly. Her outward appearance was the picture of unconcern, yet something beneath the surface of her tone told me that she was far from tranquillity.
“Not at all. The King simply wishes to speak to her.”
“I see.”
“You should consider this an honor, madam,” the guard seemed offended at our reluctance, “for your daughter to be called upon by the King.” Mom forced a small smile to appease the man.
“I’m sure that I’m quite honored.”
🕮💎🕮
The King of The Hall resided at the topmost apartment, so it was thus necessary to make a long climb up the stairway. Stairways were often the essence of a reader’s life. You must climb a stair to get to classes, you must climb a stair to reach your apartment, and you must climb a stair to go nearly anywhere in The Hall. Stairs were so well known to the common Reader, so much, in fact, to the point that everyone possessed a practiced hatred of them. It seemed pointless that there should be more than one floor at all, The Hall stretched out to every direction to no end (or, at least, no end that has been found). Yet, whoever built The Hall (a person much speculated) found it necessary (or perhaps cruelly enjoyable, depending on their character) to include the atrocity of never-ending stairways.
The stair issue had been brought up to The Elders numerous times, yet it had never seemed to register in their lofty minds, and thus it is assumed was never brought to the King’s attention. The King could not have been aware of this daily tax on the Readers’ lives, for he never set foot outside his royal residence. Everything known about his person (which, to be truthful, was little indeed) was peculiar, to say the least. His name was the strangest thing of all. Every Reader, at birth, has a knowledge of every character in existence and chooses their name after one of them. After that, they look strangely like that character. The King, however, claimed his name was Kyle and, though that was the name of many a character, also claimed he had not chosen his name, nor picked a character to resemble.
I was strangely thrilled to be admitted to the presence of a man so mysterious to the Readers of The Hall Of Stories.
“Here we are.” The guard who looked to be the highest-ranking, due to his absurdly tall hat and spiffy blue uniform, halted at the top step. Before us was a rather grand looking oak door with a fancy golden knocker. My palms suddenly grew cold and damp. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to shake anyone’s hand.
With an unnecessary added flourish, the King’s Guard rapped the door with the knocker. His hand had scarcely left its grip when the door was opened.
I was escorted into a rather plain-looking chamber furnished with the usual sitting places (a couch here and a few chairs there) and a large picture hanging over the fireplace. The picture was rather odd, for it depicted a black expanse with random pinpricks of white splattered across it. It was messily done, for there were splashes of black paint on the frame and obvious spots on the canvas that lacked paint. It seemed to be the work of two minutes at the most.
Modern art, I thought in disgust.
“You will wait here,” The commander stated tersely. He seemed to have lost some of his swagger at my unimpressed state. I moved to sit in the closest chair.
“Ah, ah, ah!” The commander shook his finger at me disapprovingly as he withdrew from the room “They are not for sitting.” With that absurd command, he shut the door, leaving me in a muddle of confusion.
He couldn’t be serious.
How can a chair be for anything but sitting?
I took a step back to observe their tranquil state of unuse.
I suppose they make rather nice contributions to the modern art scheme of the room.
My awed opinion of The Hall’s ruler was slowly, but surely, leaning to the judgemental side at this display of nonsense. I shook my head in disgust.
What kind of a king do we have?
I found out at that very moment. The door through which the commander had left was thrown open again by him and, with renewed pomp, he entered the room with the King at his heels. For the most part, the King’s eyes were clouded with distraction, as if he had been suddenly drawn away from another undertaking and was attempting to find his way back to the main road of thought. Yet a glimmer of amusement hung about his countenance as if he found his commander’s behavior as amusing as I found it irritating.
All careless judgments that had run through my head a second earlier were cut off. I felt suddenly quite dizzy.
This is the King.
I’m meeting the King.
After blinking a few times to clear away the muddle of his loose thoughts, he appeared to refocus on the matter at hand.
“How do you do, Miss Revere?” His manner was courteous and quite at ease.
“Fine…” I mumbled. My eyes found something fascinating to fix themselves on in the plain panels of the floor.
“I have some splendid news for you.” He smiled and clasped his hands behind his back, like a teacher about to announce a pop quiz. It seemed he expected a response.
“...Yes? That is, yes, Your Majesty?” I inwardly struck myself for forgetting the proper address.
“None of that, now. You may call me Kyle.” I smiled politely, vowing inside that I would never take to liberty to do that. It would be ridiculous to call the King anything but a title of authority. “Now, take a seat.” He motioned to the very chair I had attempted to sit in not a minute earlier. A sudden spark of wit (with perhaps a healthy dose of madness) rushed its way through my lips without even consulting my common sense.
“I was strictly instructed not to sit in them. However, I admire Your Majesty’s high taste in art. The chairs give it just the right touch.”
The King’s smile vanished in the confusion that washed over his face.
The commander’s complexion bloomed into a vibrant shade of red.
And I smiled.
...What on earth am I doing?
An uncomfortable moment passed in a silence that mocked my blunder. Then a sound filled the air that took me a moment to comprehend.
Laughter. Of all things… laughter.
The King was laughing.
“Mr. Banks, what a delightful assistant you have brought to me!” The jovial King turned to address the commander. Mr. Banks forced a small, rather sick looking smile. As soon as the King turned away from him, the smile dissipated and in place was a rather reprimanding scowl towards me. “Now, Miss Revere, you have already demonstrated to me your exceedingly good humor. If you will take a seat, I will get straight to the point.”
I followed his instruction and seated myself on the formerly forbidden chair.
“I am a busy man, as you can imagine. There are many papers piled upon my desk and many half-finished projects scattered throughout The Hall. I have not the time to deal with them as they ought to be dealt with. I find myself in much want of an assistant. Not a servant, mind you, but someone who… I can discuss matters with. Almost like a secretary at some times. My work has become quite trying in the past months. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly.”
“Wonderful. Then you will?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“You will be my assistant.”
“I will?”
“I’m asking you.”
I blinked a few times before his meaning fully dawned on me.
“You… want me to be your assistant?”
“Yes. I suppose I should give more of an explanation, you see, I have been pouring over student records for the past… how long would you say, George?”
“You only just told me yest-”
“That’s right, that’s right, about two months. The point is, I found your records to be the finest in The Hall.”
He must be joking.
“Your grades, your work, your overall responsibility,”
This isn’t happening.
“I have found you to be exactly what I’m looking for.”
If you’re looking for a math failure, you’ve got her right here.
“I don’t expect you to decide right away, of course, you likely wish to consult your parents. Is there anything you’d like to say?”
“...Yes. First, what exactly would I be doing?”
Let’s hope not any algebra...
“You would write what I dictate, arrange my files and such, and, in short, provide any assistance that I am lacking.”
“How often?”
“Every day, from morning to mid-afternoon--or evening depending on the workload.”
“What about my schooling?”
“You would be exempt from any schooling.”
My mind scrambled to arrange the details.
This can’t be happening.
“If you find yourself inclined to consent, I can send home the paperwork with you.”
“I… I’m not sure…”
“I would advise you to take the paperwork, it would give you the opportunity to consider it at home. You may always return it if you should… not accept.” His eyes seemed to sharpen at the idea.
“Yes… that would be best.” A flick of the King’s fingers sent Mr. Banks scurrying from the room to collect the paperwork. I collected myself as I felt the visit draw to an end. “I do thank Your Majesty for such a grand opportunity.”
“Yes.” A shadow passed over the King’s smile. “And, Bethany?
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“I do hope you accept.”
