4. A Study in Mushrooms
If there was one thing the Elite loved, it would be their lavish banquets. Adopted a cat? Time for a feast! You’re down with a fever? Here’s a lot of food to cheer you up! You’ve recovered from the fever? Why, that’s cause for a banquet!
And so Gatagrip and Klaudios lay beside each other, behind a low stone table. It was so long, and covered with foo,d that they could barely see their guests on the other side—and their guests could barely see them. Just as Klaudios wanted.
“My love,” he said, his voice trembling and his tail wrapping around her shoulders. “I prepared a special treat for this evening. Please, try the mushrooms.”
Gatagrip smiled and reached for the plate, then retreated. “I … wanted to confirm a rumor, emperor. I heard you were thinking about putting your own son on the thr—”
Just then, Empero barged in. He held several slabs of meat in his jaws, as if he had been forced to sample all food at the banquet. He smiled at his parents.
“Banquets are the best!”
“Yes, dear, but please act a little more—”
“And you are the bestest parents in the world!” he said, giving both Klaudios and Gatagrip a friendly nudge on the cheek. “I can’t wait to be emperor. My banquets will be just as good! If not better!”
Klaudios sighed, but couldn’t suppress a smile. He let himself enjoy this little family moment, just for a few seconds, as he looked in the sparkling eyes of his stepson.
Then he looked at Gatagrip and shoved the plate of mushrooms a bit further away, to make space for a family embrace. As he did, however, they say he looked at his son from his first marriage, seated nearby, and nodded gravely.
Tresmo couldn’t be sure about this part, again, for he wasn’t there. The tree could see much, but he couldn’t see through the thick walls deep inside the Emperor’s Palace. The massive estate had many other trees in the gardens, but none were descendants of Tresmo. This part of the story is only known to him because it was written on papyrus made from his wood.
Somebody called out for more wine.
Empero responded immediately. He accidentally pushed over an actual servant as he ran to the boar who requested more.
“Erm, love, what are you doing?” asked Gatagrip, wiggling out of Klaudios’ embrace. He picked up a mushroom and moved it to her mouth, encouraging her to try one.
“An emperor is a servant of their folk! I shall make sure nobody here goes hungry or thirsty,” said Empero, reciting something Sinnika had taught him. His tutor was at the banquet too and tried, without success, to teach Empero some more manners. Still, the fox’ face beamed with pride as he saw his lessons put to good use.
Happily, as if this work was the greatest gift in the world, Empero served the guests. He was a young man now, almost an adult, although this was hard to judge in these times when the Magic of Longlife still existed. He was one death away from becoming emperor, but he acted as a servant to the others.
And one death would be served up soon, yes, but not the one that was planned.
Empero even spoke about improving the delivery chain of the food and inquired whether the servants received high enough wages. That’s how he learned they weren’t paid at all.
He approached Klaudios to angrily demand the reason of this, but found a confusing scene.
His mother had tears in her eyes, though she desperately tried to hide them.
His father had no clue. In fact, he acted a bit childish. He gobbled up half the mushrooms on his own plate, mumbling things like “very very tasty” and “see, not poisoned at all”.
It should come as no surprise, dear reader, that the following morning, a fever had struck Klaudios, as terrible as it was mysterious. By nightfall, the emperor was dead.
Gatagrip, no stranger to the look and smell of poison, had switched the plates when Empero helpfully created the distraction.
Nobody knew the emperor was dead, though. Gatagrip convinced everyone to keep it a secret for now, to prevent chaos. And to prevent weakness of the crown—imagine if disaster struck and an enemy attacked now!
All of Amor’s gates were closed, the capital sealed.
Then she introduced Empero as the new emperor. First to the soldiers, then to the Elite, and finally to the Commonfolk.
They loved him immediately, as word of his good deeds and good looks had already spread. And, most importantly, his singing voice that wasn’t too shabby.
His mother didn’t notice. She went into mourning for three months, and when she returned, she would not leave the palace much. She stayed close to Empero, whispering advice and warnings in his ear.
For the first time in months, since becoming emperor, Empero had a free evening. He decided to visit the only father figure left in his life.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Sinnika deftly wrote messages with his claws. The pile of papyrus revealed he’d been doing it for a while.
“Writing down what happened the past few months,” he said, not stopping or looking away from his work.
Empero’s face darkened. He stepped into the room and tried to read over Sinnika’s shoulders, but the massive fox—as well as a massive book to the side—obscured the text.
“I am sure you’ll write down all my good deeds,” said Empero with a fake smile. “And how everyone loves me.”
“I write the truth of history,” said Sinnika. He affectionately tapped the emperor on the head, which he could do because Empero was still quite young and small. “Fortunately, the truth is that you are being a good emperor.”
“And … and you’ll write that Klaudios died of natural causes?” said Empero, his voice less certain. “Just like previous husbands of Gatagrip. Oh, how unfortunate mother’s life has been …”
Sinnika finally looked up from his work, adding a nasty horizontal line straight through the final sentence.
He picked up the heavy book.
“I think you’re ready for this,” he said. “Though, I’m not sure anyone can ever be ready for the wisdom and genius it contains.”
Empero took the heavy book, misjudged its weight, and fell over. It felt magical. It felt as if there should have been some grand ceremony around receiving this book, but instead it pinned him to the floor of a dusty workroom.
The cover read Studies of the Universe, by Alix the Alchemist.
“Alix? The real Alix?” asked Empero. “I almost thought he was just a legend, made up by goddess Feria to make the gods seem special and all.”
“No, he was certainly real. And I inherited his work, as his eldest remaining grandchild. But I haven’t lived long enough to read the whole thing once! I need your eyes on it too. Especially the back half, which I’ve barely skimmed.”
Empero had managed to push the book off of him. With a grunt, he placed it on his back, ready to carry it away to his favorite place of studying: the highest palace tower. He nodded to Sinnika, a nod with as much ceremony as he could muster, accepting this important task.
“What … what exactly do you hope to find?” asked Empero.
“Ah! I have trained you well,” said Sinnika, who continued writing his account of that fateful banquet. “Alix believed all problems came down to energy. Too little food? You need more energy to grow it! Too little space? Use energy to transform a wasteland into homes and gardens.”
Sinnika drew a zigzag symbol at the edge of his paper. “Focus on the chapters about lightning. Alix believed you could capture it as an endless source of energy. It might an endless food supply for Amor.”
Empero’s face turned a mixture of sad and hopeful. “Maybe I’d never have to turn away starving children again …”
“Yes. But be cautious, boy. Alix’ obsession with studying the universe caused his untimely death. I would not see the same thing happen to you, my so—my apprentice.”
Empero trotted out the door. As he heard the scratches of Sinnika’s writing claws, however, he stopped and turned around with fire in his eyes.
“My mother did not kill Klaudios. She loved him. I … I want to read your writings before you publish them,” said Empero sternly.
Sinnika sighed. “You will read them at the same time anyone else reads them. When I make the truth public.”
Empero turned red and stomped his foot. “Then I demand, as your emperor, that you stop writing these lies—”
“Foolish boy!” scolded Sinnika. “Your mother is the fire, you can’t change that. But then you must be the light! Have all those years been for nothing? All the time we spent together?”
The emperor seemed twice as small as his tutor, and the large book on his book wasn’t helping matters either.
“Don’t ever tell me to stop writing the truth again,” said Sinnika. “Or I will leave this court and never return. One cannot achieve wisdom if one is not allowed to explore everything.”
If the book hadn’t fallen off his back in this moment, who knows what Empero might have done. But it did, and it opened to a page with a secret message by Alix.
I might have cracked the code of eternal life. If you read this, you are my only hope at revival. If you follow my steps, and solve the fascinating Thunder Problems, you’ll help me come back to life. Please!