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The Fourteenth Grand High Vardo (looking as stunning, glamorous, and pretentious as usual), pulled up at the King's castle. It was almost sunset when the man got out of the caravan and went through the doors of the grand meeting room.
“You’re late,” the Fourth High Grand General said.
“Relax, Caeculus,” the King sighed; he was a sixty-year old thin man with a long mustache (though no beard). “It was only five minutes.”
“Sir, we’ve been waiting for him for half an hour,” the Fifteenth HGG (High Grand General) pointed out seriously.
“Oh really?” The King frowned. “Then why does the time-teller say that its only been five minutes?”
“Don’t you remember, sir?” the Fifteenth asked. “The Eleventh HGG threw a giant tantrum and we had to replace him.”
“Oh yes, I had forgotten. Thank you for reminding me.” The King laughed. “ By the way, aren’t we supposed to be discussing all the troubles that are going on currently?”
“Right! Right, right, right,” the (new) Eleventh HGG muttered, “Now where were those papers about Vanoc? By the way, when is tea ready? I’m famished!”
“They’re right there,” the King pointed out. “So what have you got about Vanoc?”
“Oh right!” The Eleventh (who was called Voudrail) scrambled though the sheets of paper until he found what he was looking for. “Let’s see, two of his followers were caught today, but the four managed to get away with sixty Pounds, can you believe that? A hundred and twenty shillings!" A dish of turkey pie clattered on the table, Voudrail looked up briefly and smiled. "Ah, something to finish my ravenous hunger.” He began stuff himself with the roast turkey pie but was interrupted by the King.
“Voudrail, stop! No! We have to do our toast first!” The First slapped him.
“Now say this with me,” the King said. They obeyed: “Our lives shall always belong to the wothesome holy God, of whom we shall always obey, now we shan’t -”
A loud bang was heard, followed by a clattering of plates; they turned their attention to Voudrail who lay limp on the floor with black froth coming out of his mouth. Everybody in the room stared in horror.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” The Twentieth said.
“Me?” The Fifth was offended. “Why would you accuse me of such a thing? I’m in front of him so I don’t even rank up! For all I know, it was Morg! He always had a grudge on Voudrail remember? And he’s also two ranks behind him!”
“What?” Morg said, “For all I know, it could have been Hans! He’s one rank below Voudrail!”
“It wasn’t me! How could you!” Hans said.
“Oh really?” Morg asked with sarcasm,“then why did I see you in the castle kitchen last night?”
“That isn’t true!” Hans spluttered.
The doors opened and the cook kneeled on the floor, accompanied by two guards.
“Your Highness, I saw him at midnight yesterday!” he proclaimed, pointing to Hans. “And also him!” He looked at the Fifth.
“YES!” The Twentieth exclaimed, he jumped out of his seat and started dancing. “I knew it! Uh huh - go Francis, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh!”
The King gasped. “How…how could you? I though you were just loyal friends, but now I see you are both evil. Hang… wait no… actually yes, hang them, and clean this body up,” he noted to the guards and several slaves. “Oh wait, I cannot stand him. Send him back to his old job.” He glared at the Twentieth who had not noticed and was still dancing. “The meeting has ended.”
The remaining HGGs stared at all the ones that were dragged away by the guards (though they did not look at Voudrail since he started foaming green saliva, through his nose).
As they departed, Morg smiled.