Moderation Online

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

ROYAL VEGETABLE KINGDOM OF EATON, OLERACEA SPINACH FIELDS

Lady Marasmi Duxelle toured the battlefield, where dead vegetables and Gourmans lay scattered about. For every dead Gourman—a cereal box, a soda bottle, a giant pretzel—there were three dead vegetables. Bodies were everywhere, piled up in mounds. Vegetable soldiers in blue and white uniforms moved around the battlefield, stacking their dead on carts.

The field, overgrown with spinach, was sullen—a contrast to its usual brightness. The wind blew gently, stirring the mackerel sky of mashed potato clouds. The water chestnut sun shone through a hole in the clouds.

Lady Duxelle took in the area as the stench of rotting grease from a nearby Gourman made her cough.

She carried a sword and wore blue armor that hugged her body. She was a Shiitake mushroom in a kingdom of vegetables, but on a day like this, everyone was the same.

Everyone was a survivor.

An asparagus general in blue armor stood by her as she knelt and studied a dead chocolate chip cookie. He watched her every move and waited for the right time to speak.

“I told you it was bad,” he said. “The Gourmans keep increasing in number. I don’t know where they’re coming from. We can’t win if they keep multiplying.”

It was a while before Lady Duxelle spoke. “They’re bigger.”

The general choked. “What?”

Lady Duxelle held up the dead cookie’s arm. It looked overly muscular—like it had been injected with steroids. She let the arm fall and it landed on a clump of spinach. Grease flowed from the cookie’s elbow and partially cooked the spinach.

The general walked over to a dead soda bottle and pursed his lips as he observed the bottle’s bloated shape.

“Wow,” he said.

Lady Duxelle pulled a dog tag from a dead radicchio. On one side was the soldier’s name etched in cursive; on the other was the kingdom crest with two carrots crossed like spears.

She closed her eyes and tried to think of the vegetable’s family. But she couldn’t see anything other than a screen of black with green blood dripping across it.

“Why didn’t you notice?” she asked.

The general’s eyes softened. “My lady, forgive my brutal honesty, but I was more concerned about the hundreds of soldiers who were being slaughtered and kidnapped.”

She turned her back to him and frowned. “How many dead?”

“At least two hundred.”

“How many kidnapped?”

“Hard to say. We were lying wounded in the grass, barely conscious, when the Gourmans drove their black vans onto the field. They loaded them with survivors and took them back to the city.”

“Funny how they don’t come back for their own dead.”

They stared into the distance, where the skyline of New Eaton dominated the horizon, too close for comfort. It was so close, one could walk there in a couple of hours, and that made her nervous. It was morning, but the dome around the city had a darkened aura to it, like it was stuck in a perpetual dusk. Several TV dinner blimps with unreadable messages circled the sky like fat, lazy flies. The dome glitched and sparked every few minutes.

“I can stomach the casualties,” Lady Duxelle said. “It’s the prisoners of war that make me sick.”

“What in the name of Andor is going on inside that city?” the general asked. “It never sleeps.”

“Some things are best left unknown.”

“I’ve heard the humans are there,” the general said. “It’s strange. On a clear night, you can hear music and what sounds like a party. I can’t fathom what they’re doing.”

“The Gourmans are up to something, and I don’t like it,” Lady Duxelle said.

“If we had you to lead us, my lady, we would have won the war by now,” the general said. “If you returned to command, you would give the troops everlasting morale . . .”

Lady Duxelle started to walk away, and the general strode to catch up.

Sensing him behind her, she said, “I’ll give the king your briefing and I’ll send more soldiers to help you clean up. But get ready—it’s going to be a bad month. For His Majesty, for me, for you, for the families of the deceased and, even worse, for the families of the prisoners. Give the soldiers a pep talk.”

The general cursed. “Why do we always get the lumpy end of the cucumber? We’re the ones sacrificing ourselves.”

“That’s your job, general. Once everything is cleaned up, close the borders and don’t let anyone in or out. The Gourmans are probably celebrating now, but we can’t afford any surprise attacks.”

The general saluted. Lady Duxelle began her long walk toward the kingdom, a hilly city full of colorful tiled roofs and airships crisscrossing the sky. An orange castle rose in the center of the city.

Compared to New Eaton, the vegetable kingdom was light, airy, almost whimsical. The skyline—if you could call it that—was full of homes shaped like vegetables.

When she reached the tall, wooden city gates, two asparagus guards saluted her and let her in. She entered and they quickly shut the gates behind her. A swarm of vegetable reporters approached her and tried to get her attention.

“My lady, what is the report?”

“How many prisoners of war taken?”

“What are the king’s plans to end the war?”

She ignored them, and the reporters fell away after a few blocks.

For a while she just walked, listening to the wispy hum of the wooden airships overhead on their way to the air docks at the far edge of the city. On both sides of her, vegetable citizens hung out of the windows of the houses, waving at her, and she nodded to them as she passed.

The royal castle was orange with carrot towers. She climbed a long series of steps to the gates, where two guards let her in. She strode through a courtyard with manicured chive grass and watercress hedges, down a long palisade with columns made of rhubarb, into the castle, and through a maze of colorful hallways until she reached a set of double doors shaped like pea pods.

She entered the briefing room without hesitation and faced the king’s Cabinet, who were sitting at a huge conference table shaped like a kidney bean.

The members of the Cabinet were aristocratic vegetables of many sorts, and they stared at her with anticipation.

She looked around for the king. His tall, silver chair at the middle of the table was empty.

It was just like him to be late to the most important briefing of his reign.

She sat next to the king’s chair, and glanced around.

“Well?” Spudseth asked. He was an old potato, the most senior Cabinet member, and the Head of Domestic Affairs. He adjusted his monocle, his eyes gleaming with warmth.

“I’ll wait for His Majesty before beginning,” she said.

Spudseth let out a long sigh, and the rest of the Cabinet shifted in their chairs and did the same.

A parsnip in a fur-lined cape, purple tights, and a golden staff sat next to Lady Duxelle. His green, leafy hair hung down to his shoulders, and his yellow teeth protruded from his mouth.

Parson leaned in and whispered, “Come on, tell me. Is it as bad as they say?”

Lady Duxelle ignored him—Parson wasn’t worth anyone’s time.

She addressed the rest of the Cabinet instead.

“I trust that you all have enjoyed each other’s company.”

Parson’s sly grin disappeared and he slapped the table, scowling.

“Out with it! We’ve been waiting all morning. You could have been more considerate of our time.”

Lady Duxelle looked at the door.

Parson flung himself back into his chair. “You can speak to the rest of the Cabinet, but you can’t acknowledge the Exchequer, eh? I pay your salary, mushroom. You’re nothing but a vegetable impostor, anyway!”

She was about to reply when the king entered and everyone rose.

King Daucus Carrodias IX was the tallest vegetable in the room. His body was thin and orange, and he wore a ranch-colored cape clasped above his chest. His green, leafy hair was slicked back and smelled of perfumed earth, and a golden crown shimmered atop his head. He carried a silver scepter that he sometimes used as a walking stick, even though he didn’t limp. His smile, full of gleaming teeth, was so wide that it looked like his face might get stuck in that position.

He motioned the Cabinet to sit down, and then he sat, smiling.

Lady Duxelle knew that winsome smile—sometimes it was the only thing that kept him on the throne. Despite his smile, however, she could sense his nervousness.

“Begin your briefing, Lady Duxelle,” the king said.

She wanted to chastise him. He had just come in and demanded a briefing, just like that! No apology or explanation. But, instead, she sighed and began.

“It is worse than we anticipated. We lost several hundred.”

“How many Gourmans were there?” the king asked.

“At least three times as many. We don’t know where they’re coming from.”

Parson shook his head. “We’re screwed.”

“How many prisoners taken?” the king asked.

“Several hundred more,” Lady Duxelle said.

King Carrodias bent over and rolled his fists softly into his forehead. “That many?”

Lady Duxelle nodded and knew better than to speak.

Parson, however, stood up and kicked the table.

“Those damned Gourmans! I’m tired of hearing bad news. We need to wipe them out, yesterday! I’m not going to bend over and take it in the roots from a cloud of salt, you can be sure of that!”

Spudseth turned to the king. “We should drop another M-Bomb.”

King Carrodias shook his head. “The first bomb is the cause of our present issues.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Parson snipped. “Sit around and wait for the Gourmans to exterminate us?”

A messenger beet ran into the room and bowed.

Lady Duxelle knew something was wrong—the messengers knew not to interrupt a Cabinet meeting unless it was an emergency.

“Y-Your Majesty,” the messenger said. “There are people gathered outside the castle. They’re protesting.”

The king’s eyes widened and he hurried out of the room. Lady Duxelle joined him, and the Cabinet streamed after them. They followed a long, carpeted hallway adorned with oil portraits of the king’s carrot ancestors and moved through a winding corridor that opened onto a large window that overlooked the town square. Hundreds of vegetables had gathered below with handwritten signs.

END THE WAR!

HOW MANY MORE WILL WE LOSE?

WE DEMAND ACTION!

The vegetables screamed and chanted angrily. Smoke from small bonfires in the crowd gathered in thick blankets over the rooftops. Above, several airships eased across the sky, their propellers spinning wildly and steam escaping from their sterns.

Parson looked at the crowd and put on a sarcastic grin.

“I’m going to lose my lordship if this continues,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what that will be like, living among commoners.”

Lady Duxelle wanted to push Parson out the window, but that would have been treason. She wished the king would stand up to him, but she knew better.

The king was visibly hurt by the protesters’ words. He walked away, and when Lady Duxelle tried to follow him, he held up his hand and motioned for her to stop.

“Your Majesty, please,” she said. “We must develop a strategy. You must address them.”

But the king kept walking, leaving the members of the Cabinet grumbling and lamenting the status of the kingdom.

The messenger beet ran down the hall again. “My lady, my lady!”

“We already heard your news,” Lady Duxelle said.

“There’s a Gourman in the castle!”

She drew her sword. “What! How did he get in?”

“He’s requesting an audience with His Majesty.”

King Carrodias, halfway down the hall, whipped around with a look of pure bewilderment. The Cabinet stood with their jaws agape.

“It’s looking like a good day to be extinct,” Parson muttered.