Not answering him, she turned and regally left the hall.
— Horse! Don’t you recognize me, man? I’m your king! It’s me, Egress the Hearty, for Christ’s sake!
— Yeah, I know who you are, the red man answered. — Or rather, I know who you think you are. The fact that you think you’re still in charge, though, just because you’re who you are, doesn’t mean goatshit around here anymore. It’s hard to run around claiming Divine Right when you ain’t got no Enforcer! Horse joked, leading his band over to one of the far corners of the room. He was still wearing his jukebox, and one of the warriors punched E-5, a Buffy Sainte-Marie tune, and the group formed a small circle and started to dance.
— For god’s sake, don’t you guys have any loyalty to your own kind??? the king shrieked at them. — Where are your balls!!! Egress was beginning to comprehend what was happening, and his fear had turned to rage. Trussed up like a pig in a market, he roared, thrashing and rolling himself about the room.
Sadly, while the other Indians danced, Horse watched him. — The only good king is probably a dead king, he murmured to himself.
5.
This is how Egress escaped: The Abenakis, as redmen often will, took to drinking, and after having exhausted themselves with brawling, singing, and dancing, fell asleep in a pile in the corner. At dawn, a young girl, coming from one of the barracks rooms where, apparently, she had been visiting her boyfriend or her brother, stole across the Great Hall in the half-light and almost stumbled over the fuming body of Egress.
— Watch it, for Christ’s sake! he snapped.
— Oh, golly, I didn’t see you there! I’m terribly sorry, she said sincerely. She was wearing a high school cheerleader’s uniform and had large, pointed breasts. — Are you all right? she asked the king.
— Listen, I was captured by some Indians working for my wife, the queen, because she hates men. Do you hate men, too? he asked kindly.
— Oh-h-h, gosh, no! I just love them! I mean, I have too much respect for men. I’m 37-24-37, you know, she said proudly.
— That right? Well, then, why don’t you just untie me, honey, so I can stand up and get a good look at your body?
— Oh, I’m so em-barrassed! she giggled, bending down to untie him, brushing his nose with her naked thigh as she worked.
When she had freed him, he stood up, grabbed her by her left breast, and together they ran from the room to the courtyard outside. There he leaned her against the wall, yanked down her panties, and stuffed his stiff cock into her. He pumped half a dozen times, came, and quickly withdrew, saying as he left, — I’ll be in touch.
—’Bye, she said weakly.
— Don’t forget to douche, he warned her.
6.
Egress decided swiftly that the best way for him to get his throne back was to go underground, at least until he could size up the situation. He called the Loon, but there was no answer. — The little bastard’s probably hiding out in Biloxi, he cursed.
The streets were filled with Indians carrying weapons and wearing makeup on their faces. — Goddamn faggots, he said to himself. — They’ll work for anyone who’ll let them paint themselves up.
With his back to the street, the door of the phone booth closed, he made one more call, to a number his security chief had given him years ago. — H’lo, he said when the party answered. — Is this the Underground?
— Ya.
— Good. I need to drop out of sight for a while. You know what I mean. Can you arrange it?
— Ya, I tink so. How many iss dere in your party? the man asked.
— One, Egress said.
— Und vat time may ve expect you?
— In about fifteen minutes.
— Ya, dot’s fine. Und vat iss da name, pleese?
— Sunder.
— Tank you for callink us, Mister Soonder. Ve vill be expectink you, den.
Hanging up the receiver, Egress darted out of the phone booth and leaped into a cab that had just pulled up to the curb. The driver was a tiny man, so short he could barely see over the steering wheel. — Vere to? he asked.
— Underground, Egress commanded.
— You iss da Soonder party?
— Yeah, that’s right.
— You are early, Mister Soonder.
— Yeah, sorry about that. I got away earlier than I expected, he explained as the cab sped away.
7.
The drive took him to the clubhouse of a long-abandoned golf course in one of the suburbs. Inside the shuttered building, a low, ranch-style, log structure covered with vines and moss, a group of men and women, mostly young, long-haired, and filthy, were making bombs and various incendiary devices. They greeted him with silent, agreeable nods and continued with their work.
Egress admired their discipline and decided to tell them who he was. When he had finished speaking and the laughter had died down, one of the group, a slender youth with flowers tangled into his hair, took Egress aside and said to him, — You may not remember me, but we’ve met. I know who you are, who you were, he said in a confidential voice. — These kids, they’re rather heavily into revolution, so they’re not going to be of much help to you, except to hide you out for a while — but they’ll do that only so long as they think you’re a little crazy and are wanted by the State. That grain bag you’re wearing helps, also that psychotic-looking hair cut. You look like Richard Speck, he said with a snicker. — But you’re going to have to be more careful, he went on. — They’re serious about this revolution thing…
— Wait a minute, Egress said, interrupting him. — Aren’t you…?
— Yes.
— But I thought I ordered you executed!
— Yes, you did, but your wife countermanded your order and had me freed right after you left on your famous pilgrimage. She thought I was gay, and there was an amnesty offered, and so…
— I thought you were gay, too. Aren’t you? the king asked, incredulous.
— Not really. But never mind all that. If you want to hide out here, you better start acting crazy, and you better start helping make the bombs. You’ll find that your family problems won’t count for very much here, not with this group, he chuckled, leading the king back to the young men and women at work on the floor among the wires, fuses, gasoline, and dynamite caps.
8.
Late that night, while the others slept, the king rolled over on his pallet and whispered to the Green Man, who was lying on the pallet next to him. — Are there any others left, besides you, who have remained loyal to me?
— A few, I imagine, the Green Man answered, yawning. — And you really can’t count on me for much more than company.
— How many are left? the king persisted.
— Ten, maybe.
— Ten! Ten men! Ten loyal men. Ten stout-hearted men! he whispered with growing excitement. — Okay, Greenie, you and I are getting out of here now, he announced.
— What for? I like it here. I mean, hiding out isn’t a bad way for a man to spend his life.
— Not this man, fella. We’re getting out of here, and we’re going to contact those ten stout-hearted men and get them together as fast as we can, tonight, if possible. And by tomorrow night, we’ll have ten thousand more! he almost exclaimed.