Nolwud's disapproval was strong and vehement. The Technologist did not hold back. "Why are you punishing the worms for something I did?" The statement was quickly amended, "Not that I did anything worthy of punishment in the first place. You're being unreasonable."

I peered out across the slowly slithering collective of servants. "I'm not punishing them," I said with overt innocence. "I'm rewarding them. They wanted you to live and you live. You even get to carry on as though nothing happened. If I wanted to punish them, you might be back in the dungeon or with your head upon a stake."

The inventor was unsatisfied. "You're not acknowledging them."

"I don't hear anything."

My liege. A nearby servant lifted her head.

"I don't hear anything," I reasserted.

"Why are you like this?" inquired the Technologist.

"Oops." I patted my knee. "I think my hearing is failing. Shortly, I doubt I'll be able to hear you."

"Thank goodness for that," quipped Painyll from his comfortable roost. Nolwud and I turned his way.

"What was that?" I demanded, appalled by the lack of respect.

"You heard me," said the poet. He hadn't a care in the world. "You've always got something to say, my liege. If you're not arguing with Technologist Nolwud, you're carrying on one-sided conversations with the worms." He tapped his parchment. "Silence can be golden. I need it for my writing."

Nolwud. "Is that why you made your guards into mutes?" I wouldn't admit to sharing the inventor's sentiments.

"One of them," said Painyll. "You don't hear any complaints, do you?"

Nolwud launched into an indignant rant about the value of life. I pondered privately and decided that no one, much less the likes of Painyll, ought to tell me what to do. Therefore, the Dramatist's morning output was set ablaze. The Technologist's speech came to an abrupt end as the Painyll screeched.

"My work! My greatest work!"

"Do be quiet," I purred with faux meekness. "Silence is golden."

"My liege!" blubbered Painyll as he patted the ashes. He was too late. "How could you?"

Nolwud said nothing. Whose side was the inventor on? Was I once again worthy of patronage or was this further proof of my unreasonable tendencies? I shrugged. It wasn't my problem. "I'm off to the library."

I skipped from the platform and collected the poet's discarded stick of charcoal. Floating to the ceiling, I pressed the writing utensil to a section of flat space and announced, "I will leave you with this." I scribbled as I spoke. "If at any point you find yourselves in question as to what to do during my absence, please refer to the following decree."

I let the charcoal drop. 'Shut up and die,' written in flowing script and underlined with a flourish summed up my opinion nicely. The Technologist and the Dramatist exchanged glances.

“What?” Nolwud's head tilted.

“What are we supposed to do with that?” asked Painyll.

There was no reason for confusion. I had been upfront with my displeasure. Did they think my unhappiness was for show? Rather than waste my life further upon frivolous conversation, I departed for my proposed destination. Pulling one of Revergnols' thick tomes from the wall, I intended to immerse myself in whatever manner of literature it turned out to be.

The Technologist did not follow directions. No sooner had I settled down with what appeared to be a cookbook did the inventor prance through the door, Rott following close behind. Neither said anything. Nolwud situated beside me and Rott jumped into my lap. I lifted my eyes and glared. “What?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“No.” I returned to the text.

Nolwud's neck craned to facilitate peeking. “What language is that?”

“No idea.”

“You can read it?” Was there something unclear about my desire for solitude? I glared again and resumed reading. The Technologist received no response. The charcoal pen was set beside me. “Can you write what you wrote in the throne room?”

“No.” I wasn't granting favors.

“You want us to do what you say,” said Nolwud. “I want to confirm I know what that is.”

“Shut up and die,” I reiterated, turning the page. “Any other questions?”

Nolwud considered. “That's what it says? 'Shut up and die'?”

“Ha ha ha,” I laughed flatly, sounding out each 'ha'.

“I couldn't read it,” lied the Technologist. “Neither could Painyll.”

“I can't help it if you're both illiterate.”

“Write something,” urged the inventor, moving the charcoal closer, as though I hadn't seen it. “Anything. Write your name.”

“No.” Then, “Why?”

“I want to test a theory I have about communication.”

“Golly,” I remarked facetiously. “Because I'm currently so very happy about your experiments in communication.”

“This is a theory concerning your communication skills, my liege.”

I lowered my head. “And that's why Rott happens to be here?”

The worm frowned up at me.

“Rott doesn't understand me,” said Nolwud. “I couldn't have invited him along if I wanted.” It was a valid point. It didn't alleviate my suspicion. “Write your name.”

I took the charcoal and put Lordavis on the tabletop.

“Again,” said Nolwud with an overabundance of excitement.

“I'm not vandalizing my furniture for your sake,” I replied.

“I'll scrub this whole room myself.” The inventor was pleased to offer. I was unnerved but would not appear thus. “Write you name once more and then I'll let you read in peace.”

“You don't dictate my actions. This is my kingdom.” I put a second Lordavis and discarded the charcoal. I scowled at the page edge. “Great, now I'm leaving prints everywhere.”

Nolwud tapped the table. “These both say 'Lordavis'?”

I shot a look. “What happened to 'I'll let you read in peace'?”

The Technologist ignored my protest.“You see these both as 'Lordavis'?”

My handwriting was not the atrocious article the inventor insisted. I resented the notion. “I can spell my own name, yes.”

“They don't look remotely similar!”

I examined my handiwork. “They look exactly the same.”

“No,” insisted Nolwud fervently. “They don't.”

“I don't know what you're trying to pull, Technologist,” I snapped. “But I'm not going along with it. Get out.”

Nolwud's expression melted into a strange mix of pity and epiphany. “You sincerely see no difference. Fascinating.” The inventor withdrew, tapping jaw, and musing in half mutterings. I watched the departure then attempted to return to my reading, the ingredients necessary for sugar pie. I couldn't stick with it.

I looked to Rott and commanded, “Rott, did I write my name twice?”

Eager to be addressed, the worm popped up and investigated the tabletop. I don't know, my liege.

“There are two words,” I explained. “They should both be the same.”

I see lines, said the worm. He couldn't read. He was no help.

“Never mind,” I said. I resumed the silent treatment.

Nolwud resurfaced later. I headed for the baths, the first time in years I did not have an entourage attending me as I did. Intersecting my path in the corridor, the inventor held up parchment. I soured recalling the previous messages orchestrated for the worms. “Which one of these is not like the other?”

“I don't have time for this.” I didn't look. I continued on my way. Nolwud trailed behind. “Go away.”

“I want to test my theory.”

“And I want to kill you,” I said. “I want you to finish the security system. I want you to finish the plane shifter.”

“You recognize the dichotomy there. I can't do the latter if you do the former.”

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I smirked. “It depends upon the order of action.”

“Let's put 'test my theory' before 'finish security system',” beamed the inventor cleverly. “It will work better for both of us.”

“Oh, yes,” I scowled, crossing the boundary into the baths. “I see that having the worms vouch for you has made you even more daring.” The stonework changed into red and gray tiling. Even with my disregard, the servants knew better than the slack in their duties. The air was thick with warm dampness. I shed my ghutrah as Nolwud removed spectacles. “Did I invite you to join me?”

“I know, I know,” reassured the inventor, showing me the clouded glasses in an attempt to portray innocence. I nodded and continued to strip. Nolwud pushed on as I did, “I would like you to look at what I've got.”

Three sheets of parchment. Each one said 'foot'. I peered between, indicating the middle. “That one is different.”

“Why?”

“It's lighter in color,” I said.

Nolwud was circumspect. “But the words themselves...?”

“They say the same thing,” I exasperated, stepping deeper into the baths and rounding the corner on the pool of hot water itself. Steam visibly rose and hung like despondent clouds. A crude mural of a castle on a cliff overlooking a village of neat cottages decorated the far wall. I crawled beneath the water and let the heat travel over me.

Nolwud remained in the doorway between apodyterium and pool. “Then, my liege, I think I've discovered a disadvantage to your otherwise incredible gift of understanding.”

The Technologist had my attention. “What?”

“One moment.” Despite the early declaration, Nolwud was nude and in the bathwater in a flash. I remembered Revergnols holding court in the baths on occasion, entertaining a manner of guests and dignitaries as we soaked. I had grown accustomed to having the large space to myself. I immediately summoned a lightning bolt in my palm only to receive, “If you shock me, you'll get yourself too.”

“Of course, we know you have no problem with that,” I said in reference to the tricks with the marbles.

“Baths are a social gathering place, my liege,” said the Technologist. “If we're to accept future delegations, it may be prudent to meet here. It's much harder to draw a weapon when naked.”

“I don't know why you continue to insist upon these things.” I dismissed the electricity. “I have plotted your murder on several occasions. I should think you'd recognize that you won't be around to welcome any delegations.”

“Your plots don't tend to work out,” said Nolwud. Smug.

“I've conceived several successful plots,” I retorted. “Your survival today is contingent on the grace of the worms.”

“Is that us?” Nolwud asked, indicating the castle on the wall. Talk of demise was pushed aside, dismissed lightly. “I keep meaning to ask.”

I wasn't interested in small talk, though I allowed, “Yes, Revergnols paid fifty phids for it. How was it phrased? 'The bathhouses in Fourmikari have scenes on them. Nova needs a scene too'.”

The inventor pointed lower to a collection of small shapes nearly excluded from the edge of the image. “What's this?”

“Revergnols' sense of humor,” I said and dipped below the surface. The unanswered question was waiting when I rose.

“Yes, but what is it?”

“The ones with no value being dealt with accordingly,” I said. Nolwud snorted. “What?”

“Nothing. A conversation I had recently. Your response reminded me...” Trailing off. “Never mind.”

I folded my hands. “Since you've insisted on this intrusion, what was this confirmation you absolutely had to share?”

“Your understanding of communication, my liege,” said Nolwud. The inventor neglected to create any build up or set the scene. Barreling ahead, “It is so thorough you immediately comprehend what's being conveyed regardless of the means. Ergo, my writing in three different languages had no impact because you understood the intent. You aren't able to discern one from the other because they say the same thing.”

I was not convinced. “They do say the same thing.”

The Technologist continued. “When it comes to your penmanship, you are functionally illiterate.”

I bristled with offense, rising with anger. “Excuse me?”

“It's not your fault,” insisted Nolwud. “You know what you're trying to say and you read the intent in your writing. For the rest of us, it's meaningless scribble.”

“That's impossible,” I said.

“My liege, I've heard tell that a variety of truly devastating spells require symbols and other writings in their rituals,” began the inventor. “Have you ever tried anything like that against Fourmikari?”

My jaw opened. In my efforts to destroy that accursed place, I had attempted many such rituals. I had poured over accounts of powerful magicks that, if cast correctly, would have left a smoking crater where once stood white walls. Each summoning was marked by failure, usually followed up by an assault from Gallivur and rescue party. It was terribly frustrating. I was a magus. I should have been capable. “You mean to say--”

“I don't know if you're even capable of recognizing the symbols themselves,” said Nolwud. “Or if you do, you can't recreate them because you immediately understand your intent and can't see where you've gone wrong.”

“That's... but I don't...There's no way...” I was unable to complete my thoughts.

“Have you ever kept correspondence with anyone?” suggested the inventor.

“No!” I gagged. “Why would I want to exchange letters with anyone?”

“It was for the best I sent the missive to Fourmikari,” mused Nolwud aloud.

“I'm not illiterate!” I cried.

“You're overly literate,” suggested Nolwud.

“Why should I listen to you?” I scoffed. “You've shown up from across the sea, insisted upon my patronage, and worked your way into a position where I can't do anything to you without upsetting the worms. What's to say this isn't a final push, to set me on a path of self destruction so you can slip in and take over?”

“For one thing,” said Nolwud, “By now I'm fairly certain you've got something terrible inside you. It defies the rules of science, but then, so does magic.”

I sneered. “How do I know you didn't send that assassin the other day?”

“About that,” said Nolwud. “When did this whole 'assassin' thing happen? You and Gallivur talked about it at length. If someone is sending assassins tailored to unleash your slumbering cataclysm, you should be taking greater measures to protect yourself.”

“If they succeed in killing me,” I derided, “then they succeed in killing themselves.”

“That's clearly what they want,” said Nolwud. “A death cult, maybe?”

“I can't be bothered with things like that,” I huffed. I pulled myself from the pool. “My one and only goal is to destroy Fourmikari and Gallivur. Anything else is inconsequential.”

Nolwud followed suit, climbing out behind me. “But why? You're young. You're a magus. You can communicate with anything.”

“Not if it involves writing,” I mocked. “Or have you rescinded your claim there?”

“Why are you putting all your energy towards ending one kingdom?”

That was easy. “It's the last part of my revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Don't play dumb,” I chastised, pulling a towel from the wall. “I've heard you asking Painyll about Nova. You know exactly what you're asking. You just want to hear me say it.”

“Revergnols is dead,” said Nolwud. “It's not going to matter what you do at this point.”

“It's the principle of the thing.” I scrubbed my head dry. “Revergnols loved Fourmikari. Can I really destroy my predecessor's beloved kingdom?” I threw the used cloth to the ground. “In a heartbeat.”

“Then what?” Nolwud asked. “If you finally managed to do it, then what?”

“Then I guess I've won,” I said.

“Won what?”

I cackled. “Everything? Revergnols is dead. Nova is destroyed. Fourmikari will be a memory. I don't think there's anything left after that.”

“I thought your intention was to enslave the world,” said the Technologist, noting the discrepancy in my claims. I ought to have picked my words carefully. It was a sloppy mistake. “Kill those who didn't submit, enslave the rest.”

“Fourmikari will never submit to me,” I said. “That's one certainty in an uncertain existence. Their destruction is imminent.”

Nolwud watched in silence as I redressed. The wheels turned behind dark eyes. “You could have engaged with the neighboring kingdoms. They're not on par with Fourmikari. You could have wiped them off the map or enslaved them. You haven't. Why haven't you? That's what you should have been doing all this time.”

Flippant, “I'd rather focus on Fourmikari.”

“You're not actually interested in world domination. That's why you don't worry about the feasibility.” The inventor rationalized further. “You declare that for the worms. You say it loud and you say it often. You want them to believe you're doing this to expand their kingdom, that Fourmikari is a bump along the way, that you've devised future conquests.”

I smoothed my garments and moved into the corridor. Nolwud's garments were hugged close and carried as the inventor ran after me, not slowing down in pursuit. The accusations kept coming.

“You're of the Fourmikari lineage,” said Nolwud, gnawing on knuckle. “You'd have to be. Nova was ceded by Fourmikari and Fourmikari wouldn't have ceded it to outsiders, certainly not considering--” Again, the Technologist asked, “What happens after Fourmikari falls?”

“I kill Painyll?” I suggested with a laugh, brushing aside the obvious.

“You're in your early hundreds!” exclaimed the inventor. “You could do so much! You have a kingdom at your disposal. Why not develop it and put your talents to use creating a dynasty of your own?”

“Because I hate Fourmikari,” I said. I wouldn't discuss it further. I added, “Also, I'm ninety.

“You're ninety?” The inventor gaped. Without solicitation, “I thought we were the same age!”

I had no further comment.

“This is foolishness,” began Nolwud anew. “You're capable of more!”

“Are you disappointed in the patron you chose?” I cooed. “Are you worried how it will affect your science? That your marvellous invention to bridge the planes of existence will be wasted?” Nolwud frowned. A sudden burst of clarity hit me. There was a prime opportunity staring me in the face of which I had here thereunto been ignorant.

"Have you considered taking it as a sign?" the doctor had asked in regards to the worms' fondness for Nolwud. No, I hadn't, nor did I think the doctor meant it as I now interpreted the situation. The worms preferred Nolwud to me, that much I had decided. I could use that. There was merit to be gained yet.

“You should help me,” I remarked. I hated the Technologist, yes, but I had landed upon both the perfect motivation for the other and a neat solution for lingering loose ends. “Finish the plane shifter and help me bring ruin to Fourmikari. Once that kingdom lies destroyed beyond repair, you can do whatever you like with the Kingdom of Ever-Worms.”

“What?” Nolwud didn't follow my logic.

“You're keen on building a kingdom and I'm keen on destroying one,” I said. “When I've gotten what I want, you can have what you want.” The inventor was delayed in comprehension. “Technologist Nolwud, I'm making you my successor.”