Prologue: The Laughingstock & the City

This is a prologue to a planned, untitled story.

Prologue: The Laughingstock & the City

William Whitmire

            

Joaquin Sharpstone was struggling to keep on the dark, stoned path. Why I chose to forget my eye lenses on pre-election day, I’ll never know, he thought. Joaquin was merely seventeen, but he appeared even younger; his hairless face along with his short cropped sandy hair made him look a child, and he hated it. B******s, he would silently curse under his breath whenever another family member japed about his childish looks. “Just-a-baby-faced-Joaquin,” they’d call him.

It won’t matter after tonight, though. Once my family wins the election, they’ll all be calling me prince Joaquin, and I bet I’ll look years older to ‘em.

 

After every other step, he would stumble briefly over a stone or a brick that stuck out of the path. His breathing was heavy, and every once in a while he stopped to catch his breath. He paused, placed his hands on his bent knees, and let out a massive sigh. He jerked his head up and peered out into the horizon.

 At night, Silver Harbor was a ghastly city. The few but bright lights in the city made it seem as if you were traveling into the depths of a pit with only a couple peering holes allowing light in. It always made Joaquin feel uncomfortable. During the day, though, the city was alive and blooming with beauty. Silver Harbor was named for its metallic stone that made it up. Travelers coming toward the city during the day never had difficulty finding it; you could see it from miles back with the stone reflecting sunlight.

 

Almost there. The city’s hall sat right in the middle, its cylinder shape peering from the ground like a flower made of silver. The building’s top looked like a tall bayonet; when Joaquin was younger, he liked to imagine that it protected the city from foreign invaders.

Inside, he would find a room full of angry men and women arguing. Control over the seas is important to the civilians, after all. In the initial stages of the election, whole families placed their names in the ballot. Small proceedings with the common people then eliminated most of the running families, leaving about four or five, usually. The main election comes after. During that process, the city council votes on the Sea Family, with the heads of the household being Sea Lord and Lady. Control of the North, Sinking, Blackened, and Silver seas comes with the title.

Joaquin passed by the butchery, its doors slightly opened to let the day’s scents out. Just outside hung butchered hogs and chickens. Craz, the butcher, stood outside the doors during the day, scolding any children who came too close to the hanging carcasses. Much like the business, Craz was a nasty man.

Joaquin’s troubled journey finally started coming to an end when he spotted the hall’s lit windows; shadows moved and swung their arms around freely. He stopped just outside the doors, where two guards with long spears stood still. One guard with a scarred eye gave Joaquin a long, eerie look.

“And who may you be, boy?” the guard asked him.

Joaquin gave him an icy look.

“You know who I am, Splice-eye.”

Splice-eye looked at the other guard, astonished.

“Jeb, do we allow children in the elections?”

“Nah, we don’t.”

Jeb smiled, his great beard raising.

“You probably don’t even have a single hair under your arm, do you, boy?” Jeb continued.

Joaquin did not reply. He stood there giving both guards a deadly glare.

“Let me in. Now,” he said sternly.

“Or what? You gonna make us regret it, boy?” Splice-eye laughed.

Both guards roared in unison, giving each other supporting looks. Joaquin’s fists curled up, but he did not dare to strike a Sea guard.

After the Sharpstones become the Sea Family, these two will be the first to go, he thought reassuringly.

Behind Joaquin came a feeble, wrinkled man. He latched onto the rail of the steps to support himself. With short, snowy hair, the old man seemed something out of a tale.

“Let this young man in,” he said, his voice faint and dying. “He is a member of one of the noble houses of Octeria, and he should be treated as such.”

The two guards exchanged annoyed looks, and finally moved aside. Joaquin smiled at the elderly man.

“Thank you, mister Goldhand.”

The old man smiled back. “Of course. Now let’s proceed inside. We shouldn’t be keeping them.”

The heavy doors swung open to a lively scene of colors and noise. Men quarreled with each other, soft music played in the corner, and wine flowed freely. Heads turned when the two came inside. Some looked away as fast as they glanced over, others gawked at Joaquin. One man yelled, “Ah, 

it’s Babyface!” A group of others laughed at the comment.

Joaquin continued moving toward the back of the hall along with Goldhand. A small group of men stood in a circle conversing about the elections.

“If that sad sack thinks he’ll win, he’s in for a sorry endgame,” one of the men whispered.

The other men nodded and agreed in unison. Joaquin came closer to a particular man, the gentleman’s face slender and dark beard short. He wore a particularly attractive suit of silk; its dark blue color was embroidered with gold. The man turned to see Joaquin and the old man. Joaquin smiled lightly.

“Father,” Joaquin said formally.

“Joaquin, you’re looking well,” his father replied.

Mister Goldhand brought out his hand.

“Phenix, I bid you luck tonight.”

Phenix smiled.

“I thank you, Cyrle. The nation is in need of some reformation. I plan to give it.”

The old man grinned and placed his hand on Phenix’ back.

“As I know you will, sir. I know.”

Cyrle turned to Joaquin.

“Joaquin, your father and I have some discussions to develop. Please pardon us. Phenix?”

The two turned away and walked off, chatting all the while. Joaquin began to observe the hall. The Cleyhorns were in attendance, their long, furry apparel brushing the ground. Luther Cleyhorn had once been a great friend of Joaquin’s father, but recent events have resulted in the two spreading apart. Joaquin grew up with the young Cleyhorn, Richmond. Richmond and he spent a good amount of time with each other; they seldom saw each other now, due to the fact that Richmond was sent off to live with his Aunt Claryle in Sandpoint. He missed him, though, and wished greatly he was here to rid some of the uncomfortable feelings.

Jeffrey Holster and his wife, Veera, were here, too. They were no friends of the Sharpstone’s, though. Ever since Veera Holster made a nasty rumor about Joaquin’s mother, Flora, the two families have been cold to one another. It was said that Veera was jealous of Flora, for Flora was the one who won Phenix’ hand.

There were more families: The Shemptons, the Parrys, the Leggons, and the Fierces. Not all families in the hall were running, though; the Parrys dropped out of the race several weeks prior, and were only there to witness the event.

Joaquin wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. He hated politics. Sometimes, he wished he lived with Richmond up in Sandpoint. There he’d be happy, at least. Joaquin’s head was spinning and jerking when a lady came behind him and rubbed his shoulders. Joaquin’s head turned quickly.

“Mother, there you are,” he said with a grin.

His mother was striking; her long, dirty blonde hair extended past her shoulders, and her long, dark blue silk dress matched his father’s.

“Joaquin, how are you holding up?”

Joaquin made a face and shrugged.

“Okay, I guess. It could be worse, I suppose. When does the voting begin?”

“Soon, I hear. With any luck, we’ll be leaving the hall as the Sea family and take up residence in the Silver palace.”

Oh, won’t that be wonderful?

Joaquin smiled for his mother.

“Yes, Mother. We’ll see.”

Joaquin sat in the corner of the hall to himself, thinking of a land far away. Richmond, is it too much to ask for a rescue? he thought. Time elapsed quickly, and before long the elders stood up. The elder standing in the middle of the great table in the center of the hall cleared his throat, his saggy neck bouncing.

“It is time for the selection of the 119^th Sea Family,” he said, his voice creaky.

Everyone in the room stood silent, waiting for the announcement that would change their lives. The three elders at the table exchanged looks, and then proceeded to unravel papers. One by one the ballots were placed in the middle of the table. The elders scrambled their vision all over the papers, all the while mumbling to one another. The oldest leaned over to the other two and whispered something. They both nodded.

“The victors have been chosen,” he announced.

You could hear every family members’ heart pounding. Joaquin didn’t really care too much; he just wanted to escape in his books and artwork.

“It is with great honor to announce the winning family. With a total tally of 213 votes and 12 council votes…”

The suspension was killing the room. For the love of God, just say it.

“The Sharpstones. Sea lord Phenix, Lady Flora, and Prince Joaquin. Please proceed to the front.”

Joaquin glanced over at his father, who was beyond astonished. His mother hugged his father as she giggled. She remembered Joaquin and waved him over to them. Joaquin walked over and stood with them; his awkward smile standing out. A mass of clapping came about. The elder came over to each of them and pinned a silver pendant on each of their clothing.

“May you have a successful and peaceful ruling,” the elder said as he finished pinning Joaquin.

Some of the families seemed genuinely happy for them. The others, though, took on a look that meant only death. Maybe Joaquin actually was a little happy. Perhaps this would be a turning point for him; no more disrespect would come toward him, at least. The pendant’s touch was cold, but it was a good kind of cold. A prince’s chill. 

***

The party proved to be an extravagant affair, with dishes upon dishes of meats and soups, jugglers and fire eaters, musicians, and plenty of alcohol. Joaquin sat with his family in the lounge area in the middle of Silver square. Civilians took turns congratulating the family. Joaquin enjoyed the attention and the respect; it felt nice for a change.

“And you, young man,” an old man by the name of Breeches began. “How are you fairing about?”

Joaquin grinned.

“Quite well, sir, I believe. I thank you for your kind words.”

Breeches nodded and walked off, with the next commoner coming. A lengthy man in drag came strolling up, sporting a wicked smile. His dark hair grew long, with his nose complementing.

“I come to give my congratulations and hope for the future,” he said, his voice shrill.

Phenix smiled and nodded.

“I give my thanks, sir. May I have your name?”

The man seemed bewildered by the question, but quickly changed to a face of understanding.

“Lagos, my lord.”

Flora smiled and arose.

“Your support is greatly appreciated, Lagos. Forgive me, sir, but are you from the city?”

Lagos held back for a moment, but then grinned.

“No, my lady. I come from Stonewall. It’s a little ways away, but I felt that I should come down to show my support.”

Phenix nodded.

“And we thank you for it, sir. Please, enjoy the fine food and festivities.”

Lagos did not move. His eyes jolted from one person to the next. He stood silent, awaiting an 

unknown force. The lord and lady exchanged confused looks.

“Sir, is everything okay?” Phenix asked.

Lagos seemed to break away from the trance. He smiled.

“Ah, yes, my lord. Forgive me. I wanted to ask you: what are your plans for the nation?”

Phenix began to go over all of his future objectives and dreams, ever so passionately. Lagos stood silent, smiling and nodding at everything Phenix said. Joaquin did not like the man. Something was off, he figured.

In the corner of his eye, Joaquin spotted a flickering light. It shined and danced orange and yellow. It didn’t take long for Joaquin to realize what he was seeing. A fire! Joaquin quickly turned to his father, who was still babbling on.

“Father, look.”

He pointed toward the direction. Phenix broke his sentence and glanced over.

“Oh…,” his father said confused.

Phenix called over two guards and pointed it out to them. They quickly rushed to deal with the matter. Before long, screaming arose. A great tome of flame was blooming from the Great Hall. The lord and lady’s mouth dropped. Phenix screamed for more guards.

“Help this out! Now!” Phenix was roaring.  

Sets of guards all rushed toward the fire. The commoners were all scattered off by now, all but one. Lagos stood staring at the flames, emotionless. He turned his head toward the lord and lady. In a mere second, his face went dark and sour. From the inside of his cloak, Lagos brought out a short dagger that shone in the light of the flames. Phenix and Flora didn’t notice at first. Joaquin spotted it and shouted.

“Move!” he bellowed.

His father and mother’s head turned quickly, still showing concern for the fire. It was all too late, though. Lagos dug his dagger inside of his father’s neck, a beautiful fountain of blood gushing. Flora let out a sharp wail, her hands digging in her hair. She tried to move away, but Lagos was quick. It all happened too fast for Joaquin to comprehend: His mother and father’s lifeless body on the ground in a sea of rubies, the surrounding colors of orange and yellow. Are there more fires than before? he thought. A sharp pain struck the back of his head. He fell to the ground, his consciousness barely hanging on. When do I get to be the prince? Maybe I’ll just go to Sandpoint and visit Richmond. Oh, how he’ll be happy to see prince Joaquin. That’ll be nice.

Joaquin could not understand what was going on; the black shapes that came before him, or the surrounding noises of terror. A tall figure rose above him. Its voice was deep and cut nicely.

“No, leave this one alive,” it said.

That was all Joaquin remembered. After that, sweet sleep came. Richmond, have you ever read the story of the miller and the monster of Sandpoint? I’ll have to share that one with you. You’ll enjoy that one, I know. And after, maybe we can go fishing for the trout that are so beautifully colored there. Yes, Richmond, I’ll be there soon.