The evil pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink have been vanquished and send to the dishwasher, which is good because the castle was getting low on coffee mugs and teaspoons.
The dreaded snow of tattered tissue has been shovelled off the hallway floor and banished to the waste bin.
As the King makes his rounds of the castle, turning off unneeded lights
and other electrical vassals, he ponders his recent experiences with
the Royal Healers. There is a slit in the small of his back where the
Royal Healers plied their magical trade, and now it is done and only
the bandages remain. The Queen has informed the King that the operation site is healing nicely, and bandages will not be needed much longer. In any event, the terrible pain in the King's left leg has almost disappeared, though it flairs up now and again. The Royal Healers assure him this is a sign of healing.
The terrible headaches,which had disappeared with the arrival of the leg pain, have begun again, off and on, for the King. He's not sure what to make of that.
The sun has gone down, it is dark outside. The King reminds himself to take a look at the night sky sky before he goes to bed. Perhaps he will be rewarded with a clear, starry sky for his diligence.
He passes the quarters of the Prince. He will be 19 months old tomorrow. Lately, he has been under the care of the Royal Healers for an ear infection, that has spread to both ears. The Prince does not understand why the King doesn't pick him up anymore. It's difficult to explain to a toddler restrictions on lifting anything over five pounds when you have had back surgery. It looks like he has turned the corner this afternoon, however, and the King and Prince spent the evening playing with blocks.
But now the Prince sleeps, awakened occasionally but an errant cough or sneeze. He is a brave little boy, and the King is most pleased with his first-born.
When the King passes his own chambers, he sees in the soft glow of a covered light that the Queen has fallen asleep already. She, too, has been under the care of the Royal Healers for some sort vile possession. It has taken the Healers many attempts to rid Her Highness of the demon, but when her terrible cough began to produce blood, it was a sign to them. They has given her some sort of pill elixir thingy (a Royal term), and we will see in the morning how effective it will be.
It has been a difficult week, and the Royal Coffers will be coughing up
lots of the gold, what little is left after so many years of infirmity of the King. Ah well, one thing at a time, he thinks to himself.
He writes a post to inform the kingdom of the condition of the Royal Family. As he drops his pen, and lumbers off to bed, he stops for a moment, just to listen to the breathing of the sleeping Queen and Prince. There's something about being the last one to bed, to oversee the security of the keep. Then he remembers the night sky, and uses the last of his ration of daily energy to check the night sky.
Epilog:The King notices that his post gets horribly misaligned after using the spell checker. With a sigh, he will have to order the execution of yet another of the Kingdom's lousy programmers.
