Chapter Twenty-One

 

The Scarecrow

Yesterday

 

“The fucking wizards are on her side now!”  The Scarecrow paced around the throne room, the blackbirds in his coat restlessly flapping.  “Scarlett Riding-Wolf’s army is causing havoc twenty-four hours a day, Midas is blocking every-fucking-thing at the ports, the Round Table is supporting her, and now she’s gotten the fucking Congress of Wizards kissing her ass, too!”

Percival watched him, both of his arms in casts.  “You swear a lot more now than you did before.”  He observed with puritanical disapproval. “It’s unseemly for a king.”

Like the Scarecrow gave a fuck.

It did bother him that the little turd thought it was acceptable to speak to him that way, though.  Percival had never treated Arthur with anything but respect.  It was further proof that the Scarecrow was losing his grip on Camelot.  Nearly all the King’s Men had abandoned him, now.  Either killed by Midas, prisoners of Scarlett’s forces, or unwilling to cross the wizards.  The Bad folk were all laughing at him, betting that Gwen would win.  Even foreign leaders were staying away.

He was a king without a kingdom.

The Scarecrow closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to think.  Guinevere was boxing him in at every turn.  The woman was smarter than he’d given her credit for.  She was meeting him, move for move.  And she’d recruited a pet goon who’d pay any amount of money to fulfil her whims.  Midas had to be her True Love.  There was no other explanation for the cash he was putting into her war.  He could outspend the Scarecrow, hiring more men and buying more supplies.

Not to mention the goddamn media blitz.

Every fucking channel was all Gwen all the time.  Commercials ran around the clock, all of them explaining how the Scarecrow’s policies were ruining life in Camelot.  All of them espousing the glories and wonders of Queen Guinevere.  Then there were the op-ed articles, the radio spots, the countless blogs…  One day, the Scarecrow would wake up and there would be fucking billboards.  He was sure of it.

There was already an endless marathon of Galahad’s damn television show airing on Midas’ new TV network.  Kids were sending the palace sad letters, wondering why the Scarecrow was keeping their favorite knight away.  Arthur had banished that prick, but Midas’ PR firm had flipped it all around, so the Scarecrow was responsible for season four’s cliffhanger not being resolved!

Frustrated and furious, he collapsed onto the throne.

He couldn’t win this war.

Gwen was building too much support in the kingdom and Midas was too powerful.  If the Scarecrow was going to gain his throne, he needed that meddling whore as his wife and he needed Midas out of the picture.

The only way to achieve either of those things was Dark Science.

His gaze cut over to the White Rabbit, who was fiddling with his bowtie.  “How much longer until you can get the formula airborne?”  He demanded.

“Ummm… not long, sire.  I’ve been working quite hard on it, just as you requested.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“Well,” the scientist nervously smoothed down his ears, “I can’t make the effects permanent, yet.  The formula will only last a day or two on most Baddies.  Even less if they are particularly strong-willed.”  He brightened.  “But, I have figured out a way to trigger them into following our orders from a distance, so…”

“Gwen will find the wand imminently, I suspect.”  The Scarecrow interrupted, calming down enough to use the erudite vocabulary he preferred.  There was no sense in being a genius if people didn’t know it.  “If she does, all our experiments will collapse into ruins.  Time is of the essence.”

“Well, that’s true, sire.”  The Rabbit admitted.  “Merlyn was a level six wizard.  Those are quite rare.  He put a great deal of power into his wand, so it could be an issue for us.”

Even dead that asshole was causing problems.

“Dark Science can defeat most magic, but not at that strength.  Not yet anyway.”  The Rabbit gulped, seeing the Scarecrow’s extreme unhappiness with that news.  “But I’ve set up a magic detecting sensor.  As soon as the wand is located by Guinevere, we’ll know.  Its energy is too…”

The Scarecrow cut him off again.  “As soon as she has it, we’ll have to act immediately, no matter our level of preparedness.”  He pursed his burlap lips.  “What about the Camlann Project?”  He demanded.  “How is that progressing?”

If he couldn’t win, he’d make sure Gwen didn’t either.  That was the bottom line.  For the last week or so, he’d been hounding the Rabbit to complete the Camlann Project.  That little bitch Avalon had actually given him the idea.  If the worst happened and he lost this fight, the Scarecrow would make sure that Midas and Gwen didn’t get their happily ever after.

It was the least he could do.

The Rabbit gulped.  “It’s not even close to being ready, sire.  I’ve told you that.  If I even try to… to… do what you’re asking, it would take months to perfect the proper serum.  Years of tests, before it was right.”

The Scarecrow snorted at that nonsense.  “Just get close enough to fuck up their lives.”

“Horrible, horrible things could happen though, sire!  What you want is impossible and immoral and…”

The Scarecrow was beginning to lose his patience.  “Allow me to do the planning.  You just stick to the science.”

“But…  The Camlann Project plan is a terrible plan you’re planning, sire.”

“So you’ve repeatedly conveyed.”  His twig-fingers drummed on the arm rest.  “I don’t put much credence in your opinion, however.  I just want to know if it will fucking work!”  The last part came out at a bellow.

Inside his coat, the blackbirds shifted in agitation, their red eyes fixing on the Rabbit.  If the bunny wasn’t the only creature in the kingdom capable of mastering Dark Science, the Scarecrow would have had them peck the little bastard to death.

His babies were hungry.

“It will work.”  The Rabbit backed towards the door, gazing at the blackbirds in dread fascination.  “I swear, I will have it working by this time tomorrow.  At least for a trial run.  In fact, I’ll just go work on it right now…”  He scampered from the room so fast, his cottontail nearly got caught in the door.

Twitchy little coward.

“We don’t have time for him to fuck around much longer.”  He muttered.  “Gwen is too clever.  She’ll find that wand soon.  I know it.”

“None of this will matter, so long as that winged demon is still alive.”  Percival argued, bigotry always uppermost in his feeble mind.  “When we get rid of Midas, Trystan will come for us.  He’s brainlessly loyal to his master.  I battled those half-naked barbarians during the Looking Glass Campaigns.  They’re too stupid to quit, even when they’re doomed to lose.  We should kill Trystan first.”

The Scarecrow rolled his eyes, sick of Percival’s whining.  Ever since he’d escaped Midas’ dungeon, all he’d done was brood about Trystan snapping his arms like they were sticks from that stupid little pig’s house.  Percival’s hatred for the gryphon blinded him.

“Gryphons are nothing.”  The Scarecrow scoffed dismissively.  “Anachronisms who dwell in caves and eat raw meat.”

“They’re cave-dwelling anachronisms who are trained to fight to the death.”

“Then we’ll make sure Trystan fights to the death as quickly as possible.  If we have the formula, we can compel him to fly into the ocean and drown himself.  Or maybe a bug-zapper.”  Restless, the Scarecrow got to his feet and prowled over to look out the window. “And he can take all the fucking wizards with him.”

He hated those smug bastards.

Hated them.

First they denied him admission to the academy and now they aided his enemies.  Once he had control of Camelot, he would burn the Emerald City to the ground and…

No.

The Scarecrow winced a bit, rejecting that idea.  Not fire.  A bomb perhaps.  He had a morbid fear of flames that only someone made of straw could ever understand.  He wouldn’t use that.  Not even to kill the wizards.

Percival arched a brow.  “They say Midas beat Chryson at catur, you know.  Won the game in less than four hours.  No one’s ever done that.  …Not even you.”

The Scarecrow’s teeth ground together in fury.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been the smartest man in the kingdom.  Everyone knew it and respected it.  Now, for the very first time, he was afraid he… wasn’t.  That ill-bred ape was outmaneuvering him.  Even with Gwen’s help, that shouldn’t be possible.  Midas had been spawned in a mud hole on the ass-crack of Camelot.  He’d lived in a goddamn stable for four years, sleeping with farm animals.  He was tacky and common and uneducated and Bad.

How in the hell could he possibly be winning this war?

“Did you send men to that other wizard’s house?”  He demanded, gazing out at the lawn.  A maid was doing laundry, vainly hoping that the linens would dry in the damp weather.  “That drunken, stuttering fool who married Gwen and Midas?”

“Yes, but it was no use.  The scroll wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t there?  It has to be there.  Wizards always keep the marriage scrolls of the couples they wed.”

“My men searched the house from top to bottom and couldn’t find it, sire.  It’s not there.”

The Scarecrow’s painted-on eyes narrowed.  Midas.  That shrewd fucker had stolen it first!

The Scarecrow couldn’t marry Gwen, if she was already married to Midas.  Unless that scroll was destroyed, it was basically impossible to dissolve their marriage.  The Scarecrow had been hoping to get his hands on it, but of course that dirty mongrel had to ruin his plans.

Dissatisfaction ate at him.  Self-doubt.  Rage.  Needing a handy target for his roiling emotions, the Scarecrow’s painted-on eyes fixed on the maid in the garden.  She was hanging out the clothes.  Like most people, she was probably supporting Gwen.

And his babies were hungry.

The Scarecrow made a clucking sound with his tongue.  Instantly, the blackbirds swarmed out of his body, swooping down into the courtyard.  It was a black cloud of feathers and wings and ravenous squawking.

The maid looked up at the sound, her mouth parting in horror.  The fool actually tried to run.  She took a few panicked steps, but his babies were already upon her.  Talons tore into her body, knocking her to the ground.  She helplessly screamed, desperate to escape, but it was no use.  It was impossible to stop his blackbirds once they tasted blood.

…Unless you had a golden touch, like that murdering dickhead.  The Scarecrow would never forgive Midas for that.  He detested the man for so many reasons, but he’d never forgive that monster for turning a dozen of his precious babies to gold at the Round Table.  He would have vengeance for the massacre.

He would take away something Midas loved.

Down in the courtyard, the blackbirds feasted on the woman, as she wailed and uselessly tried to protect her face.  Beaks stabbed into her eyes, straight through to her brain, and then she was quiet.  Blood pooled on the cobblestones, seeping out around her still form.  It seemed they were going to need another laundress.

The Scarecrow smiled as one of his babies pecked off her nose.

…And he imagined it was Gwen.