How to Make a King Laugh

     In six days' time, he would be the one to stand before the royal court. It's an honour to speak before the king, but the last time he'd attended, he couldn't shake that image of his royal scowl from his head. The library suffered as a consequence too. Neopets everywhere whispered as he passed. For all the books that lined his walls and all the stories he's kept in his back pocket, Prem couldn't make the king laugh. That was why he was there now. Books from Brightvale just wouldn't do anymore. He slips his hands into his pocket to retrieve the coin pouch inside. Outside the currency he's estimated would cover the cost of the trip, there's a slip he's tucked inside too. He takes it out now to examine it again. Carefully Prim unfolds the sheet of paper. There are creases from where he's folded it a thousand times over. These were the books he's hand-selected since the very last time. He's sure these are the stories that would make the king laugh.

     Inside the City of Qasala, Prem is distracted. There's a merchant upon immediate entry, drawing his gaze in. He looks up from the sheet of paper as the merchant eyes his coin purse instead. He shows him his easel, drawing him in. "It's okay," Prem insists, backing away, but the merchant has him by his elbow, drawing him in with 'just look'. Prem sheepishly turns away, hastily shoving the paper back into his coin pouch. "It's okay, really," he says, backing away. He shoves it back into his pocket and runs the other way. Behind him, he can still hear the merchant yelling for him to return. He can feel his pulse quickening. Perhaps it was best to keep some things hidden until it was time. He scurries the other way, fleeing into the crowd. He shoves his coin purse back into his pocket, or as he'd soon find out, he thought he had.

     The place he's looking for is titled Words of Antiquity. It's by word of mouth that he even knows it exists. Stories of old, the Elderly Bori who'd stepped into his gallery had told him. The classics were truly the way to win anyone's heart. With determination in mind, he pushes through the crowd, but fails to forge his own path. He finds himself inside of a giant tent, the crowd more sparse inside than within the doorway. He's grateful for that, as he is for the break from the heat, and realizes, with a whiff of his nose, that his stomach is grateful for the opportunity too.

     His mouth is practically watering. There are so many colours he's never thought could ever be in food. His eyes are as big as the plates of wailing oats, his stomach loud even with the crowd. Eight hours was long enough time to find the place and locate all of his books, he decides. He could stop for a quick snack. He settles for a loaf of bread that fascinates his nose. He digs his hand into his pocket, slipping deeper in until the panic begins. Prem looks down and expands his clothes. There's a hole in his pocket and his coin purse is nowhere to be found.

     He circles the floor around him. Perhaps he's just dropped it now. But no, it's gone. All of his money and his carefully crafted list. "Sir?" the merchant behind him calls. Prem still holds the loaf of packaged bread in his hand. Prem shoves the loaf back with an apology, running back from where he started. Maybe he'd just have to retrace his steps. That's it. That's what he'd do.

     He forces himself back through the crowd, but this time, instead of surrendering to the flow, Prem shoves his way through, staring at the floor. It's not there. His pulse quickens. As dreadful as it was, Prem makes his way back towards the original art merchant. Perhaps he dropped it there when he tried to pull away. But the desert is vast and Prem can't quite retrace all of his steps. The panic worsens. He's running in full sprint now, his eyes searching frantically. Where did he drop it? Had he truly lost it in the lost desert? He finds the merchant and grabs him by the collar. "Where is it?"

     The merchant stares at him dumbfounded them pushes him aside. He yells at him that he's out of his mind, and Prem is pretty sure he's right. He circles the spot again. "It has to be here," he says. This was the last place he was sure he had it. He had taken it out to examine his sheet. At least, he was pretty sure he took it out to examine his sheet. He's dizzier now than when he was when he began. The sun feels hotter somehow. Then he spots it.

     A tiny Desert Spyder draws in the sand. He tries his best not to be clobbered by the footsteps of the many who pass him. He drags his new toy forward: a simple spotted pouch with shiny things inside. He's finally found a spot in the shade, free from all the people where he can finally dig into the contents when he spots an angry Acara approaching. The Spyder grabs his new toy and makes a run for it.

     As it happens, keeping his eye on a desert Spyder in the middle of a desert is a harder task than he'd ever imagine. Prem rushes in without a second thought, the agile little thing weaving its way into the crowd. Prem, who had always been more timid in nature, now shoves past people, who scream and yell as he passes. He pushes through the art stalls, many artist clinging to their work and into the tent. He grabs a hold of a foreign fruit and tosses it at the spyder in attempt to slow it down, but the spyder ducks just in type and slings from a makeshift web, all the way trailing his pouch along his hind legs. He even makes it into the aforementioned bookshop, knocking down several shelves in his chase. Finally, back into a corner, the Spyder cowers and cuts his hold of the pouch, hiding behind a bookshelf.

     Prem is out of breath by this point, huffing when it finally comes to an end. "Gotcha!" He snatches the pouch out and is relieved to find the sheet of paper there. He collapses in a heap onto the floor, his heart rate finally resuming its usual rhythm. When Prem looks up however, many angry people are staring back at him. "What happened?" And that's when he realizes it. Prem looks around at the mess he's made. There are several shelves toppled over, ancient books is disarray. Scrolls lay wide open on the floor, a tangle of parchment all around him. He turns as white as a ghost. "Did I do this?" Then he turns towards the spyder, he cowers in the corner. He feels a pang in his chest as he comes to the harsh truth. He chased around a helpless Petpet all throughout the Lost Desert and managed to make a mess of things all because he's never bothered to stitch up his pockets properly.

     He reaches his hand out for the Spyder. "Hey, it's okay," he says gently. He reaches into his pouch and offers a shiny coin. The Petpet emerges from the corner the grab a hold of it. He makes some noise of approval before crawling onto his shoulder. Prem stands up slowly too after. "I'm so sorry everyone. I'll pay for all of the damage I've caused, I promise." And so he does. He pays for all of the damage he's caused to the stalls and even helps fix it up himself, but by the time he's finished, he's realizes even if he were allowed back in, Prem wouldn't have enough to pay for the books. Empty-handed and with a heavy heart, Prem returns home.

     On the faithful day, he bathes and readies, his nicest clothes ready as he marches forward. There's a panic in his chest again. Six days had past since the incident, but Prem had thought of nothing. There were no stories that could satisfy the king. There was only one at the top of his head, the story of what he'd done replaying over and over until he's forced into the castle. Pushed towards the front of the court, Prem takes a deep breath. He looks up at the king. "Why did the Acara travel all the way to the Lost Desert?" The court waits with belated breath for the punchline. "To get to the end of the joke."

     The entire court of silent. Prem's heart falls to the pit of his stomach. He's done it again. He's disappointed the king. No one would look at him again for another full week. Not that it mattered. Prem couldn't face himself either. And then, it came. A small chortle that rises from the depths of the king's stomach.

     The guard beside him gives him a nod. "Well looky there... You got a chuckle out of him." He gestures him back out.

     Relief spreads over Prem for the first time in a week. When he's out of the castle, he lets out a holler. He'd done it. He'd made the king laugh. A small desert spyder crawls out from his backpack with the sudden noise. He grins as he reaches his hand forward, petting the small Petpet. "We're off to our next adventure, buddy. Next time, we're going to get a full laugh out of him!" With that, Prem was off.

     The End.