One for all you gardeners.
The Head Gardener
TurksEpalie the Cateoid, head gardener to the Regent Verona Cellid, put aside his platter of meat. He was not looking forward to this meeting but what had to be done had better be done sooner than later. He took the little bottle of Castor Bean cordial and made his way to the splendiferous Palatial Gourd.
“SEpalie!” greeted the guards. “He’s in a good mood. You’ll be alright.”
TurksEpalie handed them the bottle and they thanked him. The guards looked forward to his home-made liquors.
“Well, you wanted to see me?” said the Regent dismissively.
He was devouring a plateful of warm lactu-cahaemo globes; a kind of fleshy, red lettuce with warm blood sacks. TurksEpalie noticed with disgust that the juice was dripping down the royal chin but averted his gaze as was expected.
TurksEpalie bowed low and began hesitantly. “My Liege, the planting may disappoint this spring. We were unable to reach an agreement -- alas.”
“Agreement? Damn it all, TurksEpalie, they’re plants!”
“Sire, they are not just –”
“So bloody PLANT THEM!” The regent sprayed saliva yellow with Celidicus juice.
TurksEpalie bowed again and stretched his arms in acquiescence. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. He needed to play for time. “I have planted the usual array of Allia floriscoliae and mixed Angiospermatozoid elegantusrex.”
“So what’s yer problem, Cateoid slime?” the Regent babbled skinning another fruit.
“Sire, the Lapidopterae trifolia T universalis refuse to take root.”
“Refuse?”
“They have that right, Sire.”
“Who says?”
“You says -- said Sire. They sued for the right to float free across the surface of the land last autumn and your majesty ratified by signing the papers.”
“Why wasn’t I properly informed in this? You know I never read those damned documents in detail. Are these Lapidopte-thingamies that important? I mean cannot you simply plant something else?”
“I might indeed. Unfortunately My Lord’s taste for their egg pods already exceeds the entire national demand.” TurksEpalie indicated the discarded skins of more than a dozen Celidicus all consumed in the course of the current conversation. “And the clamor for vege-rights has since escalated. The Aspargalas liliiae and Triodis gnatho-stomatas have also refused to be planted.”
“Are those the ones with the big red jaws?”
“That is correct Sire. Now several edible and flowering varieties of Gumata mintolithia superbum have joined in.”
“But they are vegetables.”
“Yes Lord. And they are refusing to be exploited as food.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” The Regent was furious and nearly choked on a Celidicus he’d forgotten to skin. “You’re supposed to be the head gardener, Cateoid. GUARDS!” Red in the face and stained with juices, he stumbled towards TurksEpalie but the head gardener was in no danger. He knew the Regent would not soil his hands by touching a Cateoid. “GUARDS!”
But the guards, having drunk the cordial, could not respond.
TurksEpalie bowed and left unchallenged. He’d had no doubt that half the plants capable of hearing, including Triodis gnathostomatas, were now converging on the Palatial Gourd with big red jaws, whipping tendrils and spore canons loaded.
Outside, the pale purple sky radiated with a lemon sundown glow that played across the underbellies of soft grey clouds out to the west. The head gardener swiftly passed beneath the free floating tendrils of Lapidopterae trifolia T universalis and stroked them with his fingers.
“The Regent is alone,” he whispered.
