The Wrong Man

King Tobe walked the halls of the castle. It was the darkest hour of the night and he was chasing sleep through the hallways of the castle as if it were a lover using hide and seek as foreplay. He had had neither sleep nor foreplay in so long he’d forgotten what both felt like. The loss of his wife, Queen Aylese, a year ago had left him wretched and haunted – a ghost of a man that even the goddess of rest avoided.

As he wandered the halls, he took a mental roll call of the night guards. He had seen many of these men as infants on the breast, and now he rented their lives to protect his. The irony that there was not much left of him to save not escaping him.

Jacob. Brantley. Matthew. Jamil. He named them all in his head as he passed them. Grayson. Thomas. Eryk.

“Who are you?” His roll call had been interrupted by a new face.

The young man looked confused, almost hurt. The King knew all of their names, but he had forgotten him. “Weston, your grace,” the young man bowed.

“You don’t belong here.” The King was confused and it made him angry. He never liked when things were out of place.

“Excuse me, my lord?”

“You. Don’t. Belong. Here.” The king spoke slowly; clearly the boy was an idiot. He pointed down the hallway. “Jacob, Brantley, Matthew, Jamil, Grayson, Thomas, Eryk,” he pointed at each man in turn, “and… and…” he couldn’t recall who was next. “Not you,” he went on, continuing on down the line. “Henry, Martin, Patrick, Charles, and Lawrence,” he finished smugly.

“Your Highness, this has been my spot for 10 years,” Weston asserted quietly.

The king narrowed his eyes and studied the young man. He had good skin, a nice dark complexion. Good eyes – brown, young enough to not be clouded by age, old enough to have some wisdom behind them. He had all his teeth, common enough for the young ones who grew up in King Tobe’s time of peace.

The king recognized nothing about this young man.

“Who here knows this young interloper?” the king called up and down the line of guards. Every one of them raised their hands.

“And how long had he been here?”

Henry spoke up. He had been with the king for nine years – almost as long as he’d been able to hold a sword. “Your grace, Weston was here when I started in my post.”

“LIAR!” Henry and the interloper both jumped.

“I would never lie to you, my lord,” Henry asserted, bowing his head. “I have far too much respect for you.”

King Tobe grunted. He knew that to be true. Henry was a good man and had no reason to lie. The king turned dramatically, his robes sweeping behind him in a grand show, and stormed back to his chambers.

That night, for the first time since his wife's death, sleep found him, caressing him like a small child who needed soothing. He did not dream.

***

In the morning light, the confusion and the interaction from the night before were forgotten. In the sunshine, everything was in its proper place. He walked amongst the daylight patrol, another role call in his mind.

Jack. James. Harris. Armand. Wesley… no. “Who are you?!” the king demanded again, another piece of his life out of place.

Another confused young man. “Anthony, your grace. Is everything alright, my lord?” the soldier’s voice was laced with concern.

Once again, the king found himself examining a stranger. Dark hair, freckled complexion, hazel eyes. All his teeth. None of it familiar.

“Wesley.”

“Yes, your grace?”

“How long has Anthony been at this post?”

Wesley looked confused, and looked at Anthony out of the corner of his eye. “About seven years, my lord?”

“Lies,” the king muttered.

“My lord?”

“Nothing Wesley,” the king grumbled. He moved on, cursing the soldiers. It has to be them – his memory had never failed him.

***

That night, the king had no need to chase his missing lover through the halls of the castle. Lady Sleep came to him. Once again, he did not dream.

***

The next morning, King Tobe called for Gerald, his oldest and most trusted servant. Gerald usually helped the king ready himself for the day. Things had become more difficult for the aging king, but Gerald, despite being older, was still as capable as ever.

Except it wasn’t Gerald that came to him. Not the Gerald he remembered, anyway. This man was far too young to be his Gerald.

“Who are YOU?” the king bellowed.

The strange man stumbled backwards in surprise. “My lord, you called for me?”

“No. I called for Gerald,” the king snapped.

“My lord?” the man hesitated. “I am Gerald.”

King Tobe was irate. “LIES! ALL ANYONE TELLS ME IS LIES” He marched up to the terrified man, rage in his eyes and his stride. “You will bring me Gerald – the real Gerald – immediately,” he was so angry he his spit on the man as he spoke. It was not on purpose, but he was not about to apologize. “If you do not produce him, your head will bd on a pike on my wall by midday!”

“B-but… my lord! I am Gerald!” the poor man was moments away from spoiling himself. “I swear to you!”

The king looked at the cowering man with disgust. “Why does everyone think I am stupid! I know every face in this castle!”

Tobe turned and suddenly felt an excruciating pain in between his eyes. He fell to his knees as he cried out.

“Guards!” the man who called himself Gerald called out. “Someone get the physician!” Tobe heard someone run out of the room, as a man knelt next to the king, “Your Highness, are you alright?”

The king looked up, his face writ large with confusion and pain. “Gerald?”

The other man’ face relaxed, as he embraced the king he had served since the king was a child. “Yes, Tobe. It’s me.”

“There was just someone here,” the king said warily. “Someone pretending to be you.”

“I’m not sure who that could be, my lord.”

***

The physician found nothing wrong with the king, aside from a minor headache. He prescribed rest and darkness to ease the pain. The king lay in the darkness of his room, not understanding what he had seen these last few days.

He overheard the physician speaking to Gerald. “Is no one going to say it?” he asked the servant.

“Say what?” Gerald asked.

“The king is losing his mind,” the physician stated plainly. “Nothing around him is changing – it is his mind.”

Stupid man, the king thought. My mind is still my own. He drifted off to sleep. He still did not dream.

***

That evening, the maids were not who they should have been, though the dumb cows claimed they had been with the king for years. He checked the soldiers before bed – there was a different man where Brantley once stood, who claimed to be Brantley. The king was not stupid! He knew everyone’s face, and this man did not have Brantley’s face. This man had blue eyes and caramel skin with some marks left over from the pox. Brantley did… well… the king didn’t think Brantley looked like that, but he couldn’t recall what Brantley looked like.

Every day, someone in the castle was switched out for a stranger. Sometimes the real person came back, like Gerald had, but more often than not the stranger remained, denying their strangeness. The king constantly wandered the halls, scrutinizing faces and accusing people of lying. Those staff he did know started giving him sympathetic looks that only made him angrier.

He started sleeping more, welcoming her sweet, dreamless, embrace. Their relationship began to sour again, and he would wake almost as tired as he had been when he closed his eyes. He cursed the Lady and resumed his nightly walks.

***

The castle was different tonight. Not just the shadows and noises; not even just the ever changing faces of the staff. He didn’t know his way around anymore. He had meant to go to the kitchens, but ended up in the laundry. He couldn’t find his way out. Nothing was the same. Everything was out of place. The king sat amongst the laundry and cried like a small child until the maids found him in the morning.

***

Anger. Rage. Confusion. Shame. The four horsemen of the failing mind plagued the old man. Nothing is as it was. Nothing was as it should be. The Lady Sleep started bringing a friend. A strange, silent fellow who left the king gasping for breath. No one else could see the lady and her friend, but then no one else had spent as much time chasing her as Tobe had.

The friend started in the corner of the room, while the Lady took her rightful place on the bed. Every night, he moved closer and every night, the Lady stayed with him longer. She had seen the error of her ways in her abandonment of him for so long. She gave herself to the king as an apology.

***

The king was surrounded by strangers. Everyone he had ever known had abandoned him. They had all been replaced by strangers. Strangers who pitied him.

It was his wife’s fault. Once Aylese left him, everything fell apart. She had taken the staff. She had taken the soldiers. Finally, she took Gerald permanently.

***

Then came the night the Lady invited her friend to join their bed. The stranger slid in between the sheets – cold, so cold. The presence of the Other was suffocating. The stranger took up too much room. Tobe couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. The Lady caressed him, cooed to him, lulled him to sleep. Lured him to his grave.

King Tobe was found cold in his bed the next morning. His pursuit of sleep now over.