A pie

Of all the things in the world. At this hour of the night. Where would he get it from?!

Where?! Where was the damn pie?!

And even if he did find one there'd always be something wrong with it. And yet he searched.

He trudged on unsteadily, his stupid hat jingling all the way. The pointed shoes (which were mandatory as per law 24, article 3c which was enacted after the Great Yellow buttoned polka dotted pink underwear incident) impeded his walk and regularly reacquainted his nose (quite red already) with the stone floors of the castle.

The King had been missing for more than a week now. Ever since he met those buggers of the Wah Ching, a change had come over him. Muted, more quiet than before. Not that he spoke much anyway. Or had anything of value to say either.

But of course the Jester kept such opinions to himself.

Two weeks after seeing the Winogradsky Columns, the King mysteriously vanished. Of course most blamed the War Chiefs.

Personally the Jester liked his absence. No more idiotic announcements like the last one. And it also meant that the Minister was in charge. Much smarter chap. Better sense of humour too.

Now, where was that pie?

He trudged on.