Game of “Throwns”
A song of price and wire.
“Wintel is coming,” said the Queen on the Ifon throne.
The Great Hall had seen many tense meetings, a slew of beheadings, and even The Day We Do Not Mention when Sir Jay Me threw the then-King’s phone into the Pit of Disrepair.
But this was something else entirely:
WINTEL. IS. COMING.
Nothing was known about the dreaded Wintel, their last appearance buried in the ash heap of history. Some said they were Fins, long since perished. Some said they were giants who used to sail the Wireless Waves. Most just paled when their name was mentioned. For their coming did not bode well. Rumors still persisted to this day of the last time they had invaded in force, inundating the land with insidious phones that almost caused the demise of civilization at the time.
Almost.
But the Kingdoms had survived.
Until now.
Sam Song, Lord of the Kor, stepped forward. “Your Highness,” he said, bending the knee, “please tell us whence cometh this knowledge.”
The Queen’s penetrating gaze seemed to spear the nobleman, who did his best not to flinch.
“You question me — yet you question well,” she finally said as Lord Song breathed a sigh of relief. “This morning, a finch arrived carrying a tweet from the Lieutenant General.”
The many dignitaries gathered in the Hall gasped. The Lieutenant General — or LG, as he was commonly referred to, though not to his face — commanded the Knights of the Firewall, tasked with guarding the Kingdoms from That Which Chimed Beyond The Wall.
An aid handed the Queen a rumpled tweet, which she proceeded to retweet: One of my squads was lost beyond the Firewall. A sole survivor made it back. He saw Wintel. They are coming.
Henrik The Courageous, known as HTC, Lord of Tay Wan, unsheathed his mighty sword, aimed it upwards and shouted: “To battle!”
The Queen allowed herself a wan smile. “I have always admired your boldness, Lord Henrik, but this is no regular war. Our armies are no match for the formidable Wintel.” She harbored a tiny hope in her heart that someone would rise and proclaim: “We are a match. We will win!”
But the Great Hall remained silent.
Finally, an aged man with a long white beard rose, barely able to support the weight of his heavy, golden armor. It was Lord Knee, of Jaipon. “If it pleases Your Highness, may I summon my Master Tech?”
The Queen frowned. “Pray tell, Lord So Knee, what use shall we have with your Master Tech?”
Lord Knee did not bat an eyelid. He had not lived to his ripe old age by cowering to kings and queens simply because they occupied the Ifon throne for a brief moment. “My Master Tech has studied the ancient Operating Systems extensively. If anybody has a solution it will be him.”
“Very well,” said the Queen decisively. “Send a finch. We shall reconvene as soon as he arrives.”
“This is Andy Roid, my Master Tech,” said Lord Knee three days later, as he presented a surprisingly spritely man of indeterminate age. “Tell Her Highness what you told me this morning when you arrived.”
The Great Hall was full again. The Master Tech took a step forward and bowed his head. “Your Highness, I believe I have a solution to the Wintel problem.”
“Problem?” snorted the Queen. “More like mortal danger…”
“Yes, of course,” said the Master Tech, taking the rebuke in his stride. “Anyway, I have explored and studied the Royal Phonary for many years. And I believe I have finally found something.”
The Queen could no longer hide her patience. She rose from the throne and shouted, “What?!”
“As you know,” said the Master Tech, “Wintel had almost conquered our lands in antiquity. But we managed to vanquish them.”
“How?” shouted Lord Black of Berry from the back of the Hall.
“A single challenger must face their Demo Model in single combat.”
The room fell silent.
“Who shall dare face Wintel’s Demo Model?” the Queen finally asked.
A short, powerfully built man quietly strode toward the throne and bowed. “I will, Your Highness.”
“I have always held the Kingdom of Rola in high esteem, Lord Moto,” said the Queen appreciatively.
“You do me a kindness,” said the Lord quietly. “I will face the Demo Model and banish this scourge from our lands forever.”
A cheering roar arose from the crowd.
“There is a weapon,” whispered the Master Tech, who was still standing by the Queen.
“Silence!” said the monarch, and her command was obeyed immediately. “A weapon?”
“Yes,” said the Master Tech. “To construct it, all the Kingdoms must unite in effort as one.”
“I will command it!” said the Queen. “What is this weapon to defeat the Wintel?”
“The ancient Operating Systems refer to it as a Pix All.”
The Queen seemed disappointed. “A Pix All?”
“Yes,” said the Master Tech. “They called it The Goog.”
The Queen burst into laughter. “Goog? That sounds like a direrabbit.”
“I assure you it is no direrabbit, Your Highness,” said the Master Tech, “but a mighty weapon. A final weapon.”
The Queen’s laughter died away.
And so the Kingdoms united as one and built The Goog.
And Lord Moto wielded the mighty weapon and vanquished the Wintel.
And all the Kingdoms breathed a collective sigh of relief and went back to fighting over the phone.
I mean throne.
