The king had ordered the traitor hanged in the public square at dawn.
His majesty was greatly surprised, then, when he strolled by at noon only to find they were alive and seemingly in quite good spirits.
The king sent the captain of his royal guard to see what had gone awry.
The captain approached the spot where the traitor hung.
“Why are you still live and kicking, then?” the captain asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Did you know the king sent a carrier pigeon to the Duchess of Dawnrose at 2am with a letter that ready only ‘‘sup?’” said the traitor.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been dying to tell someone ever since I heard1” the traitor continued, “Here’s another one! Did you know that when the king visits a coffee house, he always orders off menu and refuses to tip?”
“How fascinating.” said the captain, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully.
The captain checked the rope. She checked the knot. She checked the traitor’s neck. Then she checked the scaffold.
She nodded to herself and returned to the king.
“I have discovered the problem, your grace.”
“Well?” said the king, “Spit it out!”
“You see what the traitor is hanging from?”
“The gibbet?”
“In point of fact, your grace, it is a particular kind of gibbet. A flibbertigibbet.”
“A what?”
“A slang term for a silly, gossipy person. I believe it to be a pun, your grace.”
“I ordered that the traitor be hung by the neck from a gibbet in the public square, not treated to some light rumour-mongering!”
“Nevertheless, your grace, there they hang. I believe it to be a pun.”
“How would a flibbertigibbet even hold them up? Where would you tie the rope?”
“Indeed, your grace, it would appear that this pun is… load-bearing.” The captain paused a moment, then continued cautiously: “May I enquire as to whom you gave the task of building the gibbet?”
“Why, I had the court jester do it! I wanted the traitor to suffer the indignity of having their last breath be turned into a great big joke.”
The captain rolled her eyes.
“Your grace has, perhaps, over-succeeded on that front. Shall fetch the jester?”
The captain returned a few minutes later, the court’s fool in tow.
“Explain yourself, jester!” snarled the king, “Or you shall share this traitor’s fate.”
“Prithee, sire, I understand you not. You gave your fool a fatal task and the task has been faithfully fool-proofed.”
“Don’t give me that, I asked you to hang the traitor from a gibbet.”
“And there the traitor hangs.”
“From a flibbertigibbet!”
“Sire, forsooth, your simple jester thought only that you would wish this task be done with style. After all, hanging traitors from plain old gibbets has been done to death.”
“The traitor yet lives, idiot!”
“Ah, so the problem, sire, is not so much a matter of style as… execution?”
“Fool, this is hardly the appropriate time for wordplay!”
“I assure you, sire, I am entirely wordserious.”
“As well you should be! We are speaking of the fate of one who betrayed the crown.”
“A dire matter indeed. All who wish to hold onto their heads must surely be loyal to their crown.”
“Exactly-”
“And temple, too.”
“Well, quite-”
“And let us not forget the forehead.”
“...what?”
“Jester,” interjected the captain, “please do not confuse the head of state with all this chatter about the state of the head. Let us return to the matter at hand.”
“Surely you mean ‘the matter at hanged’?”
“That’s it!” cried the king, “That’s enough. Captain, clap them in irons.”
The captain put on a pair of iron gloves and loudly applauded the jester.
“Okay, that one didn’t even make sense! I mean to have the jester arrested.”
“My name isn’t Ted,” said the captain, “and I don’t see how making them have a rest will help.”
“I will not be made a fool!” screamed the king.
“I should hope not,” said the jester, “that’s my job, after all.”
“That’s it. That’s enough. I’m having you all beheaded!”
“But we’ve already got heads?”
“I mean I’ll have your heads cut off!”
“Surely that would be un-headed?”
“And now we’re back to head jokes! You’re just going round and round in circles!”
“You could say…” said the captain.
“...we’re having a revolution.” finished the fool.
And the great wheel of history turned and the king disappeared beneath it, mangled in the spokes.
---
This story includes a pun based on the word 'flibbertigibbet'. This prompt was submitted to the Word of the Month Club by Ku, one of my Ko-Fi supporters.
Enjoy my stories and want to suggest your own prompts for wordplay and linguistic rough-housing? Support me over at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories
