Day Eight: On elephants

Robert is crazy. Absolutely crazy. I think I might die, diary. It’s not cool.

I told Robert that Philip and I would help him today during my evening shift, when fewer people were in the mess hall. I decided that anything that helps Robert could help me, too, and maybe if Philip and I put ourselves in danger we would get promotions. King Jeffrey is well known for his generosity.

At least, I think he is. I don't know that I've ever seen him BE generous. Mostly he just orders people killed on the Neck. I guess that's generous in its own way - the Neck is real quick.

That's when Robert told us his plan. It’s a terrible plan, diary. Philip doesn’t think so, but I do. We’re gonna get tromped.

Here’s the deal. The three of us are going to slip out of the castle in the early morning - Philip’s supposed to be guarding the barbican, so that’s easy enough - and sneak up on the elephant herd that’s been watering itself on the plains to the north. They’ll all be sleeping.

Once we’re there, Robert is going to use a big sack of old peanuts to lure one of the smaller elephants away from the herd. Y’know, with a trail of peanuts, the ones Robert usually uses for his rat stew. Once we’ve awoken the elephant and have it on our tracks, eating peanuts, we’ll lead it to the barbican and drop the portcullis on its head. Philip and I will operate the portcullis and help Robert drag away the meat.

(In case you're wondering, a portcullis is that big spiky gate thing. I don't know how much diaries know about castles. Hell, I don't know that much. I'm surprised I can spell 'portcullis' properly.)

Robert calls it a foolproof plan. I think he’s an idiot. Unfortunately I already agreed to help, and Robert said that if I try to back out he’ll tell Libby that I said I would in the first place. That might be worse than a rampaging elephant. She’s been really mad lately, what with the pregnancy and all. That lump seems to enrage her. Eep.

They’re waiting for me now, diary. I hope this isn’t the last time I write something in you. I’m just starting to get the hang of this authorial stuff. And you don't even count as a proper book!

Scared shitless,

Dragomir the Guard