Treasures Await
This land was green once.
I know this, and that is all. The land was different, but I cannot recall how so. There were people here, but I cannot remember their nature. I once walked the land, but do not recall how that felt. I have been in the Shoveler for so long.
Which is just as well. The land is bereft of jewels and gold. To have more I must dig deep.
I command from my throne. A shovel hangs above me – a symbol now, nothing more, a relic of a long lost time. I once used it. And there was someone…I cared for. Someone whom I once asked to sit beside me, who would have been the greatest treasure of them all. Someone whose name, and face, I have forgotten. The only faces I see now are the squires manning the vehicle that ploughs the land, claiming the gems that I deserve.
"Gems detected, bearing eighty-seven degrees north," a squire says.
"Strike the earth," I intone. The squire nods, and the Shoveler's course is changed. More gems. More riches. More gold to claim.
I shift in my seat. I remember a similar vehicle. A large aquatic vehicle, filled with gold, no doubt righteously taken. I remember words spoken…
My gems…my vessel…my ocean. Your very presence tarnishes.
I can sympathize. Hardly a day goes by without a fool boarding the Shoveler, trying to distract me from my task. Fools breed more fools it seems, and even greater than the fools are the fools that follow them. Once, I used my shovel in defence of my noble endeavour. Now, the knights that man the decks are enough to keep the detritus away.
You are to lay claim to the sea itself? Your greed knows no bounds.
Other words were spoken on that day. Words I believe I uttered myself. Foolish words, spoken by a younger man. The sea belonged to another knight, as the land does to me. Such is my right, as established through might, under the light of sun and knight.
I chuckle. A rhyme, and a simple one. I don't laugh much nowadays. The gems, they keep flowing, but…it's hard to describe, but I get the sense of diminishing returns.
"We've reached the target," the squire says.
My smile becomes a frown. Diminishing returns. I'll have to get more gems. With this in mind, I rise to my feet. Across the bridge, my underlings, look up to me.
Your hands are no less dirty. Even now, others are paying for your avarice. Let us duel.
I glance at my hands – clean. I let no dirt get to me. All the dirt is around me. Dirt, dirt, and more dirt. Hard to believe that anything of worth is left, but I will still have it.
"My fellows," I intone, looking out over the bridge, "steel thy shovels."
They nod and get to work. The order has been given. As I sit down, I recall to myself that once those words meant something. Or at least, something different. Now…well, they are but words. Words change. The world changes. As do people.
Winner take all.
For the better, of course.
I have won.
I shall take it all.