In Another Kingdom Ep. 10, the narrator flees to Los Angeles after Richard’s betrayal, finding Queen Elinda (posing as Ellen Evermore) among the homeless in a deserted Tent City. She reveals Emperor Anastasius was poisoned by Curtin’s allies and plots Favian’s destruction, while warning the narrator—who failed to stop Curtin and lost a joust with Littleman—that death isn’t final in the Eleven Lands. Elinda cryptically frames reality as perception, calling their screenplay a test, and urges them to "listen to voices" from her kingdom before sending them toward Riley’s asylum. The chase ends with the priest of death approaching as the narrator’s car explodes, leaving their survival uncertain. [Automatically generated summary]
The following contains strong language and adult themes and is intended for a mature audience.
So wait.
Orozco was dying and your brother was plotting a takeover?
Right.
It was my brother Richard who drew me into the movie business with Solomon Vine to keep me from restoring Queen Elinda to her throne.
Richard had made a new deal with Curtin.
Which explains why you had to beat Curtin and Galliana to beat Richard in LA?
Bingo.
How did you ever get out of Orozgo's house?
Yeah, that's a story in itself.
Death was waiting for me at the front door.
Another kingdom, the final season.
Written by me, Andrew Clavin.
Performed by Michael Knowles.
Episode 10.
The Homeless Queen.
Death was waiting for me at the front door.
The priest of death, I mean.
The small, skeletal assassin all dressed in black with his black beret and his round black sunglasses.
He was not Orozgo's assassin like I thought at first.
He was Richard's.
He was my big brother's boy.
And as I came out of the living room and walked toward him where he blocked the door, he grinned a savage grin at me.
A grin so bright and shiny and ravenous, he might have been a crocodile in human form.
I thought to myself, he might do it right now.
Richard might give the order and he might kill me right here and now.
I reached the man.
We stood confronting one another, nearly toe to toe.
He grinned and grinned, his glasses reflecting my frightened face back at me.
See you soon.
And still grinning, he stepped aside.
I pulled the door open and walked out of the house.
I drove to find Elinda.
With the Emperor dead, with Jane in jail, with my homicidal brother waiting for Serge to die so he could seize the reins of his organization's power, with nothing waiting for me in Aona but a plunge into the seething sea, where else could I go?
I had no other ally but Ellen Evermore, the queen hiding among the homeless.
I had no wisdom of my own.
I needed hers.
It wasn't a long drive, but it also was.
My encounter with Richard had left me weak, shaking.
I could feel death trailing me, an invisible assassin always in my wake.
Meanwhile, Southern California in the springtime was so aggressively alive, it seemed to mock my rapidly dwindling life expectancy.
The cloudy morning had cleared.
The sky through the windshield was bluer than blue.
The hills at the windows were green as green could be.
Bougainvilia bloomed on the bushes by the roadside, riotous colors, purple and red and orange and white and gold.
The silent TikTok of time filled the car.
I descended into town.
I found a parking space on a Century City side street and walked over to the coffee shop at the Wilshire Juncture.
I went down the narrow alley to the lot in back where the Tent City stood.
It was past rush hour now, but there was still plenty of traffic on the streets everywhere, cars weaving around each other in a swift stop-and-go dance.
In the parking lot, though, it was oddly quiet, oddly empty.
The minute I stepped into the homeless camp, I felt uncannily alone.
There was not a human being in sight.
The tents rose up on every side of me, yellow, khaki, white, and blue.
They blocked the view from the street so that the drivers in their cars could not see me.
Even the traffic noise seemed to be muffled and distant.
Mostly, I heard the plastic tents fluttering in the spring breeze.
Where were they, I wondered.
Where were all the drunks and schizophrenics and hobos who had been here before?
I moved deeper into the silent encampment.
My body still ached from the joust in Aona.
My headached, too.
I felt uncomfortable and self-alienated, like a stranger in my own skin.
I came to rest in the middle of the tent cluster.
I panned my eyes across the eerily empty scene.
Abandoned sleeping bags, piles of clothes, a shopping cart stuffed with junk, a half-eaten burger here, an empty whiskey bottle there, cold French fries.
A soda can went rolling over the asphalt with a metallic rattle.
Fast food wrappers flapped and shuddered and tumbled past me, pushed by the breeze.
I felt like a ghost amid the ghostly pavilions.
I was about to leave, to give up and walk away.
There was a cough close behind me.
Startled, I spun around.
A man in rags was suddenly standing there, inches from me.
The stench of him poisoned the spring weather.
He was a white man, grimy, with copious red and silver hair springing from his head and face.
His whacked-out eyes seemed to peer at me from the copper depths like a tiger's eyes through the leaves of a red jungle.
Where are you from?
He barked at me, and before I could answer, he barked, What planet?
His breath smelled like a rotting body.
I caught a movement at his thigh and glanced down.
He was gripping a stake in his right hand, a piece of a chair leg sharpened to a point.
His left hand was clenching and unclenching with tension and excitement.
Shit.
I'm here to see Ellen Evermore.
Elinda, Queen Elinda.
A great animal snort came from behind me.
I spun, and there was another man, a black man this one, draped in the remnants of an old dark trench coat.
He was big, tall and thick, unshaven, with exhausted yellow eyes.
No one would see it if you died in here, little man.
As he spoke, more men emerged from behind him, from his left and right, fanning out like a deck of cards.
They encircled me.
Their stench closed over me.
Their animal eyes stared at me hungrily.
Where had they all been hiding?
Lots of people die in here, the red-haired steak said.
No one ever sees.
No one! said a woman, a five-foot monster girl, crew-cut, tattooed, shaped like a wrecking ball, enormous breasts under her stained black t-shirt, wobbling with every move she took.
This is our city!
No one comes in here unless we let them!
No one leaves here unless we say, said the black giant.
I licked my dry lips.
I looked at each staring, psychopathic face in turn.
And all the while, my glance kept flashing back to the red-haired guy and that sharpened stake, his free fist opening and closing.
He was all pumped up with energy and suspense, ready to lunge, ready to plunge that shaft into me at any moment.
I swallowed hard, afraid.
I passed one more circle of glances over the mob surrounding me.
My eyes came to rest on the eyes of the stake guy.
His wild, white stare met mine from the depths of his hairy tangle.
He seemed to be the leader.
I had an idea.
Let wisdom reign.
The words had no effect.
Or wait, maybe they did.
Maybe a small measure of uncertainty entered that lunatic gaze.
I glanced around at the rest of them.
They all seemed uncertain now.
I raised my voice.
Let wisdom reign.
Finally, the big black guy nodded.
I looked from him to the redhead.
The redhead nodded too.
And each man go his way.
There was a movement.
I turned toward it.
It was the black guy.
He'd stepped aside.
They all stepped aside, the circle parting to my left and right.
And there, suddenly, she stood.
The woman I had seen through my car window.
The woman Riley had told me was hiding here.
Queen Emerges00:02:47
The author of Another Kingdom.
The queen of Galeana.
My queen.
The woman who had made a knight of me.
Right there in front of me.
Right here in L.A. Ellen Evermore.
Elinda.
I'd found her.
She was standing just at the entrance of a large yellow tent.
Her back was straight.
Her hands were folded in front of her.
She was dressed in a long tan skirt ending just above her ankles and a crisp white blouse that gave an aura of purity to her full figure.
Her golden hair was in a tight bun.
Her eyes were majestically gentle and feminine.
She looked regal, beautiful, serene.
And I, I with my motherless heart, I smiled at the sight of her.
She was the one who had started all this.
She had called me to another kingdom.
She had written the book that gave me the power to pass between her world and mine.
She was the reason I was hunted and haunted, the reason I had turned away from the life of my dreams.
She was, she had always been, the source and purpose of my quest.
Austin, she said, and she smiled sweetly back at me.
I'm glad you've come.
Hey everyone, this is Andrew Clavin, writer and creator of Another Kingdom.
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We went together into her yellow tent.
I was relieved to be there, away from the homeless crazies and their awful smell.
I could hear them milling around protectively in the parking lot beyond the tent flaps.
Hearing Our Stories Told00:15:09
I could hear them muttering and snarling at one another.
But in here, in the tent, it was quiet, even peaceful.
That said, there was nothing particularly queenly about the place.
It was a homeless tent like any other.
A sleeping bag unrolled against one wall, a paper shopping bag full of clothes and baubles, her wardrobe, I guess.
There was a book with a cracked brown fake plastic cover, the binding stripped to its glue so I couldn't read the title.
The only luxury here, if you could call it that, was a rectangle of felt-covered rubber, a piece of padding like you might put under a rug.
It gave an extra layer of softness to the tent floor.
We sat on it, cross-legged, she on one end, me on the other.
Despite the shabby surroundings, though, there was no doubt in my mind that I was in the presence of a queen.
Elinda radiated royalty and command.
I felt at once that I was there to serve her, that I should serve her, that it was only right.
She inclined her head to me, as if to give me leave to speak.
What do you have to tell me?
I drew a breath and tried to organize my thoughts.
It was only then I realized what I would have to tell her.
My heart sickened inside me.
I have bad news, Your Highness.
The worst news.
Your fiancée.
The Emperor Anastasius.
He's dead.
Her reaction surprised me.
A quiet nod, a straightening of her spine, deep sorrow in her eyes, infinite sorrow.
But when she spoke, she spoke very calmly, and what she said was, It's all right.
Death is not always death in the Eleven Lands.
I thought she was trying to comfort me.
It's my fault.
No, Austin.
I didn't protect the book.
It's true.
You didn't.
I got lost.
You did.
I was told.
Now Curtin has an army.
Yes.
And Anastasius.
I don't know what happened.
They say someone poisoned him.
Murdered him.
His three knights.
They tried to blame his brother Favian.
Oh.
She shook her head.
Littleman, good child, and Hammer.
Yes.
I tried to warn him about those three, but he sees the good in everyone.
He believes anyone can be redeemed.
They were going to burn Favian.
They were going to burn him and his wife and son.
This was the first piece of news that seemed to disturb her deep serenity.
She leaned toward me, concerned.
Favian and Beltown, little Rory, they were going to burn the child, too.
Yes.
In Anastasius' name?
Yes.
Now came the first trace of anger in her eyes.
Not anger like fire.
Anger like ice, hard and clear.
They will pay for that.
They haven't done it yet.
I stopped them.
For now, anyway.
Her icy anger melted.
Did you?
Stop them?
We had a trial by combat, a joust.
I jousted with Littleman.
She reached across the length of the padding and touched my knee.
Oh, well done, Austin.
Well done.
I felt my cheeks flush.
It was embarrassing how much her praise meant to me, as much as praise means to a child.
I shook my head.
It didn't go so well.
I lost.
Littleman knocked me over the cliff.
Now I'm stuck.
If I go back there, I'll fall into the ocean and die.
She nodded quietly.
And you're afraid?
Yes.
Don't be.
Death is not always death in the Eleven Lands.
I tried to smile hopefully in response, but I failed miserably.
I knew that whatever happened to my body in another kingdom happened here as well.
I had the bumps and bruises and scars to prove it.
And while death might not always be death in the Eleven Lands, it was always death in this town, every single time.
No matter what the Queen said, I doubted I'd survive in any recognizable form if I plunged into the sea of Aona at terminal velocity.
But the Queen seemed unperturbed.
Her deep eyes sparkled kindly at me.
Her expression remained lofty and serene.
Looking at her, I had the feeling that I, I and my fear and my guilt and my anguish, seemed silly to her.
Or not silly, maybe, but childish, small, as if I didn't understand what really mattered in life.
And when I saw that, when I saw the way she looked at me, a great ball of emotion seemed to well up inside me all at once, like the bubble of an underwater atomic blast.
Before I could even form the thought, I heard a question burst from my lips, my voice cracking.
Is this all some kind of dream?
Is this just like a brain tumor I have or something?
Have I gone crazy?
Am I dead?
Am I in a coma somewhere and this is all some elaborate hallucination?
Is that it?
Elinda smiled.
She had a beautiful, gentle smile.
It lifted my heart.
Is it all in your imagination, you mean?
Yeah, yes.
Is it?
The imagination is an organ of perception, like the eye.
The eye doesn't create the light.
It sees the light.
It sees the light as the eye sees.
Oh, great.
What the hell did that mean?
I threw up my hands.
You don't believe me.
I rolled my eyes.
I don't know what I believe.
Ever since I walked into Galeana, I don't understand anything about anything.
I gave her a helpless look.
Why did you pick me for this, Your Highness?
Why me?
I mean, look at me.
What the hell?
My book chose you.
Another kingdom.
I made it as a sort of test.
Anyone can read the story, but not everyone can live it.
It takes a certain kind of person to become what he reads there, to change accordingly.
He is the one who can pass through the door.
I searched among the writings of your people and found your work.
My screenplay, Three Days and Forever.
Yes, I read it and I suspected you were a man after my own heart.
So I sent the book to you.
Under the force of her kind, her gentle, I would even say her loving gaze, I had to look away.
but I didn't even understand it.
The book, Another Kingdom.
It was just, it was just about me.
It was just me telling my own story.
She gave a gentle laugh.
That's always where it begins, with you telling your own story.
And then, after I finished it, I didn't live it.
I didn't change.
I just, I forgot.
I forgot everything.
I let Curtin get inside my head.
I ran away.
Yes, it's a common reaction.
Reaction to what?
To hearing your own story told.
When I tried to speak again, my voice was little more than a whisper.
I failed you.
She laughed.
It was a laugh like a harp playing.
Where I come from, there is nothing behind you.
Everything is before.
Where I come from, you have not failed me.
Not finally.
Not yet.
That's the only thing that matters.
My own laugh was miserable, dejected.
It sounded like a baby dropped down a well.
But everything is falling apart, Your Highness.
My brother is trying to take over the world.
He's going to kill the girl I love, and if I try to stop him, he's going to kill me.
If I return to Aona, I fall into the ocean and die.
You may be right.
There's nothing behind me.
But what's ahead of me isn't looking so great either.
Now our gazes met again, and I felt a yearning for her I could not explain or express.
Tell me what to do, Queen.
What to do about what?
About everything.
About Jane, first of all.
They're going to kill her tonight, in like 12 hours.
What do I do?
For a moment, she seemed to ponder this.
Then she spoke very slowly, very carefully.
Your realm is not my realm.
You must listen to those who hear the voices of my kingdom, but can speak in the voices of your world.
I made a helpless, hopeless noise.
I don't know what that means.
Yes, you do.
I was about to protest, but then I realized she was right.
I did.
So instead I said, What about Aona?
What do I do in Aona?
You know your quest.
Let wisdom reign.
Wisdom, which is to love the good.
The greater good more than the lesser.
Yes.
I kept my eyes trained on her beautiful face now.
I had this strange feeling that as long as I was looking at her, everything would be all right.
Then tell me, what is the good, Your Highness?
Tell me, what is the good?
She answered quickly, simply, as if I had asked her for the time of day.
The good is the direction you travel to become the man you were made to be.
I started to reply, but my throat closed.
My eyes filled.
I had to force the words out.
I don't know what that is.
I don't know what that is.
She gave me another smile, another marvelous smile, and she touched my knee again, and again my heart lifted.
You know what you need to know.
Now do as I tell you.
Go.
The time is short.
When we stepped out of the tent, the bums and crazies stopped what they were doing.
The ranting, the boozing, the picking at foot sores, it all stopped.
They drifted toward us, closed around us slowly like a gathering mist.
The smell of them was ripe and awful.
The sight of her, the sight of the queen and such a queen, surrounded by them, surrounded by their poverty and madness and misery and addiction, caused me pain.
I stood among them and faced Elinda.
I'm sorry you're homeless here.
She inclined her head, a royal gesture.
It's the way of your world.
She held her hand out to me.
I clasped it in both of mine.
In another sudden overflow of feeling, I raised it to my lips and kissed it.
I started to sink to my knees in front of her.
No, no.
If someone sees you, they might guess who I am.
Then they would come for me and all would be lost.
I straightened, but I went on clasping her hand.
I'm kneeling to you on the inside.
You are my queen.
She smiled.
That's all that's needed.
Now go your way.
I forced myself to release her.
I turned.
The homeless men and women drifted apart to make a path for me.
I walked among them.
The black giant lifted his fist as I went by.
I touched his knuckles with mine.
The red-haired nutjob raised an open hand.
I high-fived him.
I went on to the edge of the tent city, where the alley opened to the street.
I wanted to stop there, to look back, to set eyes on her one more time, but I was afraid she might have vanished.
I was afraid if I saw she was gone, I would lose my courage.
So I kept walking.
I headed for the madhouse.
That's when death came for me.
I drove toward the ocean.
My conversation with the queen had strengthened me.
I felt strangely hot and light, full of energy and purpose.
You must listen to those who hear the voices of my kingdom, but can speak in the voices of your world.
That's why I was heading back toward Riley's asylum.
Some of the mad girls hear voices, my sister had told me.
Voices from another kingdom.
I had to go back there and hear what the mad girls had to say.
I traveled quickly.
All the noontime traffic was heading in from the ocean toward the center of town.
The way west was nearly clear.
Nervously, I kept checking the rearview mirror, trying to make sure I wasn't being followed.
I didn't want Richard to figure out what I was up to.
Powerful as he was, my brother did not yet fully understand or believe what was happening here.
He thought Curtin was just a dream or a fantasy.
He thought Orozgo was deranged and hallucinating and losing his nerve.
He didn't fully understand about the other kingdom and its connection to our world.
But he knew enough.
He knew tremendous power was about to fall into his hands, and I was out to stop him.
And whatever family feeling he had left, if he realized Riley wasn't truly insane, if he found out she had some information that could help me, he would kill her just as coldly as he would kill me.
I reached the coastal highway, headed north.
The sun had cleared the mountains to my right, and the ocean leapt and sparkled outside the window to my left.
I was still reviewing the conversation I'd had with Elinda, still relishing the warmth of being in her presence, going over her words again and again and going over my words too.
Death's Ford Strikes00:07:33
Is this all some kind of dream?
Is this just like a brain tumor I have or something?
Have I gone crazy?
Am I dead?
Am I in a coma somewhere and this is all some elaborate hallucination?
Is that it?
The closer I got to the asylum, the more these questions dogged me.
What if even my conversation with Elinda was imaginary?
Was that possible?
After all, here I was, going to talk to some schizophrenic women about what the voices in their heads were telling them.
As if the voices in their heads might be imparting some urgent piece of information I could use.
What sort of crazy idea was that?
You couldn't get any crazier.
The imagination is an organ of perception like the eye, the queen had told me.
But that's exactly what she would say if she were a figment of my imagination.
Nuts, I thought.
I must be nuts.
But that didn't stop me.
I drove on.
If talking to crazy women was the only way I could find out how to save Jane, then crazy women it would be.
I reached the turnoff and headed away from the sea, up into the mountains.
Once again, I was struck by how quickly the city fell away behind me as I rose into the wilderness of red sand and green, scrawny trees.
In only a few minutes, all the traffic vanished.
and I and my Mercedes were alone on the road.
Now the ground sloped up and away to one side of me, rising to peaks of white rock.
On the other side, there stretched a bleak expanse of dirt and scrub brush dotted here and there with pale yellow flowers.
Ahead, through the windshield, the pavement snaked and switchbacked.
I handled the sharp curves without thinking, my mind far away, lost in thoughts and doubts and hopeful daydreams.
In that lonely place, I forgot to keep an eye on the rearview mirror.
That's why I never saw death coming.
All at once, I just glanced up into the mirror and he was there.
The priest of death, with his grin and his black glasses.
Following close behind me in a Black Ford pickup, a formidable monster of a vehicle.
Quick as a rocket, blunt as a battering ram.
My heart began to hammer in my chest at the sight of him.
A thousand fearful thoughts ran through my head like a crowd in a panicked stampede.
How long had he been following me?
Had he seen me with Elinda?
Did he know where I was heading and why?
No, I told myself, trying to stay calm.
Orozco's organization had the power to track me anywhere.
He could have easily followed my phone or the GPS in my car.
For all Death knew, I was simply going to visit my sister as always.
He may have just figured this was a good place to take me alone, that's all.
But there could be no doubt about his purpose here.
There was no staying calm about that.
The truck was barreling toward me at top speed.
As the road swung sharply around and back, the high sun hit the truck's windshield.
Death's face vanished behind a starburst of yellow light.
The moment we turned again, the moment the starburst vanished, I saw him clearly, behind and above me in the Ford's high cab.
I saw the bright, murderous grin on his lips.
I didn't need to see the eyes behind the glasses.
I could well imagine the malevolence there.
The truck loomed like black night in my rear view, larger and larger, and darker and darker.
I cursed and jammed my foot down on the gas.
The Mercedes flowed forward, a sleek and silver bullet.
The truck dropped away behind me, but the curve ahead came barreling toward me way too fast.
I twisted the wheel and my face twisted.
The tires screamed and gripped the asphalt as I centrifuged around the bend.
For a second, the truck went out of sight, obscured by the scrubby hill behind me.
A short straightaway appeared in the windshield.
Encouraged, I pressed the gas pedal even farther toward the floor.
The car accelerated smoothly, but my heartbeat leapt in a ragged instant to a machine gun rattle.
I was really racing now.
The scenery blurred on both sides of me.
The next curve was coming toward me in an impossible rush.
I took one quick glance up at the mirror.
What the hell?
There was the Black Ford again, swinging around the bend behind and charging after me.
What kind of engine did he have in that thing?
My Mercedes could not outrace it.
The truck sliced through my wake, its massive black grille growing larger in my rear view.
As fast as I was going, death was catching up with me.
What now?
Only an instant to choose.
If I slowed, he'd ram me.
If I hit the curve at this velocity, I might fly off the road completely.
I bared my gritted teeth and kept the pedal down as I flew into the turn full speed.
I had no chance.
As the Mercedes reached the apex of the curve, the unbalanced forces overwhelmed it.
The car lost its hold on the pavement.
The rear tires swung out behind me.
The car flew into a skid, then a spin.
The world went into slow motion as the Mercedes rotated around the axis of the center line.
I fought for control, took my foot off the gas, wrenched the steering wheel hard in the direction of the skid.
The car kept turning, sliding, spinning.
A wall of rock went by the windshield.
I came around the full 180 and saw the Ford screaming around the bend like a predator rushing to pounce.
The Mercedes kept turning.
My car was lengthwise on the road when Death's Ford struck it broadside in the tail.
There was a tremendous crunching smash, a jolt like a punch in the head.
The airbag exploded from the wheel, smacked me in the face and knocked me silly.
In a dreamy daze, I felt the car continue spinning until it hurled itself off the road, tilted over onto its edge and dropped upside down.
I heard crunching metal.
I heard shattering glass.
I threw my arms up as the airbag sagged and the car turned over again and came to rest upright.
The engine died with a rattling hiss like a man dying.
Steam rose up in front of me.
I smelled gasoline.
I smelled fire.
A trail of blood ran from the corner of my mouth down my chin.
Staring stupidly into the drifting mist, I understood, in a dazed and distant way, that the car was going to explode.
Any second, I might be engulfed in flames.
That thought, like a cry of warning from far off, jerked me out of my fugue state.
I fought my way toward the light of consciousness.
In a fit of fear, I scrabbled wildly for the seatbelt release.
I turned and looked out the window.
Up at the top of a little slope, the great black Ford had stopped at the edge of the road.
As the bright morning sunlight broke through the rising steam and smoke, I saw the dim silhouette of the priest of death come around the front of the truck.
Slowly, casually, he started walking toward me, down the hill.
Another Kingdom, the final season.
Written by me, Andrew Clavin.
Caitlin's Voice Work00:00:38
Performed by Michael Knowles.
Voice work for the secretary, Caitlin Maynard.
Episode 10, The Homeless Queen, was directed by Jonathan Hay.
Produced by Austin Stevens, executive producer, Jeremy Boring.