This is the second in a series of posts wherein I have presented a novel I started writing in high school. Please read the introduction post (link) for an explanation.
A carriage flew through the city gates. Arrows placed themselves somewhat less than gently in the sides of the escaping vehicle. The fat man driving the carriage hopped and bounced around in the driver's seat.
The fleeing wagon was closely followed by a group of mounted and heavily armed men. From the tone of their voices, it would be reasonable to guess that they were less than friendly, the wagon's driver considered it best not to stop to confirm his assumption.
The coach continued its speedy withdrawal from the city. Ruts in the road did not ease their escape. Many times an onlooker could have sworn that only two of the carriage's wheels were touching the path. The other two wheels simply spun uselessly in the air. With every rut and turn, the sound of bottles being smashed and a man cursing could be heard coming from the carriage's insides.
As the carriage rumbled over a hill out of the horsemen's view. The leading cavalier slowed his horse and raised an armored fist. The signal was probably meant to be a motion for the other riders to halt, but if it was, the notion was lost on the not so sharp minds of the following riders. His companions simply continued riding until the leader made his command a little more explicit.
"HALT!"
Recognizing their leader's voice, the horses acknowledged the command and came to an abrupt stop. The riders on the other hand continued moving even after their mounts had halted. They sailed through the air until gravity suddenly realized what was happening and decided to put and end to everyone's fun. The rider's grunted as their bodies were introduced to the muddy ground. One of the rider's began to giggle a moment later.
"I guess we showed them that we don't take kindly to traveling miracle healers," stated the commander proudly. Attempting to ignore the stupidity of his troop.
"Showed who sir?" asked a knight, who was unsuccessfully attempting to lift himself up from the muddy path.
"Those men in the carriage," replied the commander in a tone best suited for conversations with first graders. Under the circumstances, he figured it would be appropriate.
"What carriage sir?" another soldier inquired in a very interested manner.
"The carriage we were following." The commander began to get somewhat annoyed.
The first soldier was beginning to look confused. The look seemed to fit him very well. "Carriage, I never saw any carriage."
"I love carriages!" added the giggling rider.
The commander let out a sigh which combined the emotions of disappointment, annoyance, and utter hopelessness. It was times like this when he tried not to think about the other job offers he had considered before accepting his current post. He could have been an admiral, sailing the oceans in search of some place people called the East. It would have been a wonderful life, but instead, he decided to join the army.
"You idiot! You've got your helmet on backwards," laughed a fellow cavalier.
"I do? Well what do you know? I have got it on backwards!"
A tear worked its way out of the commander's eye. With his head resting in his open palms, he began to weep.
The carriage rumbled to an awkward halt. The chubby driver hopped down from his seat atop the coach. Dressed in a rather gaudy manner, the man struck you as a fugitive from the local circus. It was also apparent that the local circus probably didn't want him back. No visible attempt seemed to have been made while dressing to conceal any of the man's extra weight. Quite the opposite actually, the man's clothes seemed to magnify his obtuse proportions. Accompanying his body was a face which fit perfectly.. His face gave him the appearance of a being an over-sized bulldog, too much skin, but not enough face.
"Well, I think we lost 'em," stated the man as he stepped around the carriage.
Nobody answered.
"I said, 'I think we lost 'em!'" he repeated.
Still, nobody answered.
"Hello!" He continued as he circled to the rear of the carriage. "Smiley? What are you doing in there?!?"
The man reached to knock on the carriage's door. As if the door suddenly sensed that it was about to be hit, it retaliated by throwing itself open. The chubby man was thrown to the ground with a great "Ooph!" If he had been tossed to the ground a few moments earlier, things would not have been so bad, but gravity was beginning to get angry because of how many attempts there had been at flying in the past few moments, that no mercy was extended in the force with which the man was placed on the ground.
The carriage dumped its contents across the muddy ground. The contents were mainly glass jars, two chests, a bath towel with the embroidered name of a local hotel chain, and another interestingly dressed man. The man seemed to be the larger man's companion in his effort to escape the circus. This man was of a much different shape. He was a tall lanky man. Lieing on his side he would have looked very similar to the other man standing up straight
"You know Omar?" The taller man began as he pushed himself up his muddy seat. "I had this great idea after this bottle hit me on the head. I can't remember it now because of another bottle which hit me on the head. All I remember is that I had a name for it. Plastic."
"Shut up and help me stand up, Smiley." Omar lyed on the ground like a helpless beached whale. Had it not been for his friend Smiley, he would have eventually dried up in the sun causing a horrible smell.
"What happened?" inquired the plump chap as he helped Smiley to his feet.
"That last bump we hit." started the man, somewhat disoriented. "That last bump was a killer. Everything fell from the shelves and most of bottles either spilled or broke. By the way, Omar, who taught you to drive?"
"Look!" cried Omar defensively. "I didn't hear anyone else volunteering to drive. I got us away from those guards didn't I?"
"All right, all right! Just help me pick up these jars."
Smiley bent down to begin picking up the few unscathed jars. He was somewhat thinner than Omar, but no less gaudy in fashion. Smiley spoke with the same sort of eloquence exhibited by his larger companion. It was obvious to see that they were both highly-skilled actors.
"We sure worked that town over, didn't we Smiley?" laughed Omar
"They fell for it hook, line, and sinker. How did we do before we were ‘asked' to leave?"
"Haven't had a chance to count the loot, but it's sure to-- Did any of these jars not spill?" Omar inquired as he held the broken fragments of a bottle in one hand and an empty one in the other.
Smiley frowned as he replied, "Not that I can tell."
"Take these bottles and find a stream of something. I'll stay here and try to clean up the mess and figure out where to go next."
Smiley grabbed an armful of empty bottles and tromped off in the search of water.
Omar Bumble and Jim Smiley had been partners in business for the past ten years. They had played nearly every scam possible. They had met in boarding school and became friends immediately. Well, immediately after Omar pummeled Smiley for tricking him into lighting his own hair on fire. From that day on, they had been kicked out of nearly every prominent city throughout all of Ataxia. Many of them twice. They had been forced to change their names so many times that neither could actually remember what the other's name had been originally.
At the current time, they were selling miracle cures. The miracle cures which they sold came in the form of a bottle with a label reading:
Heels all nown alements including,
Flew, amonia, body odor, death, chicken pocks,
leprsy, smelly foots, broked legs, etc.
In no time, Smiley returned with his armful of bottles all full.
"I found a spring to fill the bottles," he responded as he placed his burden into the back of the stagecoach.
"Good, I've decided where our next stop shall be, Slander." Omar stated proudly as he folded up a map. One of Omar's talents had always been folding maps. His parents wished him to become a professional map-folder for a local cartographer, but his heart just wasn't in map folding.
Omar and Smiley climbed back onto the coach and set out on their voyage to Slander.
The streets of Slander were filled with throngs of people, as was the usual in the afternoon. People pushed their way through the crowds of people. Slander's markets were said to be the best in the world. It was said that if something could be found in Ataxia, it could be found in the markets of Slander. Millions of coins passed hands each day in the booming marketplace, not always with the previous consent of the donator. Naturally, a center of so many transactions could not go unnoticed by the darker side of society. Pickpockets and assassins flocked to the marketplace like flies to a casserole. Not only did this place attract thieves and cutthroats, but also its fair share of beggars and insurance salesmen.
Lister had spent the last three years of his life as a fairly successful beggar. He had risen rather quickly through the ranks of beggardom. This was partly due to his recent contraction of leprosy.
While the general populous feared leprosy like the plague--mainly because it was the plague--beggars dreamed of contracting the disease. Through the studies of Mathias, the most famous beggar of all-time, he proved that leprosy guaranteed an increase of at least 50% in profits. He showed up to a 300% increase was possible under the best conditions.
Prior to becoming a Slanderian beggar, Lister had experienced a somewhat unsuccessful life as a traveling tinker. His travels one day led him to the market of the booming city of Slander. He was immediately struck by the number of beggars and their surprising success. From that day forward, his tinkering days came to an end, and his days of beggaring began.
On this particular day, Lister was not actually beggaring, he was on a mission. It was about time the beggars of Slander organized, or so thought Lister and a few of his friends. Lister had been sent to inform all of the prominent beggars in his area of the first meeting.
Lister turned a corner to catch the sight of Tom. Tom was an old beggar who had begged for as long as anyone could remember. He was one of those "In my day..." sort of people who would annoy everyone with stories about what being a beggar was like years ago. Strangely, his stories of the past were not much different from what it was like to be a beggar now. It's pretty tough to make beggaring sound worse than it already is.
"Tom?" Lister said, less as a question and more as a statement of presence.
"Wha, wha, did somebody say my name?" inquired Tom.
Tom pretended that his hearing and eyesight was less than perfect. Money flowed more freely to those who are old and feeble. In truth, Tom had nearly the best hearing and eyesight in the entire city.
"Tom, I'm Lister," began Lister, extending his hand. After noticing Lister to be a leper, he shook Lister's hand happily. Not only had Tom been cursed with good eyesight and hearing, but also with the seeming inability to come down with leprosy, but he never quit trying. "I'm here on behalf of-- sorry, but could I get my hand back?"
Lister's hand, though his arm had returned to his side, had stayed in Tom's hand, which he was still shaking. This was a small problem with leprosy, the loss of limbs every now and then, but this was considered a small problem when compared with the profits associated with leprosy. Tom apologized and gave back the hand.
"Now, as I was saying," began Lister once again. "I am here on behalf of L.E.P.E.R., or "The Organization of Beggars and Lepers of Slander."
"An organization of beggars eh? You know, in my day we didn't have organizations. We had to fend for ourselves! Beggars hated each other, and we loved it!"
"I'm sure you did," agreed Lister, trying not to encourage the slightly senile beggar. "There've been some laws passed by the governor which are putting the stranglehold on us beggars."
"Laws?!? In my day, we didn't have laws! We were mugged everyday, and we loved it!"
"OK, just take this card, and we hope to see you there tonight under the bridge."
Lister handed a card to Tom that was supposed to be a reminder of the meeting, but due to the illiteracy of beggars, the cards had been swiped from a local tailor shop. The card read: Flint's Tailor Shop 5 gold off your next purchase.
"Bridges?!? In my day, we didn't have bridges! If we wanted to cross a river, we swam! Of course, back then the rivers were full of crocodiles." Lister was far down the street by this time, but in the distance he could hear, "We loved it!"
Melzar's eyes panned across the bleak landscape. It seemed a real shame to classify the scene in front of Melzar as "landscape." Classifying this view of scorched and decimated earth as a "landscape" would be a demeaning injustice to the many other normal, Gods-fearing landscapes in existence such as forests and meadows. No, this was definitely not "landscape."
Dead bodies lay strewn across the blistered soil. Surprisingly few vultures were feeding on the carrion; most were too busy calling relatives concerning feasts and dinners they would be hosting. Above all of this destruction lingered a stench, a very odd stench. Most stenches result from pungent objects being left out in the sun for too long. This stench was somewhat different; it had descended on the land due to their being a stench left out in the sun for too long.
Standing high above this desolate wasteland, the black silhouette of the great wizard, Melzar, could be seen atop his tower of ebony. Melzar was your common stereotypical evil wizard: black flowing robe, wrinkled skin, evil glowing eyes, the whole works. Well, the whole works minus one volume. This volume happened to be located at the end of his chin where a beard should have been.
It was quite difficult to be a proper wizard, even a kind-hearted one, without the aid of a long flowing beard. For years, his beardlessness had been a cause of no small amount of turmoil and grief. Had it not been for the wizard academy's rule that all applicants are required to have a beard of at least two feet in length, Melzar would have been a great kind-hearted magician in the service of some king. But no, they turned him away, and as a result, turned him to the evil side of magic.
He had made many attempts at correcting his hairlessness. Hours had been spent high in his tower mixing the components of spells to cure this problem. He had even spent twenty gold coins on the purchase of Dr. Bumble's Magical Hair Growth Elixir, but nothing had worked.
"Master?" ventured a timid voice behind Melzar.
Melzar turned from his quite vigil to address the speaker, who turned out to be a handpuppet upon his own hand, which had been behind his back. It seemed to have been the product of an old athletic sock for a body, two black buttons for eyes, and a red marker employed to draw lips and a tongue.
"Yes Gord?" inquired the wizard.
"Master, what is wrong? You do not seem to be your same evil self today," asked the puppet.
"I have been thinking..."
"Master, you know what the psychiatrist told you about thinking."
Whenever the puppet spoke, Melzar's lips could be seen moving slightly.
"It's just that... I mean... well..."
"Master, you can tell me. I'm your best friend. Go on," encouraged Gord.
Melzar strode thoughtfully from the balcony to his throne room. Being connected to Melzar's hand and as such, having little say in his movement, followed the wizard to the throneroom.
"Gord, I'm bored."
Gord pulled back in surprise at his Master's last statement.
"Master, how could you be bored? You are the supreme dictator over an entire world. You kill millions of people everyday, and don't even think twice about it. People would die to have your power. To tell the truth, many have."
Melzar sat upon his gold encrusted throne. He leaned his head on his hand, in a thoughtful manner.
"Master! That hurts," cried Gord.
"Sorry," he said while switching head rests.
A few minutes passed while Melzar was lost in thought. Gord had learned long ago that you never interrupt a thinking wizard. This is partly due to their rather short temper but mostly because they could be pondering a spell like Moiré's Do-it-yourself Supernova. A slight startle could cause the wizard to suddenly blurt out the magic words, and-- let's just say that it isn't a pretty picture.
Then, as if he had suddenly heard the ringing of an ice cream truck, he instantly looked forward.
"I know what I've got to do!" Melzar stated as if he had just reached the top of Mt. Everest.
"Master, what do you have to do?" Gord was clearly excited.
"I've got to find something to excite my life."
Humans are masters at stating the obvious. Melzar, being a wizard, had many extraordinary and enhanced abilities or powers. One of these enhanced abilities was stating the obvious. He was a pro.
"Master, do you wish me to hire an assassin?" Gord inquired in an attempt to be helpful.
"No assassins. They just aren't a match for me anymore. The last one you hired didn't even get past the door. Remember the one that I killed in my sleep? The guards had to tell me in the morning because I never woke up. No, assassins are out."
"Master, what if we insight a rebellion?"
"Those stupid rebellions are easier to crush than a walnut."
"Master, what if..." Gord did not finish his sentence because Melzar's other hand had grown weary of Gord's babbling and decided to restrict the movement of his mouth.
Gord looked up to see Melzar doing something he had never seen the wizard do before. The old man was smiling. Actually, his mouth wasn't smiling. Melzar's brain had sent a message to his mouth instructing it to smile. While the message was traveling towards the mouth, it ran into a few friends who invited it to the pituitary gland for lunch. Three hours later the message finally reached its target, but by that time, the message was inebriated. This resulted in a mere smirk.
"I know what to do to ease my boredom!" Melzar stated triumphantly, while, as far as he knew, smiling.
"Master? What is it? Tell me! What is it?" Handpuppets are very excitable.
"I will conquer another world!" Melzar announced as he commenced with a few minutes of maniacal laughter.
Gord thought the idea was wonderful but wished the suspense would have lasted for slightly longer. Nevertheless, evil characters never miss a chance to laugh maniacally.
A carriage rumbled towards the city gates. The gates of Slander had once been named one of the Seven Wonders of the Galaxy. It was an attempt by the Slanderian government to increase the tourism. The scheme had worked for a time. In other words, the plot worked great until people arrived and actually saw the gates.
Structurally speaking, the gates were no different than any other gate you would find on a city. It was supported by two large guard towers, had a steel gate, and looked pretty normal, structurally that is. What made this particular gate stand out, was the simple fact that for some bizarre reason, the whole thing was painted mauve.
Years previous, the governor had passed a law which put a tax on painter's brushes. Obviously, the painters' guild was infuriated. As a result, the painters' guild secretly painted the entire gate and gatehouse. They chose mauve because it was the guild's colors mauve and turquoise; it didn't look half bad on the basketball uniforms. The governor ordered the guild to repaint the building or be imprisoned. The order was revoked after the guild threatened to paint the royal palace turquoise.
The coach pulled to a stop in front of the closing gate. The larger of the two men on the carriage stood to address the guards on the towers.
"We request admittance to this fine city," yelled Omar.
"Go away!" called the guard. "We never admit people to the city after dark."
Omar looked at the sky to verify his assumption that it wasn't after dark; it was barely after noon.
"What do you mean after dark?!?" Omar was beginning to get angry; it didn't take much.
I am convinced that there is a direct correlation between weight and anger. The bigger one is, the angrier they can get. It's as if their large size holds more anger. This is true for everyone I know, even Santa Claus. I imagine him, around July, yelling profanities at his little elf helpers, who, because of their very small size, are unable to be angry enough to fight back.
The guard looked towards the sky as if he hadn't noticed that day had crept up on him only a mere six hours ago. When his eyes were facing towards the sky, he made his best shot at being startled, which looked more like he tripped on a rock.
"Well, what do you know? It is daytime," the guard said with a fake smile. His beaming face was extinguished by the coldness in Omar's glance.
"So, can we enter the city?"
"No," the guard paused. "We don't allow mimes into the city."
"Mimes?!?" Omar had taken enough. He had been called every bad name imaginable throughout his travels, but no one had ever had the nerve to call him a mime. "Do we look like mimes? Rather, do we sound like mimes?"
Omar's anger had gotten about as high as his navel.
"You never know, your friend could be a ventriloquist."
"Look! We are not mimes, and he," pointing to Jim, "is not a ventriloquist!"
The anger had now reached his armpits.
"Well maybe you aren't a mime, but you could have some hidden in the back of your carriage. We'll have to come down and check."
The anger was beginning to spill out the top of his head and form a puddle on the ground. He was so angry that he couldn't even say anything, he just sat down and waited for the guards. In the meantime he turned to Jim.
"Can you believe this?"
Jim opened his eyes and let out a large yawn. Smacking his lips he responded, "What did you say?"
"You've been sleeping all this time?"
"I think so. I couldn't really tell because I was asleep," Jim hadn't regained all his senses yet from his nap.
Omar made a great effort to say something to Jim, but the only things that would come out were garbled mumbles. He finally resorted to merely letting out a sigh of disgust.
"Hey," started Jim. "what's that puddle on the ground?"
Four guards stepped from the guard tower. They were heavily armed and looked like they were serious about this inspection.
"Don't worry, this will only take a moment," stated a guard as they circled the carriage.
The platoon disappeared into the carriage. They reemerged two minutes later.
"OK!" yelled a guard towards the gatekeeper. "No mimes, let'em in!"
The gate slowly lifted and the carriage rumbled through. Omar's anger had begun evaporating off, but it would remain at a critical level for the next half-hour.
0 comments:
Post a Comment