by Rick Johnson
“I have a letter from Davison, Master of the Silverpreen’s Trading Fleet.
To His Excellency,
Fropperdaft Hafful TaTerribee VIII, Ancient Order of Reprehense, 3rd Degree; Lord Reckoner of Heights; Most Eminent Swellhead of the Keepers; Baron Sheriff of the Forever End; Peerless Berzerker of the Crowning Glory; Grandee of Maev Astuté; and High One of all Hedgelands
I fear, your Most Excellent Witling, that you have judged your friends and enemies poorly. The trust you have placed in your most senior Counselor, First Voice Frunge, is now gone against you. I must inform you that he, in league with your brother, Colonel Snart, has long been plotting against you. During the period of your recent troubles he has talked over many of your most trusted officials. You are now betrayed on every side.
Even now, they are preparing to remove you as High One. Simply said, there is treason and treachery at the very door of your chamber. Frunge has undercut your reputation so badly and bribed enough of your officials, to assure that your troops are now with him, and against you. The Skull Buzzards commanders already have promised their support to him. I believe the Battle Stallions will soon follow their lead, unless you intervene quickly.
I convey the news that you now sit between Frunge on one side, and myself on the other. My entire fleet waits off shore. It is far superior to the Battle Stallion force at Walloper’s Hold, and given the large numbers of Skull Buzzards now deployed elsewhere, I have enough land forces to take control of Maev Astuté. Your rule is at an end. The only question for you is to which of us you will yield.
I am a beast of honor and bear you no personal ill will. Although your rule is finished, I offer you the opportunity to avoid whatever dismal fate Frunge may have in mind for you. If you will immediately direct the Battle Stallions to assist me, and abdicate your throne in favor of a Trustee that I shall name, one of my ships will provide you safe passage into exile beyond the Last Sea. If you agree to this proposal, you may trust the Weasel by whom I send this letter. She is informed how to execute your escape. Should you decide to stay and take your chances with Frunge’s mercy, I ask you to allow my messanger to return to me without trouble. She has approached you with the hope of saving you from greater peril and deserves your assistance in returning from this task in safety.
The High One said nothing, but walked to his forge, and crumpling the letter, tossed it into the flames. Turning back to Tē’d’Tē, he said, “That’s what I think of Frunge and his plotting. He thinks he is clever, but that only proves his stupidity. Feeling himself clever, when plotting against the greatest mind of the day, shows pitiful lack of intelligence. When I crush him, I may give some consideration of mercy, due to this mental impairment. But crush him I will. Convey my thanks to the esteemed Davison, and tell him not to worry about his sovereign.”
A cold edge had come into the High One’s voice, which took on an especially harsh tone, when he continued. “And, please also assure Davison that he, too, seems to have a peculiar delusion regarding his own power. Good bye, now. Because I have enjoyed our visits together so much, my own personal valet will escort you back to Walloper’s Hold. I trust you have your own means to rejoin Davison from there.”
The Graven Sot
When Tē’d’Tē arrived back in Walloper’s Hold, she sought out a certain dealer in stolen goods and other unusual items, as Davison had instructed her. Whether the High One accepted the offer of exile, or not, was irrelevant in Davison’s view. Either way, the long-planned move on the High One’s rule was now underway and could not be delayed. Time was of the essence. The plan must be implemented before the element of surprise was lost.
The Owl to whom Tē’d’Tē went was a prosperous storekeeper and a leading figure in the local society, as the sign at his storefront proclaimed.
Portable Goods & Pickings
Taken, Pushed, Foundered, Amucked & Detonized
All With Exceptional Grace and Artistic Betterment
Purveyor of Stupendous Astonishment
Fix Knutt: Properieter
Entering the shop, and finding the proprietor alone, she began by saying, “I’m wondering if you can tell me where I might buy goods that don’t seem to be offered in this town?”
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” the Owl replied. “I always give the same advice. Stick to the straight and true. The only goods not to be found in this town, are not honestly got. It’s the best policy to stay away from such temptations.”
“Would you help me in such a way, as a special and exceptional favor to Davison, Master of the Silverpreen Fleet?” Tē’d’Tē said.
“I’ll move the skies and mountains for that good beast,” the Owl laughed. “And a pleasure to meet one of his friends!”
“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure,” the Weasel replied. “And if things go well for us, more beasts than just ourselves may have some pleasure! There will be turmoil here in a few hours, and Davison needs your help.”
“Yes,” Fix responded, “Davison and I go back a long way. We’ve helped each other out of a few scrapes in the past, and I’m sure we’re both happy that neither of us has failed the other yet. What’s happening, and how can I help?”
Tē’d’Tē quickly briefed the Owl on the situation, and Davison’s request for help.
“So, I’m to ask if you have any of the Graven Sot’s writings?” the Weasel asked.
The Owl turned pale, and his normally jovial manner became solemn. “Haul the rope again,” he said. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.”
“Do you have anything the Graven Sot has written?” Tē’d’Tē repeated.
“The Graven Sot!” Fix sputtered. “Do you know what you’ve speaking of? It’s absolutely forbidden to common beasts such as ourselves! It’s against the laws of the realm! The High One will not allow it! You might as well try to turn the High One out of Maev Astuté! Can’t be done. Absolutely forbidden! Why the last beast that spoke of reading the Graven Sot lies under the foundation stone of Maev Astuté itself!”
“Exactly,” Tē’d’Tē replied. “Turning the High One out of Maev Astuté and overturning the ancient order of tyranny in Hedgelands is exactly what we intend. Are the writings of the Graven Sot not relevant to that?”
“Now how would I know that?” the Owl said. “It’s forbidden to know anything of the Graven Sot, let alone read her writings! I stick to the straight and true, like I already said.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that,” the Weasel laughed. “And I also know that you’re all puffing and bluster—you either have, or can get, just about anything a beast wants. And I know you’ve read things the Graven Sot has written. Your family have been the caretakers of the Graven Sot’s writings since the founding of Maev Astuté. You, yourself, are a decendent of the Graven Sot. You see, Davison has briefed me well.”
Going to the front of his store, the Owl locked the door and posted a ‘Closed’ sign. Motioning for Tē’d’Tē to follow him, he pushed a hidden switch and the sales counter slid aside, revealing a stairway leading under the store.
The Owl descended the stairs, with Tē’d’Tē following. When they reached the bottom, the Owl lit a lantern and turned a lever. The sales counter slid back into place, and they were alone in a tiny underground chamber.
Opening a stone box, Fix took out a large volume of parchment and laid it in from of the Weasel. Roughly, but firmly bound, the book bore a very ancient appearance. It was written entirely in the old Kinshy script, which Tē’d’Tē could not read. Tē’d’Tē opened it and examined the odd characters that covered the pages.
“What does this writing say?” Tē’d’Tē asked, barely breathing. She knew she was in the presence of something wonderful, yet ominous.
“You already know,” the Owl replied. “You don’t need to ask me. Just because you’ve never seen this book before, doesn’t mean you don’t know what’s in it. Although the memory is forbidden, every beast knows.”
“These are the writings of the Graven Sot,” the W
easel said slowly. “My understanding is that they give permission to destroy Maev Astuté.”
“More than give permission,” the Owl replied. “They positively direct that Maev Astuté should not be built!”
“Not be built!” Tē’d’Tē exclaimed. “But it has been being constructed for at least nine hundred years!”
“Just so,” Fix said. “Which is why the writings of the Graven Sot were destroyed—except for this copy, which my ancestors saved from the flames.”
“So that is why the Graven Sot was said to be mad,” Tē’d’Tē observed.
“Yes,” Fix answered. “Of course, the name that has long been associated with the author of these writings—Graven Sot—was not the writer’s real name. Because she opposed the building of Maev Astuté, the first High Ones painted her as a lunatic and mad beast—even down to the nursery rhymes, they smeared her with the title ‘the Graven Sot.’”
“Why did she oppose building Maev Astuté?” Tē’d’Tē asked.
“She saw it for what it was,” Fix said. “A massive waste of energy, serving only the power and sense of self-importance of the High Ones. She was completely against it, predicting that the kingdom would never develop as it should, if the realm put all its energy into building the castle.”
“And the High Ones won that argument,” Tē’d’Tē observed.
“They won in the sense that the Graven Sot was hung, her body buried under the foundation stone of Maev Astuté, and her writings burned,” Fix replied. “But her ideas have never died. Every beast knows, at least in some vague way, that she said that building Maev Astuté was wrong. Many beasts believe that someday the Graven Sot will return and tear the castle down.”
“Which is why Davison wants to bring out the Graven Sot’s writings,” Tē’d’Tē breathed.
“Yes,” Fix said, “when it is announced that the writings of the Graven Sot exist, and have survived these nine hundred years, it will have a powerful affect on all the folk.”
“Do you expect her to return?” Tē’d’Tē asked.
“No,” the Owl replied. “She was a beast like all of us, not some supernatural being. Her body lies exactly where they laid it nine hundred years ago, and it’s not going anywhere. But she saw things that no one else saw and described them in a way that moved the heart and blazed a path through the mind. No, she will not return, but she has never left. Her writings remain, and that is enough. This place will positively explode when this book is brought out. I doubt that even the Skull Buzzards will be able to hold things together.”
“We’ll find out in the morning,” Tē’d’Tē replied.
An Enormous Airship in the Sky
A signal had been arranged to inform Davison if the High One accepted his offer of exile. When the signal did not appear, Davison began to implement his alternate plan.
Keeping the main body of his fleet well off shore and out of sight, he sailed several ships close to shore some distance down the coast from Walloper’s Hold. All through the afternoon and evening, he sent ashore boat after boat, full of beasts, well-armed. In full sight of the Skull Buzzard base, the boats unloaded and returned to ships off shore, to carry more beasts to land. The Skull Buzzard commanders, having shifted their loyalty to Frunge, urgently asked him what they should do about the invading beasts.
So many beasts had been observed coming ashore that Frunge calculated the ships must have only skeleton crew left. “Let them come ashore,” he said. “They are emptying out their ships. We will mass our brazzens on land. By tomorrow, I will have the Battle Stallion cruisers under my control. With the thin crews on their ships, the Battle Stallions will board them easily. Then, the invaders will be trapped. Yes, let them come ashore,” he smiled. “Let them come.”
For the moment, however, the Battle Stallion cruisers were still loyal to the High One, and did not leave their moorings in Walloper’s Hold. And, now informed of the plots against him, the High One was quite happy to have the attention of the disloyal Skull Buzzards directed elsewhere. Keeping the Battle Stallion cruisers in port for his own security, Davison’s ships were allowed to operate unchallenged at sea.
Unfortunately for Frunge, as every boat sent from Davison’s fleet landed on shore, the beasts who stepped off the boats played a game of illusion. With the help of covering woods and brush, no sooner did they land, than the beasts walked into the brush, circled around, and slipped back aboard the boats, lying concealed in the bottom. When the boats were rowed back to the ship, apparently to transport more beasts to shore, it was actually the same beasts being recycled again and again.
To the view of the Skull Buzzard commanders on shore, a massive force of sea-beasts was being landed. In reality, not a single sea-beast was left on land.
When night fell, under cover of darkness Davison silently moved his entire fleet to Walloper’s Hold. Riding on the incoming tide, the ships floated into the harbor with hardly a sound. Moving every member of the crew, including the former Leap-Bugs, to the decks of his ships, a dazzling display power greeted the Battle Stallion commanders when the sun rose. Out-numbered two to one in ships, and five to one in crew; the Battle Stallions found themselves effectively bottled up at their docks.
Davison was just preparing to move forward with the next stage of his attack plan, when a tremendous WHOOOOSH thundered across Walloper’s Hold. Whatever beasts were doing, they stopped, and everyone watched an enormous sausage-shaped airship take flight. No one was prepared for the stupendous tongues of water shooting from the base of the craft.
Then the full-force of the thunderous roar rumbled through the ground. “By the Ancients!” Captain Davison said. “What is that?”
He was not the only one wondering what had happened. Only a few beasts in Walloper’s Hold had any idea that the High One had built another, even more audacious experimental aircraft.
Wreakage Coated With Silver Dust
When the most recent threat to the realm left him, the High One immediately sprang into action.
“Have the customs authority immediately send a message to Frunge and Colonel Snart,” he said to his secretary. “Report to them that their shipment has arrived in Walloper’s Hold. Tell them that the cargo will be ready for their inspection at the Royal Warehouse first thing tomorrow morning. Make no reference to me. Let them assume the message is from the customs authority.”
The following morning, Frunge and Snart arrived at the Royal Warehouse, decked in their most elegant official uniforms. Smiling broadly, they congratulated themselves on the brilliant scheme that had now delivered into their hands more than enough silver to bribe the remaining loyalists on the Most Revered Council.
“Two more meetings, and it will be complete,” Frunge chuckled. “Fropperdaft is so immersed in his silly experiments that his kingdom has slipped out of his grasp! And into our own paws. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“He’s always been too interested in his building projects and his inventions,” Colonel Snart agreed. “Spend too much time with your playthings, and you wake up in the dungeon!”
Smugly examining the casks of silver, they were popping the cork on a bottle of Rotter Wine, when they were interrupted by Fropperdaft himself.
“Rotter Wine, eh, my dear brother?” the High One said. “All these years I thought you only drank Frog’s Belch Ale.”
“Times change, brother,” Snart replied. “Frunge has convinced me that it’s time for me to refine my tastes.”
“For what purpose?” the High One asked, with a sly smile.
“We are thinking that there may be a number of refinements that may be in order for the realm,” Snart replied.
“Ah well,” the High One said, “that is such a pity, as neither of you will have time for such fine things.”
Instantly a squad of Aviafias appeared and clapped Frunge and Snart in chains!
“What do you mean by this?” Frunge blustered.
“I mean to deal with two rogues that need a better understanding of their sovereign
,” Fropperdaft replied. “You’ve worked so hard to overthrow me, the least I can do is show you how the real High One deals with traitors. You bribed the Skull Buzzards and planned to bribe the Battle Stallions, but bribery only works when beasts will sell themselves for silver.”
Turning to a tall Vulture with a fat, oily face and cheeks that drooped to his shoulders, Fropperdaft said, “Fortunately, some of my commanders, such at Marshall of the Drops[3], Sludge, here, don’t sell their honor for bits of silver. “Well done, Marshal Sludge. Your loyalty, in the face of treachery by so many of your fellow officers, will not be forgotten. Together, we will preserve the ancient order of the Hedgelands.”
“Huckt-Errent-Cooogh!” Clearing his throat pompously, the Vulture smiled smugly, smirking at his prisoners. “Thank you, Your Excellency, the Aviafia Corps does its duty—even if our fellow services see loyalty as a cheap trinket for sale.”
Walking over to Frunge, the Aviafia commander nodded his head and cleared his throat again. “Huckt-Errent-Cooogh!” Picking imaginary bits of lint from his brilliant red uniform, Marshal Sludge pointed to the black velvet collar and cuffs. “Every item of my uniform symbolizes the Aviafia tradition of loyalty to the High One,” he said. “Black reminds us that the Aviafia’s have stood with the High Ones in every dark day they have faced. The white lace trim symbolizes the paperwork that is always completed on time, each letter perfect in its place. The brass buttons signifies the hard strength of our loyalty. Cloth of red recalls our rear-ends, red from sitting through hours upon hours of meetings.” Smirking with contempt, the Aviafia commander finished by pointing to the long rows of medals across his chest. “And each of these medals is bestowed for a heroic act on behalf of my sovereign, the High One. Today, another one will be added. Look at my marvelous uniform and all I have achieved, and weep!”