“What is all this about a giant?” insisted Persimmony.
Lucas snorted. “The royal diggers found a golden belt buckle under the castle and think it belongs to a giant, and the historian says his head is in a cave on the Western Shore.”
“The historian’s head?”
“The giant’s head.”
“But that’s ridiculous!”
“No, it isn’t.” The potter spoke with such conviction that everyone in the room turned to look at him. “I tried to tell your grandfather King Lugbar that very thing, and because no one listened to me, the entire island is now in imminent danger.”
“Danger?” said Lucas. “In danger of what?”
“Of the giant waking up, of course.”
Persimmony stared at her friend. “There’s a giant—under the mountain?”
“Yes.”
“But how do you know?”
“Before I was cast out of the castle, I had spent my whole life writing down and studying the prophecies of the Lyre-That-Never-Lies. I became convinced that the Lyre’s words pointed to a startling conclusion: that there is a sleeping giant buried under Mount Majestic and that this giant will have a crucial role to play in the fate of the island.” Theodore leaned heavily on his cane as though too weary to go on. “I hoped and hoped I was wrong, and finally I convinced myself that there was no giant after all. But now this news confirms it. And with the Leafeaters digging right toward him, I fear the worst.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lucas, scratching his ear.
“Ahem! Perhaps I can help, Your Highness.” Professor Quibble emerged from his quiet corner and came forward. “Will you allow me to expound the situation logically?”
“If that means you’ll explain it so I can understand, please do.”
“Very well, then,” said the professor, happily returning to his posture of intense concentration. “If there is a giant (which is a very big IF), then his head lies on the western side of this island, near the caves of the Rumblebumps.”
“The Snoring Cave!” said Guafnoggle, grabbing his feet and rocking back and forth.
“If his head is on the western side of the island,” the professor continued, “then his feet must lie on the eastern side, since a person’s feet are usually at the opposite end of the body from the head.”
Lucas looked down at his toes and saw this to be true.
“If his feet are at the eastern end of Mount Majestic, then they lie at the edge of the Willow Woods, where the Leafeaters live.”
“They live under the woods,” said Persimmony.
“Naturally. And if the Leafeaters are digging toward the center of Mount Majestic from the direction of the Willow Woods, then they will be digging straight into the giant’s feet.”
Lucas slumped down lower in the throne.
Professor Quibble was enjoying himself immensely. “If hundreds of shovels and pickaxes suddenly begin pricking and tickling the giant’s feet, then he will surely wake up. If the giant wakes up and rises, then the entire mountain will erupt and crumble to the ground, causing unimaginable destruction below.” The professor’s lips curled upward in a smirk, and he lowered his voice. “We would all be like insects crushed under his heels. A being that big, if he existed, could eat a hundred brave men for breakfast and still have room for a barbecued whale or two. Therefore, if there is in fact a giant beneath Mount Majestic”—he paused dramatically before delivering his final punch—“we are in big trouble.”
For a long time no one spoke.
“Maybe the giant is wearing shoes,” offered Persimmony.
The potter shook his head. “I’m afraid we can’t take that chance.”
Lucas swung around to face the professor. “Don’t tell me you suddenly believe this nonsense!”
The professor let out a loud snort. “As a philosopher, I’d say that it presents the very knotty problem of whether or not I should bother to eat breakfast tomorrow morning. But as a geographer, I’d say that I’ve never seen a single map of the island that mentioned a Snoring Cave or a giant. As a man of science, I would scoff at the very idea. And as a mathematician, adding one plus one plus one—one old potter plus one dirty archaeologist plus one crazy peppercorn picker—I’d have to say . . . No. I don’t believe a word of it.”
Lucas rose to his feet. “Follow me to the great hall. We shall see what the Lyre has to say.”
Chapter 9
IN WHICH A LYRE TELLS THE TRUTH (PERHAPS)
The Lyre-That-Never-Lies has been a prized possession of the kings and queens of the Island at the Center of Everything since the earliest days of the monarchy. Some claim that it had once been an ordinary musical instrument in the hands of a common village musician until the Voice came and filled its strings with a music more lovely and more haunting than anything that had ever been heard before.
But people only believe what they want to believe.
The Lyre once told Queen Lulu the Luminous that her vanity would be her downfall. The queen shouted, “I don’t believe it!” A week later her entire body turned bright green from all the skin creams she had put on it, and for the rest of her reign she never showed herself in public again. Behind her back she was called Queen Lulu the Ludicrous until her dying day.
As Lucas got down off the throne and walked past his guests with as much majesty as he could muster under the circumstances, he went over the Lyre’s recent prophecy in his mind. He had been eager to believe that there was gold underneath the castle—but perhaps he had misinterpreted the Lyre’s words. They were often hard to understand, after all.
A greater treasure lies below
Where rust and robbers cannot go,
And buried underneath your frown
A gold outshining any crown.
There was nothing about a giant in that. “Greater treasure” and “gold outshining any crown” didn’t sound like a belt buckle.
Everyone followed him to the east end of the throne room and into the great hall, where the royal musician sat. She unlocked the golden clasp of an oak chest and lifted out a beautiful instrument, made of a small tortoise shell with two wooden arms sticking out of the top and a wooden crossbar in between. Strung between the crossbar and the tortoise shell were seven strings. The royal musician held the Lyre gently in her arms, then with a graceful movement she took a small seashell and drew it once across the strings.
A chord rang out, softly at first but swelling louder and louder. Then the words began from deep within the Lyre’s music:Buried fear will fly away;
Silent hands will speak;
The low will be the lofty,
And the strong will be the weak.
“So there is a giant!” said Persimmony, breaking the silence that followed.
“Don’t be silly,” retorted Lucas. “The Lyre never mentioned a giant.”
“But he’s buried! And he’ll cause fear! I don’t understand the bit about flying, though. Do giants have wings?”
“Of course not. And anyway, the Lyre said the strong will become weak, so that means even if there is a giant, which there isn’t, he’s going to be too weak to push his way out of the mountain. We have nothing to fear.”
“I don’t think that’s what it means at all!”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s balderdribble anyway,” said Lucas.
“Balderdash,” said Professor Quibble.
“That too.”
But the Lyre wasn’t finished yet. It began to sing again:It won’t be long before His Royal Highness
Must learn to share the milk of human kindness.
And if to swallow pride he does not dare,
Beware!
Beware!
“Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Worvil, who up to this point had felt unusually calm and peaceful. But the word “beware” struck terror in his heart despite the beauty of the Lyre’s music.
“That didn’t sound right,” said Lucas. “Highness and kindness don’t rhyme.”
“Maybe that’s the
point,” said the potter.
“Well, whatever the point is, I don’t believe it. There’s no such thing as a giant. It’s ludiculous! Ridiposterous! Insanitorious!”
The ringing of the Lyre stopped.
That night King Lucas held a secret conference with Professor Quibble, the captain of the castle guard, and Theodore. Persimmony and Worvil were not invited. Worvil was quite happy to go straight to sleep after supper, but Persimmony sat at the foot of her bed fuming.
“It’s not fair!” she said to the ceiling of the guest chamber. She had been led to it several hours earlier and given strict orders to wash herself thoroughly before putting on the nightgown provided for her and getting into bed. It was the nicest, silkiest nightgown she’d ever seen in her life, but she didn’t care. “I’m the one who overheard the Leafeaters’ plans. I’m the one who reported the news to the king. And now I’m being left out of everything that really matters and sent to bed like I was being punished. It’s not fair!”
Then she decided to do something about it.
The meeting was taking place in the king’s private chambers. She knew because she had hidden in the shadows and followed the little group after supper to a large door with words of warning etched into the wooden surface: “KING’S PRIVATE CHAMBERS. NO ADMITTANCE. KEEP OUT. YES, THAT MEANS YOU.” A soldier had been stationed outside the door, but now as she tiptoed back down the dark hallway she found the soldier slouched against the wall, fast asleep.
Persimmony pressed her ear to the door and strained to listen. Immediately, she recognized Theodore’s voice.
“No, no, it will never do to send the soldiers alone,” he was saying. “Why, the ones you sent before haven’t even returned with my pots yet! No one knows the underground city’s entrances. I’m telling you, you must let Persimmony and me lead them. Persimmony said she heard the Leafeaters’ voices disappear quickly—the tree trunk where she was hiding must have been near one of their entrances. She can find it again, I’m sure of it, and I can keep us from getting lost.”
“Don’t be a fool, old man. Of course the king isn’t going to let you go.” It was Professor Quibble. “We need your pots. We need you to make more, if necessary. We aren’t going to let a prize like you out of our grasp.”
Theodore shook his head sadly. “If you sent your soldiers to capture me because you heard my pots will give you whatever you want, I’m sorry to say that you have been misinformed.”
“Do you mean you refuse to obey your king?” Lucas demanded.
“I mean I cannot do the thing you want. I will tell you the same thing I told your grandfather: I have no control over what comes out of my pots. I simply make them. What comes out is what people need, not what they want.”
“Well, I need pepper. I need lots of it. Immediately. And after that, I need swords and axes and bows and arrows and daggers for my war against the Leafeaters.”
“I can guarantee that my pots will not give you any of those things.”
“Don’t you realize that I could have you arrested for treason?”
“It will not be the first time,” said the potter quietly. “Please listen to me. You must make peace with the Leafeaters, apologize for whatever wrongs you may have done them, and offer amends. Only then do we have any hope of warning them about the giant.”
“For the last time, there is no giant. This is a battle and we will punish them for their rebellion. Captain Gidding has already been told to spare no one. Right, Captain Gidding?”
The only response was a soft snore.
“The Leafeaters are stubborn,” sighed the potter, “but I’m confident they will listen if we come to them with courtesy instead of with weapons. Let me go and talk to them, with Persimmony’s help to find the entrance, and the soldiers behind us to protect us if need be.”
Lucas snorted. “Ha! A poor, grimy basket maker’s daughter with hair the color of cold porridge and no idea how to curtsy properly? Leading the royal troops? Crazy. Give her a broom and let her make herself useful by sweeping the pantry floor.”
Persimmony flung open the door to the king’s chambers and stormed into the room. “You are the rudest, meanest, shortest, and selfishest king I have ever met in my life and I wouldn’t curtsy to you if you paid me the sun and moon and every star in the sky to do it! I hope the giant wakes up and topples your precious mountain to pieces!”
Everyone in the room jumped and stared—well, everyone except for Captain Gidding, who was still snoring.
Lucas rose to his feet in fury. “This is a private meeting! How dare you enter uninvited?”
“How dare you not invite me?”
“How dare you talk back to the king?”
“How dare you talk at all?”
“I’ll send you to the dungeon!” Lucas screamed.
“Um, Your Highness,” whispered Professor Quibble. “Have you forgotten that your dungeon is an archaeological dig at present?”
“Oh, yes,” Lucas said, and he thought for a moment. “I’ll send you to the library!”
Persimmony crossed her arms. “Go ahead. I like reading.”
Lucas opened his mouth, and then shut it again and sat down with a scowl on his face. “You are an annoying girl,” he said after a pause.
“You ...” Persimmony began. She was going to say, “You are a rotten king,” but Theodore caught her eye and gave her a look of warning. “You ... are wearing your crown backward,” she said, and sat down in the middle of the floor with her chin propped in her hands.
Lucas’s hands flew to his crown and twisted it around on his head.
Professor Quibble coughed and raised his eyebrows at the king. “If I were you, Your Highness,” he said, “I would silence these rumors about the giant once and for all.”
“How?” asked Lucas grumpily.
“By sending someone to this so-called Snoring Cave—a witness to prove that there is no giant there.”
“Good idea. I’ll send Guafnoggle tomorrow.”
Professor Quibble coughed. “No offense to your, er, delightful jester, but do you remember the last time you asked him to do something for you? The blueberry pie incident? There is a permanent purple stain on the ceiling of the armory, and to this day apparently the children of Bristlebend scream every time they see a spatula.”
“Oh.” Lucas cringed. “We’ll need someone to go with him then. I don’t suppose—?”
“Don’t look at me,” said the professor. “I have far too much to think about right now. But someone who is otherwise unoccupied ...” He stared hard at the king and winked.
“You’re not suggesting that I go?”
“Of course not, Your Highness. But if some person”—he coughed again—“is in need of some form of amusement outside the castle”—he winked several more times—“to keep out of trouble ...” He leaned his head slightly in Persimmony’s direction.
“What? Aaaaaaahhh.” Lucas’s eyes lit up. “Why yes, Professor, you’re exactly right.” He turned back to Persimmony. “I hereby name you Royal Giant Hunter. Tomorrow you will go with Guafnoggle to the Western Shore, find the Snoring Cave, and look inside it. If there’s a giant there”—he snickered—“come back and tell me immediately. If not, you are free to go home to your mother. And to conclude this meeting—”
“Wait a minute!” Persimmony sputtered. She wanted to be going east with the soldiers to the Willow Woods. She wanted to face the Leafeaters and save the kingdom and find her father, who she imagined was nearly dying of boredom in some secret underground cell in Willowroot, counting tree roots and tying centipedes into necklaces. She couldn’t bear the thought that anyone else would find him but her.
“To conclude this meeting,” Lucas said more loudly, turning away from Persimmony, “I forbid any more discussion of the so-called giant. No one in the kingdom needs to hear any silly rumors about a giant under the mountain. Is that clear?”
“No, it is not clear,” cried Persimmony. She looked to the potter for help, but Theodore
was looking thoughtfully down at his cane. Why wouldn’t he stick up for her?
“What about the small fellow—the worrier?” said the professor. “You don’t want him hanging around the castle with that stupid, The-World-Is-About-to-End look on his face.”
“No,” Lucas groaned. “We could send him back to the woods, but he won’t be useful to the soldiers. He’s scared of his own shadow.”
“He is not!” Persimmony said hotly. “He’s just scared of everyone else’s shadow.”
“I suppose we’ll have to find a corner of the dungeon where no one is digging and keep him there till this is over.”
Persimmony was horrified at such cruelty. “Worvil may be little,” she cried, “but he thinks big. He’ll probably be a hero someday. So there!”
“Well then, if he’s going to be a hero, you’ll certainly need him,” Lucas said. “He can go with you to the Western Shore.”
“But—”
“It’s all settled, then,” Lucas interrupted. “Theodore the Wise will stay in the castle and make pots. Captain Gidding will lead the soldiers in battle against the Leafeaters. And Persimmony and Worvil will accompany Guafnoggle to the Snoring Cave tomorrow. Now I’m going to bed.” Putting both hands over his ears, he walked across the room through a door on the other end and closed it behind him.
Persimmony returned to her chamber furious. She washed her face with one of the lace curtains, put the silky nightgown on backward, and went to sleep with her head at the foot of the bed and her dirty feet on the fluffy white pillows.
Chapter 10
IN WHICH THE KING’S EMPTY PEPPER SHAKER RESULTS IN TYRANNY, OPPRESSION, AND A GENERAL UNSETTLING OF THE NOSE
While Persimmony, Theodore, Worvil, and Lucas had been busy arguing, planning, and worrying, Persimmony’s mother and sister had been frantically searching for her in the woods.
They did not find Persimmony, of course, but they did find someone else—or rather, he found them.
It was early afternoon on the day after the thunderstorm before Mrs. Smudge sat down to rest on a large rock, fanning herself with a leaf and bemoaning the disobedience of her lost child. Prunella lay on the ground because her feet hurt so badly.
The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic Page 6