The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic

by Jennifer Trafton

  “To the Meeting Cave! Prepare the feasts, the games, the dancing ...”

  “Oh, be careful,” said Worvil, “you might drop me on my head!” But his words were lost in the crash of the waves and the cheers of his new followers.

  Chapter 14

  IN WHICH IT PAYS TO BE POLITE, BUT GRAMMAR CAN GET STICKY

  By the time Persimmony, Jim-Jo Pumpernickel the peddler, and Toddle the donkey arrived in Candlenut, Persimmony’s stomach had forgotten it had ever had breakfast, and her bottom was so sore from the donkey’s back that she wondered if she would ever walk again. But her hunger and soreness were nothing compared to the sight that greeted them when they stopped in the main square.

  Two Leafeaters were sitting in a pile of toppled egg crates. Egg yolks dribbled down their pale faces and made yellow puddles in their laps. Egg shells covered their eyes. Their legs were stuck in fallen crates as if they were wearing big gooey shoes. Above them stood a very angry spice merchant with his hands on his hips and an even angrier dairy farmer who owned the eggs.

  “And that is what you get for insulting me!” yelled the merchant.

  “My dear sir,” said one of the Leafeaters, who was gripping a handful of paintbrushes in one hand and wiping egg yolk off his nose with the other, “no insult was intended. You said, ‘The pepper barrels are empty, I’m afraid, but once you and your friend smells oregano, you’ll never want pepper again.’ I simply corrected your mistake: It should be ‘you and your friend smell.’”

  “There you go again! I’ll have you know that I and all my friends bathe with soap and water every morning.”

  “I was merely pointing out the lack of agreement.”

  “What, you don’t agree that the pepper barrels are empty? Go and see for yourself! Any new pepper must go straight to the king.”

  “No, I meant that if you want your sentence to be grammatically correct, your verb, smell, must agree with your subject, you and your friend.”

  “My subject? Only the king has subjects. I’m a loyal citizen, do you hear me? How dare you call me a traitor?”

  By now a large crowd had gathered in the square, and though most of the people there had little love for the king, they were all ready to defend their neighbor’s loyalty when a Leafeater had questioned it.

  “This looks promising,” whispered Jim-Jo Pumpernickel in Persimmony’s ear. “Where there are broken eggs, there is a need for the very latest and best cleaning supplies. And where there is a crowd, there are many ears to hear important pieces of news. We will await our moment.”

  Persimmony stared at the Leafeaters. She knew where she had heard those voices before: in the Willow Woods at midnight.

  The older of the two (judging from the wrinkles lining his pale face) sat up and glared at the spice merchant. “Did you say the king has used up all the pepper in the kingdom? For himself? Now that is the last straw. Year after year we have endured the selfishness and rudeness of those aboveground. You cut down our trees. You eat all the pepper—”

  The younger Leafeater put a sticky hand on the other’s shoulder. “Now Uncle, let’s be fair. It’s not their fault the king took all the pepper.”

  “I’ve lost three thimbles in the last month,” said an old seamstress who owned a dress shop on the edge of town, “and I have no doubt in my mind that it was a Leafeater that hid them!”

  “And everyone knows that if a person ventures too far into the woods he’ll be kidnapped and taken underground forever to be used for your evil rituals!” said a sweet potato farmer (the farmer was not sweet, just his potatoes).

  Persimmony felt her stomach tighten. What evil rituals might her father be undergoing at this moment? Did he somehow know, even seven years ago, that the Leafeaters would someday dig too close to the giant’s feet? Did he try to warn them, and did they refuse to listen, kidnapping him instead?

  “And you also climbed through my window and stole my rooster last year!” yelled a barefoot man wearing his nightshirt.

  “I beg your pardon, we did nothing of the sort,” the older Leafeater retorted.

  “Well, one of your kind sure did. You all look alike.”

  “I am Rhedgrave Rhinkle,” the Leafeater said severely, “and this is my nephew Rheuben Rhinkle, and for your information, sir, we both possess very distinctive Rhinkle family traits, including a noble upturn of our noses, larger than normal ears, and impeccably straight teeth. The Rhinkles also, unfortunately, have a tendency toward rheumatism, which would have made it quite impossible for me to climb through your window. Nor would any other Leafeater have done so, since our Code of Courtesy absolutely forbids stealing roosters, not to mention kidnapping and hiding thimbles from elderly women.”

  No kidnapping? Was he telling the truth? The knot in Persimmony’s stomach loosened and fluttered in confusion.

  “That will be for a jury to decide,” said the Candlenut town magistrate, coming forward with a cold smile. “But there is one crime you are certainly guilty of, and that is disturbing the peace. You are under arrest.”

  “I think,” said Rheuben quickly, “that if we could all sit down together and have a nice cup of tea with maple syrup, admire the weather, and speak politely, we would find that there is really nothing to argue about.”

  “Ha!” said the magistrate. “Mount Majestic itself will fall into the sea before I sit and have a friendly drink with a Leafeater!”

  The other townspeople burst into laughter at the absurdity of both of these ideas.

  “That’s our moment,” whispered the peddler, and he moved into the center of the crowd, tugging Persimmony behind him. “You laugh, ladies and gentlemen. But what if I were to tell you that even now the very foundations of that mountain might be shaking? Tell them, Persimmony.” He shoved her forward.

  Persimmony suddenly found herself facing a hundred pairs of suspicious eyes. She had been coming to this town for her entire life, and no one had ever taken any notice of her except to ask how much a basket cost or to tell her to keep her dirty hands off their best tomatoes. She took a deep breath. “There’s a giant under Mount Majestic. I saw his head in a cave on the Western Shore with my own eyes, and we need to be prepared to—”

  “Wh-wh-what did you say?” said a flower seller, clutching a handful of daisies and trying to faint.

  “She said there’s a giant under Mount Majestic,” Jim-Jo said proudly. “Yes, folks, a giant—an enormous creature as big as the entire mountain, with teeth as big as a house and eyes like full moons and fire pouring out of its nostrils ...”

  “There wasn’t any fire—” Persimmony started to object, but Jim-Jo kept right on going.

  “But with a few of Jim-Jo Pumpernickel’s Super-Deluxe Extra-Resistant Giant-Proof Helmets, you and your family will be as safe and snug as a pearl in an oyster. Do I have any buyers?”

  People began snickering and nudging each other. Some rolled their eyes and walked off to continue their shopping. Persimmony felt her face growing hot. “Look, here’s his hair!” she said, untying the makeshift belt and holding it up above her head. “I cut it off myself in the cave. I’m telling the truth! We really are in danger, and everyone needs to find a safe place to hide until—”

  “Nonsense,” said the sweet potato farmer. “That’s like saying the sky isn’t blue and the sun doesn’t rise in the mornings. Wheat grows on cornstalks and tomatoes on apple trees. If you can’t depend on Mount Majestic, what on earth can you depend on?”

  “It isn’t nonsense!” Persimmony cried.

  “Wait a minute,” said a woman, stepping forward. “I know who she is. That’s the daughter of the old basket maker—the crazy one who lives by the woods. She bought a hat from me once. The most contrary girl I’ve ever seen. If everyone else is walking along the road normally, she’ll skip backward or stand on her head. If you try to be civil and ask her, ‘How are you today?’ she’ll tell you the entire life cycle of the earthworm.” The woman sneered, “Just ignore her lies and stories.”

&n
bsp; Persimmony was furious. What was wrong with standing on her head occasionally? It helped her see things more clearly. And if she had spent the day watching earthworms, then why shouldn’t she talk about them when someone asked? And she was not lying about the giant.

  “The crazy basket maker’s daughter?” the spice merchant cut in. “Well, that explains it. She is Simeon Smudge’s daughter.”

  Those standing nearby looked at each other and burst out laughing once again, jabbing their neighbors with their elbows.

  “Do you remember when Baldy’s old goat kicked over an applecart and charged into the middle of a group of schoolchildren? Simeon yelled, ‘Look out, look out, the goat is loose!’ and leaped right onto its back. Oh, my whiskers! I can still see that angry goat trying to shake Simeon off its horns, careening through the streets, trampling on the apples, and charging headlong into a dozen lacy bedsheets hanging up to dry!”

  “We all ate a lot of applesauce that month.”

  “Ha-ha! Or the year when he tried to convince everyone that the poison-tongued jumping tortoises and restless mangroves were going to invade Candlenut?”

  “Oh, that was nothing. Remember what happened when he thought all the stars were going to fall into the sea at once and cause a tidal wave to flood the island? Ha! It figures his daughter would be just like him. A giant under the mountain! So like a Smudge.”

  “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him for years. No wonder things have been peaceful for so long.”

  Persimmony’s cheeks blushed with shame, and her eyes burned. A hundred retorts rose in her throat and got tangled up there, so that she was left sputtering and speechless. But if there is anything worse than a wounded dignity, it is a wounded dignity sitting in a pool of egg yolk. So she left the rude townspeople, stomped over to the overturned pile of crates, and helped the Leafeaters to their feet, picking broken shells off their long green robes as she did so.

  The older one thanked her with grim politeness, as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth, but the other clasped her hand. “You lovely girl, how can we repay your kindness?”

  “Shhh!” she whispered. “I overheard the two of you talking in the woods a few nights ago. I know the Leafeaters are digging into the mountain to find gold. Wait—let me finish. It’s not gold, it’s a giant. The archaeologist discovered a belt buckle underneath the castle, and I really did see the giant’s head in a cave on the Western Shore, I promise. And now the king’s soldiers are going to the Willow Woods to make war, and you’ve got to help me stop the rest of the Leafeaters before it’s too late.”

  “Young lady, don’t you know that eavesdropping is rude?” said Rhedgrave gruffly.

  “I had no choice! I was lying inside the tree you were sitting on. It was all the tortoise’s fault.”

  “Well, you have obviously been sent by the king to trick us into calling off the digging. It won’t work.” Like all the Leafeaters she had ever seen, Rhedgrave’s face might have been carved out of the bark of a tree—in his case, a very old coconut tree, rough and scarred by time, but without any of the sweetness. He stood so straight that she thought a sudden wind would snap him in half.

  Rheuben, on the other hand, had a face like a white poplar, pale but smooth and strong and fresh. His dark green eyes shone like deep pools as they stared hard into Persimmony’s. “But Uncle, I believe she speaks the truth. It is our duty to put right what is going very, very wrong! The diggers are digging straight toward the giant’s feet and will surely wake him up!”

  Persimmony was impressed. He had figured it out without a philosopher.

  “So you see why you have to help me stop them?”

  “Of course!” cried Rheuben. “We must get to the woods immediately!”

  Relief flooded into her; she still had one question that begged to be asked, and Rheuben’s eyes were kind. “I—I have to ask you something,” she said hesitantly, almost shyly. “Did you ever kidnap a man named Simeon Smudge? He may have looked a little like me. But taller.” She thought for a moment. “And not wearing a dress.”

  Rhedgrave’s impeccably straight face twisted with anger. “You too? How many times do we have to say that Leafeaters never kidnap anyone? Why would we want any of your kind polluting our beautiful city?”

  Rheuben looked uncomfortably at his uncle and then patted Persimmony’s hand kindly. “I’m sorry, but there’s no one like you in Willowroot. No Sunspitters at all. And certainly no one named Simeon.”

  “Hey!” yelled someone in the crowd. “That girl is helping the Leafeaters!”

  “Young lady, you should be ashamed of yourself,” the magistrate scolded. “Go home immediately and ask for a good spanking. And you two,” he growled to Rheuben and Rhedgrave, “aren’t going anywhere except a jail cell.” He yelled to those standing nearby, “Tomorrow they will stand trial.”

  “Quick! How do I find the entrance to your city?” Persimmony said frantically as arms reached out to grab the two Leafeaters.

  “Rheuben,” said Rhedgrave in a warning tone, “don’t—”

  “Look for one of the very large willow trees, with a knot protruding from the side of the trunk,” Rheuben whispered. “Those are our door handles. They are scattered throughout the forest.”

  “That’s it? Is there a trick to it? A key, or a password, or—?”

  Rheuben looked back at her earnestly as the magistrate pulled him away. “Remember your manners!” he cried, and disappeared behind the crowd.

  Chapter 15

  IN WHICH IT IS BETTER TO BE A NOBLE WORM THAN A DEAD FROG (OR SOME THING LIKE THAT)

  The second day in the pepper mill was the same as the first. But at lunchtime, when the workers escaped to the fresh air for a few brief minutes, Mrs. Smudge and Prunella overheard a conversation between two men who were huddled behind them, munching their stale bread and talking in whispers.

  “Tonight will be the night when it will all become too much to bear, and I will cast myself down from the tower window onto the earth below!” The speaker broke off with a little choked sob.

  “Don’t be silly, Ned,” said his companion gruffly. “We can’t have everyone jumping out of windows. The king would just send his foreman out into the villages again and force more innocent people to work here. Oh, the injustice! Someone should rise up and rebel against this terrible tyranny once and for all.”

  “Yes,” Ned agreed. “Someone should.”

  “And there’s no better time than now. A rumor has spread around the island that there is gold buried underneath the castle and that the king has had all of his dungeons dug up in order to find it. If there are no dungeons, then no one can be thrown into prison. And now there’s another reward to be had—gold. Not that one’s motivation should be to gain riches, of course,” he added quickly, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. “It would mean taking from the king what doesn’t belong to him anyway and giving it to people who need it. Feeding starving turnip farmers is a noble cause, right? Perhaps not like saving the endangered seven-winged singing mosquito, but—”

  “I have never heard of a more noble cause in my life.”

  “Yes,” sighed Flack. “Someone should do it.”

  “Someone should, you’re right,” agreed Ned.

  Mrs. Smudge had heard enough. She threw down her bread crusts, grabbed Prunella by the wrist, and slipped back to where the men were sitting. “What are we waiting for? We’ve got to figure out a plan to rebel.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” said Flack, blinking his eyes and looking around, “but do you mean us?”

  “Of course I mean you. Both of you, and both of us, and whoever will follow after us. What’s the good of a noble cause if you don’t do anything about it?”

  Flack blinked again. “You have a point.”

  “But rebelling would be dangerous!” said Ned.

  “My dear, kind, generous, stupid young peacock,” said Mrs. Smudge, “I hate this miserable mill with a hatred so great that my fingers and toes tingle with the
desire to tear it down stone by stone and throw every pinch of pepper into the great blue ocean, and what I would like to do to that sneering Mr. Fulcrumb is far too shocking for my sweet Prunella’s delicate ears to hear. If I have to march right up to the castle and give the king himself a good spanking, well, all I can say is—you can always count on a Smudge.”

  “But your daughter,” Ned persisted. “Surely you wouldn’t send her into such danger?”

  “Oh please, Mother,” Prunella whispered, “let’s forget about this whole thing. The pepper mill isn’t so bad, really. There’s actually a lovely view from the top.”

  “Did you say Smudge?” Flack asked sharply. “You’re not related to Simeon Smudge, are you?”

  “I am his wife,” Mrs. Smudge said proudly. “And this is his daughter Miss Prunella Smudge, and her younger sister, Persimmony, has been captured, just as we were, I am sure of it, though she doesn’t seem to be in the pepper mill. But as soon as we get to that castle and I’ve finished giving the king a spanking, I’m going to make him tell me where he has put her, and if he has hurt one hair on her dirty little head, he’ll be sorry!”

  “Forget it,” said Flack. “I am not attempting any rescue with a Smudge. Impossible. No way.”

  “Why not?” asked Ned.

  “You’re too young to remember—you were still playing with toys back then, Ned. Everyone knew Simeon Smudge. He was a peppercorn picker. One day when he was dumping his bag of peppercorns into the grinder, he thought he heard the cry of a child deep down below. And so he made everyone stop turning the wheel until someone could lower him into the grinder to find the child. But the rope broke and he fell in. So another worker was lowered down on a rope, but he fell in. And by the time old Fulcrumb found us, half a dozen workers were swimming in pepper, and the rest of us were standing there with broken ropes getting no work done. Turns out all the fuss was over a little bird that had flown into the works, and our lunches were cut in half for a month as punishment!”