The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic

by Jennifer Trafton

  I climbed a hill as high as hope;

  I swam a sea as deep as dread . . .”

  The next door led into another long corridor, and Persimmony walked more quickly. “I stole three pounds of cantaloupe and hid them all under my bed!” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Captain Gidding rushed to keep up. “Creative, but not quite the right moral message, you know. Perhaps—”

  “Shh!” Persimmony whispered suddenly. There was a rumbling of footsteps behind them. She beckoned to the captain. “Crouch down against the wall and pretend you’re a pile of leaves.” They did so, and a few seconds later two Leafeaters walked down the corridor. The man carried a shovel over his shoulder and wore a hat made entirely of dandelions tied together in knots. The woman had a thick grass skirt that fanned out as wide as she was tall. On her head was an impossibly high mound of braided, root-like hair. Behind them, marching solemnly two by two, was a group of about twenty more Leafeater men carrying their own shovels.

  And then, just as they passed by Persimmony and Captain Gidding, the man in the dandelion hat accidentally stepped on the edge of the woman’s skirt. It ripped right off, revealing a pair of long, brightly colored underwear.

  Tossing his shovel away, the Leafeater man lunged to save the skirt and grabbed the woman instead, landing on top of her on the ground. The tower of hair fell off her head and rolled away.

  Persimmony had to press both hands over her mouth to hold in the laughter. But to her amazement, she was apparently the only person to have found the event funny. Two Leafeaters quickly stepped up behind the unlucky couple and helped them to their feet, handing the shovel back to the man and returning the woman’s skirt and wig to their proper places. All stood in respectful silence until their ruffled leader composed himself and said in a loud, deep voice: “My fellows, just now I was guilty of breaking the First Rule of the Code of Courtesy: ‘In all things be dignified.’ And for this I am most truly and humbly sorry.”

  “We forgive you,” replied the others solemnly. And without further ado, the group turned and proceeded through a doorway in the corridor as if nothing had happened.

  The last four Leafeaters were just about to pass through the door when Persimmony heard a rustling beside her, and Captain Gidding’s voice cried out, “I’ve got it! . . .I climbed a hill as high as hope;

  I swam a sea as deep as dread;

  I bound my fear up with a rope

  To hear what Weeping Willow said.”

  Persimmony cringed and held her breath. The last Leafeaters stopped, turned, and looked in their direction.

  “That pile of pine needles is producing very bad poetry,” said one.

  “The more upsetting thing, my friend,” said another, “is that a pile of pine needles is producing poetry at all. It’s ruining my appetite.” He pulled the pine needles out of Captain Gidding’s beard and gasped. “A Sunspitter!”

  “Two Sunspitters!” said a third Leafeater, yanking Persimmony to her feet.

  “But how did they find their way down into the city? It is a thing unheard of since the secret entrances were devised three hundred years ago. A Sunspitter underground? Why, it’s preposterous—revolting! You know what the great poet Rhufus Rhododendron once wrote:And lo! when I go among such ill-mannered creatures I feel like I am swimming in cold, slimy, slippery goo up to my neck,

  And all that I can say is BLECK.”

  Captain Gidding stood up straight and drew his sword out of its sheath with an impressive flourish. “We are here on an urgent mission from King Lucas the Loftier.”

  Immediately three shovels were pointed straight at him, and Persimmony felt something sharp pressing against her shoulder blades. “Please believe that under normal circumstances I would never harm a girl,” said the Leafeater standing behind her, “but if you don’t put away your sword I shall be forced to run my pickax through her insides.”

  Captain Gidding put away his sword.

  “Quick, you must help us,” Persimmony said in a rush. “We’ve got to find the rest of the shovels, I mean the diggers, and make them stop tickling the giant—I mean, digging into the mountain, because you see, you only think it’s a mountain, but it’s really a giant that looks like a mountain—because it’s covered up with dirt, of course—and so there really is no gold for you to find. Well, there is gold, but the gold is really a belt buckle, and if you tried to dig all the way to the belt buckle you’d hit his feet first—at the edge of the mountain, which is where you are at the moment. Or at least, the other Leafeaters who are digging are there, because of course you are here, and so you absolutely must help us find them as quickly as possible so we can save the kingdom from getting squashed. Do you understand?” That had not quite come out the way she intended.

  The Leafeaters stared at her and then at one another.

  “Tragic,” said one, “to see the complete breakdown of sanity in such a young girl. But no more than one would expect from a Sunspitter. Who wouldn’t go mad living among such people?”

  “I can assure you,” cried Captain Gidding, “my noble companion is not mad. She is brave and honest, and has the hair to prove it!”

  “She has very dishonest-looking hair, if you ask me,” said the Leafeater with the pickax, gazing at her head critically and ignoring the belt she held out for inspection.

  “But one of your own people, Rheuben Rhinkle, believed me,” Persimmony insisted, “when I saw him in Candlenut yesterday. He is the one who told me how to find the entrance to Willowroot.”

  “Aha, Rheuben Rhinkle! He’s a very good artist, you know, but not quite right in the mind.”

  “The question is, what to do with these two?”

  “Let’s tie them up and take them to one of the storerooms until Chief Rhule decides what to do with them.”

  “But we only have one rope.”

  The first speaker looked back at Persimmony and the captain. “Which one of you is more important?”

  “I am,” said Captain Gidding immediately. “She’s not important at all.”

  Persimmony looked at him in surprise, for it was so unlike him to say such a thing. Then she saw him wink at her. “That’s right,” she said slowly. “I’m not important. I just came along to—to carry the provisions.” She held up her basket to show them.

  “I never can tell these Sunspitters apart,” the Leafeater sighed. “They all look the same to me. But since that one has a sword, he’s obviously more dangerous. This little one surely can’t do much harm. She is only a child, after all. Perhaps she could be healed of her Sunspitterness. We could give her a drink of our—”

  “No, no!” said another. “At least not yet. You know what the taste of that will do to one of them. And Chief Rhule will surely want them to be able to talk and answer questions.”

  As the Leafeaters said these things, one of them unwound a rope from around his waist and approached Captain Gidding. The captain jumped and wiggled and thrashed about (all the while winking frantically at Persimmony), so that it took all four of the Leafeaters to hold him down and bind him up. Persimmony didn’t waste a moment. But instead of going back the way she and the captain had come, she dashed through the doorway where the dandelion man and the wigged woman had gone. Without daring to look behind her or slow down, she ran through another door, and then another.

  Can’t do much harm! Only a child! She could be dangerous if she wanted to be.

  She would do this alone. There would be only her, and the giant’s hair, and that would have to be enough. I’ve got to practice what I’m going to say this time, she thought as she ran down another corridor. And so she yelled, “STOP, IN THE NAME OF THE KING!” as severely as she could.

  Perhaps that was too strong. They might not respond well to a direct order from a strange young girl. She tried again in a more persuasive tone of voice, “Stop, if you please, in the name of the king.”

  And then with more emphasis—“Stop, in the name of the king.”

  And then in a p
leading manner—“Will you be so kind as to stop in the name of the king?”

  How silly of me, she thought. Why would they stop in the name of the king anyway? They’re angry at the king. She said softly, “Stop!” and then loudly, “Stop!” and then sobbingly, “Sto-ho-ho-hop!”

  And then, as she opened the door at the end of the corridor and rushed into the room beyond, Persimmony tripped over a shovel and stopped.

  Chapter 21

  IN WHICH KING LUCAS AND WORVIL HAVE TOO LITTLE LUNCH, AND PERSIMMONY HAS TOO MUCH

  King Lucas was having trouble finishing his bowl of sweet potato soup. It just wasn’t the same without pepper, but he didn’t think he could stomach the slightest pinch of pepper that day, or any day for a very long time.

  This was worse than discumbersomebubblating. This was worse than the worst word he could think of. This was distressinglydis mally dolorously disastrously calamitously agonizingly lamen tably irredeemably in sup portably night marishly bad.

  Half a dozen clay pots sat before him on the table. He had forced the potter to give him every pot that the soldiers had brought up, in the hope that something better than milk might come out. Maybe not pepper, not right now, but something more worthy of a king. Theodore had shaken his head sadly and warned the king that he would probably not like the contents.

  The potter was right. Out of these pots had come a toothbrush, a pair of brown stockings, a fishing rod, an invitation to the annual Candlenut autumn festival, a dozen turnips, and a book that reeked of dust.

  Not only that, but all of his servants kept disappearing from the castle, and Lucas knew it was the potter’s fault. Everywhere he looked, it seemed, he spotted Theodore’s wretched cane tapping and his wrinkled face bent over in whispered conversation with someone. He thought he heard words like “dangerous” and “leave immediately.” And the next thing he knew, his favorite back-scratcher had gone to visit a sister on the Northern Shore, and his pastry chef had vanished in the middle of the night, called away (supposedly) by some emergency in Bristlebend involving a cream puff. And even those who were still there kept jumping at the slightest noise and peering around corners fearfully, as if they expected something or someone to burst through a tapestry and eat them.

  “They are all against me, every one of them,” he said. “I’m surrounded by traitors.”

  And then, with sorrow tickling his throat as he remembered the pepper—“Do they hate me that much?”

  He laid his head in his arms. The tough outer rind had begun to peel away from his soul, and the sight underneath was not a pleasant one.

  Something soft brushed against the side of his leg. He lifted his head. It was the cat from the tower—the barely-skin-and-bones stray creature to whom he had defiantly given the milk from Theodore’s pot. It was a little less skin-and-bones now, and it rubbed against Lucas’s foot and purred. The cat was gazing up at him with an expression on its face he could not quite make out, and there was a good reason for this: The king had never in his life seen such an expression, or worn one either. It was the look of gratitude. But though he had no name for it, he liked it.

  “I don’t suppose you like sweet potato soup?” he asked. “It’s a little cold ...” In answer, the cat leaped gracefully onto his lap. Lucas pulled the bowl of soup closer to the edge of the table and let the cat drink it right down to the last drop.

  The little body was warm and trusting, and now that Lucas looked closely he could see that the gray hair was spotted with black specks. “Like pepper,” he said aloud. “At first all I wanted was pepper, and now I can’t seem to get away from it. That’s what I shall call you: Pepper.” He sighed a deep, grand, lofty, slightly quivering sigh and stroked the cat’s head gently. “It’s you and me against them all, Pepper. There’s nobody in the world more miserable than we are.”

  Lucas was not quite correct.

  No one came to rescue Worvil. The hours leaked by, but he was too frightened to move. Had the Rumblebumps abandoned their Grand Stomper so soon? He might have expected it. They were silly, unfaithful, and, most infuriating of all, utterly incapable of seeing the negative side of any situation.

  Then something happened. It happened so quietly and unexpectedly that Worvil hardly even knew it had happened until, in the middle of a particularly long day-dream about lying in his own bed in his house atop the mangrove tree, he realized that the Snore had stopped.

  For a few moments there was absolute silence, and it gave Worvil the feeling that the whole world had disappeared. In fact, he wished very much that it had disappeared, because the only other possibility he could think of was that the giant had awakened and this was the calm before the storm that would be the destruction of everything.

  But then, just as quietly as the Ceasing of the Snore, a new thing happened. The giant started to exhale. A tremendous rush of air surged through the cavern, lifted Worvil right off his feet, and tossed him like a leaf caught in a strong wind. He twisted and tumbled in the net of the giant’s hair, getting more tangled than ever, until the giant’s breath finally settled into a steady river of warmth.

  It was noon. Mount Majestic stopped rising and began to fall.

  After tripping over the shovel, Persimmony had rolled to a stop in a large room full of the biggest kettles she had ever seen in her life. A Leafeater stood at each one stirring the contents with a long wooden spoon, and others were shaking little jars of spices and throwing in acorns and seeds. The air was filled with the overpowering smell of wet leaves and paprika. Towers of leaves hid the walls around the edges of the room. Another Leafeater with a huge, wide shovel was scooping them up and dropping them into various kettles.

  Persimmony crouched among the leaves, hoping her own disguise was still intact and that no one would notice her until she could sneak out of the room. Apparently she blended in perfectly, for the Leafeater with the shovel came to her side of the room next, and before she could wriggle away she was being shoveled up, swung through the air, and dropped into a kettle of stew.

  Luckily, the stew was cold.

  Unluckily, Persimmony’s mouth was open in surprise as she fell, and she took a big gulp of the salty, earth-tasting liquid before she could turn herself right side up again and come to the surface, choking and gasping for air.

  The Leafeater woman standing over her screamed and whacked her on the side of the head with the wooden spoon. Persimmony scrambled out of the kettle onto the floor, clasping her drowning hat onto her dripping hair and trying to spit the bitter taste out of her mouth. A dozen pairs of bony feet stomped on her as if she were a cockroach scuttling across the kitchen.

  “A Sunspitter!”

  “How unsanitary!”

  “In our stew! How rude!”

  The Leafeaters furiously salted and spiced her as she held up her soggy, leafy skirt and ran out the door—and through another door, and through another (how many doors could one city have?) until she spotted a wooden cupboard in a corner, climbed inside, and caught her breath. Only then did she realize that she had left her father’s basket floating in the kettle, and that a little pine-needle grasshopper and turtle would soon become someone’s lunch.

  She was too tired to cry. She felt the sorrow bubbling up like a boiling pot of soup, but it stayed inside of her and burned her heart.

  Chapter 22

  IN WHICH THE KING IS LEFT ALONE, AND EVERYTHING IS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN

  King Lucas was sitting sideways on the throne, his legs thrown over the armrest, his crown hanging over one eye, and a gray cat sleeping on his lap.

  The old steward approached nervously. “Your Highness, everyone is leaving the castle. Your Highness?” Behind him were the professor, the archaeologist, the potter, and the royal musician holding the Lyre.

  “Yes, I heard you,” said Lucas curtly.

  The steward shifted from one foot to the other. “That is, if it is okay with you.”

  Lucas carefully put Pepper on the floor, then bounded from his throne in a tantrum and ap
proached the trembling steward. “Of course it isn’t okay with me! Who will cook my meals? Who will bring me my slippers and dust my crown and scratch my back and announce my visitors? No one! Why? Because of a lot of silly rumors that no one should have heard in the first place. Nothing is going to happen . . . and even if something were to happen, which it won’t, I can’t see how leaving me alone here will do you any good. The Future will come whether you like it or not.”

  “Yes, that is true, that is true. But you see, if the giant wakes up while we’re down in the villages, we might be killed. But if the giant wakes up while we’re on top of the mountain, we will definitely be killed. And we much prefer might over definitely. So we’re leaving . . . um, with Your Highness’ permission, of course.”

  “Why do you need my permission? No one needed my permission to barge into my bathroom and pour pepper into my tub. No one needed my permission to dig a tunnel through the middle of my mountain to find my gold. Go! Go, hide your head under a bucket somewhere. Don’t worry about me!”

  The archeologist bowed low to the ground. “Nothing is further from our purpose than to appear disloyal or to go against Your Highness’ personal wishes, but under the circumstances it seems most safe, sensible, and expedient—that is, it would most behoove all concerned—to come to the point—”

  “Why start now?” Lucas muttered.

  “—for us to get to lower ground immediately.”

  “Your Highness,” Professor Quibble cut in.

  “Don’t tell me,” interrupted Lucas. “You’re leaving too.”

  The professor bent his leg upward, placed his fingers on the bridge of his nose, raised his arm gracefully, and screwed his face into an especially wise expression—then he let his arm and leg fall again and shrugged his shoulders. “Yes,” he said. “Do you think, with all the servants leaving and the castle nearly empty, the peasants will not seize upon this opportunity to storm the place and take it for themselves? The castle guard has not returned—except for a few soldiers too wounded to be of any help. I am certainly not foolish enough to stay here unprotected.”