The bearded face of the old wizard was peering down at him.
‘Have you come to rescue me?’ asked Blart.
‘Not exactly,’ answered the wizard.
‘What are you here for, then?’
‘I’ve brought some bad news,’ said Capablanca awkwardly. ‘We are wanted men.’
Blart was not used to being wanted, and in his present muddy state he was touched.
‘Who wants me?’ he asked.
‘Us,’ corrected Capablanca. ‘The Duke wants us, and all his knights and soldiers too. But not in a good way. They want us dead or alive. Or both.’
Chapter 5
‘Both?’ said Blart, missing the greater significance of Capablanca’s news once more. ‘You can’t be dead and alive.’
‘No,’ hissed Capablanca with exasperation. ‘But you could be dead and I could be alive. Or the other way round.’
Capablanca had not seen Blart for a whole year and was already beginning to feel that it was nowhere near long enough.
‘Blart!’ Capablanca spoke firmly. ‘Even now the Duke’s soldiers are heading towards Milkdale. We must flee at once.’
The farmhouse door opened and Uther Slywort appeared in the doorway.
‘What’s all that noise?’
‘Who’s that?’ Capablanca asked Blart.
‘He’s my owner.’
‘Your owner?’ echoed Capablanca.
‘I lost myself at cards,’ explained Blart.
‘Who’s that on my property?’
‘I am Capablanca,’ answered Capablanca. ‘The second greatest sorcerer alive today.’
‘Second greatest?’ said Blart. ‘Last time I saw you, you were the greatest.’
‘It’s only a temporary blip,’ said Capablanca testily, ‘and there’s no time to discuss it now. We must leave immediately.’
‘He’s going nowhere,’ interjected Uther. ‘Who else is going to dig this mud?’
‘That is not my concern,’ answered Capablanca. ‘I am here to take Blart with me to save the world.’
‘Again?!’ said Blart. One could empathise with his surprise.
‘There’s no time to explain now,’ said Capablanca. ‘The Duke’s soldiers are on their way with orders to capture us dead or alive.’
‘The Duke?’ queried Uther. ‘No doubt he has offered some reward for information leading to your capture.’
‘He has,’ confirmed Capablanca.
‘Is it a large reward?’ inquired Uther casually.
‘I have little interest in money,’ replied Capablanca. ‘Would a thousand gold pieces be considered substantial?’
Uther’s sly smile suggested that it might.
‘And where are the Duke’s soldiers now?’
‘They will probably already have reached Milkdale village,’ answered Capablanca, ‘which is why Blart and I must flee immediately.’
‘What a coincidence,’ remarked Uther. ‘I was just about to go into Milkdale to buy some, er … milk.’
And Uther made to pass. Capablanca blocked his way.
‘Perhaps you should read this proclamation first,’ the wizard suggested and he pulled a slightly soggy parchment from his cowl, which he proceeded to unroll.
‘Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye,’ began Capablanca. ‘I, the Duke of Northwestmoreland, do offer a reward of one thousand gold pieces for the capture of Blart and Capablanca, dead or alive.’
‘I know all that,’ said Uther, trying to pass.
‘Or any of their associates,’ read Capablanca. And then he paused significantly.
‘You appear to have paused significantly?’ said Uther.
‘Because you are Blart’s owner,’ answered Capablanca. ‘Which makes you his associate. If you go to Milkdale the Duke’s men will capture you dead or alive.’
‘Let me see that!’ Uther snatched the proclamation from Capablanca’s hand and read it for himself.
The rain continued to pour down on the three figures in the farmyard and the dusk of Capablanca’s arrival had now thickened into night.
‘But this is terrible,’ Uther said after reading the proclamation twice more. ‘This means that I’m wanted dead or alive too.’
‘Exactly,’ said Capablanca. ‘Your only hope is to throw in your lot with us and flee immediately.’
But even as he spoke the sound of hooves pounding in the distance told him that they had waited too long already. The Duke’s soldiers had reached Milkdale, interrogated Martin at The Happy Hangman, found out Blart’s whereabouts and were now only minutes away from arriving at the farm and capturing them all, dead or alive.
Or both.
Chapter 6
‘Run!’ shouted Blart.
The sound of galloping hooves grew louder.
‘If we run we will be hunted down and caught,’ snapped Capablanca. ‘They have horses, we do not. Our only hope is to hide.’
The cries of the Duke’s men urging their mounts on reached the farmyard.
‘Where can we hide?’ he demanded of Uther.
Uther had only recently won the farm from Blart and had not explored its nooks and crannies. He looked blank. In desperation, Capablanca turned to Blart. Blart realised that they were both depending on him.
‘Pigs!’ he announced defiantly.
‘Pigs?’ queried Capablanca and Uther in unison.
‘Hide among the pigs,’ said Blart.
It might work. The Duke’s men were at the gate. There was no time to do anything else. Blart and Uther hurried off towards the pig shed, with Capablanca hobbling behind on his aged legs.
And not a moment too soon. For only seconds after they disappeared from the farmyard, a cohort of the Duke’s men galloped in, dismounted and pulled out their swords. They had the options of dead or alive, but from their grim demeanours and the cold steel in their hands it was obvious that they were leaning heavily towards the former.
The three fugitives’ sudden appearance in the pig shed had startled the unfortunate creatures, who proceeded to run around and bump into each other.
‘They’re all moving around,’ protested Uther. ‘If we hide behind them and the Duke’s men come in to search for us, the pigs will move out of the way and we’ll be caught.’
Blart realised that there might be a flaw in his plan. But he was not going to admit it.
‘Maybe the Duke’s men will think we’re pigs too.’
‘What?’ Uther shook his head. ‘We’re all humans. They’re all pigs. Why wouldn’t they notice that?’
‘We could oink,’ Blart said.
Uther stared at him in disbelief.
Blart was about to stare back but he was distracted by a better idea.
‘When Capablanca first came to see me last year he turned the kitchen table into a pig. He can turn us all into pigs too and then the Duke’s men wouldn’t be able to find us. Can you turn us into pigs?’
Still panting after attempting to run, Capablanca struggled to get his breath before answering.
‘Only for a short time,’ he answered finally. ‘And I can only turn you two into pigs. I must remain a wizard in order to keep the spell working.’
‘So Blart’s plan won’t work,’ observed Uther. ‘They’ll capture you and then you won’t be able to keep the spell working and we’ll turn back to humans and be captured ourselves.’
Blart was not known for coming up with good ideas. But having got so close he was unwilling to give up on this one so easily.
‘We could sit on him.’
‘What?’ Now it was Capablanca’s turn to sound unsure.
‘We could sit on you,’ repeated Blart. ‘Two pigs can easily sit on a person and cover him up.’
There were voices outside the barn.
‘We’ve got to try it,’ whispered Capablanca. ‘Just try not to squash me.’
Suddenly the wizard was very still and moments later piercing blue light flashed from his eyes towards Blart and Uther.
There were two more pigs in the shed
.
The door squeaked as it opened. Two of the Duke’s men poked their heads round the door.
‘I definitely thought I heard voices, Bob,’ said one.
‘I thought I heard them too, Much,’ said another.
They opened the shed door wider and entered warily. Each held a lantern in one hand and a sword in the other.
‘It’s only pigs in here, Bob,’ observed Much.
‘But I’m sure I heard voices,’ persisted Bob.
‘Pigs can’t talk, Bob,’ asserted Much confidently.
‘Not normally,’ agreed Bob. ‘But these might be strange pigs.’
Much took two bold strides further into the shed and held his lantern high. The pigs moved away from him.
‘They look like normal pigs to me, Bob,’ said Much. ‘Come and look at them for yourself.’
Reluctantly, Bob followed Much into the shed.
‘See?’ said Much, whose life philosophy embraced the traditional virtue of believing what he could see with his own eyes.
‘All right, they look normal,’ conceded Bob, ‘but that doesn’t mean they are normal.’
Unlike Much’s philosophy, Bob’s was built on the assumption that things were almost certainly worse than they looked.
‘Why not?’ persisted Much
‘I’ve heard what the captain says,’ answered Bob. ‘He says that this lad Blart and this evil sorcerer Capablanca are in league with the Dark Lord Zoltab. They couldn’t put it on the proclamation because it would scare the common people too much. But let me tell you, if Zoltab’s involved then talking pigs could be the least of our problems. He’s the most evil thing there’s ever been.’
‘Oh,’ said Much, taking a step back. The mention of Zoltab’s name had a sobering effect on all who heard it.
‘So,’ said Bob, ‘let’s get this search done as fast as we can and get back to the others.’
The soldiers, holding their lanterns high and keeping close together, stepped into the middle of the shed. The pigs shuffled away. Somehow the pigs seemed to know that sharpened steel, be it swords or carving knives, was best avoided.
Except for two.
‘This is strange,’ said Bob. ‘These pigs aren’t moving.’
‘Perhaps they’re sitting on their eggs,’ suggested Much.
The observant reader will notice that Much was not a country boy.
‘Eggs!’ repeated Bob derisively. ‘Pigs don’t have eggs. They have piglets. Hens have eggs. Now let’s get these pigs moved and get the shed searched. Hie. Move, pigs. Move!’
The two pigs remained exactly where they were.
‘I’ve never known such stubborn pigs,’ commented Bob.
‘I’m going to shift these pigs if it’s the last thing I do. I am not going to be defied by creatures that spend their lives covered in mud.’
‘Actually, they don’t appear to have much mud on them,’ observed Much.
They both looked closer. Compared to the other pigs in the barn, indeed compared to any other pigs anywhere, these pigs were suspiciously clean.
‘What are you two idle layabouts doing?’
Much and Bob jumped to attention. Behind them stood the captain of their cohort, a small man with a big voice.
‘We were searching the shed, sir,’ said Much.
‘But some of the pigs are being uncooperative,’ explained Bob.
‘Uncooperative pigs?’ fulminated the officer. ‘I’ll give you uncooperative pigs.’
He pulled out his sword, strode straight across the shed and jabbed it into the leg of the first pig he encountered. The pig oinked in pain and stood up to reveal a slightly squashed wizard.
‘Aha!’ said the captain.
‘Aha!’ said Capablanca. In his surprise he lost his concentration and the spell was broken. To the amazement of the soldiers, the two clean pigs who had been sitting on him were suddenly Blart and Uther.
‘You stabbed me for nothing!’ said Blart ruefully, indicating a flesh wound on his arm.
The captain fixed Blart with a steely glare.
‘I am searching for an ugly stupid boy and you fit the description exactly,’ he said. ‘I charge you with being a foul cur and an enemy of the state.’
‘A what?’ asked Blart.
‘And I charge you,’ the captain continued, pointing his sword at Capablanca and Uther, ‘with being associates of a foul cur and an enemy of the state.’
‘I was just passing,’ protested Uther desperately.
‘I am ordered to take you dead or alive. Do you surrender?’
‘No,’ said Capablanca defiantly.
‘Don’t we?’ asked Blart.
‘I might,’ considered Uther.
The captain looked a little frustrated. ‘If one of you refuses, then all of you refuse.’
‘I refuse,’ said Capablanca.
‘Then dead it is,’ said the captain. ‘Which is always my preferred method. Men! Charge!’
Swords at the ready, the three Duke’s men lunged forward. Before them stood one old man and two former pigs. They were doomed.
Chapter 7
When I say they were doomed, I refer not to Capablanca, Uther and Blart but to the three Duke’s men. For though they were strong and well-armed and trained to act as a team in combat, they were still doomed to defeat. For their opponents had one thing in their armoury that the Duke’s men could not compete with.
Magic.
Actually two things.
Magic and pigs.
A brief beam of blue light flashed from Capablanca’s eyes and suddenly the pigs began to advance. Little did the soldiers realise that Capablanca had cast a spell on the pigs (animals being much more susceptible to magic than humans) that ensured they were not seeing Duke’s men at all. They were seeing the tastiest swill they had ever set their eyes upon and were intent on eating it.
‘Oi,’ said Much. ‘What are those pigs doing?’
‘Ignore the pigs,’ said the captain. ‘Keep your mind on the criminals.’
‘They’re still coming,’ said Bob.
‘You are soldiers,’ the captain reminded them sternly. ‘Your job is to do the Duke’s bidding and capture his enemies.’
The pigs began to run towards the soldiers. The soldiers charged towards the Duke’s enemies. The pigs had never seen moving swill before but they were prepared to chase anything that looked so tasty. Just before the three soldiers could get near enough to thrust their rapiers deep into the hearts of Blart, Capablanca and Uther, they were overrun by a slavering pack of pigs, who weren’t going to let their supper escape that easily.
‘Aaargh,’ the Duke’s men cried as their weapons fell from their hands and they were trampled to the floor.
‘Grab their swords,’ instructed Capablanca. The blue light flashed from his eyes again and the pigs, who had been about to tuck into three hearty portions of swill, stopped. Their swill had suddenly become three soldiers. The pigs looked at their ex-swill for a while in disappointment and then wandered off.
Blart, Capablanca and Uther stood over the soldiers with their swords pointed menacingly at the soldiers’ chests.
‘You would kill us,’ said Uther, holding his sword to the captain’s neck.
‘No,’ said Capablanca, placing a hand on Uther’s arm. ‘The Duke’s men were acting in good faith. They believed that we were in league with Zoltab.’
The wizard’s words reminded Blart of something he had wondered about earlier.
‘Why do they think we are in league with Zoltab? We were the people who defeated him.’
Capablanca was silent.
‘Yes,’ added Uther. ‘Blart used to bore the whole of Milkdale telling them how he defeated Zoltab. Why do they think we’re on his side?’
‘We have no time for these discussions,’ snapped Capablanca, looking unusually sheepish. ‘Soon the other soldiers will notice these three have vanished and come looking for us.’
‘What should we do?’ asked Blart.
&n
bsp; ‘There are three of us and three of them,’ answered Capablanca. ‘We will put on their uniforms and ride off with the troop. They will never know that anything is wrong. Then we will slip away during the night.’
‘You won’t get away with it,’ interjected the captain.
‘Silence!’ ordered Uther.
‘Take off their clothes then tie them up and gag them,’ said Capablanca.
‘I warn you,’ said the captain, ‘that stealing the clothes of a Duke’s soldier is a very serious offence. You will be punished.’
‘We’re already wanted dead or alive,’ Uther pointed out, then, turning to the wizard, he added, ‘and perhaps while we’re tying and gagging these men and then changing into their uniforms you could tell us why.’
‘You make it sound like it’s my fault,’ said Capablanca testily. ‘You shouldn’t leap to conclusions.’
‘Even if they’re right?’ asked Blart.
Capablanca pretended not to hear.
‘Anyway, wizard,’ said Uther. ‘I want to know why I’m wanted dead or alive and I want to know now.’
‘I suppose you were going to find out sooner or later,’ Capablanca grumbled. After a long, dramatic pause, he began. ‘Following ten arduous years of research in the great and ancient Cavernous Library of Ping, I discovered a prophecy …’
‘I’ve heard this before,’ said Blart, yawning. ‘And it wasn’t very interesting then.’
Capablanca ignored Blart. Experience had taught him that it was the best thing to do.
‘The prophecy,’ the wizard continued, ‘stated that Zoltab would escape from the Great Tunnel of Despair and take possession of his vast black palace called the Terrorsium, from which he would then conquer the world. The only person who could prevent him was a hero who would be the first-born son of the first-born son of the first-born son, going back through eternal generations to the beginning of time. I realised that there was little time to save the world, so I immediately left my books and rushed off in search of the hero, and after much research I found Blart.’
‘Blart!’ interjected Uther.
‘He got it wrong,’ explained Blart.
‘It was more a case of not being perfectly correct,’ snapped Capablanca. ‘I was meant to find Blart’s elder brother, but Zoltab’s Ministers had spirited him away. And so it came to pass that Zoltab escaped and took possession of the Terrorsium and was only a day away from beginning his conquest of the world. But a small band of questors, led by myself, took Zoltab’s power away, captured him and took him from his palace.’
The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both Page 2