The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both

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The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both Page 3

by Dominic Barker


  ‘I was the biggest hero,’ pointed out Blart. ‘Without me Zoltab would have triumphed.’

  Capablanca looked irked at this further interruption to his narrative.

  ‘That may be technically true,’ he conceded. ‘But it was largely accidental heroics.’

  ‘It was still heroics,’ said Blart. ‘And you said if I was a hero people would sing ballads about me and I’ve never heard anybody sing a ballad about me, so I think you’ve got me to be a hero under false pretences.’

  A cunning look came into Capablanca’s eyes.

  ‘Blart is right,’ he admitted. ‘He was the hero who was responsible for getting Zoltab out of the Terrorsium.’

  ‘See,’ said Blart to Uther.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ continued Capablanca, ‘this action is why we are all wanted dead or alive.’

  ‘What?’ protested Blart. ‘You just said I was a hero. People can’t want heroes dead or alive.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ said Capablanca. ‘That I must formally withdraw your heroic status as you are responsible for saving Zoltab.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘Saving him!’ parroted Blart in shock.

  ‘Saving him,’ confirmed Capablanca. ‘It turns out that the Terrorsium was built in a rush on very shaky foundations and that only a few minutes after we saved him it was going to collapse, killing all Zoltab’s Ministers and minions and entombing the immortal Zoltab for eternity.’

  ‘I only did what you told me,’ said Blart. His proud boasts of a few moments ago were swiftly forgotten.

  Capablanca gave Blart a contemptuous look.

  ‘Unfortunately this was also foretold,’ he continued. ‘Zoltab’s return was doomed before it had even occurred.’

  ‘But our quest?’ said Blart.

  ‘Sadly our quest was a waste of time,’ confirmed Capablanca.

  Blart was shocked into silence. Not because he wasn’t used to wasting his time but because he wasn’t used to wasting his time that energetically.

  ‘When was it discovered that Zoltab’s return was doomed?’ asked Uther.

  Capablanca looked annoyed.

  ‘It was discovered only recently by a young upstart wizard called Teichmann in his researches in the Cavernous Library of Ping,’ Capablanca answered bitterly. ‘For this discovery he has been credited with the title of Greatest Sorcerer in the World. A title that is rightfully mine.’

  Capablanca had gone very red in the face during this last speech.

  ‘Does it bother you?’ asked Blart, who was never that quick on the uptake.

  ‘Bother me?!’ shouted Capablanca. ‘Of course it bothers me. A young whippersnapper takes my title – a mere lad of ninety, who doesn’t know a spell from an incantation. And what is worse he was not even a wizard from birth but was a late starter after being a friar for a number of years. But that title will be mine again. Mark my words.’

  ‘How did he discover that Zoltab’s return was already doomed,’ asked Uther, ‘when you, the Greatest Sorcerer in the World, could not find out during ten years’ research?’

  ‘That’s what really annoys me,’ said Capablanca, who was now entirely caught up in his own indignation. ‘There was another book in the library which was on loan while I was doing my research and which I knew nothing about. It was returned the day after I set out to search for Blart. It makes reference to a later prophecy about Zoltab’s return, which states nobody should worry about it because the Terrorsium will collapse on him and entomb him for eternity.’

  ‘Why does that annoy you?’ asked Uther.

  ‘The book was overdue,’ answered Capablanca. ‘This whole misunderstanding is the fault of the librarian.’

  Blart grasped the significance of what the wizard had just said.

  ‘You mean that if you’d just waited one more day then you would have discovered that I didn’t have to go on the quest.’

  Capablanca looked uncomfortable.

  ‘You have to understand that as soon as I read the prophecy I realised that there was very little time. I had to act. I had to try and find you straight away and save the world.’

  ‘Not even one more day?’ said Uther incredulously.

  ‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ snapped Capablanca. ‘Anyway, what is important is that Teichmann, in his desire for glory, revealed what he had discovered, and in some quarters what he has revealed has been misinterpreted.’

  ‘How?’ asked Blart.

  ‘The fact that we plucked Zoltab from the Terrorsium moments before it collapsed and took him away has been seen by some people as evidence that we rescued him.’

  ‘How many people think that?’

  ‘Everybody who’s heard the story.’

  ‘But,’ said Blart, ‘you took Zoltab away and put him in a dungeon. All you need to do is to tell the Duke or whoever where Zoltab is and they go and see for themselves that we’re not on his side.’

  ‘If only it were that simple,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘It sounds simple to me,’ said Uther. ‘And if Blart can work it out then it must be simple.’

  ‘It would be if I knew where Zoltab was,’ explained Capablanca exasperatedly.

  ‘You mean you lost him?’ said Blart. ‘How could you lose him after all that time we spent finding him?’

  ‘I didn’t lose him.’

  ‘Then why don’t you know where he is?’

  ‘Because I forgot.’

  ‘You forgot?’ shrieked Blart. ‘After you went on and on about how important it was to catch Zoltab, then you forgot about him?’

  ‘I forgot deliberately,’ explained Capablanca.

  ‘That makes it much better,’ said Uther sarcastically.

  ‘All I know,’ continued Capablanca, ‘is that I put Zoltab somewhere incredibly safe. But I feared that Zoltab’s Ministers and minions would come searching for him, and that one day they might capture me and torture me. I feared that if their tortures grew too foul and painful I might reveal Zoltab’s whereabouts, so I cast the Great Spell of Fog on the part of my brain that knew of Zoltab’s location, which means I no longer know where he is. It was a very brave thing to do.’

  ‘Sounds a very stupid thing to do to me,’ observed Blart.

  ‘Can’t you undo the spell?’ asked Uther.

  ‘The Great Spell of Fog is one of the few irreversible spells,’ answered Capablanca glumly. ‘It has covered that part of my brain for ever. And it also means I have terrible difficulty remembering where I put my spectacles.’

  Neither Blart nor Uther mustered any sympathy at this new revelation. They were too dumbfounded by the dire circumstances into which they had been thrust.

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  A lifetime spent regarding himself as the wisest and cleverest man in the world had left Capablanca physically incapable of saying the words I don’t know. So instead he replied, ‘We must escape from the Duke’s men and quickly find Princess Lois and Beowulf the Warrior. As they were your fellow questors they too are wanted dead or alive, but they do not know this yet and so could easily be taken unawares.’

  ‘I’m not too worried about them,’ said Blart. Neither of them had been very nice to him, one commenting frequently on the drawbacks of his appearance and the other regularly threatening to make it even worse by cleaving him in two.

  ‘You should be worried,’ said Capablanca. ‘For if they do not know where we imprisoned Zoltab then we will be unable to prove our innocence and will be hunted for the rest of our lives.’

  By now they had completed their tasks. Bound and gagged and dressed only in their shabby undergarments the Duke’s men sat shivering in a corner of the barn. Blart, Capablanca and Uther stood in front of them, finely clad in the Duke’s livery. The captain was the smallest of the three so Blart had worn his uniform while Capablanca and Uther were dressed as common soldiers. Capablanca wrapped their old clothes in a bundle to take with them.

  ‘We must now try to slip past the Duke’s men,’ he said. ‘
Keep your wits about you at all times and be prepared to react to unforeseen situations.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Blart, who didn’t really appreciate the idea that unforeseen situations could not be reliably predicted.

  ‘Like somebody noticing we’re not really the Duke’s men,’ suggested Uther. ‘They will spot Blart in a second. His face is nothing like the captain’s. The captain has a moustache and a lean tanned look about him, whereas Blart’s complexion is blotchy and pasty.’

  ‘I have sensitive skin,’ said Blart defensively.

  ‘Obviously we will wear the visors on our helmets down,’ Capablanca told them. ‘Drop your visors and let us go.’

  They dropped their visors and walked over to the shed door, wondering what lay beyond.

  ‘Try not to talk,’ Uther said to Blart. ‘But if you must, remember to speak in a low manly voice and not that nasty high-pitched nasal whine you normally speak in.’

  ‘We must go now!’ instructed Capablanca, defying his aged stoop and forcing himself to stand up straight and tall. ‘I’m surprised we haven’t been discovered yet. Our luck can’t hold much longer.’

  Without further ado the three newly recruited Duke’s men opened the shed door and prepared to face the farmyard.

  Chapter 9

  Any hope that Blart, Capablanca and Uther could pass unnoticed was dashed as they approached the yard. The whole cohort had mounted their horses and was waiting for them.

  One soldier detached and approached. He knows, he knows, Blart thought. Perhaps I should confess and blame Capablanca and Uther and then I will be spared and my comrades will be killed.

  ‘Sir!’ The soldier came to a stop in front of Blart. ‘I am glad you have returned.’

  Blart couldn’t believe it. The solider was convinced.

  ‘The men await your orders, sir.’

  This was unexpected. Blart had often been given orders and had regularly refused orders but he had never been asked for orders. He was stunned into silence.

  ‘Is there anything wrong, sir?’ said the soldier.

  At a loss for words Blart shook his head vigorously. Unfortunately he had not secured the chinstrap on his helmet properly and it tipped alarmingly to one side. He only just managed to grab it before it fell. This did not give an impression of military competence and for the first time the soldier looked a little doubtful.

  ‘Are you sure there isn’t anything wrong, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  Blart finally managed to squeeze a word out of his nervous mouth. Unfortunately he had forgotten Uther’s advice of only a moment ago and the word came out in his high nasal whine.

  ‘What was that, sir?’ said the soldier.

  The soldier’s expression was moving rapidly towards suspicion.

  ‘Why is your visor down, may I ask?’

  Blart didn’t know what to say. But fortunately he was in front of a man who did. Uther’s authoritative tones rang out behind him.

  ‘What impertinence!’ said Uther. ‘Why is your visor up is what the captain wants to know. The captain has ordered us to put our visors down so that we are ready for battle at all times. He is doubtless refusing to address you because you are unprepared for battle and are therefore dishonouring the traditions of the Duke’s men.’

  ‘But we’re miles from anywhere and there are no enemies in sight,’ protested the puzzled soldier. ‘And the captain never said we had to have our visors down before.’

  ‘Do you reject the orders of your own captain?’ Uther’s voice reached new levels of cold anger.

  Uther’s haughty confidence overwhelmed the soldier.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said to Blart, ‘it’s just –’

  ‘Silence!’ commanded Uther. ‘The captain does not wish to hear your grovelling apology. He wishes you to return to the cohort and pass on his order.’

  Happy to escape with no actual punishment bar a severe telling-off, the soldier immediately backed away.

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Very good, sir.’

  The news that the captain wanted visors down spread swiftly among the cohort and the clanging sound of armour rang around the farmyard as they were urgently shut.

  ‘The captain says that we must pursue the traitors,’ Uther announced. ‘There are signs that they made their escape not long before we arrived. Let us light our torches and ride through the night for the Duke.’

  The soldiers cheered Uther’s speech. They lit their torches and prepared to ride like a hurricane.

  ‘Lead your men in the pursuit,’ hissed Uther to Blart. ‘They are ready to follow you anywhere.’

  The soldiers looked to Blart. With no other option he kicked the side of his horse, who began to trot.

  ‘What are you doing?’ hissed Uther, catching him up. ‘We’re supposed to be rapidly pursuing traitors, not taking the Sunday air in the royal park.’

  ‘Trotting is all I can do,’ answered Blart.

  ‘You must gallop,’ insisted Uther. ‘The men expect it.’

  Capablanca rode up to join them

  ‘The men think something’s wrong,’ hissed Capablanca. ‘They’re muttering among themselves.’

  The cohort trotted into a dark forest.

  ‘At least try a canter,’ said Uther.

  Hearing the mutterings of the men grow louder, Blart reluctantly spurred his horse on to a canter. All the riders behind him felt the surge in pace. This was what pursuing the enemy was all about, they thought, and they let loose a warlike cheer.

  The cheer unnerved Blart, who fell off his horse.

  The mutterings in the cohort grew into open doubts.

  ‘He fell off his horse.’

  ‘I ain’t following a man who can’t ride.’

  Soon the doubts would swell to barefaced mutiny. Someone with a quick wit needed to step in and save the situation by convincing the soldiers that everything was all right.

  ‘I’ve hurt my arm,’ said Blart.

  ‘Comrades,’ urged Uther in desperation. ‘We are under attack. The captain has been hit by an arrow that has thrown him from his horse. We must all quickly dismount and fan out to search for his attacker.’

  No soldier dismounted. Though it was dark by now the light of the torches meant that the men were very dubious of any attack.

  ‘I saw no arrow,’ shouted an anonymous voice from the back of the cohort. His words were supported with grunts of agreement, none of which could be traced because the men had all lowered their visors. Things were looking ominous.

  ‘I saw no arrow either,’ said another voice.

  ‘Nor me.’

  Any moment now one would find the courage to disobey the order and all would be lost.

  ‘Of course you saw no arrow,’ shouted Capablanca suddenly. ‘Why would you see one? The captain was felled by an invisible arrow.’

  This was perhaps not the most convincing explanation. Luckily it was the Dark Ages, when people believed that you could see if someone was a witch by throwing them into a pond and that if someone pulled a sword out of a stone then they were entitled to be king.

  The threat of invisible arrows had an immediate effect on the soldiers. They tumbled off their horses and crouched low, scanning the surrounding trees for these imaginary missiles.

  ‘Aaargh,’ cried a soldier, collapsing on the ground. ‘I’ve been hit by an invisible arrow.’

  This was a surprise.

  Two soldiers rushed over to their fallen comrade, who was writhing about on the floor.

  ‘I’m hit in the leg,’ cried the soldier.

  Now fully convinced that invisible arrows were raining down upon them, the soldiers scattered into the surrounding trees.

  ‘We must take our chance,’ urged Capablanca. ‘Climb on to the back of my horse, Blart, and we will flee before they realise what has happened.’

  ‘I don’t think I can get up,’ protested Blart. ‘The invisible arrow has hurt me too much.’

  Capablanca sighed. ‘The
re’s no such thing as an invisible arrow,’ he said. ‘I made it up.’

  ‘But what about him?’ Blart gestured towards the lame soldier.

  ‘I think it might have been a touch of cramp, sir,’ admitted the shame-faced soldier.

  ‘Quickly,’ urged Uther. ‘Before they realise what’s happened and come back.’

  Blart gingerly rose to his feet. Capablanca grabbed him and pulled him on to the back of his own horse.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  The wizard and Uther spurred their horses and galloped deep into the forest. The soldiers watched them go in disbelief.

  Soldiers are not complex thinkers. Without orders they tend to become confused. Seeing their superior officer disappear into the forest meant only one thing for the soldiers. They would have to catch him or think for themselves. The fear of the challenge of independent thought overcame the soldiers’ fear of invisible arrows and they swiftly emerged from the undergrowth, mounted their horses and gave chase.

  Chapter 10

  Through the forest thundered Capablanca, Blart and Uther. Behind them drummed the hooves of the soldiers’ horses.

  ‘We must go faster,’ said Capablanca, bravely ignoring the juddering pain that was shooting through his body as the horse galloped and Blart clung on.

  ‘Throw the boy off the back of your horse,’ suggested Uther. ‘He is nothing but useless ballast.’

  Blart wasn’t sure what useless ballast was but he was confident that it wasn’t nice.

  ‘We need him,’ replied Capablanca.

  ‘We need to live more,’ insisted Uther. ‘He’s slowing you down. Soon they’ll be able to see us.’

  And it was true. The pursuing soldiers all had one horse each. Meanwhile Blart and Capablanca had only one horse between them due to Blart’s poor riding skills. Their horse would tire first.

  ‘All we need to do is get to the edge of the wood,’ said Capablanca breathlessly. ‘There the Duke of Northwestmoreland’s lands come to an end and we enter the lands of the Earl of Nethershire. They won’t follow us there.’

 

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