The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both

by Dominic Barker

  ‘And yet you are always saying that you can persuade anyone to do anything,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘The steward was to be thrown into the moat with his legs and arms tied together if he did not provide a satisfactory replacement for the mime troupe,’ protested Uther. ‘There is a limit to even my powers of persuasion.’

  ‘What happened to the mime troupe?’ asked Princess Lois.

  ‘They were taken to the dungeons to be tortured,’ answered Uther.

  ‘They’re not miming any more,’ said Beo grimly.

  Blart had been concentrating very hard and he had understood almost everything that had been said. He therefore produced what in his view was the only appropriate response. He panicked.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ he shouted.

  ‘Control yourself, Blart,’ said Capablanca sternly.

  ‘Stop whining, weasel-features,’ said Princess Lois.

  ‘I’m too young to die,’ protested Blart.

  ‘You aren’t going to die,’ said Uther reassuringly. Well, it would have been reassuring were it not for the fact that Blart and everyone else knew that Uther was a practised liar. ‘You are simply going to have to act.’

  ‘I’m too young to act,’ wailed Blart, who was now panicking properly and therefore did not feel the obligation to make sense any more.

  Princess Lois slapped Blart sharply in the face.

  ‘Ow!’ said Blart and stopped panicking abruptly.

  ‘I’ll hit you again if you don’t shut up,’ said Princess Lois. ‘None of us will ever survive this night if we don’t work together.’

  ‘The Princess is right,’ observed Uther. ‘The Baron wants a play – we will give him one.’

  ‘But I’ve never seen a play,’ said Blart. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do.’

  ‘It’s easy,’ Uther assured him. ‘All plays are basically the same. Boy meets girl. They fall in love. Girl’s father hates boy, says they cannot marry, tries to marry her to someone else. There’s a fight. Everybody dies.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said Blart.

  Uther nodded.

  ‘But we still don’t have a script,’ pointed out Capablanca, ‘and any moment now we will be called into the Baron’s feasting room and expected to perform.’

  ‘What we will do is this,’ said Uther. ‘I will narrate the story. Whenever I say that you should say something then you say it.’

  ‘Won’t that be boring?’ said Blart.

  ‘You won’t say exactly the same thing,’ said Uther. ‘If, for example, I say “The girl’s father was very angry and forbade her to marry the boy,” you will shout, “This is an outrage. You cannot marry him. I forbid it.” Just say whatever I suggest you say a bit differently and say it with as much feeling as possible. We might just get away with it.’

  Capablanca foresaw a problem with Uther’s suggestion that they improvise their lines. The problem was Blart. However, before he could raise his objection Uther began giving out parts.

  ‘Blart you will be the hero, Blob. Princess Lois will be the heroine, Aurora. Capablanca will be her father, Craggle, and Beo will be Grasper, the rich merchant he insists she marry.’

  Beo exploded.

  ‘Why must I play a merchant? I should be the hero. It is the only chivalrous part.’

  ‘You cannot play the hero,’ answered Uther. ‘Princess Lois must play the heroine and she must be wooed by someone about her own age, like Blart. It’s a rule.’

  ‘But …’ Beo began to protest.

  Baron Kilbride’s steward stuck his head into the room, silencing the questors immediately.

  ‘This is your five-minute call,’ said the steward. He looked more closely at the questors. ‘Why are you not in your costumes?’

  ‘It’s in modern dress,’ explained Uther. ‘We are an experimental theatre troupe and we reject the illusions and deceptions of other players. We prefer raw naked emotion.’

  ‘You’ll get raw naked emotion if the Baron doesn’t enjoy it,’ the steward assured them.

  Chapter 37

  Five minutes later Blart stood behind an arras in the Baron’s feasting room, his face greasy with lardy make-up.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he heard Uther announce, ‘welcome to our play. It is our great honour to present for your entertainment The Terrible Tragedy of Aurora and Blob.’

  Uther paused for applause. There wasn’t any.

  ‘Let us press on,’ continued Uther hastily. ‘We set our scene in the land of Madeupiya. In this land there lived a handsome young man named Blob.’

  ‘Get on,’ hissed Princess Lois, giving Blart a powerful shove.

  Blob shot out from behind the arras, stumbled and fell flat on his face.

  There was a roar of laughter. Harsh laughter. Laughter that enjoyed watching the suffering and misfortune of others. Blart (now playing Blob) raised his head and quailed at the sight that met his eyes. In front of him was a great table and at that table sat six fearsome soldiers. And sitting in the middle of the soldiers sat Baron Kilbride. A hulking brute of a man dressed in red robes with a contemptuous sneer smeared across his face.

  ‘A handsome young man named Blob,’ said Uther, ‘who after tripping up by accident stood up again and looked very manly.’

  Blob managed to pull himself to his feet but a terrible nervousness overcame him and his legs began to shake.

  ‘What’s that on his face?’ demanded one of the soldiers.

  ‘Blob was tanned after a trip to the South,’ narrated Uther by way of explanation. Perhaps he had gone overboard on the lard. ‘Once home he walked about and whistled in a noble fashion.’

  Blob tried to obey Uther’s instructions but his nervous legs refused to move. So he pursed his lips to whistle. One of Blart’s greatest skills was the ability to produce at will a loud and unpleasant whistle. It was not a talent that most of us would boast about but Blart did not have as much choice as most people when it came to talents. But now he found that when he pursed his lips he could produce no sound at all. Blart was suffering from stage fright.

  ‘Blob didn’t whistle for long,’ narrated Uther. ‘Instead he resolved to stay still and hum.’

  Blart managed to produce a low hum.

  ‘This play had better improve soon,’ said Baron Kilbride.

  ‘While he was standing still and humming,’ said Uther, ‘the beautiful lady Aurora came wandering by.’

  From behind the arras appeared Princess Lois as Aurora.

  ‘She spied Blob and he spied her,’ said Uther. ‘She was a modest maiden and so she covered her face to avoid showing how handsome she found the noble Blob.’

  Princess Lois, not by nature a modest maiden, suddenly became one. She lowered her eyes. A shy smile played on her face.

  ‘Blob was captivated by Aurora’s beauty and he showered her with compliments,’ narrated Uther.

  Blob didn’t say anything.

  ‘He showered her with compliments,’ repeated Uther.

  Blob opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. Instead he burped.

  ‘What is this nonsense?’ the Baron said impatiently. ‘If it wasn’t for the maiden I would have them thrown into the moat.’

  Uther took the hint and decided to switch the dramatic focus to Aurora.

  ‘Aurora was overcome with the beauty of the compliments showered on her by the noble Blob and she giggled,’ Aurora giggled, ‘and simpered,’ Aurora simpered, ‘and danced nimbly about to show her delight.’ Aurora danced nimbly.

  The Baron applauded.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ he told his soldiers. ‘I like a bit of nimble dancing.’

  ‘Emboldened by the success of his compliments and dazzled by her maidenly beauty Blob sought a kiss from the beautiful lady, Aurora.’

  Blob was still unable to move, so Aurora danced closer to him.

  ‘Their first kiss was modest and tender but hinted at a deep passion,’ narrated Uther.

  Aurora and Blob looked at each other. Nei
ther had ever anticipated having to kiss the other. Baron Kilbride leant forward in his chair. For the Dark Ages this was hot stuff.

  The needs of the drama overcame their reluctance. Aurora shaped her lips into a round red heart. Somehow Blob gained enough control over his body to purse his own lips in response. For the briefest of moments their lips touched.

  Some of the lard from Blob’s face attached itself to Aurora’s nose. It was a tender moment.

  ‘The tenderness of that one kiss revealed to them both that they were bound to spend the rest of their lives together and instantly they became betrothed.’

  ‘He’s got to ask her to marry him,’ shouted the Baron.

  Uther looked at Blob, whose mouth was opening and closing helplessly.

  ‘Their union was so perfect that they needed no words to express their devotion,’ said Uther desperately. ‘Their kiss was their betrothal.’

  ‘Humph!’ said the Baron, unconvinced.

  ‘But Craggle, Aurora’s father, was passing by,’ narrated Uther quickly before the Baron could dwell on his dissatisfaction.

  Capablanca as Craggle appeared from behind the arras.

  ‘He’s old enough to be her grandfather,’ observed one soldier.

  ‘Her great-grandfather,’ remarked another soldier.

  ‘Her great-great-grandfather,’ said a third soldier, who was one of those people who never quite realise when a joke’s gone too far.

  ‘Quiet,’ ordered the Baron.

  ‘Craggle had become a father very late in life,’ continued Uther in an attempt to fit Capablanca’s appearance successfully into the narrative. ‘And therefore he was extra protective. He flew into a rage when he saw Blob kissing his daughter and hit the noble Blob with his staff.’

  Blart felt a painful thwack on the back of his head.

  ‘Ow!’ said Blob, falling to the floor. ‘Get off.’

  ‘Don’t hit him, Father,’ shrieked Aurora. ‘He’s my intended.’

  ‘I intend him harm,’ said Craggle, and he struck Blob once more with his staff.

  There was satisfied applause from the watching Baron and his soldiers.

  Capablanca hit Blob again.

  ‘You want to marry my daughter, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Blob, who was not concerned with the drama making sense and was instead more concerned about not being hit any more.

  ‘End of Act One,’ shouted Uther before Blob could do further damage to the story’s credibility. ‘Time for a five-minute interval.’

  There was no applause from the soldiers as the actors fled behind the arras. Instead there were mutterings of discontent from the Baron and his soldiers. Blart’s performance as Blob the Hero had made suspending their disbelief very difficult.

  Meanwhile, behind the arras there was much whispered criticism.

  ‘You kept hitting me,’ hissed Blart.

  ‘I was trying to get you to act,’ answered Capablanca.

  ‘And you got lard on me, weasel-features,’ said Princess Lois. ‘Now I’m all greasy.’

  ‘Did anyone see the tree imp?’ asked Beo, who was rather envious of everybody else who’d been acting while he was sitting behind the arras.

  ‘I saw her,’ answered Capablanca.

  ‘So did I,’ said the Princess.

  ‘I nearly saw her,’ said Blart.

  ‘She was in a cage,’ said Princess Lois, her freckles seeming to redden with anger. ‘A tiny cage – she could hardly move and there was not even a twig for her to stand on.’

  ‘If we can get through the second half of our play then it will be free by tomorrow,’ said Uther. ‘But Blart you must act more nobly in your final scene and you have to kill Beo and Capablanca.’

  ‘The interval is over,’ bellowed Baron Kilbride from his feasting table. ‘Get on with Act Two or I’ll chuck you in the moat.’

  ‘It is customary for a bell to be rung,’ said Uther, ‘but in this case I think we can make an exception,’ and he dashed out from behind the arras. Blart and the Princess remained behind.

  The first scene of Act Two featured Craggle (Capablanca) arranging the marriage of his daughter to Grasper (Beo) a wealthy local merchant. From what Blart could hear nothing seemed to go wrong. Then Princess Lois was rushed out as Aurora to be told of her impending marriage.

  ‘No,’ Blart heard her wail. ‘I love another.’

  ‘You will marry this merchant.’

  ‘Me,’ said Grasper, who perhaps wasn’t as good at improvisation as the other two.

  ‘But just when all hope was lost,’ announced Uther, ‘Blob appeared.’

  Blob rushed on to the stage.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Craggle and he hit Blob with his staff squarely on the nose.

  ‘Ow!’ said Blob, feeling blood begin to run.

  ‘Blob informed Craggle and Grasper that he was here to claim his bride and would fight to the death if they tried to stop him,’ narrated Uther.

  Blob opened his mouth to threaten Craggle in exactly the way Uther had described. Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth it was immediately filled by blood. Instead of speaking, Blob coughed violently. A mixture of blood, sweat and lard shot out of Blob’s mouth and landed on Aurora.

  ‘Euurrghh!’ said Aurora.

  ‘That’s the way to treat your fiancée,’ shouted the Baron, who as we know was not always delicate in his dealings with his wives.

  Uther’s ability to improvise narrative did not extend to knowing what to do when the hero coughed bile all over the heroine. In desperation he resorted to the solution employed by many a writer when his plot becomes too outrageous – gratuitous violence and a bloodbath.

  ‘Now they fought to the death,’ shouted Uther.

  Aurora screamed. Craggle raised his staff, Grasper drew his sword and Blob reached for his dagger.

  Chapter 38

  First, Blob stabbed Craggle, but he ensured that his dagger in fact slipped between Craggle’s arm and his torso. Then he faced Grasper. They struggled. First Blob seemed to have the upper hand. Then it was Grasper.

  ‘Ten crowns on the fat one,’ wagered the Baron.

  The Baron had seen many a fight and it was not difficult for his experienced eye to see that the huge Grasper could easily overpower the slight Blob. However, the needs of the story meant that Blob had to win this fight. Not that Grasper seemed to be aware of it. With blows that were impressive for their remarkable realism he clouted Blob repeatedly about the head.

  ‘Ow!’ said Blob. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Hit him back, you coward,’ shouted the Baron.

  ‘Woe is me,’ bemoaned Aurora. ‘My love is about to be slain and happiness will be taken from me for ever. I will be forced to get myself to a nunnery!’

  Grasper hit Blob again and this time sent him sprawling backwards on to the floor. Grasper towered over him.

  ‘Blob killed Grasper and claimed Aurora as his bride,’ shouted Uther, desperately trying to remind Grasper of the way the story was supposed to go. But Grasper was enjoying hitting Blob far too much to knuckle down to the needs of a happy ending. He raised his sword. Blob cowered beneath him. Nobody was acting any more.

  Aurora recognised the situation was desperate. So desperate that she stepped out of character and jumped on to Grasper’s back.

  ‘There’s a damsel with spirit,’ observed the Baron. ‘I may marry her at the end of this play.’

  But Aurora’s strength was not enough to restrain Grasper by herself. Observing this from his position on the floor, where for the purposes of drama he was technically dead, Craggle decided to act. He stood up and tackled Grasper.

  ‘Whoa,’ shouted the Baron. ‘The father has risen from the dead.’

  Still there was not enough power to restrain Grasper, so Uther dived at Grasper’s legs.

  ‘Now the narrator’s joined in,’ remarked the Baron’s first officer.

  ‘I thought narrators were supposed to be neutral,’ said a puzzled Baron.

>   At last Grasper was held. Blob grabbed his dagger and thrust it in.

  That is, he thrust it into the gap between Grasper’s arm and his torso. Though whether that was where he was actually aiming only Blob knew for sure.

  ‘And so the merchant died,’ narrated Uther from beneath Grasper’s legs.

  Grasper staggered one way, stumbled another and collapsed.

  All five questors lay exhausted on the floor. And they still hadn’t got to a happy ending. The Baron stood up. It seemed as though they weren’t going to be allowed to.

  ‘Enough,’ cried the Baron. ‘That was undoubtedly the worst play I have ever seen in my life.’

  ‘It hasn’t finished yet,’ said Uther.

  ‘Oh yes it has,’ answered the Baron. ‘Your appalling performances are an insult to dramatic tradition and you shall all be summarily thrown into the moat.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ said the four officers around the table.

  ‘Apart from the girl,’ added the Baron, ‘whom I will marry.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ repeated the officers.

  ‘Couldn’t I be thrown into the moat as well?’ asked Princess Lois.

  ‘No,’ said the Baron.

  ‘Hurrah!’ shouted the officers once more. They were cheering anything now.

  ‘But first,’ said the Baron. ‘I will teach you something. Get up, all of you.’

  The questors picked themselves up from the melee they had collapsed into and stood panting in front of the great dining table. The Baron clambered over it and towered in front of them.

  ‘Your killings were unconvincing,’ he announced.

  ‘We could go away and rehearse,’ offered Uther quickly.

  ‘When you leave this room it will be to be thrown into the moat,’ the Baron repeated. He turned to one of the officers. ‘Tie these players’ hands up so that they will not be able to swim.’

  Beo bristled and prepared to fight but Capablanca hissed at him to stop. Inside this room were five bloodthirsty soldiers, and surrounding the tower were many more. To fight now would be suicide. The questors allowed their hands to be bound.

  ‘All except the girl,’ said the Baron. ‘I would not harm my betrothed.’

  All the officers laughed horribly at that because they knew the fate that had befallen the other women in his life.