by Rhys Hughes
“And what of that?”
“None of the seven seas are near Wales.”
“I fail to grasp your point.”
“When the arrow reaches the horizon it will fly off at a tangent to the ground and end up in the sky!”
She threw back her head and laughed properly this time; not a laugh of carefully rehearsed stage mockery, but an instinctive outpouring of mirth that was both malicious and inclusive. Her shoulders shook. I wondered if I ought to make a run for it, but I realised that my knees were weak, as if waterlogged from the rain, and that she would be sure to catch me on the stairs. So I remained very sessile.
“Have you never heard of gravity, fellow?” she said at last, and I was forced to admit that yes, the word rang a bell, but only if the rope holding that bell snapped, letting the brassy receptacle crash through a belfry roof onto the ground below with a mighty clang! But that’s irrelevant, for she didn’t care much about my answer.
She held up her arms and I saw that one delicate but strong hand held a powerful longbow while the other grasped a quiver of arrows, seven in number and feathered extravagantly. “It’s an extremely thick bow and the resistance must be immense,” I said.
She nodded in the affirmative and winked. “No man on this planet is forceful enough to draw this bow; and no other woman. Only myself, the Peachy Poo of Lladloh town has the ability to use it. I have even given it a name like the magical bows of heroic legend. I call it ‘Bowcreep’ but it’s pointless to seek profound psychological reasons for that cognomen. Now watch what I do and learn something!”
And with a flick of her head and a subsequent lashing of her curls, she strode to the open window, selected the first arrow, nocked it to the string and pulled it back. The muscles of her arms quivered with the strain but it barely showed on her serene expression. She took aim, I can’t guess how, and then released the missile; the arrow hissed like a reverse meteor over the landscape and its feathers clashed as if made of metal. She watched it until it vanished, a few seconds later.
“So this is the highest room in the building!” I gasped.
“Yes it is. Ha ha!” she chortled.
“Where have you sent that arrow?” I cried.
“It is destined for the first of the seven seas, the White Sea,” she said as she nocked another slim shaft.
This one was discharged in the same manner.
“And that one is headed for the second sea, the Mauve Sea. The third will be destined for the Beige Sea.”
“Are all seven seas matched with colours?” I asked, becoming acutely aware of my ignorance as to the actual names of those proverbial bodies of exotic water. She smiled gently.
“No. The fourth sea is the Wooden Sea; the fifth is the Sea of Tea; the sixth is the Tiptoe Sea; and the seventh is officially known as the Seventh Sea, which is quite logical enough.”
“Yes I suppose it is,” I conceded unhelpfully.
She fired all the arrows one by one. Now the quiver was empty but she didn’t seem entirely satisfied. I knew what was bothering her but I didn’t mention it, because I saw no obvious solution. As it happened, she soon brought up the topic on her own.
“I have no idea if any of those arrows will actually strike their targets. There’s simply no way of checking.”
“Couldn’t you put up a reward for their retrieval?”
“That would take too long.”
I shrugged. “It’s too bad. Ah well!”
“But there is another way. Now you are here I see no reason why you shouldn’t make yourself useful.”
My voice went hoarse as I replied, “Oh yes?”
Lowri glided towards me and I felt unable to turn and flee; a tangible web of energy appeared to emanate from her eyes, wrapping around me and sticking me in place, and now I vibrated on the suddenly solid fabric of crosshatched spacetime in pulse with the oscillation of this web. With an awful howl I expelled my fear.
She said softly, “Don’t be so nervous. All I plan to do is turn you into an arrow and fire you out of the window. If I draw back the bowstring far enough you will travel further than my previous seven arrows; in fact you will circumnavigate our globe and reappear in this room, arriving through the window in the opposite wall, which I’ll open in good time. You’ll soar over the seven seas strictly in order and so can observe whether my seven arrows really hit their targets or not.”
“That sounds like a difficult shot,” I whimpered.
“My trickiest ever!” she nodded.
“And when I return I’m expected to deliver a report?”
“You have understood exactly.”
“But I’m sure to be blown off course by winds or spatter myself on the slopes of an intervening mountain.”
“Not so! I will calculate a safe trajectory!”
I didn’t see how that would be feasible; but before I could grill her on this point, she gestured at a curious device on one of the irregular tables that cluttered the room. It was a metallic sphere bristling with wires; and on the tip of each wire was a cloud.
“That machine is a weather orrery,” she said.
“No such thing!” I objected.
“Yes, there is, there truly is, and this is a fine example of one. When a normal orrery is wound up, it accurately predicts the orbits of the planets around the sun; this one predicts the movement of currents of air around the Earth. It was designed by—”
“A mad inventor named Mondaugen?” I croaked.
“Ah! You know his work?”
I sighed. “Yes I do.”
“He came here on holiday last year and built it for me. I can use it to predict the direction of coming winds; then I can accurately factor these variables into my equations.”
She strode to the low table and wound the device. The wires revolved individually, changing direction, and as they did so, the clouds expanded, contracted, broke up or vanished, new ones taking the place of the old. It was a marvel of ingenuity and violated some principle of indeterminacy, but I was less impressed than I should have been. Lowri carefully studied the movements of the clouds.
“I know the direction and force of every current in the atmosphere for the next few days,” she told me, “and I’ll aim to deposit you in the first of a series of airstreams; you’ll pass from that one to another, cruising above all seven of the seven seas, avoiding lofty peaks and lethal storms, finally arriving back here next week.”
“It will take that long to circle the Earth?”
“Yes, of course. Your average speed will be a little over one hundred miles an hour and our planet is a big place; you will rapidly accelerate as you leave the bow, attain your maximum velocity on the outskirts of the village and then enter a prolonged period of deceleration. If you fly any faster you’ll probably combust.”
I opened my mouth to beg for a postponement of her scheme. Was it really so important to know whether her arrows had reached the specified seas or not? But not a word edged out in time, for suddenly she leaped at me, cast me to the floor and trussed me up tight. My arms were strapped to my sides, my legs bound together with cord, and feathers glued to my feet. I became a human arrow!
Her implausible arms, that remained attractive despite the sheer force they were able to exert, lifted me up and nocked my soles to the string of Bowcreep; then she drew me back. She aimed at a particular point in the distance and without bidding me farewell or good luck fired me over the village. The roofs of Lladloh turned into a blur and so did the forest, hills and secret valleys beyond. My teeth chattered, but friction warmed me up and soon I desired to remove some of my clothing, but movement for me was now completely impossible.
I passed rapidly through a sequence of scudding rainclouds and thus was buffeted almost senseless by turbulence, but Lowri had clearly taken even this into account, for finally I emerged into clear sky and knew I had crossed the border into England.
Onwards I flew and the hours rushed past!
Leaving England I crossed the North Sea and
might have scratched my head if my hands had been free; why wasn’t this sea included in the list of seven? Denmark was the next landmass to appear; then more water until Sweden; then another body of palpitating fluid and Finland; then Karelia and the White Sea at last. I looked down. How was I expected to spot an arrow among that liquid expanse?
I noticed a rogue iceberg with something sticking out of it. Ah, so her first arrow had hit true after all! I counted this off on spare mental fingers, being presently unable to access my real ones; then I entered an opposing air current that took me south and I realised that her weather orrery hadn’t deceived her, nor had she applied its predictions wrongly; for I was flying towards the Mauve Sea. Over the backbone of the Carpathians I went and the warmer sun was like a friend.
The Mauve Sea offends sensitive eyes, but I am rather fond of that hue and never wince in its presence; yet there’s another quality this sea boasts that is less to my taste. It’s a favourite haunt of corsairs, freebooters, sea rovers and other pirates. As I reached it and proceeded to pass over waves of curious sheen and reefs of lilac coral, I saw a pirate ship far below. The crew of this ship evidently spied me too, for the flash of several telescope lenses made a minor but intriguing daytime constellation on the inverted backdrop of pale purple. They were in the process of forcing a prisoner to walk the plank. Rearrangements to this schedule were hastily made and in a few minutes I was intercepted.
Hard to believe, but a fact nonetheless!
I don’t mean they fired a cannon or harpoon at me. I was too far out of range for that. No, what happened was that the man who was certainly the captain barked orders to his henchmen and they used ropes and pulleys to pull back the extended plank like a springboard. The prisoner was given a cutlass and forced to walk to the end of the primed length of wood; then it was released. Up he flew at a rate even greater than mine and I realised he would catch me up soon enough.
In my present circumstance I was helpless and had no way to fend him off when he arrived. I was expecting to be cut up without explanation, but in fact the fellow wanted to talk before slicing me. The moment he was in earshot he shouted, “Hello there!”
I was civil enough. “Good day to you.”
The fellow nodded and smiled in return but didn’t introduce himself by name. “I’m a condemned captive and when I run out of momentum I’ll fall into the sea and drown. And you?”
“Shot from a longbow by a girl,” I said.
“Ah well! Captain Worst ordered me to be catapulted up here; he’s the worst of all pirates on the seven seas and he didn’t appreciate your poor manners in flying above him without doffing your hat. I know you aren’t wearing one and that your hands are tied, but that’s no excuse in the eyes of Captain Worst, I’m sorry to say.”
“Well, it’s not your fault,” I reassured him.
“True. You don’t mind if I take a swipe at you when I get near? It will be safer than disobeying his orders.”
“What does it matter? You’ll die anyway.”
He shrugged. “On the face of it, your logic is sound, but it never pays to defy Captain Worst, so I’d rather not take the risk. It won’t hurt much, I promise. This sword is very sharp.”
I didn’t bother protesting. He would have swiped at me anyway; and I had no method of evading the blow. As it happened, his strike severed my bonds but didn’t scratch my flesh; then he fell away and began his descent into the mauve breakers and I don’t know whether he deliberately rescued me from my coils or was simply a bad swordsman. But I was free! With a hearty laugh I flexed my numb limbs.
The pirate ship was now far behind me, but I still heard the bellows of fury as Captain Worst realised he had been bested! I’ll never go anywhere near the Mauve Sea again, that’s for sure. The man is unnatural! I gasped with relief when I passed over land again, despite the fact I was on course for the Beige Sea, which is a cauldron of toxic fumes. The Beige Sea is a cesspit of liquid radioactivity and other kinds of pollution and nobody can say how it came to be that way. The good news is that I was free to pinch my nostrils very tight as I crossed it.
The Wooden Sea presented a more pleasing vista, surrounded on every shore by wooden hills on the summits of which were plateaux that looked like Bedfordshire in various aspects.
Odd! But not as bizarre as the Sea of Tea, which had finally gone cold and was stewed and undrinkable; I’m glad I didn’t have to dunk myself in its depths, for constitutionally I am no biscuit. The Tiptoe Sea was better, surely the most pleasant of the seas so far, and I enjoyed the soft musical notes it made as it lapped the sides of whales, sea serpents and mermaids. A great place for a leisurely cruise!
On each occasion I spotted the arrow fired by Lowri; stuck in the side of a lighthouse, tangled in seaweed or simply floating on the surface like a piece of driftwood. But as I entered the airspace of the Seventh Sea, a distant speck that seemed to be at precisely my own altitude attracted my attention and made me neglect my task. I squinted, frowned, ground my teeth, but couldn’t discern what it was. Yet it rapidly grew bigger and was clearly coming straight towards me.
It wasn’t an aircraft or pterodactyl, but a man!
Another man like me, rushing through the sky without wings, but with feathers on his feet. Extraordinary!
A collision was inevitable and I shut my eyes tight, bracing myself for the pain of the impact. I didn’t have long to wait for that. With the sound of a titanium egg smashing a brick made of icing sugar, we banged heads and cancelled out each other’s inertia.
Down we spiralled, locked in an embrace as we spun groggily through the thermals. Those vertical currents of warm air must have helped us to break our fall, or perhaps our skulls were so shocked already that another massive impact couldn’t fatally impress them. Whatever the reason, a soft landing awaited us in the drink; we went under, bobbed to the surface and didn’t die. Then we relaxed our mutual grip and allowed the waves to cast us onto the beach of a small island.
We lay on the sand for half an hour, recovering.
Then the stranger propped himself on an elbow, turned his gaze on me and asked for my name. “Castor,” I said.
“Have you ever been a castor-way?” he punned badly.
“Yes, actually I have,” I replied.
“In that case you are used to it. You are a castaway again, and so am I, and we’ll have to adapt quickly if we want to survive. It’s such a very tiny island! How will we collect enough drinking water to quench our thirst? Must we dine exclusively on coconuts? Shall we construct a shelter from bamboo poles and palm leaf thatch?”
“Who are you?” I asked bluntly.
He stood and bowed. “Chuckleberry Grin.”
I frowned. “That’s your name?”
“Well, it’s not my occupation! It’s not considered a peculiar cognomen, if that’s what you’re implying, where I come from.” He rubbed his bleary eyes, stretched his limbs and yawned.
“Your accent is unusual. Where are you from?”
He answered without hesitating, “The Counter Earth, the world known as Antichthon that can be found on the other side of the sun. Believe it or not, I’m distantly related to Lohengrin Smirka, Grand Duke of the state of Laxhumbug. Every member of his extended family has a name connected with smiling, grinning, smirking.”
“What a laugh that must be for you all!”
“It’s wry, my friend; wry.”
“If you are from Antichthon, what are you doing here, Mr Grin? You are a long way from home. Exile?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m the official ambassador!”
I was flabbergasted by this news. “But I had no idea there was such a thing! Do you have an embassy?”
“Of course! What use is any ambassador without one of those? I have just come from there, in fact.”
“And where is your embassy located, Mr Grin?”
“Call me Chuckleberry. The answer to your question is easy enough. It can be found in the Unclepodes.”
“Where on Earth
are they?”
He examined his fingernails with fake nonchalance. “Often on top of the Antipodes, but it’s more difficult to say which Antipodes, for there are several. The government heads of Antichthon have established an official embassy smack in the middle of the Unclepodes; the former ambassador, Som Toyah, was recalled last month; it’s a mystery, a big question mark, why that happened. Something to do with fraud, maybe. I was sent as her replacement. And so here I am!”
“Then why fly over the Seventh Sea?”
“Ah, well it’s always beneficial for an ambassador to take a tour of the place he is posted to. It was felt I ought to circumnavigate this planet, the better to understand it, so I did.”
“Certainly you are a man of action, not just words! Our collision has disrupted your tour; I apologise!”
He shook his head with a laugh. “Hardly your fault!”
“You were shot from a bow?”
“I was indeed. It’s the best and cheapest way of going around a planet, saving money on trains and boats.”
“And elephants!” I added, for I am a fan of Jules Verne, and my own circumnavigation had reminded me of his works; not only that, but being stranded on a mysterious island also helped to fill my head with thoughts of a Vernian nature. In fact I’m a member of a club devoted to honouring his character Captain Nemo, but more about that some other time, for it has absolutely no relevance here.
Chuckleberry Grin chuckled, then grinned.
He aided me to a standing position and we slapped each other’s backs like old comrades. And so began our six months together as maroons. To be marooned in the Mauve Sea would have been a far greater irony and I was careful to keep that fact in mind at all times; it helped to attenuate the feelings of frustration that regularly welled up inside me. We constructed a hut, foraged for coconuts, collected rainwater, and did all the things that castaways must, if they want to live.
Every night I lit a bonfire on the beach, praying the blazing driftwood might attract a passing ship, but we were off the trade routes. No one ever came near our island. One evening, while we were sitting around the fire and sipping coconut milk beer from coconut halves, I began to reminisce about Lowri Constantine and how she had fitted me to Bowcreep with an alluring twinkle in her deadly eyes.