The Boy Who Didn't Want to Save the World

by Dominic Barker

  More arrows whizzed by.

  ‘We need more height to get out of their range,’ yelled Capablanca, and he pulled back on the head of Pig the Horse.

  And Pig the Horse would no doubt have begun to climb if at that moment an arrow hadn’t shot into his belly. The shock sent a sudden shake through Pig. Blart and Capablanca, who were both aware of the attack, were holding on tightly when the arrow struck. But it happened too fast for Beo. He was looking upwards when the arrow struck and the horse shook.

  The jerk made him lose his balance. He tilted to one side. His arms flailed in the air as he tried to right himself. For a second, it was impossible to tell whether he would fall off or hang on. He looked down at the ocean, which was a mistake. The sea was waiting far below, ready to swallow him up. He couldn’t help it. He began to panic. If only he’d stayed calm then maybe he could have hung on. But he didn’t and the fevered flapping of his arms and legs transferred more and more of his weight to one side of the horse. Gravity sucked at him. The jolts of the horse bounced him. And sheer terror undid him. Before he knew it he was no longer in contact with Pig the Horse and instead was embarking on the greatest dive in human history.

  The first that Blart and Capablanca knew about Beo’s disappearance was a sudden feeling of lightness as the horse effortlessly flew upwards. Blart looked behind him. Seeing nothing, he looked down. This time he saw Beo, with his arms and legs spread out wide, about to perform the biggest belly flop in history.

  ‘Capablanca,’ he shouted.

  Capablanca looked back, and then, following Blart’s finger, looked down. They both saw Beo smash into the water. There was a sickeningly huge splash where he landed, for Beo had fallen from so high up that there was a good chance that the impact had killed him.

  Chapter 16

  Beowulf was gone. Only the circular ripples at his point of entry suggested he had ever been there. Blart and Capablanca stared down at the sea but nothing appeared. Surely Beo could not hold his breath this long.

  The ships below had stopped firing arrows as their crews looked to see what had become of the warrior. Everything was quiet and still as everybody concentrated on the place in the ocean where they had last seen him.

  Each second that passed lessened the warrior’s chances. And the seconds passed. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, twenty-five seconds, thirty seconds.

  A head. Two arms waving frantically.

  ‘Hurrah!’ shouted Blart, forgetting for a moment that he didn’t actually like Beo much. The warrior looked up towards them and then he looked towards the boats that were already reacting to his appearance. Some of the men rushed to redirect the sails whilst others placed arrows in their bows and began to loose them in the direction of the stricken warrior.

  ‘We must go down and save him!’ shouted Capablanca.

  ‘Must we?’ said Blart doubtfully. His initial enthusiasm on seeing the warrior had rapidly dissipated as he remembered that Beo was constantly attempting to cleave him in two. ‘He hasn’t been much help.’

  ‘It’s a matter of honour!’ screeched Capablanca.

  Again Blart was lost. He was still nowhere near getting the concept of honour. Honour, as far as he could work out, meant doing very stupid things for no gain whatsoever. It was not a quality Blart admired.

  However, Blart could do nothing about it because Capablanca was at the front and he directed Pig the Horse to fly downwards towards the floundering Beo. Still firing arrow after arrow, the boats headed for the same place.

  Soon they were so close to the sea that Blart began to worry that they might find themselves in the water as well, which wouldn’t do anybody any good. But Capablanca seemed to know what he was doing, even though he’d never done anything like it before and was just guessing. When Pig the Horse got to about twenty feet above Beo he slowed Pig’s descent and instead made the horse circle above him.

  ‘I can’t swim!’ shouted Beo.

  ‘Learn quickly!’ Blart shouted back rather cruelly.

  Beo was attempting to do just that but the jerky, desperate movements of his arms and legs were already beginning to exhaust him and their effect was becoming more and more negligible. Arrows and abuse flew at them from the rapidly approaching boats.

  ‘We’ll kill you in the name of Zoltab,’ cried one voice that travelled to them on the wind.

  ‘Help!’ screeched Beo. Adding to the problem of not being able to swim was of course the fact that he was wearing a considerable amount of armour. His head disappeared for a few seconds but he fought back to the surface, his face filled with a mixture of terror and pleading. The boats were getting closer. The arrows continued to fly. The wizard was lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to everything as Pig continued to circle above the stricken warrior.

  ‘Capablanca,’ screamed Blart, ever mindful of his own safety. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Capablanca didn’t move.

  ‘Help,’ screamed Beo again.

  An arrow whizzed past Blart’s nose, missing it by the length of an eyelash. It just missed Capablanca too and seemed to jolt him back to the present.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ he shouted.

  ‘Help!’ repeated Beo.

  ‘We know,’ Blart told him.

  A circle of fins appeared around the warrior.

  ‘Tie this round you,’ said Capablanca to Blart, pulling a rope from his cowl. ‘I’ll tie the other end around the horse.’

  ‘Why?’ said Blart.

  ‘It’ll keep you safe,’ explained Capablanca, who knew by now that it was not always wise to tell Blart everything.

  ‘Flying away would be safer,’ countered Blart.

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘I can’t tie knots,’ pointed out Blart, who wasn’t ready to give in yet. ‘My grandfather wouldn’t teach me because he thought I might try to hang him when I grew up.’

  ‘Give me strength,’ cried Capablanca exasperatedly. The wizard was forced to turn round and tie Blart’s knot for him and trust Pig the Horse not to do anything stupid.

  ‘What are those things around Beo?’ Blart shouted as the wizard was finishing off the knot.

  The wizard flicked a glance towards the warrior and stopped in horror.

  ‘Sharks,’ he exclaimed. ‘Quickly.’

  ‘What are sharks?’ asked Blart.

  ‘They’re terribl—’ Capablanca began, and then he thought better of it. ‘Er, terribly friendly fish which are considered a sign of good luck.’

  ‘Hurry up,’ screeched Beo from below, ‘or the sharks will have me!’

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Capablanca. ‘Beowulf’s little joke. How brave these warriors are, laughing in the face of adversity.’

  Blart was confused. He knew something wasn’t quite right but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

  ‘Now –’ began Capablanca.

  ‘Get off my leg,’ bellowed Beo from below.

  ‘The plan is this,’ began Capablanca, and then he hesitated. The plan was for Blart to jump into the water. The warrior would hold on to Blart and Pig the Horse would fly upwards, raising them both to safety. Capablanca had considered just throwing the rope but it was too difficult to aim it precisely at Beo in the strong sea breeze. What he needed was a weight to give him more control. And the only weight he had was Blart.

  ‘What?’ urged Blart as two arrows whizzed either side of his ears. The wizard’s sudden pauses were most unwelcome in a life-and-death situation.

  ‘The plan is,’ began Capablanca again. Then he changed his mind about explaining and with a sudden push he knocked Blart off the horse and sent him hurtling down towards the ocean below.

  ‘AaaarrggghhWumph,’ was the sort of sound Blart made as he plummeted through the air and then crashed into the water, smashing into Beo in the process.

  ‘Ow,’ said Beo indignantly. ‘I wanted you to rescue me, not come and have a swim with me.’

  ‘I can’t swim either,’ Blart spluttered as his head reappeared above the water. Unfortunately
, as Blart’s head came up the warrior’s head went down, making conversation difficult.

  ‘Grab hold of Blart,’ shouted Capablanca from above them, ‘and I’ll lift you both to safety.’

  Blart fought to gain some kind of control as the sea heaved around him, but no matter how much effort he put into his movements the sea overrode them.

  Beo surfaced again.

  ‘He says hold on to me,’ Blart told him before disappearing under the water again.

  He fought to get to the surface, panic making his arms and legs thrash violently from side to side. Get up to the air! his brain screamed at his body. Get up to the air! And then he was back on the surface taking huge gulps.

  ‘I can’t grab on to you if you keep disappearing,’ Beo said critically. ‘Now stay still.’

  Staying still in the ever-moving ocean was a challenge, but Blart did his best and Beo did his best to grab hold of Blart. Unfortunately, neither of their bests was much good and still the boats were bearing down on them.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Blart shouted at Beo. ‘The boats are getting closer.’

  ‘Stay still,’ Beo yelled back. ‘And don’t worry about the boats. The sharks will have us first.’

  ‘Sharks?’ cried Blart. ‘They’re nice.’

  ‘They’re man-eaters, you fool,’ screeched Beo. ‘They haven’t got me yet because of my armour, but you …’

  Blart realised that he was not ideally dressed to confront anything that ate people. All the fabrics that clothed him were cheap and thin and no barrier to teeth. Blart promised himself that the first thing he was going to do when he was back on Pig the Horse (if he ever got back on Pig the Horse) was too push Capablanca off. But it was a big if. The warrior’s warning had come just in time. One of the fins that had been circling Blart suddenly turned ninety degrees and sped towards him.

  ‘No,’ said Blart, trying desperately to run away and succeeding merely in treading water.

  ‘Stop thrashing about,’ Beo told him angrily.

  ‘Shark,’ wailed Blart, his eyes held by the approaching fin and the vast grey shape that lay under the water. It was going to eat him. There was nothing he could do. He threw himself backwards and prepared for the first bite. His leg hit something. What it hit was the shark’s nose. Its most sensitive part. The sudden stabbing pain distracted the great fish. Blart waited for the bite that never came.

  ‘What are you doing lying on your back?’ Beo demanded.

  Blart couldn’t believe he wasn’t being eaten. The shark was equally surprised. It turned to attack again. This time there would be no escape.

  Meanwhile, Beo had finally managed to manoeuvre himself almost close enough to Blart to be able to reach him.

  ‘Come on,’ yelled Capablanca.

  The boats were getting nearer and nearer.

  ‘We’re going to kill you,’ one voice cried from the ship.

  ‘For Lord Zoltab,’ shouted another.

  The sails of the boats billowed as they skimmed towards the helpless pair.

  ‘Ready?’ said Beo into Blart’s ear.

  ‘What would you do if I said no?’ said Blart.

  Beo lunged towards Blart and grabbed hold of him as the rope lifted them clear of the water. Beneath them an angry shark thrashed and the sailors cursed. The wizard had saved them just in time.

  Chapter 17

  ‘I’m starting to rust.’

  It was two days and two nights later when the warrior uttered this doleful remark. His companions were both asleep so they answered him with nothing more than a snore. They were still flying over the sea. Beo didn’t know where they were flying to. The recriminations over the water incident had been quite heated and had resulted in Blart refusing to speak to Capablanca for pushing him into the sea and nearly drowning him. Capablanca and Beo had then had a row because the wizard felt that the warrior should have kept his balance in the first place. The only questor all three of them were on good terms with was Pig the Horse. But the feeling was not reciprocated. Pig had been flying for two whole days now, and even though he’d enjoyed it at first he was beginning to feel tired and to yearn for the simple pleasures of being in a field.

  ‘I’ll never get to be a knight at this rate.’

  Beo regarded his armour mournfully. There was nothing he could do about it. Once sea water has got into the minute bolts and hinges of a suit of armour there is nothing you can do. Apart from call yourself the Red Knight, of course but, as Beowulf knew, that had already been done by the White Knight of the West Country who’d drunk too much ale, fallen into his castle’s moat and emerged with a new name and tadpoles in his visor. He could only hope for a new suit of armour, and these days they didn’t come cheap.

  Beowulf felt that in the present situation there was only one course of action open to him. He must sing a mournful ballad. He didn’t know any mournful ballads about rusting suits of armour so he chose a favourite called ‘My Lost Lady Love’. He cleared his throat and began to sing,

  ‘Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  Cold as a stone she lies.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  And nevermore will rise.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  And I am left all alone.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  She’s nothing but skin and bone.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  Live some more she will not.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  Now she’s beginning to rot.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  No doctor would say she is well.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  She gives off a powerful smell.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  My mind it starts to bewilder.

  Oh, my lost lady love is dead and gone

  I wish now I hadn’t killed her.’

  By the time Beowulf had completed his mournful ballad, which at five verses was very short for him, his companions were awake. It was almost impossible to remain asleep during Beowulf’s singing. He sang everything, from lusty fighting songs to mournful ballads, with exactly the same amount of noise and to the same tuneless melody.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Blart.

  ‘Be quiet,’ snapped Capablanca.

  ‘I’m rusting,’ explained Beo.

  ‘Who cares?’ demanded Capablanca.

  ‘Not me,’ said Blart.

  And then a moody silence prevailed as each of them thought of their own problems and how nobody understood them and how unlucky they were to be saddled with two such horrible companions and how they were in the right about everything and everybody else was in the wrong.

  Around them emerged a sight of great wonder. The sun was rising brightly in the east. Its warm beams touched the backs of the questors and soothed their cold bones. The light changed the sea from a dark menacing swell into a playful plateau of languorous blue topped by the fleeting appearance of dancing white. The small islands below them displayed all their colours at their most magnificent. Deep browns and greens were the backdrop to the dazzling reds and gaudy pinks showing themselves joyfully to the returning yellow God. But they were all too busy feeling sorry for themselves to notice. You have to be in the mood for beauty, otherwise it simply passes you by.

  ‘Are we nearly there?’ whined Blart in a tone which he had been developing over the past two days in order to ensure that it caused maximum irritation.

  ‘Yes,’ said Capablanca.

  This answer shocked Blart into silence. Repeated similar enquiries had brought answers ranging from ‘No’ to ‘If you ask that again there’ll be a croak in your voice’, which was Capablanca’s subtle threat to turn Blart into a toad. Too subtle for Blart, so it wasn’t much use.

  ‘Where’s there?’ asked Beo philosophically.

  ‘There is Elysium, capital of Illyria in the realm of King Philidor the Happy. The most friendly k
ingdom in the whole world,’ replied Capablanca.

  ‘Why do we want to go there?’ said Blart sulkily.

  ‘Because,’ said Capablanca, ‘in the highest tower of Philidor’s palace inside a locked room it is rumoured there lies the map which will lead us to the Great Tunnel of Despair.’

  Blart and Beo thought about this for a second. Neither of them can be said to have quick brains, but in the race of the snail and the tortoise it was Beo who got there first.

  ‘You mean you don’t know where we’re going?’

  ‘I do,’ said Capablanca indignantly. ‘We are going to the Kingdom of King Philidor.’

  ‘But you don’t know where the Great Tunnel of Despair is,’ persisted Beo.

  ‘Not yet,’ conceded Capablanca.

  ‘And it’s only a rumour?’ continued Beo.

  ‘A strong rumour,’ asserted Capablanca.

  ‘Sure, this is a terrible thing,’ said Beo. ‘Here I am brought on a quest and nobody even knows where we’re going. I’ve been brought here under false pretences.’

  ‘But isn’t the idea of a quest that you search for something?’ asked Capablanca, who felt that this was a flaw in the warrior’s position.

  ‘Don’t be telling me what a quest is and what a quest isn’t,’ huffed Beo. ‘Didn’t I spend a whole term in knight school before the unfortunate incident with the lance? I’m the one who knows the rules and regulations regarding quests around here. And this is turning out to be a pretty rum one.’

  ‘Stop moaning,’ said Blart, who felt that this was his job.

  ‘I’ve not forgotten my oath to cleave you in two when this is all over,’ Beo reminded him.

  ‘You’re all mouth,’ said Blart, who was becoming familiar with threats to his life. ‘I’d be half a league away before you could get that stupid sword out.’

  Beo exploded.

  ‘I’ll kill you now, you ugly little poltroon,’ he promised, reaching for his sword. Unfortunately it is difficult to get a huge sword out of its massive scabbard whilst you’re on a flying horse. It involves too much squirming and leaning, which can lead to a person tumbling off a horse, and Beo had no desire for an early morning swim. Therefore he had to content himself with a promise to kill Blart as soon as they got on land if he didn’t withdraw his insult. Blart didn’t withdraw his insult. Capablanca sighed. None of us are ever at our best towards the end of a long journey.