‘You!’ she yelled at Beo.
‘Him!’ she yelled at the King and Queen. ‘That fat ugly lump killed Gumbo. Arrest him!’
For the first time since they had landed in Illyria, Blart began to feel at home.
‘May I present my daughter, Princess Lois?’ said the King. ‘I think she may be a little upset.’
Upset was somewhat of an understatement. What stood in front of the questors was five-foot-two-and-a-half-inches of freckled red fury – otherwise known as Princess Lois. Her long red hair was bedraggled, her eyes were red with tears and her red dress was torn – all caused by her hot pursuit of Beo across the fields earlier in the day.
‘Calm down and have some fruit,’ said the Queen.
‘I don’t want your filthy, horrible, disgusting fruit,’ said Princess Lois. ‘I want him thrown in jail. And then I want him killed. In exactly the way that he killed Gumbo.’
‘Who’s Gumbo?’ asked a very puzzled Capablanca.
‘My pet dragon, if you must know, you dried-up old corpse. And all the others have gone. They were the only things that I liked about this whole crummy place.’
‘You don’t mean that, dear,’ said the Queen.
‘I do. This is such a hole. Everybody’s always nodding at you and being nice to you and giving you stupid, smelly, nasty fruit.’
‘Yeah,’ said Blart, who couldn’t help supporting someone who actually knew what they were talking about.
The Princess turned on him.
‘Who asked you, you nasty little weasel?’
Blart warmed to her even more.
‘Now arrest the fat one.’
‘Well, Lois,’ said the King, ‘I’d like to. But we don’t have a jail. You see, crime is unknown in Illyria so there’s never really been a need.’
‘Well, build one, then.’
‘That would take a little time, darling,’ said the Queen.
‘Well, do something. He killed my dragon.’
The King and Queen conferred quietly for a second and seemed to reach an agreement.
The King looked severely at Beo. Well, as severely as he could manage, which meant not smiling.
‘Now, sir,’ he began. ‘You have been accused of a cri— an offen— an action which is perhaps not what some people would call nice. Now, you may have had your reasons. I for one don’t know, and I certainly don’t propose to say harsh words to you now that in time we may all come to regret. But an accusati— er … a suggestion has been made, and as the King I must investigate this suggestion. So, if you wouldn’t mind just going to stand in the corner whilst I investigate –’
‘Stand in the corner?’ screeched Princess Lois. ‘That’s the best you can do? Making him stand in the corner?’
‘I’m not making him do anything, my dear,’ said the King. ‘I was just asking him if he’d mind.’
‘Guards!’ yelled Princess Lois.
Two guards entered the throne room.
‘Hi,’ said one.
‘Er …’ said the King, who felt he was having his hand forced a little, ‘would you mind escorting the good warrior to the corner?’
‘Shall we give him some fruit?’ asked the other guard.
‘No. Just escort him to the corner,’ said the King.
The two guards approached Beo.
‘Would you mind coming with us to the corner?’ said one.
‘If you don’t want to go we’ll understand,’ said the other.
But Beo was beyond arguing or resisting. Damsels keeping dragons as pets. His whole world view had been shattered.
‘All right,’ said Princess Lois. ‘Forget about the jail. Put him to death straight away.’
‘My dear,’ said the King, ‘we don’t have the death penalty in Illyria.’
‘Well, we should have.’
‘And,’ pointed out the Queen, ‘there isn’t really any evidence against the warrior, is there?’
‘Yes, there is,’ said Blart, seeing his chance to be revenged upon Beo for all his death threats. ‘I saw the whole thing. He killed the dragon for no reason at all.’
‘I was trying to rescue her,’ shouted Beo from the corner.
‘There you are,’ said Princess Lois triumphantly. ‘Ferret-face over there saw that lump of lard kill Gumbo. Now you can kill him.’
There was a pause.
‘Well, you see, my dear, things aren’t really that simple,’ said the King.
‘Wouldn’t it be better if we were to try and reform him?’ suggested the Queen. ‘To show him that it wasn’t really a good thing to kill other people’s pets?’
‘Oooh, I hate you,’ said Princess Lois to the Queen. ‘And you,’ she added to the King. ‘I’m going to bed.’
And with that the Princess stormed out of the throne room, slamming the door behind her.
There was an embarrassed silence.
After a while the King coughed.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
‘Puberty,’ added his wife. Everyone in the room nodded wisely, except for Blart, who didn’t know what puberty was, which was a shame really as he was going through it.
‘Come out of the corner,’ said the King.
Obediently Beo came back across the room.
‘We haven’t traumatised you, have we?’ asked the Queen anxiously.
Beo assured her that he was all right.
‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to kill our daughter’s pet,’ said the King.
‘He did,’ insisted Blart, who was unwilling to let this go. ‘He charged across a whole field and stabbed it and then he chopped off its tail. Search his armour, it’ll be there somewhere.’
The King and Queen chose to ignore Blart and instead began to talk about their daughter to Capablanca, for they were great believers that a problem shared was a problem halved.
‘We worry about her, you see. She’s so full of anger and violence,’ said the King.
‘What will happen after we’re gone?’ asked the Queen.
‘Exactly,’ said the King. ‘We can’t leave Illyria to be ruled by someone who isn’t nice.’
‘If only she’d seen some of the rest of the world,’ sighed the Queen.
‘Exactly,’ agreed the King. ‘Then she’d realise that anger and violence are terrible things, and when she came to rule Illyria she would do so wisely and preserve the friendliness and generosity that is so characteristic of our people.’
‘We’ve talked to her and talked to her about it,’ said the Queen, ‘but we just can’t get through.’
‘She’s always slamming doors,’ added the King.
‘What can we do?’ both of them implored the wizard.
‘You could put Beo to death,’ suggested Blart eagerly. ‘She’d like that.’
‘Or …’ announced Capablanca, who had been listening intently to the royal couple. He paused dramatically to make sure he’d got everyone’s attention. ‘You could let her go with us. We are on our way to face and defeat the forces of evil. She would no doubt see terrible things and return with a sober appreciation of the awfulness of anger and violence, a great love for her country, and a resolve to rule as you have done when her time comes.’
‘Do you think so?’ asked the King.
‘What a fantastic idea,’ said the Queen.
‘But alas,’ said Capablanca, his face suddenly falling, ‘we cannot, for we do not know where we are to go without the map which you have denied us. Unless we have the map we will be unable to take your daughter to experience the educative force of encountering pure evil.’
‘Perhaps we’ve been a bit hasty,’ added the Queen.
‘Yes,’ said the King. ‘If this Zoltab is as bad as you say he is then perhaps fruit and counselling won’t be enough.’
‘After all,’ said the Queen, ‘we don’t really know much about this Zoltab character and you do so perhaps we should trust you to deal with him as you think fit.’
‘Yes, yes,’ nodded the King. ‘That seems to be the
right idea. Call in the clerk. He’s got the key to the tower. It has never been opened in my lifetime, you know.’
A guard went out to fetch the clerk.
‘Won’t it be exciting to see a key again, dear?’ said the Queen.
‘Why?’ said Blart bluntly, who thought keys were not much to get excited about.
‘In Illyria,’ explained the King, ‘we don’t believe in keys and locks. They encourage secrecy and mistrust. The door to the tower is the only one in the whole kingdom that can be locked.’
‘But, what about …’ said Beo, and then he stopped. His chivalric sensibility had instantly alerted him to a problem.
‘Yes?’ said the Queen.
‘What about …’ Beo blushed a deep red. ‘What about intimate moments?’
‘Intimate moments?’ repeated the Queen, arching her eyebrows.
‘Personal functions,’ elaborated Beo as the red on his face turned purple.
‘Personal functions?’ repeated the Queen again as her eyebrows climbed higher.
‘He means when you go for a –’ began Blart.
‘A visit to the Queen’s little room,’ interrupted Capablanca, who feared quite rightly that Blart was on the point of using a term that would not sit well in the royal ears.
‘Yes,’ said Beo, whose face was now a colour that has yet to be given a name.
‘The women of Illyria,’ said the Queen firmly, ‘are renowned for their whistling.’
Everybody looked at their feet, apart from Blart who saw no reason to be embarrassed. He had after all spent his formative years on a pig farm.
Fortunately, the awkward atmosphere was broken by the arrival of the clerk.
‘Aha,’ said the King. ‘Tal. Good. Could you furnish us with the key?’
‘What key?’ said the clerk, who seemed to go a little paler as he said it.
‘Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the King. ‘I like a good joke as well as the next monarch. What key? You know what key. The only key. The key to the tower.’
‘Right,’ said the clerk. ‘It’s just that I can’t quite remember where it is.’
‘Oh,’ said the King. ‘That’s unfortunate.’
‘You mean it’s lost?’ said the Queen.
‘Not quite,’ said the clerk, looking awkward.
‘I’ll break down the door, then,’ said Beo, who was pleased to be able to say something macho after the debacle of the toilet conversation. ‘I’m good at doors,’ he added. ‘You get lots of practice when you’re collecting debts.’
‘I fear not,’ said Capablanca. ‘That door was built by the six lords and it is indestructible. They wanted to guard Zoltab’s whereabouts well in case people tried to dig him up.’ Capablanca turned back to the clerk. ‘Are you sure you can’t remember? It’s very important.’
‘Yes,’ said the King. ‘It’s most unlike you, Tal. That’s why we gave you the key to look after in the first place. Now, I’ll tell you what helps me when I get a bit forgetful. How about a nice juicy pear? Does wonders for the memory.’
The King took a pear from the golden bowl that sat beside his throne.
‘No, thank you, your Majesty,’ replied the clerk.
‘It helps,’ the King assured him.
‘Go on,’ urged the Queen.
Aware that the eyes of everyone in the room were on him, the clerk gulped, ‘Well, if you’re sure.’
He took the pear and bit into it. It was very ripe and the juice flowed down the sides of his chin in two rivulets. But the flesh of the pear did not stay in his mouth long. He cupped his hands to his mouth and spat it out.
‘Uuurggh!’ said the clerk as he shook the pear off his hands and on to the floor, which wasn’t very polite.
‘Grab him, Beo!’ shouted Capablanca immediately. ‘He’s a minion of Zoltab.’
Things in the room happened very fast indeed after that. The Queen’s hands flew to her mouth in horror. The King opened his mouth to speak but found he couldn’t. Beo lumbered towards the clerk with his massive hands outstretched. But the clerk was nimbler than the warrior. He evaded his grasp and rushed to the window. As he stuck his hand outside, the sunlight flashed off something gripped in his palm. A key.
‘Damn you, wizard,’ said the clerk in a voice which sounded entirely different. ‘Why can’t you leave well alone? Yes, I’m a minion of Zoltab and proud of it. You may have caught me but I am not important. My last act for my master will be to throw this key into the river that lies below. It is deep and fast flowing and it will carry this key far from you. You will never find Zoltab’s tunnel and he will rise in triumph. Master, your servant has served you well.’
And with that the clerk opened his hand. Beo threw himself at the clerk. Everyone else held their breath. But Beo was too far away and the key would slip out of the clerk’s hand, fall into the river and be lost for ever, and with it would go the last hope of saving the world.
Chapter 22
Except that there was one factor that no one, not Capablanca, not Beo, not the King, not the Queen, not the clerk and certainly not Blart had taken into consideration.
Pear juice.
It’s sticky.
The key didn’t move.
Gravity pulled with all its might but the juice held on.
The clerk’s smug smile of triumph vanished. But one shake of his hand and the key would be dislodged. His brain screamed at his nerves; his nerves yelled at his muscles; his muscles twitched; and at that moment a diving warrior hit him headfirst in the stomach and took all decision-making power away from him.
But the eyes of the others did not follow the two men as they collapsed in a heap. Instead they watched the key. Knocked from the clerk’s grasp it flew up into the air, hung for a microsecond that seemed like a whole second and then began to fall. It tumbled over itself in an easy somersault, added a twirl for good measure and came to rest with a tinkle on the ledge that jutted out from the window.
‘Damn,’ said the clerk.
Everybody breathed again. The wizard hastened over to the ledge and retrieved the key.
The Queen collapsed back into her chair, sobbing uncontrollably. She’d never seen anybody hit anybody before and was in no way desensitised to violence. It was all too much.
‘There, there, my dear,’ said the King soothingly whilst patting her on the head.
Beo got to his feet and pulled the clerk up with him.
‘Check behind his ear,’ instructed Capablanca.
Beo did.
‘It’s grubby,’ revealed Beo.
‘Is there a tattoo of an “m”?’ demanded Capablanca irritably.
‘I don’t know,’ said Beo. ‘I can’t read, can I?’
‘Do I have to do everything?’ said Capablanca, and he went up to examine the ear himself whilst the clerk hung helplessly in Beo’s bearlike grip.
‘An “m”,’ exclaimed Capablanca somewhat theatrically. ‘The conclusive proof that this is definitely a minion of Zoltab.’
‘He told us that ages ago,’ pointed out Blart, which rather punctured the wizard’s grand moment.
‘You can’t trust the word of a minion,’ said Capablanca.
‘But …’ began Blart and then he stopped. There was something wrong with what the wizard was saying but he was far too stupid to be able to work out what it was.
‘Imagine,’ said the King. ‘A minion of Zoltab. In our palace. And we didn’t even know. How did you work it out so quickly?’
‘I have my methods,’ said Capablanca with more than a hint of self-satisfaction.
‘Lucky guess,’ suggested Blart.
‘It was not!’ snapped Capablanca. ‘There were two vital clues which led to my detection of the minion. First, he didn’t smile and he wasn’t friendly like everybody else in Illyria, and second, he couldn’t eat fruit. During my researches in the Cavernous Library of Ping I unearthed a rare text that revealed Zoltab’s minions and Ministers can’t eat fresh food. It needs to have gone off before their evil stomachs c
an tolerate it. When the minion spat out the pear the conclusion was obvious.’
‘Astounding, sir,’ commented the King.
‘All in a day’s work,’ Capablanca assured him with what he thought sounded like modesty.
‘And now,’ said Beo, ‘we’ll torture him and find out all he knows about Zoltab’s return.’
At the word ‘torture’ the Queen, who, as we know, was rather sensitive on the subject of violence, fainted dead away and banged her head with a nasty thump on the back of her throne. Her crown fell off and clattered on to the bronze floor.
It was an unfortunate occurrence. Perhaps an even more unfortunate occurrence was that Beo, shocked at having caused another damsel’s distress, momentarily released his grip on the clerk. Perhaps even more unfortunate than that was the fact that the Queen liked to eat her fruit sliced. Perhaps even more unfortunate than that was that her sharp fruit knife was within reach of Zoltab’s minion.
In a second, the knife was in his hand, his tongue was stuck out and the knife was slicing through it. A tiny plop and another tongue lay on the floor twitching with the reflexes of its newly severed nerves.
‘They’re always doing that,’ observed Blart.
Chapter 23
The early morning sun caught the dew in the long grass and made it sparkle. The air was fresh and light. A cool breeze swished through the leaves of the trees and in the fields young rabbits lolloped in play.
‘’Tis a fine day,’ said Beo.
‘Indeed,’ agreed Capablanca.
‘I’m tired,’ yawned Blart, who would have much preferred to stay in bed.
The three questors sat astride Pig the Horse in a field outside the walls of the great city of Elysium. They were joined by the King, the Queen, Princess Lois and a large number of Illyrians, who all queued up politely to watch this state occasion and continually swapped positions in order to give each other a better view. They had all been nervous about whether the Princess would agree to come but she had leapt at the chance. Little did they realise that she had her own reasons for coming that she kept firmly to herself – for the time being, at least.
‘We must go,’ said Capablanca. After retrieving the map from the tower he had spent much of the night examining it and had discovered that the location of the Great Tunnel of Despair was even further away than he’d feared. He knew that every moment counted if they were not to arrive too late.
The Boy Who Didn't Want to Save the World Page 10