‘Quiet,’ said Beo, standing up. ‘If a damsel asks for an escort then any man worth his salt will give her one. A man should be prepared to sacrifice his whole life to give a fair damsel an extra moment of tranquility and peace of mind.’
‘But she doesn’t need protection,’ pointed out Blart. ‘She’s scarier than you … Ow.’
Beo cuffed Blart across the head.
‘Never call a damsel scary,’ Beo told him.
And with that Beo escorted Princess Lois off on her stroll. Blart sat alone and watched Beo and Princess Lois walk towards the setting sun. As they got further away they turned into two silhouettes – one big and fat and the other small and thin. Even from a distance Blart could tell that the small and thin one seemed to be doing all the talking. He felt very lonely. Here he was in a wasteland with three people who didn’t like him and tomorrow he was probably going to get killed trying to save a world that had never done anything for him. Blart was feeling something he had never felt before. It was simply the need for another human being just to sit and be with.
But Blart didn’t know this so he thought he might be getting ill. He put his hand to his forehead. It was very hot but then again he was in the middle of a desert and most things tend to be. Even if I was ill, he thought, nobody would care. And then he thought that if he had a really bad disease then perhaps he’d die in the night and then they’d all feel sorry for being so nasty to him. Except he’d be dead, and that was the outcome he’d spent most of the quest trying to avoid so it wouldn’t do him any good. Blart’s brain protested at this point. It had been doing far too much thinking, it told him, and it wanted to stop now.
Blart, with no other companion available to him, stood up and walked over to say hello to Pig the Horse. But when he tried to stroke the great horse it immediately moved away. Perhaps Pig remembered some of the nasty comments Blart had made about him; perhaps Pig remembered some of the kicks Blart had given him; perhaps Blart simply smelled bad. Whatever the reason Blart felt rejected all over again. Too depressed even to call Pig the Horse names, he stumped back to the fire and sat down.
By now the wizard had returned but he still ignored Blart and continued studying the map. Princess Lois and Beo came back. Even though they had been talking non-stop on their walk they had nothing to say now. Capablanca yawned, folded up the map and told everyone that they should get a good night’s sleep as they might well be saving the world tomorrow. He lay down, placing the folded-up map under his head in place of a pillow, and was soon asleep. Princess Lois and Beo nodded to one another and moved to different sides of the fire, where they too lay down and were soon asleep.
Blart lay on his back staring up at the stars. He remembered his grandfather and his favourite pigs. It seemed so long ago since he’d left them. He wasn’t too bothered about his grandfather but he’d really missed his pigs. And so, with thoughts of feeding Wattle and Daub apples floating round his mind, Blart fell asleep. Would he be able to rise to the challenges that the next day was sure to bring?
Chapter 26
Blart was leaning over the side of a large pen. In the pen were ten glorious pigs. They were eating. Then they stopped eating and began running about. Suddenly – Blart didn’t know how – he was in the pen with them. He and the pigs were running around in the mud. Faster and faster they ran, but all at the same pace so that he never banged into the pig in front or got hit by the pig behind. He was laughing. On the outside of the pen he could see Princess Lois, Beo, Capablanca and Pig the Horse. They all looked miserable. They wanted to be in the pen running round in the mud with the pigs but they had to stay outside.
‘Serves you right for being so nasty to me,’ Blart shouted at them.
But then there was a flash of blue light from the wizard’s eyes and Blart felt himself stumble and fall into the mud. He tried to get up, but the mud clung on to him and pulled him down. He wanted to run with the pigs but the mud wouldn’t let him. The Princess, Beo and Capablanca started laughing at him. Behind them he could see Pig the Horse and even he was laughing at him. He struggled violently but still the mud wouldn’t let him go. And then one of the pigs that was hurtling towards him stumbled, tripped over and landed smack bang on Blart’s chest.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened his eyes. Above him the stars were dotted around the clear night sky. It was all a dream. Except …
He still couldn’t breathe.
‘Euch,’ said Blart, which is the kind of noise you make when you are attempting to breathe but not really succeeding.
Then Blart noticed something else. He couldn’t move his arms. They were bound tightly to his sides. He tried hard to push them outwards. Whatever was holding them tightened. Blart managed to suck a little air into his cramped chest. He tried to work out what was holding him. It felt like rope. Thick rope. Thick rope with a pulse. Thick rope which was alive.
‘Euch,’ euched Blart again. It was supposed to be a scream of fear but was instead more like the croak of a modest toad. Blart felt himself begin to move. Whatever was holding him wanted to put him somewhere else.
‘Blart.’ Capablanca’s voice was inside his head.
Blart would have jumped in shock if he had been able to. He’d never had anybody inside his head and frankly this was not the ideal time for it to happen.
‘Blart,’ repeated Capablanca, ‘I am unable to speak at the moment and so am using my magic power to communicate directly from my brain to your brain. It’s not easy.’
‘Oh,’ said Blart but predictably it came out as, ‘Euch.’
‘I have made an error,’ continued Capablanca in Blart’s head. ‘I was under the impression that on the map there was an ‘S’ by this lake. I now realise that this was in fact a mistake.’
‘Stupid old man,’ thought Blart.
‘I heard that,’ said Capablanca. ‘This is no time for recriminations. We have a practical problem on our hands. As I was saying, what I thought was an “S” was in fact nothing of the sort. It was actually a picture of a serpent.’
‘What’s a serpent?’ thought Blart, who, as we know, was not particularly well-endowed in the vocabulary department.
‘I thought you might be wondering about that,’ said Capablanca. ‘Serpents are big snakes. They slither out of pools at night and coil themselves around any living thing that is nearby. Unfortunately they have coiled themselves around you and me. They will then pull us underwater, where we will drown. Then they will wait for us to rot and then eat us. Any other questions?’
‘Big snakes. Drown. Rot. Eaten,’ screamed Blart inside his head.
‘That’s hardly a question,’ said Capablanca sternly. ‘Don’t panic. I know a spell that will get the serpent to release me. All I need to say is “Shanti” three times and the serpent will be forced to let go.’
‘Say it, then,’ yelled Blart in his head.
‘I was about to,’ replied Capablanca. ‘I was just letting you know what the situation was because I thought you might be concerned. Consideration costs nothing.’
‘Say it,’ screeched Blart in his head as he felt his feet being pulled into the water.
‘Don’t rush me,’ said Capablanca. ‘You have to do these things right.’
The serpent holding Blart gave a sudden twist and Blart was tugged further down the side of the pool. He felt his calves slide into the cold black water.
‘Eeeek,’ squeaked Blart in his head.
‘Keep quiet, can’t you?’ ordered Capablanca. ‘You’re destroying my concentration.’
Blart tried his best to keep quiet. The serpent produced another lunge and pulled Blart into the water up to his waist.
‘Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.’ Blart heard Capablanca in his head and there was a sudden flash of crackling blue light that whizzed across the night sky.
‘That seems to have done the trick,’ said Capablanca. But he said it in his normal outside voice. To Blart, it sounded very loud and strange.
The spell, which h
ad managed to get rid of Capablanca’s serpent, didn’t seem to have had any effect on the one gripping Blart. Instead it produced another shuddering convulsion and pulled him into the pool up to his chest.
‘The spell hasn’t worked,’ screamed Blart in his head. ‘Get this thing off me.’
‘The spell has worked,’ insisted Capablanca indignantly. ‘The serpent that was dragging me to my doom has released its vice-like grip and slithered back into the murky depths from whence it came.’
‘Mine hasn’t,’ pointed out Blart.
‘It wasn’t supposed to,’ replied Capablanca patiently. ‘The spell is only designed to remove a serpent from the person who utters the spell. To get a serpent off someone else is a different spell entirely.’
‘Say that one, then,’ screeched Blart in his head as the serpent, with another burst of energy, dragged him into the pool up to his neck.
‘There’s a slight problem there,’ began Capablanca. ‘You see, I don’t know it.’
‘Well, kill it then,’ demanded Blart in his head.
‘Not really practical, I’m afraid. Serpents have impenetrable skin and are two hundred times stronger than me.’ By now Capablanca was standing on the edge of the pool right next to Blart’s head. He crouched down and spoke directly into his ear. ‘The only way to get it off you is for you to say, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti, and the magic words will release you from the serpent’s dreaded coils.’
‘Shanti, Shanti, Shanti,’ said Blart straight away. But the coils didn’t vanish. Instead they flexed even more sharply around Blart, pulling him further into the pool. Water lapped around the corners of his mouth.
‘You had to rush it, didn’t you?’ said Capablanca irritably. ‘It’s Shanti, Shanti, Shanti. Not Shante, Shante, Shante. Thanks to that slip of the tongue some poor woman will wake up tomorrow to discover that her husband’s been turned into a dragon. Now concentrate. Try and get that sharp “i” sound at the end.’
Blart concentrated as well as he could manage in the circumstances. But he found he was continually distracted by an image of a huge serpent eating his rotting body.
‘Shanti, Shanti, Shanti,’ he said.
‘No, no, no,’ shouted Capablanca in frustration. ‘That was Shantii, Shantii, Shantii. You’re making the “i” last too long. With that mistake, you’ve just made some poor innocent man’s nose turn into a root vegetable. Now get it right!’
Blart forced himself to focus on exactly how the wizard had said the words. This time I’ll get it right, he promised himself. This time I’ll get it right.
And then before he had time to think anything else he felt a huge tug and the serpent dragged him under the water. Without thinking he opened his mouth. Water poured into it and rushed straight down into his lungs. Blart felt horribly full of water and horribly empty of air at the same time. It had happened so fast. He felt as if he was going to explode.
‘Shanti, Shanti, Shanti,’ he screamed inside his head. Then there was nothing but blackness.
Chapter 27
There was a huge weight on his back. It was pressing up and down. Something was oozing from the side of his mouth. There was another bang on his back. He felt sick. This was it. His grandfather had always told him that he would rot in hell. And here he was. Doomed for eternity to feel sick and be for ever hit on the back with no hope of any escape.
Except Blart wasn’t in hell. Instead, he was lying face down in the sand by the pool from which Capablanca had pulled him after Blart had said Shanti, Shanti, Shanti correctly and succeeded in freeing himself from the coils of the serpent before falling into unconsciousness. The banging on his back was simply Capablanca trying to force the water out of Blart’s lungs, and the oozing from the side of his mouth was the water gradually escaping. But it was typical of Blart to look at things from their worst possible angle.
There was another bang on Blart’s back. A particularly hefty one.
‘Erp,’ said Blart as more liquid oozed out of him.
‘Aha,’ said Capablanca. ‘So you’re alive, are you?’
‘Yerp,’ said Blart.
‘I hope you learnt your lesson,’ said Capablanca, giving another bang to Blart’s back.
‘Werp?’ said Blart.
‘Pronunciation is very important,’ continued Capablanca severely. ‘Slangy lazy speech can condemn you to a watery grave.’ And with a final slap Capablanca released Blart.
Blart raised his head. He was deathly pale and his clothes were sodden and dirty. Sand and spit dribbled down the side of his mouth. The night in the desert was cold and Blart shivered uncontrollably.
‘I want to go home,’ he said miserably.
‘Stop moaning,’ ordered the wizard. ‘And clean yourself up. You can’t save the world in that state.’
The darkness was beginning to thin. Dunes invisible in the night were formed once more.
‘Where are the others?’ asked Blart.
‘What?’ said Capablanca.
‘The others.’
‘Others?’ replied Capablanca. ‘Oh, the others. They’re …’ He looked around. ‘They were there last night.’
‘What about when the serpents attacked?’
‘I don’t remember. I was too busy being attacked and then saving your life. Did you see them?’
‘I was too busy nearly being killed,’ pointed out Blart.
‘Oh,’ said Capablanca. ‘I don’t know. If they’re not here then I don’t know where they can be.’
Capablanca and Blart stood up and looked from left to right for as far as they could see, but there was nothing. No sign of Princess Lois, no sign of Beo and no sign of Pig the Horse. Just endless sand dunes slowly turning from grey to brown in the weak dawn light. Where could their companions be? They both found themselves staring at the inky black water of the oasis.
‘Oh dear,’ said Capablanca.
There was no other conclusion to reach. Princess Lois, Beo and Pig the Horse had all been dragged to a watery grave by the remorseless writhing of the serpents and even now their corpses lay in some foul den slowly rotting.
‘If only,’ said Capablanca, breaking the silence, ‘if only I hadn’t misread the map. None of this would have happened.’
The silence continued.
‘Mind you,’ continued Capablanca, ‘a picture of a serpent does look a lot like an “S” when you think about it. Whoever drew up that map really should have been a bit more specific. It’s a mistake anyone could have made.’
The silence continued.
‘If I could get my hands on the man who drew that map,’ continued Capablanca, ‘I’d give him a piece of my –’ Capablanca broke off. Blart looked at him. His face, which had been a mask of calm control, was suddenly creased with panic. ‘The map. The map. The map. Where’s the map?’
Capablanca rushed over to where he’d been sleeping. Nothing. He rushed to the edge of the oasis. Nothing. He rushed back and forth between the two places. Still nothing. He rushed round and round in a circle. Not very surprisingly, there was still nothing, as this is hardly the most sensible way to look for something.
‘This is awful, terrible, horrible, miserable,’ Capablanca shouted in despair.
Blart, however, was not concerned. He saw the death of his companions and the loss of the map in a positive light.
‘Can I go home now?’ he asked Capablanca.
‘What?’ shouted the enraged wizard.
‘Can I go home now?’ Blart repeated patiently. ‘The Princess, Beo and Pig the Horse are all dead and we’ve lost the map. There’s no point going on if we don’t know where we’re going so I think I should go home.’
People say every cloud has a silver lining, and the silver lining for Blart was that the quest was now surely at an end.
‘Go home?’ said Capablanca. ‘Don’t you understand, boy, that if we go home there won’t be a home to go home to? Zoltab will destroy everything. Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve been saying?’
‘Not
much,’ admitted Blart.
‘We’ll just have to think of another plan.’
‘Oh,’ said Blart.
‘And the map has not been lost. It has been spirited away by evil forces whilst I was distracted.’
‘Like the wind,’ suggested Blart.
‘A wind under the control of evil forces is a possibility,’ conceded Capablanca. ‘Now shut up and let me think of another plan.’
The wizard sat down cross-legged, put his head in his hands and proceeded to think very visibly. But it was not the wizard who came up with a new plan. It was Blart.
‘Couldn’t we ask Zoltab to leave our homes alone?’ he suggested.
Capablanca didn’t even bother to look up. Wizards are not like humans. Normal humans can think for about a minute before they want to do something else, and that’s if they’re clever. Wizards can think for hours. And Capablanca did just that. The sky lightened, the desert began to heat up and the oasis pool became a deep and inviting blue that would have tempted anybody to jump in for a swim if they didn’t happen to know about the serpents that lurked in its depths.
The sun climbed steadily up the sky and the heat rose accordingly. Blart began to imagine he could actually feel his body beginning to burn, and sought what shelter there was under the two scruffy trees. The sun was directly above them when the wizard suddenly uncrossed his legs, stood up and spoke one word.
‘Dwarves.’
It didn’t sound much of a plan to Blart. But Capablanca seemed perfectly happy with it. He looked up at the sun, studied the dunes that surrounded them and then pointed purposefully at a mound of sand that to Blart looked exactly like any other lump of sand and said, ‘That way.’
Immediately he set off. Blart watched the wizard depart, wishing more than anything that he didn’t have to follow him. But he was in the middle of a desert miles from home. And when you’re in that situation and the only other person says ‘That way’ and sets off, your options are strictly limited.
For three days they struggled across the desert. Their faces were burnt, their lips dried and cracked, and their throats parched, but still they walked. The cruel sun shone red hot during the day, but at night the empty sky lost all warmth and they shivered their way through the dark hours until the sun returned. But soon the sun’s welcome light became searing heat and they cursed its boiling rage as much as they had cursed its absence in the night. Each unfolding hour was walked more slowly than the last. The sand slipped and slid below them, grit lodged in their eyes which became red and sore with rubbing. And then, just as they thought they could go on no more, they would find a small pool of water to save them.
The Boy Who Didn't Want to Save the World Page 12