The Boy Who Didn't Want to Save the World

by Dominic Barker

  ‘Fire or ice? I’m waiting to get married and then conquer the earth.’

  ‘Let Blart live!’ interrupted Princess Lois.

  ‘What?’ Zoltab rounded on his wife-to-be and gave her a terrible stare.

  But this time Princess Lois refused to be quailed. She held her head up high and faced the evil Lord.

  ‘Do it for me,’ she demanded. ‘I am to be your wife and I ask you for this favour.’

  Zoltab looked incredulous.

  ‘You mean that you would marry me voluntarily if I were to pardon this ugly boy?’

  Princess Lois swallowed hard.

  ‘I would, My Lord.’

  Zoltab lowered his head to consider the offer. Blart looked thankfully at Princess Lois. He could not believe that she was prepared to make this great sacrifice for him.

  Zoltab raised his head.

  ‘Thank you for your proposition, Princess. But I would prefer to marry you against your will and kill this boy as well.’

  ‘But if I –’ began Princess Lois.

  ‘Silence!’ thundered Zoltab. ‘I shall brook no more futile delay. How will you die, Blart – fire or ice?’

  ‘Er …’ said Blart again.

  ‘We could draw lots, My Lord,’ suggested Maroczy.

  ‘Fool!’ bellowed Zoltab. ‘He must choose. Don’t you see that’s the beauty?’

  ‘Oh, yes, my lord,’ said Maroczy quickly. ‘I do …’

  And then things happened so fast that Blart didn’t catch the end of his sentence.

  Chapter 44

  There was a sudden movement next to Blart and he was thrust towards Zoltab. The sneer of cold command was wiped from the Dark Lord’s face and replaced by surprise. Blart tried to twist his body to see what was happening but it was all too fast. Before he knew it and before Zoltab had time to react, they were face to face. Revolted and terrified, he managed to turn his head. And he saw Capablanca. Raising a knife.

  And then he remembered.

  For had not Capablanca told him that the only way that Zoltab could be robbed of his powers was to have blood spurt on him directly from the heart of the first-born son of a first-born son of a first-born son all the way back to the start of time? And here was Capablanca bringing down a knife towards his heart. Blart didn’t believe it was going to happen. Everything slowed down. Around him the crowd gasped, the guards leapt for Capablanca, Princess Lois screamed and Zoltab flinched. But all Blart saw was the knife travel ever so slowly downwards. He couldn’t do it. The knife kept descending. Not after all they’d been through. Still falling. No, no, no.

  The knife plunged straight into Blart’s heart. Blood splashed everywhere. Over Blart, over Capablanca and over Zoltab. Zoltab gasped and slumped back. The guards and Ministers, so intent a second ago on capturing Capablanca, stopped aghast at the sight of their collapsing leader.

  Blart slumped to the floor. He could feel himself growing weaker. He could still see and hear what was going on but, though it was close by, it seemed far away and getting further away all the time.

  Grim-faced, Capablanca approached Zoltab. Everybody looked at the blood-spattered Dark Lord. Blart, the last seconds of his life slipping away, lay ignored on the floor.

  ‘Zoltab is defeated,’ proclaimed Capablanca. ‘It is too late to do anything for him now. He has been destroyed by the blood of a first-born son of a first-born son of a first-born son going all the way back to the beginning of time. I, Capablanca, have …’ Capablanca’s voice faltered. He looked towards Blart and his expression became one of doubt and shame as he observed the weakening of the dying boy. ‘I, Capablanca, have …’ he began again, but this time a sob caught in his throat and brought an end to his speech. ‘I, Capablanca, have destroyed Zoltab, but the price has been truly terrible.’

  Unable to look at Blart any more, Capablanca hung his head.

  Guards, Ministers, minions – all were too shocked to kill him. They gazed towards their Lord, waiting for a sign that would tell them how to act.

  There were waves of black now for Blart. One moment he could see and the next moment he couldn’t, even though he was sure he had not closed his eyes. The scene on the podium would return but each time more blurry and more distant. Blart was slipping away from the world.

  But he could still hear.

  And he heard something. A rumble that became a roar. A roar of laughter.

  ‘I, Capablanca, have saved the world.’

  But it was not Capablanca’s voice. It belonged to Zoltab.

  ‘You foolish wizard. To think that you could do such a thing. Behold the majesty of Zoltab.’

  The darkness parted and Blart could make out Zoltab standing tall and proud whilst Capablanca cowered in the grip of the Dark Lord’s guards. It was all for nothing, thought Blart. It hasn’t worked. I will die for nothing.

  And then Zoltab looked down upon him.

  ‘Wizard, by fire or ice I decreed, and by the hand of Zoltab that is what I shall have.’

  Dimly, Blart was aware of a flash of black light from Zoltab’s eyes.

  And then he seemed to be coming back. The figures on the platform became clearer. The voices were nearer. Blart felt strength returning to his bones. His felt his heartbeat become stronger and the blood move through his veins. And then he was back. Lying on Zoltab’s platform with everybody staring at him, and feeling rather foolish. He felt his chest. Where there should have been a hole there was nothing. It was a miracle. He was alive. Blart smiled.

  ‘Do not be so quick to smile. For I have brought you back to life only for a more unpleasant death.’

  Blart stopped smiling.

  ‘Could you do that, wizard?’ demanded Zoltab, turning his attention to Capablanca. ‘Save a boy on the verge of death? Could you do that?’

  Humbly, Capablanca shook his head. All his research and his quest had come to nothing. He would not be remembered as the greatest wizard of all. He looked old and beaten.

  ‘But you thought that you could defeat Zoltab. How little you know. But before you die it is time for you to know a little more. Guards. Hold them tight.’

  Blart was pulled roughly from the floor by two guards. Others leapt to hold Beo. Capablanca was already being held so the guards shook him about a bit to show they’d been listening.

  ‘Now you will see the depths of your folly. Now you will meet my most senior minister, the Master.’

  The tall, thin black-cloaked figure that Blart had last seen in the Great Tunnel of Despair appeared from behind Zoltab’s massive throne. He stood by Zoltab’s side.

  ‘This is the Master. But to you, Blart, he may have a different name.’

  The Master threw back the hood of his cloak.

  ‘Grandfather!’ said Blart in astonishment.

  Capablanca groaned.

  ‘But, Grandfather,’ said Blart, so shocked to see his relative that he forgot everything else. ‘If you’re here who’s looking after the pigs?’

  ‘Don’t call me “Grandfather”,’ snapped the Master. ‘And don’t expect to see your pigs again. They were sent to market the day you left.’

  ‘Even Wattle and Daub?’

  ‘Gone to market,’ the Master told him brutally. ‘Sold, slaughtered, sliced and cooked into pies.’

  Tears welled in Blart’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, I am a fool,’ groaned Capablanca. ‘Why did I not see? Why did I not ask what had become of Blart’s parents?’

  And the moment that Capablanca said this it occurred to Blart that perhaps he should have asked too. Everybody else had parents and he hadn’t. And he’d never thought to mention it.

  ‘Blart’s parents perished when he was just an ugly baby,’ said the Master. ‘And I adopted him. For you should know, Capablanca, that greater than the Cavernous Library of Ping is the Even More Cavernous Library of Zing, and it was there that I discovered the secret of the power of the first-born son of the first-born son of the first-born son going back to the beginning of time to rob Zoltab of his power.
I traced that boy before you and resolved to keep him from you.’

  ‘You did well, Master,’ said Zoltab, ‘and you will be handsomely rewarded.’

  The Master bowed to his lord and then gestured towards Blart.

  ‘The only thing that could make spending years with this horrible boy worth it is the fact that it has made you safe,’ he said reverently.

  Blart couldn’t believe it. No parents, no pigs, and still people insulted him.

  ‘But,’ protested Capablanca, ‘I don’t understand. I found Blart and you let me take him from you. We got to Zoltab. I splattered Blart’s blood all over Zoltab. I know my research was right. I checked it over and over again. Blart’s blood should have robbed Zoltab of his power. It doesn’t make sense.’

  Zoltab laughed so loudly that the arena shook. The whole world could hear him.

  ‘Tell him before he dies,’ he commanded.

  The Master bowed once more to his lord and then turned to Capablanca.

  ‘Your research was right, wizard. It is indeed true that blood direct from the heart of a first-born son of a first-born son of a first-born son going right back to the beginning of time can rob Zoltab of his powers. And your plan would have worked if it had not been for one thing.’

  Here the Master turned to Blart.

  ‘Blart,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ said Blart.

  ‘I would like you to meet your older brother.’

  From behind the throne he came. He looked like Blart but he did not look like Blart. For where Blart’s features had made him ugly, slight alterations had made his brother handsome. They were the same height, but, where Blart stood awkwardly, his brother stood tall and proud. Where Blart’s face was marked with the lumps of wasps’ stings, his brother’s complexion was smooth and clear. Where Blart’s skin was white and pasty, his brother’s was tanned and gleaming.

  Blart had never hated anybody more.

  ‘Didn’t I always say it?’ shouted Beo. ‘Didn’t I, Capablanca? I said Blart couldn’t be a hero. Look at his brother. Now there’s a hero for you.’

  ‘I always had my doubts,’ confirmed Capablanca reluctantly. ‘Blart was so cowardly, so untrustworthy, so useless, so loathsome. But I checked the records. I checked and checked them. There was no mention of Blart having an older brother.’

  ‘Because I destroyed all the evidence,’ said the Master smoothly. ‘And I killed everybody who had ever known of Blart’s brother’s existence. I hid him away and so when you came to look you thought the first-born son was Blart. I let you take him because I knew from the start that your quest was a hopeless waste of time. You never had a hero at all.’

  ‘Boy,’ Capablanca shouted to Blart’s brother, ‘I beg you to save the world. All you have to do is stab yourself and allow the blood from your heart to pour directly on to Zoltab. His power will be taken from him.’

  ‘Your pleas are useless, Wizard,’ replied the Master. ‘Blart’s brother has been brought up under the protection of Lord Zoltab. He would never hurt him, would you, boy?’

  ‘My loyalty lies with Lord Zoltab,’ replied Blart’s brother, in such an amiable and polite way that Blart got even more angry.

  ‘Enough,’ commanded Zoltab, raising one spiked fist. ‘My destiny awaits. I must execute these traitors, get married and conquer the world. Any last requests?’

  ‘You couldn’t make me a knight, could you?’ asked Beo.

  Zoltab stared at him.

  ‘Ah, come on,’ pleaded Beo. ‘What harm would it do?’

  ‘You amuse me, warrior,’ replied Zoltab. ‘I will grant your request.’

  ‘Beowulf!’ exclaimed Capablanca. ‘You cannot become a knight of Zoltab. To do so would be to betray our cause.’

  Zoltab ignored the wizard’s protests.

  ‘To be a knight of Zoltab you must carry the shield of Zoltab and wear the helmet of Zoltab. You, guard. Give him yours.’

  A guard removed his helmet and handed over his shield. Beowulf knelt down.

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ urged Capablanca.

  But Beo did not even look at him. Zoltab raised his huge sword. He touched it on Beo’s shoulders and said, ‘I dub thee Sir Beowulf, Knight of Zoltab.’

  ‘That’s grand,’ said Beo.

  ‘Now prepare to die.’

  It was at this moment that one of the four guards surrounding Blart turned into a dragon.

  Chapter 45

  Now this is really stupid, I know you’re saying to yourself. I’ve followed this story all the way through, and I’ve not always been sure that it was telling me the truth, but I’ve given it the benefit of the doubt and now, right at the end, for no apparent reason, a guard, a minor character who is of no significance at all, just turns into a dragon. What kind of tale is this?

  But you forget that when Blart was in the desert being pulled to his death by a serpent he sent out three spells. The final one freed him, the second turned a man’s nose into a carrot, but the first …

  What happened to the first?

  As has been proved by Znosko-Borovsky’s Third Law of Magic, a spell cannot disappear until it has engaged. In order to engage it must penetrate. And, amazingly improbable as this might seem, Blart’s first spell had not yet encountered anything it could penetrate in all the time since he’d inadvertently cast it. Until it hit the guard who, having handed his helmet over to Beo, was no longer protected against magic.

  Everybody stared.

  The dragon stared back.

  Now, as we’ve already established, dragons aren’t dangerous creatures. They are timid and shy, but when timid and shy creatures are placed in a large amphitheatre with a vast crowd staring at them they tend to panic. The dragon flapped its wings.

  One wing hit Beo and his guards and knocked them over, the other hit Capablanca and his guards and knocked them over. Everybody else on the platform dived for cover, apart from Zoltab, who had his image to think of, and Blart’s brother who, as we know, was predestined to be a hero and therefore knew no fear. The dragon’s great wings were beating. Smoke poured from its nose. It flew forward towards Zoltab. The Dark Lord was not prepared to be knocked over in front of his minions. He raised his great sword and thrust it into the dragon’s soft belly.

  The dragon howled. Its great wings lost their strength and it plummeted back down on to the platform. It could have landed anywhere. But where it did land was plop on the head of Blart’s brother, who was squashed so hard that he exploded. Bits of Blart’s brother flew everywhere. Everything was splattered with red goo. Blart was. Princess Lois was. Beo was. Capablanca was. The Master was. Maroczy was. The guards were.

  But most important of all, Zoltab was.

  ‘No!’ he shouted as the blood landed on him, but already his great voice was reduced to a whisper. And this time there was no pretence. He was shrinking into himself. His power was gone. Within seconds, he was smaller than Tungsten the dwarf.

  ‘Quick,’ said Capablanca, reacting first. ‘We must get Zoltab out of here. We cannot leave him in the hands of his Ministers and minions. They might find a way to reverse the action of the blood.’

  ‘By washing it off,’ suggested Blart.

  ‘Don’t give them any ideas,’ snapped Capablanca. ‘Help me get Zoltab out of here.’

  ‘Look!’ shouted Princess Lois.

  They did as she commanded. Over the far wall of the arena rose a creature that brought a smile to each of the questors’ faces. It was black and it was flying.

  ‘Deus ex machina,’ shouted Capablanca, which nobody else understood.

  ‘Pig the Horse,’ cried Blart, which some people did.

  And it was Pig the Horse. Huge, powerful and magnificent. He had escaped from the stables of Zoltab and was coming to the questors’ rescue.

  None of the minions and Ministers had ever seen a flying horse before. They all watched, dumbstruck, as Pig the Horse flew over them and landed right by Zoltab’s throne.

  ‘Quick
,’ shouted Capablanca. ‘We must mount Pig and flee before the Ministers and minions regroup and try to prevent us escaping with Zoltab.’

  Capablanca and Beo forced the shrunken figure of Zoltab on to Pig’s back. They climbed on behind him.

  ‘Attack,’ shouted the Master, who had eventually recovered from the shock of seeing Zoltab shrivel and from the arrival of Pig the Horse. ‘We must get Zoltab back. Don’t let them get away.’

  Beo pulled Princess Lois on to Pig’s back. Things were beginning to get crowded up there.

  The guards, who had seemed stupefied by the turn of events, responded to the voice of command. They picked themselves up and rushed towards Pig.

  Only Blart was left on the ground. He was on the opposite side of the massive throne to Pig the Horse and the others.

  ‘Let’s go,’ shouted Capablanca.

  Capablanca had intended this as encouragement to Blart. Unfortunately such was his urgency that it was transmitted to Pig the Horse, who began to rise into the air.

  Without Blart.

  Blart ran round the throne towards the rising horse. Behind him charged the minions, outraged and furious at the defeat of Zoltab. Pig the Horse rose higher.

  Blart jumped.

  Pig rose.

  Everybody looked.

  Blart caught the tail of the great horse. Howls of anger reverberated from below. Blart looked down to see guards shaking their fists. Pig the Horse rose higher and higher, taking the questors to safety. Blart gritted his teeth and held on to the horse’s tail with all his might. Below him the Terrorsium grew smaller and smaller. He couldn’t believe it. They had done it. They had defeated Zoltab. They had saved the world.

  Chapter 46

  ‘Pull Blart up,’ ordered Capablanca.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ asked Beo. ‘I mean, it would be different if he was a hero like we all thought he was. But now it turns out that he’s just a pain maybe we could leave him hanging.’

  ‘Or push him off,’ suggested Princess Lois.

  ‘No,’ said Capablanca firmly. ‘Blart has been brave and noble.’

  ‘Has he?’ asked Beo.