"Whoa, there, whoa." Menyas shook his grizzled head. "Let me get a saddle on this business. Goods missing, money paid, nothing to show for it? Eh, there's a mucky smell to all that. As for you being done away with-I wouldn't put anything past those royal chicken pluckers. They won't be skittish about cutting your throat to save their necks. If you're sure that's what they mean to do-"
"You should have seen the look on Calchas's face. He knows I'm onto the scheme. He and Phobos are waiting for me. If I don't go to their chambers, they'll come looking for me. If I try to hide, they'll tum the palace upside down until they find me. I have to get out. What else can I do?"
Menyas chewed his lips and thought for a moment. "I don't see anything better. Yes, lad, I'm afraid you'll have to clear out. Fast and far. Before those two get their hooks into you. All right, you stay quiet and wait here. I'll collect a few things you'll need."
Menyas hurried into the stables. Lucian sat down and put his head in his hands. One of the donkeys nuzzled him. He glanced up. The animal was scruffy, with patches of hair missing from his back and haunches; his ribs stood out, his long ears were notched and ragged; all in all, the most wretched-looking jackass that Lucian had ever seen.
"You're a sorry sight, poor beast," Lucian murmured, "but you've less to worry about than I do."
"I doubt it," said the jackass. "I overheard your plans for an immediate departure. A wise decision. Furthermore, I beg you in the name of mercy: Set me free of this terrible merchant, Cerdo. Take me with you."
3 - Unfortunate Fronto
"I'm sorry," Lucian began. "I don't think I could-" He stopped short. "What am I doing? Talking to a jackass! And he's talking to me?"
"Indeed, I am," said the jackass. "I believe I expressed myself in the clearest possible terms, but let me try again. My dear young man, I need help. Require assistance. Implore your aid. Now, if I have your full attention-"
Lucian stared. Head spinning, he tried to scrape together as much sanity as he could. Common sense told him he was not holding a conversation with a donkey. The voice, he decided, came from someone crouching among the pack animals. He bent down to find whoever was hiding. He saw no one.
"You? You spoke?" Lucian stammered. "How? You can't. You're a jackass."
"My name is Fronto," the beast replied in a tone of wounded dignity. "I'm not a jackass. I'm a poet, though some might call that one and the same."
"I'm dreaming this," Lucian murmured. "Or lost my wits. Whatever, something's gone wrong with me."
"Gone wrong with me would more accurately describe the situation," said Fronto. "Horrible, monstrous. Never mind the details, I'll discuss them later. Right now, all I want is to be out of Cerdo's clutches. A matter of life and death. Mine. If you call it a life in this humiliating carapace, this asinine shell."
"Shell?" said Lucian, relieved by this peculiar but at least plausible explanation. "Someone stitched you into a donkey skin? Here, I'll peel it off."
He began tugging at Fronto's ears and mane, trying to strip away the shaggy hide.
"Stop, stop!" Fronto tossed his head and reared on his hind legs. "This is all me. I've been transformed, transmogrified. I'm jackass through and through."
"That's-terrible," said Lucian, at a loss for a better way to put it. Though still bewildered, he was growing a little more used to the idea of a talking jackass. "Uncomfortable, too."
"Understatement," said Fronto. "Litotes, to use the rhetorical term. Now that you seem to have grasped my predicament, I entreat you to do something about it. And about your own, as well.
"And you're quite right," Fronto added. "Those larcenous soothsayers, those sanctimonious frauds, are stealing money hand over fist. And I'll tell you something else: Cerdo's in the scheme with them. He gets a fat share to line his own purse. I know. I heard him bragging to his cronies. They're all as crooked as a ram's horns, and murderous into the bargain. Unless you get moving as fast as you can, you won't live out this day. Unless I get free of that brute, I won't last much longer."
"Menyas can help you better than I can," said Lucian. "He's good with horses-donkeys, too, I'm sure. You'll explain to him-"
"No." Fronto stamped his hooves. "When I see the effect my deplorable state had on you, no telling what it may do to him. Least said, soonest mended-as I wrote in one of my more successful odes. Unlike poets, most people get upset over apparent impossibility. The question is: Will you take me along? Since you're departing anyway-"
Fronto broke off. Menyas was there, with a bundle on his shoulder.
"Best I could do at short notice, but it should tide you over a while. A little money, too," he added, slipping coins into Lucian's hand. "Quick, now. Out the back gate. The guard's not on duty yet."
As the stableman began hustling Lucian from the yard, Fronto flicked his tail and made sounds of clearing his throat. Lucian held back. "One thing more. This jackass. I want him."
"Steal one of Cerdo's pack animals? For a bean counter, you're turning into a bold rogue. Well, why not? You're in such trouble now, a little extra won't matter. But snaffle a good mount, at least. Don't bother with this miserable beast."
"Him," said Lucian. "No other."
"He's a rawboned wreck, two steps from the bone yard. For heaven's sake, lad, why?"
"He asked me-I mean, look at him. He wants to go with me as clearly as if he spoke the words."
"All right, all right, whatever you say. We can't lose time wrangling over this piece of crow bait." Menyas hoisted the bundle and roped it onto Fronto's back. "There. Let him make himself useful, anyway."
That moment, Cerda came out of the grain shed. Seeing Lucian and Fronto hurrying from the yard, he began bawling at the top of his voice: "Thief! Donkey robber!"
"Giddyap," cried Menyas, giving Lucian a shove and Fronto a smack to speed them on their way. "I'll deal with him."
Leaving the stableman doing all he could to hinder the furious merchant, Lucian darted through the alley behind the storehouse, Fronto after him, and clattered along the wooden walkways, past the fenced-in run for the oracular chickens. Like most of the palace, the back gate was made of timber; it was so seldom used, however, that the bolt had frozen in its socket. Lucian, despite his efforts, could not draw it free. He flung himself against it, hammering with his fists, battering with his shoulders.
"Allow me," said Fronto. He turned and kicked out with his hind legs. The door sagged; and as the assault continued, it broke loose and fell open.
Fronto plunged out. Lucian, having not the slightest idea where they were going, could only seize the poet's tail and let himself be pulled along. Only after they had crossed the public square did Fronto slow his pace. He trotted briskly down winding lanes, through back alleys, clambering over rubbish heaps, and nipping around corners. Lucian, who had never set foot beyond the palace walls, asked how he knew his way in such a maze.
"I've had some previous experience," said Fronto, "eluding tiresome creditors, tavern keepers, magistrates, not to mention physically aggressive critics. For poets, that's an essential skill, an art as necessary as turning a rhyme. Sometimes more so."
No sooner had Fronto finished speaking than Lucian cried out. He was spun around and a lantern thrust up to his face.
"Here, now, let's have a look at you." A city watchman was peering at him. "What are you up to, eh?"
"Ah-sir, we-that is, I-" Lucian choked, then went on quickly. "Yes, glad I found you. At the palace a terrible commotion. The oracular chickens got loose. They're flapping all over the streets. I was ordered to summon every watchman to go after them."
"Then, fool, don't waste time yammering." The man set off with all haste toward the palace. "You have a glib tongue," said Fronto as they hurried on. "A nice bit of invention, those chickens."
"I had to think of something. I couldn't let him arrest us." Lucian grinned with wry satisfaction. "I never had to tell a lie before."
"It gets easier with practice," said Fronto.
They reache
d the outskirts of Metara without further challenge, but it was well after nightfall by the time they passed the outlying farms and made their way into the woodlands.
"Calchas and Phobos," Lucian said anxiously, "they'll be looking all over the place for me."
"Better to have them looking for you than finding you," said Fronto. "Don't worry. We're well away and safe here for the time being. I'd be much obliged if you'd remove this bundle your friend imposed on me."
As soon as Lucian did so, Fronto threw himself on the turf, rolling about and kicking his knobby legs in the air. Fearing the poet had gone into some kind of fit, Lucian started toward him.
"Sheer exuberance," Fronto assured him. "Animal spirits, literally and figuratively. At last free of Cerdo's clutches! What a relief, you can't imagine." After a few more rolls, the poet heaved himself upright. "I feel better already. This would be the crucial time-"
"To tell what happened to you," Lucian put in "to explore the contents of that bundle. I suspect it holds edibles. I hope so, for my belly's empty as a drum."
Lucian hurried to untie the pack. Wrapped in a cloak were figs, cheese, some olives, a hunch of bread, and a large jar of wine. "I'm sorry. There's not much that you a donkey, that is-would like."
"Not much?" cried Fronto. "A feast! One of the few advantages of my condition is that not only can I eat grass, thistles, hay, and all such disgusting vegetation, but human nourishment as well. My digestion is universally excellent. So, too, my appetite, growing keener with every fleeting moment."
Lucian spread out the provisions. Fronto munched away, bolting down his share, then helping Lucian to finish his own.
"That wine jar presents a small difficulty," said Franta, chomping and belching at the same time. "Would you be kind enough to tip it into my mouth? On these occasions, hooves can be inconvenient."
He squatted on his haunches and stretched out his neck. Lucian held up the jar and poured some of the liquid down the poet's gullet. Fronto extended a long tongue and licked his lips.
"Pure nectar! I've had nothing like it since my regrettable accident."
"That's what I want to hear about," said Lucian.
"Just another taste," said Fronto. "It will clarify my mind. I've been treated like a dorikey for such a while, sometimes I fear I've begun thinking like one."
Lucian did as requested, and with one gulp after the other, Fronto drained the jar. He nosed around to make sure nothing remained of the food, then settled back on his hindquarters.
"My dear Lucian, no human being is more miserable than a poet who has lost his inspiration. That was the situation in which I found myself a few weeks ago. My head was empty, my spirits leaden. What should have been winged words barely crept along, earthbound. The poetic spark had flickered out, the divine afflatus had blown away, creative rapture had fled; and my landlord, insensitive oaf, kept bringing up the question of rent. In short, a glorious career had come to an inglorious conclusion. What, I ask you, did I do?"
"I suppose," Lucian said, "you took up some other line of work."
"Abandon literature?" Fronto gave him a horrified look. "Impossible, unthinkable. Once a poet, always a poet. No, dear boy, I did what poets have always done in such a predicament. I flung myself to my knees and implored the Lady of Wild Things to send me inspiration."
"Fronto-" asked Lucian, shocked, "are you telling me you actually believe in-her?"
"Of course," replied Fronto. "All poets do. The Lady, as we well know, is the fountainhead of artistic intuition, eloquence, imagination. You don't suppose I'd direct my entreaties to some hairy, toothy ancestral bear. I was seeking inspiration, not hibernation.
"My continued supplications, alas, brought no result. My poetic spirit lay as lively as a dead mackerel. Then a thought came to me. I understood what must be done."
Here Fronto sighed and broke off. Lucian waited some long moments and finally asked, "What was it?"
Fronto did not reply. Rattling noises came from his open mouth. Lucian at first believed Fronto was sobbing, heartbroken by his own unhappy tale, until he realized the poet was snoring.
Impatient for the rest of the story, Lucian nudged him and prodded his flanks. Fronto stayed motionless, his long ears and shaggy head in stark outline against the moon. The poet had fallen unwakeably asleep.
Lucian, disappointed, could only curl up on the turf, pull the cloak over his shoulders, and try to do likewise.
4 - Transformations
For a moment, on the ragged edge of wakefulness, Lucian believed a nightmare had ended, that he was on the straw pallet in his cubbyhole, his life was not in danger, and there had never been such a creature as a talking jackass. With a sigh of relief, he opened his eyes, blinked at the dawn light, and there he was, shivering on the turf, his cloak dew-drenched. With the truth of his situation like a cold lump in his stomach, he sat up and tried to rub away the chill in his bones and the crick in his neck.
Fronto was hunkered on the ground, still fast asleep. Lucian stepped over to him and prodded his flank, warning him it was daybreak.
"Really?" The poet opened one eye. "Yes, well, thank you for that fascinating information. Wake me closer to noon, there's a good fellow."
Without Lucian's continued prodding, Fronto would have drowsed off. At last, with much yawning and head shaking, he got himself up on all four legs. "It's been some while since I've enjoyed a civilized morning's repose. With Cerdo, it was always the crack of the whip at the crack of dawn. In happier times-ah, how long ago they seem-I found it difficult to take anything seriously until midaftemoon. However, if you insist. Did you mention breakfast?"
"The food's gone," said Lucian. "I should have put some aside."
"No matter," said Fronto. "Seize the day, whatever in it to seize, before something comes along and seizes you. Had I known I'd end up a jackass, I'd have seized a lot more."
"Speaking of that," said Lucian, "you never told me what happened to you."
"I didn't?" said Fronto. "Ah-yes, you're right. I only meant to pause for dramatic effect, and here it's tomorrow already. Now, where was I?"
"You knew what you had to do."
"Exactly so." Fronto nodded and resumed his interrupted tale. "At Mount Lema, near the oracle's cave, there's a pool dedicated to the Lady of Wild Things and strictly forbidden to men. It's said to have mysterious powers. The oracle, so I'd heard, drinks from it and receives her inspiration. I resolved to go to that pool-surely the Lady wouldn't begrudge me a few sips from it, all in a good cause.
"And so I did. Late one night, I stole into the grove. Not a soul in sight. I tiptoed to the edge of the pool, knelt, cupped a little water in my hands, drank it down, and waited eagerly for the glorious moment.
"Inspiration?" Fronto glumly went on. "Not a flicker. And yet, conditions should have been perfect: gnarled trees, whispering wind, moonshine so bright I could see my reflection in the limpid pool-the kind of atmosphere that's stock-in-trade for us poets. Had I been even halfway at the top of my bent, I'd have dashed off a dozen rhapsodies on the spot. But no, my only thought was I'd likely catch cold in such a damp and chilly spot.
"The difficulty was clear. I had not sufficiently imbibed the magical waters. I gulped down more and more. With no result. Did I say no result? Ah, my dear Lucian, there was a result, a most horrendous one. As I bent over the pool, I observed my reflection. Believe me, I make no claim to being in any way a handsome fellow-modesty has always been one of my endearing qualities-but I saw a blunt, hairy nose, certainly not mine, the end as white as if dipped in flour; ears long and shaggy. In short, the face of a jackass stared back at me.
"Aghast, I bent closer; so close I lost my balance and tumbled in headlong. I went floundering to the bottom, gasping for breath, suddenly so heavy I feared I'd never rise to the surface.
"But the pool was shallow and, at last, I managed to clamber out. On all fours! My hands and feet were hooves! My neck, elongated-and I had the distinct impression I had grown a tail. Terrifie
d, I peered back into the pool. One glance confirmed it: I had become a complete ass."
"Horrible!" burst out Lucian, who had been hanging on Fronto's every word. "Enough to drive you mad!"
"Almost, but not quite," said Fronto. "We poets are used to finding ourselves in odd states, and I tried to keep my wits about me. I would go to the oracle, confess what I'd done, beg her forgiveness and help. She'd know how to deal with this kind of thing.
"I started toward the cave. That instant, a troop of palace warriors, brandishing swords and torches, came whooping into the glade. I bolted in panic. The last place in the world I wanted to be was in the midst of those rampaging ruffians.
"I galloped into the underbrush and hid until things quieted and it seemed safe to venture back. What devastation! The pool, a mud hole; the grove, a shambles; the cave, blocked. The oracle-I had no idea whether she was alive or dead, walled up in her cave. In any case, I could not enter to find out.
"There shattered my first and best hope," said Fronto. "I confess, my dear Lucian, I sank down and wept as never jackass wept before."
Fronto shuddered and sighed miserably at the recollection. Lucian put a comforting arm around the poet's neck. "There must be some way of getting you back to yourself again."
"An idea uppermost in my mind," said Fronto. "I might go so far as to call it a preoccupation on the verge of obsession. The prospect of remaining forever a jackass is enough to take up one's undivided attention.
"Since the oracle herself was unavailable, I decided on the next best thing: to seek out a wise-woman, a healer who might have knowledge of such matters.
"Accordingly, I set off across country, hoping for a road that would lead me to some nearby village. I had not gone far when I glimpsed three rough-looking fellows squatting around a cook fire. They were as villainous a lot as I'd ever seen, all my instincts warned me to keep clear of them.
"Regrettably, they caught sight of me at the same time I caught sight of them. Before I could tum aside, they jumped to their feet and raced after me. One seized me by the mane, another by the tail; and, no matter how I kicked and struggled, they held me fast.
The Arkadians Page 2