Thomas Kindercook and the Pink Pyjamas

by Gerald Feather

  Alanna tsk'd. “It's amazing that you still retain the ability to walk.” Alanna stood up quickly and immediately wished that she hadn't. Hours of sitting on an infected behind with shards of crystal still embedded inside, coupled with hours of sitting without moving caused her to bend forward like an old woman with a severe hunch. She involuntarily grunted and teared up.

  “And you berate me for my posture.” Thomas bent forward and cocked his head to the side so he could look Alanna in the eye. “At least I can stand up straighter than this.”

  Alanna growled.

  “I... think that I am going to leave you two in peace for a little.” Gatsby was already aware of the direction this was heading and thought it would be better to leave before hell broke out again.

  Thomas was about to protest when Alanna grabbed his arm with alarming ferocity and yanked. He thought that she was trying to throw him to the floor, but apparently she was trying to stand up straight. There were tears in her eyes. He guessed that she had been sitting for quite a while.

  Alanna used Thomas as the focal point of her pain. She yanked him this way and that, straightening him out and tried to show him how to walk. She didn't seem too pleased with the way he shuffled his feet. She told him the way he stared down at the ground when he walked made him look a peasant, not an all powerful wizard. She chastised him when he picked his teeth which still had some unknown remnant of a foreign vegetable stuck between them. Honestly, what did she expect of him. She taught him to sit, talk, eat. Honestly. He felt like a dog.

  Gatsby kept popping in once in a while. Whenever the coast seemed clear and they weren't shouting insults at each other, he would bring in food and drinks. He had just finished bringing some more tea in, when Alanna shoved Thomas back down into his chair. Thomas had heard of pushy girls before, but she was over the top.

  Alanna grabbed a teacup, and cheerfully forced it upon Thomas. “Perfect. You need to learn to drink properly.”

  Alanna had taken on the voice of a badgering grandmother in the past few hours. At least she wasn't yelling at him anymore. Somehow, between poking him repeatedly in the stomach when his posture wasn't up to her standard, and digging a finger into his side when his attention wandered, they had finished insulting each other for the time being.

  Learning to drink however. That was just a little too far. Thomas rolled his eyes, grabbed the teacup that Alanna was all but pushing into his hands, and took a fast swig. Mistake number one. The tea was still boiling hot. Thomas spat the tea out as fast as he had drank it in. He could already feel the skin coming loose from the roof of his mouth.

  “I swear that your brain is always a few steps behind.” Alanna cursed. “You don't just suck it in and slam it down. This isn't a tavern. You are going to be in the presence of royalty, and you must keep eye contact with those in a higher station than you when you drink. In this case, that is my father. It's considered rude to do as you just did.”

  “And painful.” Thomas took another stab at it. He grabbed the cup delicately, kept his eyes on Alanna's. Mistake number two. Her eyes were one of her most attractive features. It was hard to keep contact with them, but at the same time, he couldn't break away from them. He was losing his focus again. He knew he was supposed to be doing something here... what was it? There was a cup in his hand. It seemed to be approaching his mouth. Why was that? He found himself just wanting to stare into her eyes. That however, ended abruptly, when he realized that he had tipped the cup toward himself without trying to take a drink.

  Thomas vaulted out of the chair holding the crotch of his pants and screamed.

  Alanna just sighed and shook her head. “You really have problems doing more than one thing at a time, don't you? But you have made it crystal clear that you are not an assassin. If you were, I have my doubts you would still be around.”

  Thomas didn't bother replying as he knocked over a coffee table, a stand, and ended tangling himself in the carpet before crashing down to the floor.

  “Of course that doesn't rule out death by accident. You seem to pose a threat to everything around you.”

  Thomas pulled himself out of the carpet and continued hopping all over the room. Gatsby, who had been observing through a crack in the door to the kitchen, came barrelling into the room with towels.

  In any other scenario, she would have found this scene amusing, but with her father coming back home in less than a day, she wanted to cry. She wondered not for the first time, if they shouldn't call the whole thing off.

  “There is one last thing, Thomas.” Alanna said as Thomas swatted Gatsby's hands away. Gatsby was intent on helping Thomas dry his pants.

  As bad as the etiquette portion of their day had gone, she knew the next part was going to be the hardest to pull off.

  “We have to appear completely in love.”

  Thomas shrugged as he stood uncomfortably with his legs apart, trying to mop the dampness away with a towel.

  “You told me that already.” Thomas said as he regained his composure slowly.

  “Well that means more than just saying we are in love. For instance, when we are together, it might help if you didn't look so completely sour.”

  Thomas snarled. “I don't think I have to explain why I am so sour to you.”

  “Be that as it may, when I send the royal escort for you tomorrow, I expect that you will be absolutely charming, as I have been showing you today, and treat me as if I were the girl of your dreams.” Alanna lowered her head and levelled her gaze at Thomas. “Do you think you can manage that?”

  Thomas nodded grimly. He sat back into the chair for another lecture. Instead Gatsby decided to take this moment to launch into a story about two individuals in a similar situation, and how they had faced incredible adversity to win their freedom from the overbearing pressures of high society. Alanna was engrossed, but Thomas wasn't really listening. He was looking at Alanna. When she stared at Gatsby, she seemed like an entirely different person. Her features softened, she looked... younger somehow. There was happiness there. It then dawned on him. She really did love Gatsby. He wondered if Gatsby knew this. Thomas didn't wonder too much more as he found himself drifting off to sleep with the sound of Gatsby drumming on in the background.

  *****

  “You see Thomas? We can make this...” Alanna turned around to see Thomas passed out in the chair. She smiled just a little. It had been a long day she supposed. She herself had been up for a full two days and a night. She turned her attention to Gatsby.

  “Can you take care of him?”

  Gatsby nodded. “That's been nothing, if not my full time job since I met him.” True he may not have taken care of Thomas to the best of his ability, but he still believed he deserved top marks for effort.

  “Thank you.” Alanna smiled her deepest smile. It was time to start working her charm on Gatsby. She put her hand on his arm and ran it down to his hand.

  “I appreciate the help with Thomas. I think it will take considerable effort on both our parts to pull this off.” She squeezed his hand and let her gaze linger for a few moments before deciding it was time to leave. Unfortunately her efforts on Gatsby were offset by her awkward hobble toward the door. She put that out of her mind and focused again. Tomorrow the test began, and she still had many things left to do.

  CHAPTER 13

  BATTLE ON THE BREEZE

  Tretchbolt Argnot sat with his back to the stone wall of the Rope Burn Ale House casually watching the bustle of the street before him. Most people thought of BlueShift as an absolute haven of safety, but he knew better. Rope Burn was the roughest of the drinking houses inside the city walls. He had come here regularly, hoping that something would happen. Anything would do really. Things had been quiet for far too long for his taste. Tretchbolt let a deep breath go. Other than some slightly disorderly, overly liquored up citizens out celebrating a birthday or a graduation here or there, very little happened. That didn't phase Tetchbolt however. He knew it was out there.

&
nbsp; Tretchbolt practised flexing his pectoral muscles while he waited for that certain something to happen. Much to Tretchbolt's pleasure, 'it' happened in the form of two guards coming around the corner of the ale house.

  “Did you hear?” the tall skinny one was saying in quick hushed tones to the short stout one. “Gatsby is back in town.”

  Very luckily for Tretchbolt, despite his age, he had excellent hearing. Gatsby?

  The stout one grunted, “I hear that he and Alanna are...” The guard stopped short as he suddenly noticed the mountain of a man sitting against the wall hidden in shadow.

  The mountain leaned forward. “You heard Alanna is... what...”

  The guards continued on trying very hard to pretend that they hadn't heard or seen Tretchbolt.

  Tretchbolt just leaned back against the wall. He had that affect on other dragons. He was after all, a legend. Slightly younger than the king, but old enough that he had seen battles from ages long forgotten, Tretchbolt had a hand in every major battle of the last several thousand years. People never bothered Tretchbolt with anything. Century old blood feuds and clan hatreds were forgotten when he walked by. On the other hand, it was very hard to find anything to do, when your shadow was enough to silence a crowd.

  Tretchbolt sighed. Things had been quiet for a very long time, but he knew that it would never stay that way. He'd been around long enough to know that peace never lasts. He had kept himself ready, in shape. He constantly trained for the day that he would once again be called into battle.

  “Gatsby.” Tretchbolt spat the name. Gatsby was a spineless, trouble-making red dragon that had gotten involved with the king's favourite daughter. He had been in self imposed exile for the past three hundred years or so.

  Spitting out the twig that he had in his teeth, Tretchbolt stretched and cracked his knuckles. It wasn't that Gatsby was the cause of troubles around him, it just seemed like he dragged trouble along with him wherever he went. Tretchbolt supposed Gatsby wasn't where his real issue lay. Ganton. Ganton was a wicked leader, and Gatsby had the misfortune of being his son. King Alkamire, of course, was blind to this, as most leaders can be quite blind to the obvious.

  Tretchbolt idly scratched at a thousand year old scar. It was amazing that such an old wound could still itch after such a long time. He wondered as he scratched, if Gatsby was going to be the cause of whatever trouble was coming. Something really was about to happen. He could feel it in his bones. He could even smell it on the wind.

  The palace rose above the rest of the buildings. It looked it's usual tranquil self, sitting in the purple evening haze. Perhaps it was time to pay his old friend King Aqual a visit.

  CHAPTER 14

  THOMAS AND THE KING

  Consciousness came slowly to Thomas. He became vaguely aware of the flutter of movement all about him. The last thing that he could remember was gazing at Alanna.

  Stretching out to full length, Thomas slowly opened his eyes.

  “Oh! You're finally awake!” Gatsby was pacing around the room half dressed. He had a tie hanging over his shoulders undone and his collar was out. He was cursing about not being able to find any pants that suited his top.

  “Of course I am awake. Who could stay asleep with you ransacking the room like this? What's going on?”

  Gatsby plunked down on the bed and started to pull on some dress socks. “The meeting with the king! That's what.”

  That woke Thomas up. The meeting? “What time is it Gatsby?”

  Gatsby huffed. “It's noon. You have been asleep almost 20 marks. You should have been up a long time ago.” Gatsby started to curse as the sock resisted sliding on to his foot. “Curse it but Glen has small feet!”

  Thomas swung his legs out of the bed. Obviously Gatsby had taken the care to bring him here last night.

  “So what am I supposed to wear?” Everything he owned was either ruined, or dirty beyond salvage. The only things he had left were the pink pyjamas that he had worn when he came to this world and he was fairly sure that those wouldn't go over too well.

  “Oh don't worry. You're going to be taken care of. I believe the royal tailor will be coming to fit you for this evening's gala.” Gatsby let out a huge grunt as he finally managed to get the sock to slide the rest of the way onto his foot. “I however, have been left to fend for myself.”

  Thomas was feeling quite hungry now. He couldn't remember the last time that he had had something to eat. Now that he was awake, he figured that it was time to get some food, and he wasn't feeling too fussy as to what that would be. “How long do I have before they dress me up Gatsby?”

  Gatsby opened his mouth and a loud knock came from the door downstairs.

  “I've got to stop asking that question.” groaned Thomas.

  Gatsby disappeared in half dressed state, down the stairs to return with a small entourage of 4 slightly feminine men.

  One of them was tall and skinny wore a dark blue vest and a white shirt. He had a thin moustache that curled up at the ends and his dark black hair was parted and slicked back. Gatsby introduced him as Fredric the barber.

  The slightly shorter, skinny man with brown wavy hair was Mark, who would be in charge of bathing Thomas. That made Thomas more than a little uncomfortable.

  Popkin was the manicurist. He was a mousy balding man with a perpetually nervous smile.

  The last of the four, was the tailor, whose name was Charles. He was a well dressed clean cut older man with silver hair mixed with the occasional shock of black.

  As one by one, the group of servants was being introduced to Thomas, the absolute realization of what was about to happen, started to dawn upon him. This wasn't going to just be some casual meeting. He was going to see a powerful king. Thomas tried desperately to remember everything that Alanna had told him the previous day. He wished he had paid more attention and less time arguing.

  Mark spent a great deal of time trying to wash the stains of Thomas' travels away. He looked exhausted by the time he passed him on to Charles, who measured him every which way before disappearing down the stairs and out the door.

  Of all of the servants that attended Thomas that day, Fredric had the hardest job of all. He put some very uncivilized curses together for a court hairdresser. He yanked Thomas' wavy brown hair all over the place. Thomas cried out in pain more than once. When Fredric was finally done, Thomas' hair was much shorter, and nicely styled, leaving him looking more like a young man of means rather than a street urchin.

  Popkin finished up by making sure all his nails were neatly trimmed and filed. He even did Thomas' toe nails. Ridiculous! Who was ever going to look at those?

  Charles later returned with Thomas' suit and stayed while Thomas put it on. Charles wasn't going to be satisfied unless he was able to supervise Thomas donning the suit. Every so often, Charles would jump up and pull a sleeve down a hair, adjust the collar a little. Thomas guessed that Charles would have played with dolls in his own world if he'd grown up there.

  Finally, tired, but with a look of satisfaction on their faces, the group of servants stepped back to appraise their work. Thomas had yet to see the results of his day at the spa. Nervously, he got up and walked over to the full length mirror at the end of the hall. He had to blink when he saw his reflection staring back at him. His laugh was one of disbelief. Was that really him in the mirror? He could almost believe that he came from royal lineage. Thomas had to admit, the servants had done a convincing job, but could he really pull this off? Looks were only going to go so far.

  Having finished their fashion battle, the four tired servants left Thomas alone with Gatsby.

  “Well now! You certainly do look the part now!”

  Thomas couldn't really argue. He did look the part of a lord, but he didn't feel the part in any way. He was on his way to perpetuate the biggest lie he had ever told. To a KING! He felt like hiding under the bed and curling up in a ball.

  Okay. Calm down. thought Thomas. All you have to do, is tell one of the mos
t powerful dragons around that you are a powerful wizard who intends to usurp Gatsby's claim on Alanna, and marry his daughter. Whatever happened this evening was bound to end in disaster. Thomas sighed. At least he would look good for his funeral.

  “Not too many people will be looking at me. Unfortunately, Glen's taste in clothing leaves a little to be desired.” Gatsby grunted as he tried to get up from the edge of the bed that he was sitting on. “He's also a little, well, he's smaller.”

  Thomas chuckled. Gatsby looked like a piece of popcorn exploding out of the kernel.

  “Well, it may be for the best anyway. We want all attention to be on you tonight after all. Nothing but Thomas on the brain for the king tonight, wouldn't you agree?” Gatsby smiled at Thomas. “I guess it's time to get this rolling.”

  Gatsby honestly wasn't the best at setting Thomas' nerves at ease. He wasn't entirely sure that Gatsby was even remotely trying to make Thomas feel more comfortable. Thomas was beginning to believe that his new found friend was taking some pleasure in Thomas' misfortune.

  Gatsby laid his hand on Thomas' shoulder and all but pushed him down the stairs toward the waiting carriage. A magnificent team of 6 white horses were harnessed to it, and a large escort of guards rode both ahead and behind.

  The carriage was jaw dropping. It was ornately carved in its entirety. The windows were vaulted in a manner that dictated the shape of the roof. The wood workings reminded him of an old antique piano he had once seen in a store. The cab was dressed in a blue velvet substance and satin curtains were hung from inside to give privacy to the occupant. There was a driver's seat in front of the cab that was wide enough to seat two, and in front of the drivers were two ferocious looking dragons carved in a manner that made them look like they were pawing the air in front of them. But for all the decorations and ornamentation employed by the carriage, the thing that made it stand out the most, was the fact that it was entirely gold plated from front to back. It shone like a star in the afternoon sun.

  A servant held the door for Thomas as he stepped into the royal carriage. Gatsby, in keeping with the sentiment that Thomas should be the centre of attention, decided to ride up front, leaving Thomas alone in the carriage.

  As the carriage made its slow procession down the streets, it didn't take long for curiosity to get the better of residents of BlueShift. Shop keepers and maids, young and old all stopped their day's chores to come out and see what all the commotion was about. Word spread that something was happening out in the main street, and people started to line the way as they went along. Thomas could see the throngs of commoners and aristocrats alike, trying to catch a glimpse of who was in the carriage. He decided to sit back and remain in the safety of the Shadows. The less people that knew what he looked like, the better he thought. If he ended up having to run, he wanted as few as possible capable of identifying him.