Long Live the Queen

by Gerry Swallow

  By now Fergus was again flying directly toward the stranglerat, which remained unaware of the stick tied to its tail and had risen to its hind legs in preparation for battle. The great owl flexed his talons once more and let out a shriek more ghastly than the first. He took another swipe at the creature’s face as he flew by, but this time he missed.

  Instinctively, the stranglerat whipped its tail at the passing bird. And though the tail soared above the animal’s head, the stick did not—instead, sailing directly into its skull. Far more fierce than intelligent, the stranglerat had no idea that he had just clobbered himself in the head, and he spun around, looking for the second attacker.

  When Fergus took another pass, again the rat took a swipe and once more the stick connected with the side of its head. Four more times, Fergus circled back and dive- bombed the beast. With each attack, in an attempt to knock the owl from the air with its mighty tail, the stranglerat ended up striking itself in the head until finally it fell in a heap to the muddy, mist-covered ground.

  “Fergus,” Jack wheezed as the owl circled left and landed very close to the fallen rat. “Is it dead?”

  “Nope,” said the stick. “I’m fine. Which is pretty amazing considering how many times that thing hit me with its face. Seriously, did you see that?”

  “I believe he was referring to the stranglerat,” Fergus replied. “And the answer is yes, the wretched thing does appear to have beaten itself to death.”

  As Fergus started toward Jack, the stick stopped him. “Hold on,” it said. “You’re not going to leave me tied to this thing, are you? I mean, it’s going to start to stink in a couple of days.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Fergus, and with his talons he succeeded in undoing the knot in the dead animal’s tail.

  “Much better,” said the stick as Fergus fluttered over to where Jack lay in the mud.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Jack gasped. “That thing was about to make a meal of me.”

  “Would have served you right,” said Fergus. “After all, what kind of fool goes off into the Thick by himself?”

  “A heartsick fool,” said Jack.

  “I understand,” said Fergus. “I only wish you’d consulted me beforehand. Tell me, are you able to stand?”

  Jack tried to sit up as he had before but this time fell far short of that goal. His painful efforts instantly answered Fergus’s question.

  “It’s my ribs.” Jack groaned. He lowered his head to the ground again and stared upward, longing for just a glimpse of blue sky. “I think they’re broken.”

  Fergus nodded slowly then looked worriedly in all directions. There was not much available to the eye that might inspire hope. And then there were those things the eye could not see. Any number of savage creatures might be lurking behind the trees or cloaked in the fog. Still, there was only one thing to be done.

  “I’m going to go for help,” said Fergus.

  “You mean you’re going to leave me here? Alone?”

  Fergus avoided looking directly at Jack. He knew if he saw the desperation on his friend’s face, he might not have the will to leave him behind.

  “It’s the only way to get you out of here alive,” said Fergus. “But you won’t be alone.”

  With two quick flaps of his expansive wings, Fergus was standing near the fallen stranglerat. “You,” he said to the stick. “I need you to stay with my friend while I go for help.”

  Before the stick could confirm or deny his willingness to keep Jack company and provide him with a means of self-defense, Fergus took it in his talons and, a little bit at a time, began dragging it back toward his friend.

  “Wait a minute,” the stick protested. “You’re just going to drag me around like a sack of spuds? Don’t I have some say in this? This is ridiculous. It’s like my cousin Gene always says, we never get the respect we deserve.”

  Fergus dropped the stick, then turned and simply stared at it for a moment.

  “What?” said the stick. “You don’t think we’re entitled to a little common courtesy?”

  “Did you say you have a cousin named Gene?”

  “I did indeed,” the stick confirmed. “Little guy. Never shuts up. Why? You know him?”

  “Oh, I know him all right,” said Fergus.

  “You don’t say,” remarked the stick. “Small world. So tell me, what’s old Geno up to these days?”

  “If all goes according to plan,” said Fergus, “you’ll be able to ask him yourself.”

  Fergus finished the task of dragging the stick close enough to Jack that he could grab hold of it. “Here,” he said. “I know it’s not much, but this is the best I can do for now.”

  “Well, way to make a guy feel useful,” said the stick.

  “Gene’s cousin,” Fergus explained.

  At that moment, Jack couldn’t care less whether the stick was a direct descendant of the very first Louisville Slugger. His only interest in it was as a way of protecting himself from further attack during the time it would take Fergus to summon help.

  “Okay,” said Fergus. “I’ll be right back, so don’t go anywhere.”

  “Please,” said Jack. “It hurts when I laugh. It also hurts when I talk, breathe, or have to fight off wild animals, so be quick about it, would you?”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Fergus. “And you—stick. Take good care of my friend.”

  “Kevin,” said the stick. “The name is Kevin. Not that you would ever think to ask.”

  Fergus responded with a shake of his head then took to the air, weaving through the trees and above the fog, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sign of Elspeth and the others. With each minute that passed, his search became increasingly frantic. The Thick covered no small amount of real estate, and certainly more than one owl with a bad wing could be expected to search quickly and efficiently.

  He was therefore filled with relief when he heard a familiar voice prattling on about how it was sticks who gave humans the idea to rub two of them together to make a fire. Fergus banked sharply toward the annoying voice, and soon the group came into view.

  He flew quickly and unsteadily in their direction, then pulled up, wobbled a bit, and landed at Elspeth’s feet, rolling across the ground until Elspeth reached out and stopped his forward momentum.

  “Fergus,” she said as the bird climbed to his feet and shook the wet soil from his feathers. “What are you doing here?”

  “I see you’ve rescued the queen. That’s wonderful news,” said Fergus, bowing in Farrah’s direction before quickly turning back to Elspeth. “But I’m afraid I bring some that is not so good. It’s your father. He needs your help.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “He jumped bail and ran off to the Thick to find you.”

  “Jumped bail? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll explain when we get there. We must go at once. He’s badly hurt and very vulnerable to a renewed attack. Perhaps a mile from here.”

  “Renewed attack?” said Elspeth. “He’s been attacked?”

  “As I said, I’ll explain later. This way!”

  Without further discussion of the matter, the group followed Fergus as he flew from branch to branch while urging them onward. “Hurry now. There’s no time to waste.”

  It wasn’t Elspeth he had to spur onward. Wracked with worry and plagued by an imagination that flourished in the absence of information, she hurried along the path, wondering in what condition she would find her father. There was no need to prod her. It was another of them slowing things down. Mary Mary had steadfastly refused to quicken her pace, forcing Rory and Maury to drag her along between them.

  “Let me go,” she snarled, her charcoal breath causing the brothers to choke and gag. “I promise you that one day you will suffer greatly for this.”

  The boys were pretty sure that that day was now and that they were already suffering by virtue of having to touch such a hideous creature.

  “This way,” shouted Fergus
as he rounded a corner to the left.

  Bo-Peep and Dumpty hurried along behind Elspeth. Cory, with the king and queen upon his shoulders, came next, with his witch-dragging brothers trailing the group.

  It might have been fifteen or twenty minutes, but to Elspeth it seemed like hours before Fergus said, “He’s right up here.” He led them off the path and through the brush to the edge of the ravine.

  “Dad!” Elspeth gasped when she saw her father lying flat on his back. Fergus flew down and landed next to Jack as Elspeth shuffled down the steep embankment, struggling to keep her footing in the slippery mud. When she approached Jack, she couldn’t help but notice the enormous stranglerat lying, bloated and lifeless, a few feet away.

  “Are you okay?” she said, kneeling beside Jack while trying to regain her breath.

  “I’m fine,” said Jack with a wheezing sound. “And the queen? Please tell me you were able to rescue her.”

  “They did it,” said Fergus. “They got her back, safe and sound.”

  Jack smiled, and Elspeth brushed his thinning hair from his forehead. “That’s wonderful news,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” said Elspeth. “But this? What happened here?”

  “Just a little encounter with a stranglerat,” said Jack.

  “We sure showed him a thing or two, didn’t we?” said the stick, still firmly clutched in Jack’s hand.

  “Kevin?” said Gene. “Is that you?”

  “Geno!”

  “You two know each other?” said Elspeth.

  “They’re cousins,” Fergus explained.

  “Well, how do you like this?” said Gene. “So, tell me, Kev. What have you been up to lately?”

  “Not much. Things are pretty quiet out here in the sticks.”

  “Listen,” said Elspeth. “I’m all for family reunions, but you’ll have plenty of time to catch up on the way back to Banbury Cross. Right now let’s focus on getting Jack out of here. Are you able to stand?”

  “Not without passing out, I’m afraid,” said Jack. “I think I may have cracked a few ribs.”

  “First you almost lose your foot trying to find me,” said Elspeth, “and now you’ve almost been eaten by a stranglerat? And what’s all this about you jumping bail?”

  Jack looked at Fergus. “You told her?”

  “She was going to find out sooner or later.”

  “Find out what?” Elspeth demanded. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been accused of murder,” said Jack. “The Muffin Man.”

  “They think you did it?” said Elspeth. “But that’s absurd.”

  “Of course it is,” said Jack. “But they’ve got witnesses who swear they saw me there.”

  By now, the others were making their way down into the ravine, each taking a long look at the dead stranglerat as they passed it. “What is that thing?” asked Bo-Peep.

  “It was a stranglerat,” Kevin said. “Before I gave it the beating of a lifetime.”

  “Gene’s cousin,” Elspeth explained.

  When the brothers had succeeded in dragging Mary Mary down the hill and the entire group was together again, Elspeth explained the situation, saving Jack and his broken ribs from having to speak unnecessarily.

  “He’s unable to stand,” Fergus said. “So it looks like we’ll have to carry him.”

  Cory was noticeably uneasy with this proposal.

  “What is it?” asked Winkie.

  “Well,” he said. “It’s just that he’s . . . well, he’s slightly—”

  “Fat?” offered Gene.

  “I think full-figured is the generally accepted term,” said Kevin.

  “But certainly he’s not too heavy for you and your brothers to bear,” said Dumpty.

  “Yes,” said Cory. “But if we carry Jack, who’s going to drag Mary Mary all the way back to the castle?”

  While the question was being considered, their thoughts were interrupted by an odd and rapid clicking noise, as if a stick were being struck against a hollow log in rapid repetition like a jackhammer. While they listened, wondering what might be the cause of it, Mary Mary seemed to know exactly what it was. She parted her lips and sent forth a low, guttural laugh.

  “What is it?” Winkie demanded.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” said the witch. “She’s lured by the smell of the stranglerat. But she prefers the taste of humans.”

  “She? Who’s she?” asked Elspeth.

  A second later, Elspeth’s question was answered by the appearance upon the ridge of a creature that would have looked something like an iguana if iguanas had large spikes running along their backs from the top of their heads to the tips of their tails and were capable of growing to the size of an SUV. Its skin was thick like an elephant’s but green and spotted everywhere with what appeared to be large, spongy warts. Its eyes were bulbous and highly active, as was its bright-pink tongue, which shot out rapidly and repeatedly to a distance that nearly matched the length of the animal itself. Each time the tongue flicked out, a fast and rhythmic clacking noise resonated from deep within the animal’s throat.

  “Oh no,” said Dumpty. “Is that . . . the Great Spiny Gleekin?”

  “The greatest of them all,” said Mary Mary. “Say hello to Sally.”

  Now that the smell of the stranglerat had led it to the humans, lined up like an all-you-can-eat buffet, the Great Spiny Gleekin, otherwise known as Sally, wasted no time in making its way down the hill, its tongue flicking, its throat clacking.

  Fergus took to the air and flew over the monster, taking a swipe at its nose. But this was no stranglerat, and the animal remained unfazed and undeterred as it continued inching its way down the hill.

  Cory knelt to allow Winkie and Farrah to climb to the ground. Then he stood and drew his sword. His brothers released their grip on the witch and did the same, taking position alongside Cory, forming a wall of sword and muscle in front of their king and queen.

  “Run,” said Jack. “By the time it’s finished eating me, you’ll be out of the Thick.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” said Elspeth. “We’re going to fight.”

  “With what?” said Jack.

  “With this,” said Elspeth. She reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve the golden pear and was horrified to find that the pocket contained only her house keys. She quickly checked the other pocket to find it empty. The golden pear was gone.

  “Krool,” she gasped, suddenly remembering the awkward hug. “He’s got it. He’s got the golden pear.” And without it, there was no way for Elspeth to assert control over the Great Spiny Gleekin.

  “This is not good,” said Dumpty as the beast steadily zigzagged its way down the slope.

  “If only you could roll uphill,” said Gene.

  The animal’s pace was incredibly slow, which might have been comforting if anything at all was known about the Great Spiny Gleekin. Whether it had the ability to move much faster than it was currently demonstrating was not known—until it did.

  Just like that its movement went from plodding and deliberate to quick and aggressive. With a rapid clicking, it charged forward and its tongue launched forth from its mouth like a frog with a fly in its sights. But this was no frog, and it had much bigger prey than flies on its mind.

  Jack screamed as the rough, sticky tongue wrapped around his ankle. He clawed desperately at the dirt, and Elspeth clung to Jack as the Great Spiny Gleekin dragged them both toward its gaping mouth. As they inched closer Jack could feel the animal’s hot breath. From this distance, the clicking was deafening.

  Cory ran forward, raised his sword, and brought it down, slicing off the tip of the animal’s tongue, which instantly retreated back into its mouth where it remained for no more than a second. There was still a considerable portion of the tongue intact, and what was left of it shot out once more and this time wrapped itself around Elspeth’s waist.

  She being much lighter than Jack, the beast was able to reel Elspeth in quickly and, in an inst
ant, into its mouth she went.

  “Elspeth!” screamed Jack. Forgetting all about his ribs, he sprang to his feet just as the beast’s powerful jaws came together and then . . . stopped. With Gene in Elspeth’s hand, held vertically, the stick had prevented the animal from completely closing its mouth. At least temporarily.

  With the animal’s jaws out of commission, the three brothers seized upon the opportunity and charged. Their swords met with the creature’s thick skin but could not penetrate it. Meanwhile Gene, the only thing keeping Elspeth from being eaten alive, was beginning to bend under the increasing pressure.

  “Help!” he cried. “Get me out of here!”

  The boys continued hacking at the heavily armored animal, and the witch laughed at the futility of their efforts. There was a cracking noise. It was the sound of Gene beginning to break as the Great Spiny Gleekin easily absorbed the onslaught of swords. Strike after strike barely bruised the animal while it tried very hard to pull Elspeth down its throat and into its stomach. Her terrified screams echoed from its mouth, by now nearly closed.

  Jack, with Kevin in hand, gritted his teeth and lumbered toward the animal that was protected by a thick hide over eighty percent of its body. The other twenty percent was made up of its soft underbelly and its large, bulging eyes. With his full weight, Jack plunged the stick into the animal’s right eyeball with a sick squishing sound.

  With Kevin embedded in its eye socket, the beast reared up on its hind legs and roared with enough force that Gene and Elspeth were catapulted from its mouth a good twenty feet before landing near Dumpty on the soft, muddy ground.

  Its abdomen now exposed, the brothers plunged their swords deep into the beast, and the animal howled with each painful puncture. In one final act of self-preservation it dropped to all fours, lowered its head like an angry bull, and charged the brothers with its great spiked head.

  It was purely a defensive move, and once the brothers had scattered, the Great Spiny Gleekin turned and ran up the hill. It got only halfway before it rose up onto its hind legs again, let out a thunderous roar, and collapsed.