Into The Maze

by Euan McAllen

  Later, after they all stocked up with supplies from the market place, and the horse and ponies were fed and watered, Foccinni was placed - almost ceremoniously - in the saddle: now was the time to leave the Village and set off back into the Maze. The prince reclaimed his pony and gave permission for his girl to ride the other. The rest would have to walk, quickly. As he helped her up on to the pony Esmeralda grasped her prince’s hand and did not let go. By accident she thought of Timothy; thinking he was waiting for her, somewhere in the Maze, or perhaps at the Castle? Her prince, despite looking stiff and stern and in every way royal, did not shake her off. The sensation of her hand in his was a pleasure not to be lightly discarded. He told her to hold on. She said she would. He meant to the pony.

  This was no band of brothers but a temporary mix of disconnected souls - Mozak and Esmeralda perhaps being the exception - all with different ambitions; some immediate, short term; some long term, life changing; each with a past they wanted to be rid of. Some were setting off for home, their true home; some for a new home. Back to the Castle. But back through the Maze, just to make things difficult.

  The Hermit led the horse and Foccinni sat looking dejected. He was on his way home but still he did not look happy. He did not look ahead or around. He did not enjoy the view. When he looked down it was only to look at the Hermit, his ex-king, the man who had once threatened to kill his brother; the man who might turn on him. He did not want open his mouth for he was surrounded by too many secrets and he did not want to drop himself in it - in the shit.

  Part Four: King and Castle

  Timothy, Gregory and Rufus reached the entrance to the Maze exhausted, famished, but in the case of Rufus also strangely super-charged. He had grown in stature whilst Timothy had shrunk, consumed by the thought of a new life about to consume him, change him. Gregory, meanwhile, continued to carry his burden as he had done for the last eighteen years. It was a coming home for him: but to what, to whom? A familiar or unfamiliar place? Was he a friend or an enemy? Would the king shake his hand or lock him up? Had his cottage been left abandoned? Were peasants squatting in his home? He had to see his cottage.

  Rufus had led the way home. He had taken charge and it had felt good, like the most natural feeling in the world. He was no peasant, he had declared in secret over and over again, as if struggling to believe it. He had been vital to their mission and the feeling of power had been exhilarating. Along the way he had - metaphorically speaking - dumped his peasant clothes and adopted those of a man fully in charge of his own destiny, and prepared to fight for it. And he had earned the respect of the other two.

  Respect: a delicious feeling. The prince had never shown him respect - at best only grudging acceptance of his contribution to the prince’s welfare. And to add to that Timothy had taught him how to write his name; and how the alphabet worked; and how ‘Stevie’ was written down, and a few other delicacies; promising to teach him to read and write when they reached the Castle. Rufus would not let Timothy forget that promise. It would consume him.

  Rufus had bypassed the Bible belt, not wishing to inflict the family of dysfunctionals on the other two. At the inn where he and Prince Mozak had stopped over, they acquired two horses: Gregory was happy to pay over the odds for the chance to get home quicker and with his legs still intact. When he saw the bridge and the twin towers, memories reignited. They almost made him cry. He remembered fleeing for his life in the opposite direction, baby in a bag strapped to his chest. Yes he remembered. How could he ever forget? Yes, he was on his way home, whatever that might be.

  When Rufus reunited with the Last Builder, he was in his element. Likewise the Last Builder almost jumped with joy when Rufus appeared at his door. Rufus was treated as an old friend whereas Timothy was greeted with confusion, and Gregory with profound suspicion. Even Shep the dog greeted him like an old friend. Shep even tried to make love to his leg and Rufus had to pull him off. Shep also made Stevie feel welcome. They sniffed out each other’s backsides, and afterwards each felt better for experiencing the new perfume of another dog’s days-old shit.

  In a state of near euphoria, the Last Builder reminded Rufus of the job offer and without hesitation Rufus accepted. He could not resist the offer of a lifetime. He had to snap the umbilical cord which connected him to that nasty, sometimes evil place which had no time him. He wanted a life change. He wanted to ditch the past, and with it the peasant. He wanted to reinvent himself. He wanted to be taken seriously, his intelligence recognised - and if that meant hiding himself away in the Maze then so be it. He promised the Last Builder that he would return in due course, with his sweetheart.

  ‘But first I have to get these two home,’ he boasted. Yes he was the man in charge and let no one forget it.

  At times Rufus turned the journey home into a race, the others having to keep up else be left behind. Only when they protested and sat down, refusing to move, did the race stop. And the closer the Castle, the more Timothy clung to Gregory; afraid of what the future would unleash, of what would be expected of him; afraid he was leaving his old - if invented - life behind for a dangerous unknown. The closer the Castle, the greater his sense of trepidation. In the Castle lived his mother, the Queen no less! Gregory had said she was wonderful. Would she think he, her son brought back from the dead, was wonderful? Would he be as good as his twin? He had God, he kept reminding himself. Yes, he had God. God would make him strong.

  Gregory told him that his mother was a good woman; slim, attractive, kind-hearted. Unfortunately Gregory was eighteen years behind the times: he would be severely corrected. The Queen, heavy now, dragged herself about the castle as if looking for somewhere to go, to retire to, or return to. She did not look hideous but sometimes, in her bleakest moments, she felt as if she did, which explained the frequent scowl on her face. She was no longer slim, no longer kind-hearted. As for Bizi, Gregory would barely recognise him.

  And the closer he came to the Castle, so the years fell away from Gregory and Valadino crept back. A younger self was returning to fill his boots. His second life of reinvention began to slip away, to become a bad dream. He could start all over, by going back to the beginning and starting again. And the Maze ensured that both lives could never meet, never interfere with one another. Now eighteen years did not feel like such a long time: Gregory - Valadino - hoped to live for many more decades to come. Had those eighteen years been well spent? Valadino did not want to know. They were behind him now.

  When Timothy saw the Castle in the distance he was spellbound. At that distance it was not yet real, just a huge lump of stone pushing up out of the landscape to dominate all around it. It stood out hard against the soft landscape like a fist - a fist made out of stone. He wanted to reach out, touch it, but was afraid. It might sting. It might not yet seem real but it was more than just a thought inside his head, and Timothy went weak at the knees. Gregory had to hold him up until his balance returned - even though his was also failing.

  When it had been faraway, just a concept, a temptation, Timothy had wanted it badly. Now it was visible, within reach, he was afraid to approach it, to enter it, to join with it. Inside it held a thousand stories. He had just the one. He was overwhelmed by it. God had not prepared him for this. Did God extend this far into and out of the Maze? Was the Maze God’s work? That question had never struck him before but now it did, and he wanted to know the answer.

  ‘I can’t go there, not yet.’ Timothy spoke like a crushed soul.

  Gregory saw a bewildered baby.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re not. We’ll head for my cottage. You can rest there, recover, while I go and make enquiries.’

  Rufus looked at them both and saw two weak, vulnerable souls. He had no sympathy. They were not peasants. They had no idea what hardship really was.

  ‘I’ll catch you later,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m off home. I have to see somebody.’

  And with that Rufus flew
off, to share stories of adventure with his sweetheart, and to break the news. He did not bother to wish them luck. Peasants did not get luck so why wish it on others?

  And then without warning Gregory fell to his knees and his eyes began to water. But he did not cry. He refused to cry. It scared Timothy. If the Castle could do that to Gregory then what hope was there for him? Wishing for Gregory to stop he put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. Forgive me. It’s been a long time.’

  Gregory got up.

  ‘Follow me. But say nothing unless really forced to. We need to tread carefully.’

  ‘Will I get to see the Queen.’ Seeing weakness in Gregory suddenly inspired confidence in Timothy.

  ‘Yes, just give me time. We can’t just walk in there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’re supposed to be dead.’

  ***

  In the king’s bedroom, sex was about to take place between King Bizi and a king’s mistress (in the king’s mind, sex on a grand scale). Despite being drunk Lady Parmina was in a bad mood because Bizi had called her by her sister’s name. He threw her across the bed, like he was dumping an old sofa or throwing out the weekly rubbish. She didn’t protest. She loved it! Next, he cast aside his empty goblet and told her to undo her robes. He always got in a tangle when he tried to do it himself. She complied wholeheartedly, her enthusiasm for what was about to come erupting with full force. The king was about to make love to her: few others could make such a boast - except her sodding sister, of course.

  Bizi leapt on to the four poster bed - a massive structure built to be taken into battle - and pushed her arms back, pinning her down like a farmer before the slaughter. Lady Parmina screamed out loud, loving it when he came on hard. She was in her element. She was the queen of the Castle. He was all hers: her sister was currently out of favour and she was in, though the roles swapped often enough.

  Without prompting, she began to spread her legs, slowly; to entice him, wind him up, feed him dirty thoughts and to slow him down, control the flow of his enthusiasm, tame him. Could such a king be tamed? It was a question she often asked her sister and her sister often asked in return. No matter: King Bizi kept them well fed, well dressed and well pampered when he wasn’t shagging them. Bizi shuddered at the thought of what was waiting for him. Could he still manage it this drunk? Yes you arsehole, he told himself. Get stuck in: the moment is right, right now!

  But his moment was suddenly spoilt by the sound of movement. It didn’t sound human: it was the sound of a pig, the Pig; the Pig who now sported a bowtie, and to some in the royal household, ideas above its station. Lady Parmina wanted to scream again, but for totally different reasons.

  ‘What’s that thing doing in here?! I’m sick of that pig!’

  ‘Shut it. Calm down Parmina. That’s no way to talk to my best friend.’

  ‘He’s a pig!’

  ‘He’s my pig, don’t you forget it!’

  Bizi pushed on, despite his woman’s sudden onset of coolness and distraction. He tried to snog her whilst at the same time trying to reposition his body for the tricky movements to come. But just as he thought he was back on top of the game there was a knock at the door.

  ‘What!’ screamed Bizi.

  ‘Sire, may I disturb you?’ said a softly spoken, servant.

  ‘No I’m busy! And you have already disturbed me you cretin! I said only disturb me if it’s really really important!’

  ‘It is Sire,’ replied the stressed out servant. Resigning was not an option. ‘Prince Mozak has returned. He is being held as instructed.’

  Bizi sat up and the pig honked as if understanding every word. He was all ears. Bizi was all ears.

  ‘Where did you find him?’

  ‘At the Gustlic cottage. They found Foccinni with him.’

  Lady Parmina, fed up, rolled over and lapsed into a sulk. If her sister found out she would be the laughing stock. She wanted to throw a pillow at Bizi but there was none within reach. She sniffed the sheet beneath her. It smelt disgusting. Life was cruel.

  ‘Bring him here now!’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Right now!’

  ‘Yes Sire. And Foccinni?’

  The servant did not like any ambiguity, any gaps, in the orders he received. He did not like to think for himself, or invent. He just wanted to survive the day intact.

  ‘Lock him up the little sod. I’ll deal with him later.’

  ‘Understood Sire.’

  The servant closed the door and crept away to speak to the guards (who would have a good laugh at the king’s expense, much to the annoyance of his personal servant).

  ***

  A tired, trembling, terrified even, Prince Mozak was brought before the king. King Bizi looked at him. The prince looked dreadful, different. Had he aged? What had he been doing with himself? And what were those awful sad clothes he was wearing? Mozak was terrified of him, but why? Had Mozak run away from him? Bizi wanted answers. And what was that? A dog? Even Lady Parmina was taken aback by the changed prince and sat up to enjoy the show. She started to suck her thumb.

  ‘Well what have you got to say for yourself Mozak? Or has the cat got your tongue?’

  Lady Parmina began to giggle but stopped even as she started - Bizi had given her the dirtiest look. She knew when to totally shut up and stay locked up.

  Timothy had nothing to say. He stood like a block of ice, not wishing to melt; unable to move his body - not even his lips. It was as if he was in the presence of the Devil and God had abandoned him. All he could do was stare at the pig. Why was there a pig in a bedroom, a king’s bedroom? Why did it wear a bow tie? It was all too much. Stevie and the pig were coping the best and proceeded to sniff each other out.

  Each saw another animal in the room, but not one of them: it was a different size, shape, smell. Each edged closer to the other then, sensing all was good, that the other would not attack, rushed forwards to say hello, to sniff (especially the bottom as what came out of a bottom could tell a thousand tales). Each had to know more of what this other one was and where it had been. They made contact through their noses and all smelt good. They circled around each other, checking out the terrain which was the body bag of skin and hair, and all that it had expired or captured. They licked: some of it tasted good; some tasted bad; there was sweet and sour, old and new. When both were satisfied with what they had seen, smelt, and tasted they displayed their joy with an outpouring of noise. Each tried to jump higher than the other. Each wanted to be the other’s friend. And it was so. And nothing would ever pull them apart except the tug on the lead.

  ‘They seem to like each other,’ said Bizi.

  Lady Parmina desperately wanted to giggle.

  Bizi made his prince do a 360 degree turn which Timothy struggled to perform.

  ‘Where did you get those ridiculous clothes? You look like a peasant!’

  Timothy choked on his few words. ‘The Monastery.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Monastery.’

  Bizi banged the table. ‘Talk to me damn you Mozak!’

  But Timothy could not talk. He could not stand. He passed out and Bizi had to have him taken away on stretcher, back to his room. He was followed by Stevie who was followed by the pig.

  ‘He’s losing it,’ the king said to his mistress.

  She nodded in agreement, never one to disagree with what her king said on matters which were obviously important to him.

  ‘Let’s go back to bed,’ she said, grabbing by Bizi by the arm as she tried to suck him back into her vortex.

  ‘No. Leave me alone.’

  King Bizi had gone off sex for now. He was a tempestuous, stressed out king again with lots on his mind.

  ***r />
  Later, while he sat eating like a pig, with his pig tied to a table leg and also eating like a pig (scoffing pre-cut food off a plate much like his master), King Bizi ordered Foccinni to be brought before him. He nearly choked on a piece of chicken when somebody else was presented to him.

  ‘Who the hell are you? You’re not Foccinni!’ King Bizi threw a wasted chicken leg across the floor. ‘Did you kidnap my prince!’

  ‘No, certainly not, Sire.’

  ‘Well who the hell are you? Answer me!’

  ‘I’m Valadino, Foccinni’s brother.’

  ‘No. His brother is long dead.’

  ‘I assure you Sire, I am not. Just long gone.’

  King Bizi had to admit it, there was a strong likeness.

  ‘Meaning?’ He did not like people who played around with his own words.

  ‘I fled the Castle, into the Maze.’

  Valadino, with Gregory hiding inside, paused for effect.

  ‘With the twin. The twin I was ordered to kill.’

  The king almost had a heart attack. He dropped his knife, and had to reach for his mug of water to avoid choking. His next question was delivered with a dribble.

  ‘And did you? Did you kill him?’

  ‘No. I am an honourable man. I could never carry out such an order - even when it is the king’s order.’

  Again Gregory - now back in charge - paused. He was enjoying the game so much. Just seeing this loathsome king squirm and try to wriggle away from the truth felt so great - and he hadn’t felt great in a long time.

  ‘Tascho is still alive and well, as you should know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Bizi clenched his fist and snarled as he spoke. He did not like men who presumed importance dominating his conversation. He had to put up with that crap from his Chancellor and Secretary but not from anybody else. In return, Gregory tried to not look at the king as if he was stupid. It was difficult.