Into The Maze

by Euan McAllen

  ‘No, you’re a prince!’

  ‘Fuck you, Rufus!’

  ‘Fuck you, Timothy!’

  And with that Rufus stormed off. He wanted Mozak back. They had acquired an understanding, of sorts.

  Apart from Lady Tamatellini, only Stevie and Pig continued unchanged, oblivious to all that was happening. They ran this way and that; barking and grunting, pissing and shitting; sniffing each others arse; stuffing their faces, and sleeping it off. Life for them was good, a never-ending holiday. Each had their devoted owner and each had each other. Only two things could upset Stevie. The first was the hunting dogs: they brought back bad memories of life inside the Maze. When the dogs were released for a hunt he ran a mile and hid, hoping he was not the chase. The second was the kennel. He was now kept in a kennel when his master did not want him around. It was a prison and Stevie was overjoyed whenever he was let out to run and play, or walk and play, or eat and play with his playful master. And all the while the impending Banquet hung over Tascho; and as it drew nearer, the less he could bear to be part of it: too much exposure; too many strangers; too many expectations. Between them, Stevie and Lady Agnes Aga-Smath managed to keep Tascho sane, just.

  And on the day Valadino gathered his men and saluted the king before heading out on his mission, Tascho come Timothy watched from his bedroom window; Stevie in his arms, trying to lick his face; wishing Gregory would stay; wishing he was going with him; Lady Agnes lying across the bed, watching him, sad for him, hoping for Mozak’s safe return. Likewise, the Dowager Queen watched from her window, and prayed for the safe return of her other son.

  Even though Gregory was still in view Timothy was missing him already - the man who had raised him as his own. The sound of his father yelling ‘All of you! Get my son back, in one piece! Unharmed!’ was difficult for him to listen to. Let my brother have his room back. I don’t want it. I’ve had enough, he thought. Forgive me God but please let me be an orphan again, my own boss! But he hadn’t had enough yet: he still ate at the king’s table, and drank his wine; and was happy to be waited upon, day or night; and at one point was able to kick Lady Agnes out of his head and seduce a young lady-in-waiting by the name of Lady Jane instead. He had sold himself but had no money with which to buy himself back. He had spent it all.

  Part Five: Checkmate

  Gregory approached the Maze, preparing to enter, to leave the kingdom. The previous time he did this he did not return for eighteen years and that thought gave him the weirdest feeling. The Maze was ahead of him, with all its complications and deceits. He did not want to go inside - nor did his men - but he had to get the prince out, back home, safe and sound like his brother. It was his duty. Suddenly there was a commotion ahead and his thoughts were brought back into sharp focus: there was the sound of people and horse’s hooves. It grew louder. He could hear voices. They were shouting, cheering. They were on their way out of the Maze.

  Gregory instructed his soldiers to hold steady and lower their swords. He waited with bated breath as bodies came into view. Was it Iedazimus? No. It was Mozak tumbling out into the sunlight, squinting and shouting for others to keep up. So Mozak was back. Thank the lord. And there was young Mutz, and that castaway monk Fargo, and on the horse perched Esmeralda! And there was his brother looking fed-up as usual. And who was the scruffy man with the beard? They all looked exhausted, wasted. With the exception of Esmeralda no one was pleased to see him, especially not his brother. Mozak looked driven, like he was spoiling for a fight. His brother entered a sulk on seeing him and refused to make eye contact. The rest of them tried to take in the view. They looked lost. And as the scruffy bearded man drew nearer, the truth hit Gregory and his heart sank. Please no, was his desperate thought. Things had suddenly got even more complicated.

  Mozak walked right up to him. He had an urgent question.

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Of course. He’s safe.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s safe I just want to know if he’s here.’

  Gregory and ex-king Helmotti exchanged glances: they had a lot to talk about, later, in a place where they could not be overheard.

  Mozak began to shake and Esmeralda slipped down from the horse and rushed forwards to grab his hand. He took it and held it tight.

  ‘I must get back.’

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  They looked inseparable.

  Gregory tried to take charge. ‘When you’re ready Mozak-’

  ‘Prince Mozak to you.’

  ‘Apologies. Prince Mozak, when you are ready let me take you to my cottage.’

  ‘Our cottage,’ said Foccinni.

  ‘My cottage brother.’ Gregory did not like being corrected by his brother.

  Mozak looked at Foccinni, suspicious, then back at Gregory, and sneered.

  ‘So this is your brother.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he knows Tascho.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Gregory cut in, to avoid the exchanges becoming complicated. ‘I can see you all need a rest. Let me take you to my cottage.’

  ‘I’m going home,’ said Mozak emphatically. ‘Now.’

  ‘Let me speak to the king first.’

  ‘No. Foccinni, show them the way. I’m going on to the castle. It’s my home. It’s where I belong.’ Mozak was not going to be stopped.

  Gregory tried to persuade him otherwise. ‘That’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Guards, you know who I am yes?’

  They did and stirred in their saddles, uneasy.

  ‘Well I’m giving you an order. Escort these people back to that man’s cottage - or whatever it is.’ Mozak pointed at Gregory. ‘Foccinni lead the way. And keep them there, until I say otherwise.’

  ‘Mozak no!’ Gregory sounded mortified.

  ‘I said Prince Mozak to you!’

  Gregory looked at the ex-king for support but got no response, only a vacant, faraway stare. He was looking into the distance, at what little he could see of the castle, once his castle, once his previous life.

  With the return of his power Mozak became almost hysterical.

  ‘Shut up and stop interfering! You have no authority here! Guards, this man stays under guard with them, understood?’

  ‘Understood,’ replied a nervous soldier.

  Gasping for breath, Mozak turned on Esmeralda. She fell back, expecting something bad to come her way but instead she got the opposite: an invitation.

  ‘Esmeralda, you come with me.’

  She smiled at Mozak, in recognition of the fact that he regarded her as a trusted friend, on his side. She tried to smile at Gregory, wishing to make up on behalf of Mozak, but gave up. She got back on her horse and waved goodbye to her friend the Hermit as she rode off after her prince who had commandeered Gregory’s horse.

  ‘That’s my horse!’ cried Gregory.

  ‘No it’s not it belongs to the king!’ shouted Mozak as he rode off, back in his element, energized again by the fight ahead.

  Esmeralda loved him when he was like this. Mozak was flying and as the castle reared up into view she gasped at the enormity and grandeur of it all. She was in a new world which reduced her village and her life in it to nothing more than just inconsequential. She suddenly felt very small and insignificant, in contrast to Prince Mozak who felt the complete opposite.

  Gregory watched them ride away and wondered what was next, and when. Ex-king Helmotti watched them ride away but gave nothing away. His face remained impassive, impartial. He had much to gain and nothing to lose. Foccinni looked grumpy: a prisoner in his own home. Royal privilege and power had become a curse.

  Prince Mozak flew into the courtyard, jumped off his horse, threw the reins into the hands of a stable boy and was gone, without a word for Esmeralda. She looked lost, like a child who had been left forgotten on
the beach by distracted parents. She did not want to lose sight of her prince but he was happy to lose sight of her.

  The prince did not immediately seek out the king or queen but headed straight for his bedroom: his bedroom was the one thing in the castle which was totally, one hundred percent his. It was off-limits. The king did not rule in there. It was a declaration of his most private, intimate self. He had grown up in it, lost his virginity on and off its bed. His worse fears were confirmed when he burst in to discover his twin and the Royal Tutor sitting opposite each other, a book of royal standards laid out between them. They looked up in alarm and Tascho’s mouth fell open. Mozak pointed at the tutor (whom he called ‘his silly man’).

  ‘You. Out. Now.’

  The Royal Tutor looked at his pupil, questioning the authority of the command but Tascho only confirmed it.

  ‘Best you go.’

  He closed his book and left immediately, cursing on the way out. The twins watched him go, both glad to see the back of him. Left alone they looked each other over, neither wishing to speak. A high voltage spark threatened to jump the gap between them. Mozak was staggered by the change in the poor boy from the Village: he dressed like a prince, had his hair cut like a prince; he smelt like a prince, not like a farmyard. He was trying to impersonate him, Prince Mozak! He was trying to take his place! The king wants to replace me! He hates me and this is his revenge, thought Mozak. The need to survive, fight back, seized him. When he finally spoke it was like he was spitting acid.

  ‘You’re wearing my clothes.’

  Tascho looked down at himself. Yes he was. He had forgotten they were not his. And they felt all the better for it.

  ‘You’ve got plenty to go round.’

  ‘Take them off. Now.’ Fists appeared.

  Tascho wanted to laugh away the developing seriousness. ‘What? Get lost.’

  ‘You get lost. Get out of my room.’

  ‘I’ve just as much right to be here as you.’

  ‘Not in my room you haven’t.’

  Mozak moved in and pushed Tascho back.

  ‘I said get out of my clothes and get out of my room! Impostor!’

  ‘Impostor? I’m your fucking brother! Get used to it! Our father has!’

  Mozak stumbled on hearing that word. It was an insult. There was only one route back to sanity. He needed to fight. He grabbed his twin by the collar - the collar on his shirt.

  ‘How dare you mention his name!’

  With an unintended symmetry Tascho grabbed his twin’s collar. The two became stuck as one: each tormenting the other; each tormented by the other; neither able to let go. Just before actual physical violence ignited, Lady Agnes Aga-Smath rushed into the room to save the situation.

  ‘Stop it both of you please!’

  The twins looked at her, both astonished.

  ‘Agnes?’ asked Mozak. His lady had changed.

  ‘Mozak,’ she replied. Her prince had changed.

  Tascho looked at them both, sensing something important slipping from his grasp. Everything had changed. Everybody in the room wanted things to change. Her presence cooled the air. Collars were released and each twin took two steps back in a movement which looked like it could have been synchronized. Neither boy wanted to reveal to the girl in the room their darkest side, that they could be driven by violence - and celebrate it. Each sensed that this Lady saw an angel in them and both wanted to keep it that way. And Mozak suddenly remembered: were we supposed to be married by now? Shit. Was she angry? She didn’t look angry.

  Tascho was forced to ask his brother a question. He didn’t want to - and Mozak didn’t want to provide an answer.

  ‘Is Esmeralda with you?’

  ‘Yes. Outside, somewhere.’

  Tascho looked out of the window. Yes there she was, standing next to a horse, almost clinging to it, looking like she needed help: a little lost soul; the girl from the blacksmith’s; sanity. Tascho wanted to protect her from all the Castle would throw at her. He wanted to be her hero. He rushed out to greet her, to welcome her to his new home, his new life. That left Lady Agnes alone with her fiancé: to demand an apology; to make fresh demands or to split the difference.

  And for Esmeralda it was much the same: a new Timothy; a better looking Timothy; a more confident, brash Timothy. The slightly insecure monk from Outside was gone - along with his Outside name he told her. She felt she had to discover him all over again. He was a catch before and now he had grown into more of a catch. How did he compare with his brother? And yet she perceived a tiredness in his eyes, a sense of world weariness - both exacerbated by her very presence for she had brought the past with her. Timothy looked like he was in need of a holiday, escape from this place. He needed cheering up, she concluded.

  Abruptly Tascho demanded an update on events. Why was she here? Had Mozak brought her here against her will? She explained the situation. Mutz was here too? And that irritating monk, what was he doing here? And some hermit, her friend? And Gregory’s brother? The list made Tascho’s head spin. Esmeralda begged him to do what he could to get them released. Tascho was more than happy to overturn any order given by his brother and with Esmeralda at his side he rode out to the cottage, his mission to really piss off Mozak.

  ***

  After extracting a promise from Lady Agnes to take Esmeralda under her wing and look after her, Mozak rushed off to find his mother. He would talk to Lady Agnes later, when he had the strength to stand up to anything she might throw at him. He had lots to tell his mother. For the first time in a long time they had lots to talk about and he was looking forward to it. Had she missed him? He barged into her reception room, ignoring the protests of the lady-in-waiting currently on duty. She was not there. He pushed on past the complaining girl and on into his mother’s bedroom. And there she was, in bed. He was shocked: she looked pale, positively ill. Had he worried her to death?

  ‘It’s alright. Everything is alright now mother, I’m back, safe and sound.’ He tried to sound upbeat.

  ‘Tascho?’

  ‘No it’s me mother. I’m back.’

  ‘Mozak! My Mozak!’

  Fired up, Queen Anneeni struggled to pull herself up into a sitting position; like a wounded buffalo dragging itself up onto its hooves for one last show of strength, the final stand. Hands outstretched, she wanted desperately to embrace her baby boy.

  ‘My baby is back. Come here my beautiful baby! I have you back! I have both of you back!’

  Mozak crept forward and complied. It had been years since he had done such a thing: partake in a heartfelt, passionate embrace. He found it an awkward, unsettling experience - added to that he felt Tascho was in the room; watching him; comparing notes; stealing his mother. But if it made her better for it, so be it. He crawled on to his mother’s vast expanse of bed: a toddler again, reaching out towards the centre of his universe, his only true safe haven. She hugged him, squeezed him dry, then relaxed a little and loosened her grip to search his face for clues of what he had suffered, for signs of changes. Her boy’s cheeks were red: good sign. She peered into his eyes to check he was still Mozak and at the same time held back from telling him the awful truth. Her boy needed to rest first, recharge.

  ‘What happened out there? Tell me everything. Have you been eating enough?’

  ‘Yes,’ he lied.

  ‘No one hurt you?’

  ‘No,’ he lied.

  His mother looked like she was about to cry: Mozak did not want to hang around to see that. The woman was on the verge of a breakdown. Time to leave.

  ‘Later. I will speak to you later. Promise. First I must go see the king. He needs to know I am back. The prince is back!’

  Mozak peeled himself away from his mother’s embrace, ignoring her pleas to remain by her side. She let go only under protest as he wrestled himself free, to s
lump back down into her usual position, exhausted again. She shouted after him as he left the room.

  ‘I need to tell you something, now!’

  ‘Later!’

  ‘But it’s important.’

  But Mozak was gone and Queen Anneeni felt abandoned again. She had her two boys back but sensed serious trouble ahead, and she didn’t want to be part of it. She burrowed down in between her sheets to escape. She was afraid for them, for her.

  King Bizi looked up from his large snack bowl and wiped his lips clean on the back of his cuff. Lady Tarmina sat by his side. They had been chewing on strips of dried beef. His son had burst in on him, not even bothering to knock. Just like his brother now.

  Mozak looked at the pig and the pig looked at the king who looked at Mozak.

  ‘Tascho?’

  ‘Mozak - remember?’

  ‘Mozak!’ King Bizi jumped up. ‘You’re back! Come here my son! Give me a hug!’

  Mozak jumped a mile in the opposite direction. His uncle had finally gone nuts - mad like his mother. Lady Tarmina resumed chewing, sensing a big scene ahead. She loved to be entertained.

  ‘You are well? You look unharmed. Sit down. Tell me everything.’

  King Bizi reached out and tried to take his son’s hand. Mozak wriggled out of the encounter. His uncle was acting really weird. Scary.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Son I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. We have lots to talk about.’

  ‘Stop calling me son, it’s weird.’

  Lady Tarmina could not help it. She could not stop herself. She had to let the cat jump out of the bag and relieve her agony, if not that of her lover.

  ‘But you are his son! Mozak meet your father!’

  She laughed but the laughter was immediately wiped from her face as the other two faces in the room turned on her and issued what could only be described as a death threat. Nervously she began to chew at high speed. It did not help.

  ‘Shut your stupid mouth slut and get out of here! I don’t want to see you again!’