The Wooden Prince

by John Claude Bemis

  Pinocchio realized their mistake, but before he could explain, Gragl added, “Sadly, His Lordship is no longer immortal. Your father is dying.” She gulped miserably.

  “Quiet, Gragl,” another scolded. “You’ll upset the boy.”

  “Actually, my father is—” Pinocchio began, but Lazuli cut him off.

  “Your father is in need of our help, Pinocchio.” She gave him a meaningful frown. “Right? You need to be with your father.”

  “Oh, of course I do,” Pinocchio said. “Can you take us to him?”

  The barnacle people whispered to one another.

  “What’s the problem?” Mezmer asked.

  Gragl looked at Mezmer and Sop in turn before saying to Pinocchio, “My people fear that you will eat them.”

  Several of the nearest began scuttling back nervously.

  “Eat them!” Sop said. “Trust me. That’s about the last thing you have to fear from us.”

  “Why would you think that?” Pinocchio asked.

  Gragl pointed to Cinnabar. “Were you not trying to cook your companion?”

  “Oh, ha!” Pinocchio said, chuckling with the others as the barnacle people stared with dark, worried eyes. “No, we weren’t cooking him.”

  “He’s a djinni,” Lazuli explained. “An elemental being of fire.”

  “Then what’s he doing here?” Gragl asked.

  “I’m sure he’s going to be wondering the same thing when he wakes,” Pinocchio said, not looking forward to explaining this to Cinnabar. “He needs help.”

  “He needs fire,” Mezmer added from where she was removing the soggy mound off Cinnabar. “And soon, or he might die.”

  Gragl gave an anxious twitch. “Mother does not like fire.”

  “Who is this Mother anyway?” Sop said.

  Some of the barnacle people looked up. Some looked down. Others simply peered around at the darkness. “We are inside her,” Gragl said.

  “What? Oh!” Sop said, his feline eye widening. “The sea monster is Mother.”

  A low growl ran through the barnacle people. Gragl snapped, “Mother is no monster. She takes care of us.”

  “She provides for us!” another chimed in, holding up a spear. Pinocchio now saw that there were several large fish stuck midway down the spear.

  Pinocchio held up his hands. “Our mistake. But you must have fire. Don’t you cook your fish before you eat it?”

  A tongue emerged from Gragl’s encrusted face. “Yuck! Burn a perfectly good fish before eating it? How disgusting!”

  One of the barnacle people whispered to Gragl. She nodded her head. “Yes. You should come with us. Bring your friend. We might be able to help him.”

  Gragl and her people led them across the cavernous stomachscape. Pinocchio couldn’t believe how many of Gragl’s kind there were. It was like being accompanied by an entire city of inhabitants. Little bobbing lights spread out around them by the thousands.

  “Where are they taking us?” Captain Toro asked.

  “To those cliffs, I suppose,” Pinocchio said, pointing to the massive sheer wall coming into view.

  “Those aren’t cliffs, technically,” Maestro said.

  Sop made a distressed noise. “Stop. Just stop talking about it.”

  At the base of the cliff, Gragl led them single file up a series of stairs that were thankfully less slippery and algae-covered than the shore. Not all the barnacle people followed them. Some were ascending different paths. But most of Gragl’s kind remained below. Pinocchio couldn’t tell what they were doing. All he could see were little bobbing lights wandering this way and that. Maybe they were still scavenging or hunting for fish that had washed into the great stomach of the Deep One.

  After an exhausting climb, they reached a cave set into the side of the cliff. Inside were the rough materials of a home. Beds made from bundles of dried sea grass and tattered sailcloth. Tables and benches fashioned from broken timbers.

  “You live here?” Pinocchio asked.

  Gragl nodded. “Along with my family.” There were a few dozen others busily skinning fish, cracking shellfish, and chopping seaweed. Pinocchio was hungry, but he wasn’t sure he was that hungry.

  Mezmer came in last, Cinnabar hanging limply over her shoulder. She was panting, her tongue drooping from between her teeth. “You said you could help our friend, dears?” she grunted. “He needs fire.”

  “Bring him back this way.” Gragl motioned to a tunnel at the back of the cave.

  They reached another cave that was hot and thick with smoke. In the middle was a massive bowl, as big as a fountain, dancing with low blue flames and tended by a group of the barnacle people. Placed inside the bowl of fire were several large, closed clamshells. Bubbles hissed from the edges.

  “What is this?” Lazuli asked. “I thought you didn’t cook your food.”

  “This isn’t for cooking,” Gragl said. “For drinking.”

  Before Pinocchio could get an explanation about this, Mezmer said, “That fire! We can use it?”

  “It truly won’t harm your friend?” Gragl asked, stepping to one side so Mezmer could approach the bowl.

  “Just the medicine he needs,” Mezmer said. “Sop, darling, give me a hand.”

  The two took Cinnabar by the wrists and ankles, keeping clear of the flames, and laid the djinni in the fire.

  “I see no wood in there,” Mezmer said. “What are you burning?”

  “Oil,” Gragl replied.

  “Mother provides,” another of the barnacle people said.

  Others muttered reverently, “Mother provides.”

  “How long will it take?” Gragl asked.

  “Not sure,” Mezmer replied, watching Cinnabar anxiously as the flames danced across him.

  “Are you thirsty?” Gragl asked.

  Several barnacle people were hooking a stick through a notch at the top of one of the shells and working together to pull it onto the floor. One of them prodded it open. Steam plumed out. Inside was a bucket half filled with water.

  “This one is still hot, but we have others that are cooled.” She shuffled over to a collection of containers and brought back a bucket.

  “What is it?” Sop asked.

  “Water,” Gragl said. “Freshwater. It is bad to drink seawater, you know.”

  “Yes, but—” Lazuli began.

  “Oh, I see!” Maestro chirped from Pinocchio’s shoulder. “They distill the seawater into these buckets. The boiling removes the salt. Right?”

  Gragl nodded, a small smile on her crusted face. “Yes. Freshwater.” She offered Pinocchio the bucket. “Drink.”

  Pinocchio glanced at his companions. Their looks weren’t exactly encouraging. He hesitantly lifted the bucket to his mouth. It was fishy, but the slight salty taste wasn’t quite as concentrated as seawater. He forced a smile. “Uh, yes. Not…bad?”

  Gragl gave an encouraging nod and passed the bucket to Lazuli. They all took turns drinking the rank water.

  From the fire, Cinnabar gave a groan. Mezmer rushed over to the bowl. Pinocchio could now tell that the bowl was also a massive shell. The Deep One sure swallowed some surprising things.

  “Cinnabar, old friend, can you hear me?” Mezmer asked. “Are you all right, dear?”

  The djinni slowly sat up on his elbows. He looked around with dim-eyed confusion, like a person waking from the heaviest sleep. “Where am I?” he mumbled.

  “We’d better hold off on that for now,” Sop said. “Your elemental fire went out. How do you feel?”

  “Better,” he whispered, lying back in the bed of flames and giving a little moan of contentment. Then he shot back up, his eyes wide. “Wait! Why did my fire go out? We’re inside the Deep One, aren’t we? We’ve been swallowed!”

  Cinnabar jabbed his finger at Pinocchio in a way that made it obvious that if his finger had been something more pointy and lethal, he would be stabbing it into Pinocchio. “This is all your fault, you idiotic puppet! You flew us in here on purpose. You’ve t
rapped us in this…forsaken hell-world!”

  “I don’t think it’s as bad as that,” Pinocchio said. “It’s quite fascinating down here, really.”

  Gragl blinked up at him adoringly.

  “Fascinating? Fascinating?” the djinni sputtered with rage. Lying in a bed of flames only made him look more terrifying. “This is a place of no escape. This is a place of death!”

  “It isn’t a place of no escape,” Gragl uttered in the tiniest whisper.

  Cinnabar’s eyebrows wrestled between fury and disbelief as her words sank in. “What is that nasty little creature, and what is it babbling about?”

  Pinocchio scowled. Despite his guilt about nearly killing the djinni, he definitely wasn’t glad to have his loathsome mouth back.

  Lazuli knelt before Gragl. “Is there a way to leave?”

  “There must be,” she replied. “Prester John escaped.”

  “What?” Mezmer snapped. “His Immortal Lordship has already left?”

  Pinocchio felt his stomach sink.

  “No, he’s here now,” Gragl explained. “He’s returned to Mother at last. What I meant was that he escaped before, long ago. Before he was king of Abaton.” She paused and cowered at the confused faces surrounding her. “Did you not know? Had you not heard that this was Prester John’s original home?”

  “No,” Mezmer said.

  Even Lazuli looked surprised by this news.

  Gragl gave a proud smile. “See? This is not a place of death. This is where Prester John won his immortal life.”

  “None of you die here?” Lazuli asked.

  “We die,” Gragl said, “like you die. Only Prester John has the gift of immortality. Mother gave him the Ancientmost Pearl.” She sighed heavily and fixed Pinocchio with a teary-eyed gaze. “But now it is gone and your father is dying.”

  “Not if we can help it,” Cinnabar growled. “Can you take us to His Immortal Lordship?”

  Gragl gave an enthusiastic nod, which, given that her neck was covered in shells, looked more like she was wobbling forward and back.

  “Is he nearby?” Pinocchio asked.

  “Your father has gone with his attendant to his ancestral home,” Gragl said.

  Her words filled Pinocchio with such giddiness he almost leaped in the air. “The attendant!” he said. “Did you say he’s with someone? Was his name Geppetto?”

  “Yes, I think that is right.”

  Maestro hopped from Pinocchio’s head to his shoulder, and Lazuli flashed Pinocchio a smile. Geppetto was alive!

  “How far away are they?” Pinocchio asked Gragl.

  “Not far.”

  “A few hours? A few days?”

  Gragl blinked, confused. “What are hours and days?”

  Maestro said, “There’s no sun down here. No way to measure time like we do.”

  “Oh,” Pinocchio said. “Well, I guess we’ll find out how far it is when we go.”

  While Cinnabar recovered, Pinocchio and Lazuli talked Gragl into letting them cook fish in a different fire, away from the fuming djinni, and the others gathered supplies for the journey.

  Pinocchio was anxiously aware of Captain Toro squatting in the shadows at the mouth of the cave. Gragl’s people eyed him nervously and avoided him as best they could. When the airman finally rose to his feet and approached Pinocchio, the barnacle people scattered back.

  “Where are my men?” he asked.

  “How should I know?” Pinocchio replied.

  “Ask her,” Captain Toro demanded, pointing at Gragl.

  Why Captain Toro couldn’t ask her himself irritated Pinocchio, but he had noticed that Gragl only seemed comfortable talking with him.

  “Gragl,” he said gently. “Prester John arrived here aboard a ship with others. Where are the others?”

  “The ones who held him prisoner?” she said.

  “Yes,” Pinocchio replied.

  “They were bad men. We helped free His Immortal Lordship from these bad men.”

  “What did you do to the doge?” Captain Toro roared. “What’s happened to him?”

  Gragl trembled behind Pinocchio. He gave Gragl an assuring pat, which wasn’t particularly pleasant since he was patting the muck-covered seashells encrusting her shoulder.

  Gragl said, “His soldiers have gone in search of the other dirt-born.”

  Pinocchio exchanged a perplexed look with Lazuli before asking Gragl, “Dirt-born?”

  Gragl pointed a gnarled finger at Captain Toro. “Like him. And like you, son of his Immortal Lordship.”

  “You mean humans?” Captain Toro said. “There are humans down here?”

  “The ones who have been swallowed by Mother. There have been others before your ship. Many others. They dwell in settlements. We trade with them. They leave my people alone if we share what Mother delivers to us.”

  Lazuli asked, “Are there Abatonians like us down here as well?”

  “There have been some,” Gragl said. “The dirt-born take them. We never see them again.”

  Lazuli scowled. “What happens to them?”

  Gragl looked at Captain Toro. “Unlike His Immortal Lordship’s son and his attendant, most dirt-born are savages. There is no telling what they do to them. They might keep them as slaves. Or do worse things.”

  Captain Toro turned angrily and began to head out from the cave.

  “Where are you going?” Pinocchio called.

  The captain growled back at him. “I have to find my lord the doge.”

  “You’ll never find him in that darkness,” Pinocchio said.

  Captain Toro ground his teeth, looking like he might explode with anger. “If I only had some light…”

  “Gragl,” Lazuli said. “The lights in the shells on your head? Do you have one that you can give to Captain Toro?”

  Pinocchio began to argue, but Lazuli held up a hand to silence him.

  Gragl looked hesitantly from Captain Toro to Lazuli. “You want him to have one?”

  “If you can spare it,” Lazuli said.

  Gragl opened the shell on her forehead and scooped out the little slimy glowing mussel. “We have many more. He can have this one.” She held it out to the captain.

  “It barely puts out any light,” Captain Toro complained.

  “Do you want it or not?” Lazuli asked.

  Reluctantly Captain Toro took the mussel.

  “You must keep it moist,” Gragl said, “or the light will die.”

  Captain Toro rose and without a backward glance—much less a thank-you—headed out from the cave. He flung open his wings once he was outside and disappeared into the darkness.

  Pinocchio gave Lazuli a bewildered look. “Why’d you help him? I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “I don’t,” Lazuli said. “But it seemed the best way to get rid of him.”

  Gragl smiled and went off to retrieve another light.

  Even when Cinnabar’s elemental flame was restored, he seemed no happier about their situation. He raged about how this was all Pinocchio’s fault, snarling and snapping all the way down the steep, crude stairs until they reached the soggy floor below. That shut him up. The djinni had to focus his attention on not falling into any of the black ponds or slipping on the precarious paths of seaweed and slime.

  Marching off into the cavernous dark set their group on edge. While Pinocchio was fascinated by the enormity of this underworld, he couldn’t help but feel a creepy tingling along his spine at the thought that a band of castaway dirt-born savages might be waiting to capture them. He held his sword at the ready.

  A dozen or so of Gragl’s barnacle people led the way. Pinocchio was glad for the light shining from the shells fixed to their heads, but it only made him more aware of the vast darkness surrounding them.

  “What do you see ahead?” Maestro whispered from his shoulder.

  “Nothing,” Pinocchio said. “Absolutely nothing.”

  He soon gave up trying to spy any features or to figure out how long had they t
raveled. There was no way to measure time except by their footsteps, too innumerable to track. The journey felt like days. They paused on occasion to eat and drink and pushed on until they staggered with weariness.

  Gragl assured Pinocchio and the others that her people would keep watch while they slept. If sleep was anything for the others like it was for Pinocchio, then it was a miserable sleep filled with dreams of black floods and mountainous, devouring teeth. Waking with no dawn was disconcerting, and they resumed their journey grumbling and sullen.

  Later Gragl said, “We are nearing the dirt-born settlements. We must travel quietly and with no light so that we won’t be found. We trade with them, so they will not harm my people. But if they found you…”

  When the lights of the scattered settlements came into view, Pinocchio saw that they were built from pieces of wrecked ships and scavenged items. Each was like a small fortress, towering and walled and glowing from within with orange, oily light.

  The landscape was irregular, rising and falling with strange mounds. Gragl navigated them along a twisty path through the shadowy features, past the settlements, until at last Pinocchio saw empty darkness ahead. He thought it odd that he was actually glad for the dark again.

  Pinocchio whispered to Gragl, “Are these the only settlements?”

  “No,” Gragl replied. “Just the nearest to the mouth, and the only ones I have visited. I hear there are more, deeper in Mother. They say there are even dirt-born cities.”

  Pinocchio was trying to wrap his head around this when Sop hissed, “Someone is coming!”

  Over to one side, from the last of the settlements they had yet to pass, bobbing lights approached. They weren’t the dim green of the barnacle people’s luminescent mussels, but yellow, flickering lights that looked like oil lanterns.

  Gragl pulled Pinocchio’s hand. “It is a band of dirt-born. There is no telling whether they are attacking another settlement or trading. These savages are friends one day and enemies the next.”

  Mezmer stepped closer to Lazuli, spear raised, ready to defend the princess as a good knight should. Lazuli, with her sword out, didn’t seem to need much defending, but she clearly didn’t have the heart to tell the chivalrous fox otherwise.

  “What should we do?” Pinocchio asked.