The Gewgaws Adventure

by C. M. Bacon

  “What did you find?” Arvin asked, seeing I had stopped digging and was holding something in my hand.

  “I’m not sure. Let me clean them off,” I said, getting up and walking back to the lake.

  I walked over to the muumuu rope and climbed down over the lake. I stuck the objects in the water and swished them around, cleaning off the mud. I climbed back up and sat on the shore to examine my new gewgaws. One had a strange oblong shape became thinner at the tip. The other was more cylindrical and also a tiny bit bigger than the other. Both were blotchy white and fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

  They felt light in my hand as I turned each over. The thicker one had the same deep scratches near the bottom opposite the connecting piece. Arvin returned from the mulberry bush, having stuffed his big mouth with an even bigger load of juicy mulberries. He plopped down next to me.

  “Ooo!” he said, excited. “Woo wound winger wones.”

  “Arvin, please stop talking with your mouth full,” I said. Arvin swallowed the blob of crushed mulberries in a single loud GUUULLPP.

  “I said, you found finger bones.” I could hear the elation in his voice. I examined them closer to see they were indeed the first two sections of a finger.

  “Oh, geez. I think they’re from a human. That looks like a knuckle joint,” I said, pointing at the puzzle-like sections. “Why would a human bone be in a mudflat? There aren’t any people besides us.”

  Arvin said, “Nobody lives here now. It doesn’t mean nobody ever did. Maybe they’re ancient, or maybe somebody like us got stuck and died, or maybe this is an aboriginal burial ground, or perhaps --”

  “That’s a lot of ‘maybes,’ Arvin,” I said. “They’re creepy.”

  “If they’re part of an ancient burial ground, we should put them back where we found them. Can I have a look at them?”

  “No problem,” I said, handing the dirty white bones to Arvin. “Put ‘em where you want ‘em.”

  “These are cool,” he said, spraying a mist of mulberry juice out of his mouth onto the white bones.

  “Gross, Arvin. Say it, don’t spray it. You’re staining them purple,” I said, seeing mulberry juice run down his chin and drip onto the bones. Arvin, claiming childish ownership over the bones, spit a mushy gob of mulberry goo into his palm and rubbed it over the bones, staining them reddish-purple. He smiled at me. “Well, they’re ruined. I guess I’ll have to keep ‘em.”

  “You’re such a baby,” I said, shaking my head. “Go back to digging, Fido.”

  Arvin showed me an unfriendly finger. “Whatever, Mr. Funny Man. I’ll make you sorry you called me that.”

  We were looking at the purple bones and how they fit together when I heard something.

  CHIRP CHIRP-CHIRP

  We jerked our heads up to see where it had come from.

  “Perry!” Arvin screeched, slapping my sunburned back.

  “Ouch, Arvin. I see them,” I said, watching as a pair of cobalt blue Starlings swooped down and landed on a densely packed fig bush. “Here we go again.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Golden Giggles

  DUM DUM-DUM-DUM CLANG CLANG

  DUM DUM-DUM-DUM CLANG CLANG

  A rapid rhythmic succession of deafening drum beats and cymbal rattles broke us from the Starlings’ enchantment, bringing us back to the green grassy knoll.

  “What’s that horrible clanging?” Arvin asked, placing the purple bones into his pocket.

  “I’m not sure. Sounds like my cousin Judy’s college marching band,” I said, rising to peer through the dense fig bush.

  Arvin moved beside me to get a glimpse through the hedges. “I doubt we’ve landed in a football stadium.”

  His tepid response almost made me miss school bully wedgies. Even with our Dragon Sorcerer underwear pulled up our backsides, at least we’d be home.

  DUM DUM-DUM-DUM CLANG CLANG

  DUM DUM-DUM-DUM CLANG CLANG

  In my head, I imagined 30-odd drumming band geeks stumbling past the other side of the lush green bushes. I pulled apart the twisted branches, careful not to make a sound, and peered through its green leaves to the dirt road beyond. Arvin and I tried to stay concealed as best we could. Our pink, sunburned bodies and tattered shorts would have spooked the people we saw.

  “Perry, are gewgaws supposed to send you through time?” Arvin asked, staring through the fig bush at the passing revelers.

  “How should I know? It’s not like I planned a medieval vacation for us.”

  We watched in awe as fifty young bannermen, a little older than us, marched in two long lines down the road passing between rows of tall fig bushes. As they passed, they beat six black drums and banged six black cymbals. They wore ornate purple silk coats crossed by white satin sashes with overstuffed sleeves that puffed like pom-poms as they swung their arms and legs to and fro. Opulent pendants of silver and amethyst dangled from their thick necks over white lace collars and brilliant plumes of white peacock feathers swayed from their intricate silk headdresses. They were beautiful yet frightening like royal gorillas parading in perfect unison with the rhythm of the drums.

  At the rear of their lines, a giant knight in golden armor rode a white Clydesdale. Under his body, the horse seemed like a pony. If the golden knight stood in front of me, I’d be looking straight at his gold-plated knees. The bright sunlight reflected off inlaid fig bushes on the knight’s golden armor. As the procession passed us, we heard a muffled voice call out.

  “You, hiding amongst the figs. Come out where I can get a look at you.” Arvin and I looked at each other. We were too scared to move.

  “You in the pink tunics, stand and identify yourself,” he said, placing a hand on the gold hilt of his five-foot silver sword.

  Arvin and I stood up and raised our hands in the air like we’d seen on TV. The fig bush came up to my chest, but only Arvin’s arms were visible from the road. The giant knight let out a roaring laugh from under his polished, gold helmet. Chuckling, he released the thick black leather reins and raised his hands to mimic our posture. Arvin giggled back, but I didn’t think it was funny. The knight lifted his helmet’s slotted visor and moved his armored hand away from his sword.

  “Aren’t you two a pitiful sight? You’re lucky I didn’t split you in half,” he said.

  “What did we do?” I asked with my hands raised.

  “Never conceal yourself from a knight. I assumed your scalded hides were bandits lying in wait,” he said.

  “We’re Sorry. We didn’t know who you were,” Arvin said, stepping back to get a better look at the knight.

  “You look familiar, Rhubarb,” he said, looking at Arvin’s sun-scorched face from high above on his massive horse.

  “Are you going to hurt us?” Arvin asked.

  “No, Little Rhubarb,” the knight said. “Come out from behind the figs and march with us. You may address me as Sir Humbert.”

  “I’m Arvin, and he is--”

  “I don’t care for your names - only we continue our march to the castle. We’re too slow as it is, and 974th’s death is nearly upon us,” he said, summoning us forward with his brick-like fingers.

  We lowered our hands at a snail’s pace to our sides and stepped through the fig bushes onto the road - tattered muddy shorts and shirtless boy bodies for all the world to see. His silver-blue eyes and plump red cheeks lit up with laughter. Arvin and I crossed our arms at our chests and let him get it all out this time.

  After what seemed like a season of laughter, he asked, “What manner of undergarments are those?”

  “They’re for swimming,” I said, looking down at my muddied blue shorts with orange palm trees ripped to shreds on one side.

  Arvin started to explain. “What happened was--”

  “Arvin, he won’t care. And do you want to wait for him to stop laughing again?”

  Arvin looked sideways at me and back to Sir Humbert. “Like he said; they’re for swimming.”

  Sir Humbert said, “You can�
�t march in the line looking vulgar. I have something you can wear.”

  He leaned left and reached into a black saddlebag. He pulled out two purple silk tunics with frilly white lace and threw them down onto our heads. Arvin and I pulled them off to get a better look.

  “Are these for us?” I asked, examining the little flowers and vines woven into the lace.

  “They are for my young twins, but I won’t see them until we’ve reached the end of our march. Put them on so we can continue ahead,” Sir Humbert said.

  Arvin and I, grateful to say the least, pulled the frilly silk tunics over our heads and let them flow over our sunburned bodies. I had never seen Arvin so happy. His tunic caressed his rounded shoulders, hung at his slim neck, and ended four inches below his waist. He ran his hands up and down over the embroidery, feeling the soft silk against his body. He loved it so much, I expected him to ask for sequins and glue. Sir Humbert let out another roaring laugh. Arvin turned to me and laughed along with him.

  “What is it this time?” I asked, irked and losing my patience with both of them.

  “Look down,” Arvin giggled, pointing at my tunic.

  I glanced down to see my ill-fitting clothes. The tunic bunched at my shoulders, crumpled at my neck, and ended at least four inches above my belly button. I waited for them to stop laughing and pointed to the procession moving away. The loud drumming had faded into a distant murmur.

  “Can we go?” I asked, walking away in a huff.

  We stumbled along at the side of his horse, our heads at the level of his gold boots, our bare feet blistering on the hot road. At least three times an hour, Sir Humbert would veer right, chuckling as his horse pushed us into the bushes. The large white figs fell from their branches and smushed between our toes. Arvin and I decided walking on mushy figs was more comfortable than blistered feet, so we moved to the side and tried to keep up.

  “Excuse me, Sir Humbert,” Arvin said, having stepped on a hundred soft figs. “Can we eat these? They aren’t filled with worms or anything, are they?”

  Sir Humbert said, “Eat all you desire, Little Red Rhubarb. I find the King’s white figs too bitter to swallow, and I’d prefer to avoid the snake in those shrubs.”

  “Another snake?” I asked. “What did it look--”

  “I’m not rhubarb, I’m a boy,” Arvin said, his eyes focused on the feast to our right.

  “You ate a ton of mulberries an hour ago, Rhubarb,” I said, chuckling a little as well.

  “Don’t be vulgar, Perry. So what if I last ate an hour ago. That was on another planet or universe or wherever. We’ve barely eaten anything for two weeks.”

  Arvin picked a large ripe one off its limb, felt its soft skin, and smelled its sweet scent. Digging his dirty fingers into it, he tore it in two. He examined the soft flesh inside and handed me the smaller portion.

  “There’s one way to know for sure,” he said, pushing a finger into the mushy center, scooping out the glistening pink flesh. He placed a little piece on the tip of his tongue and swished it around like mouthwash.

  “Delicious! They’re not bitter at all,” said Arvin, ready to stuff himself like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  “Suit yourself, Rhubarb,” Sir Humbert said. “The Great 12th ate a poisoned white fig. Remember what I said when your stomach aches in the morning.”

  I was sure he’d laugh if I said I didn’t know what “974th” or “Great 12th” was, so I didn’t bother asking. We walked all day, all night, and into the morning, plucking and cramming handfuls of sweet, white figs into our mouths.

  We came over a hill, bringing the castle into view. The castle was nestled between a river and the woods, looking like someone forgot a 300-foot milk carton on the grass. The exquisite white marble exterior was streaked with veins of silver and gold. Thin windows cut like short pencils looped around the giant block. The road led directly to a drawbridge lowered over the river.

  We arrived, exhausted and thirsty, as bustling crowds of wealthy nobles passed over the river, entering through the castle’s large gate. The noble men all looked different: some were fat while others were thin, some tall or short, curly or straight hair stuck out from under their feathered silk berets. They wore colorful clothes and were adorned in many different ways.

  All the noble women looked similar as if the molds were used far too often. All wore long white gowns with bright green trim and sequined green belts matching their sequined green slippers. Copper and double peridot pendants hung from each of their necks. They had light brown hair, hazel eyes, rosy red cheeks, smooth, flawless skin, and all looked under 30. I disregarded the reason as nothing more than fashion or vanity and patted awestruck Arvin on the shoulder. “This is going to be an interesting place.”

  Twelve golden knights guarded the massive iron gate. They were larger and more menacing than even Sir Humbert. They kept their gold gauntlets on the hilts of their swords as the extravagant crowds passed beneath the heavy iron portcullis.

  My ears hurt upon hearing the deep rumble another voice. “You. Boys in the girl’s purple tunics,” the voice called out. “Stop at once.”

  Arvin and I looked aside at our laughing escort, and we knew what he had done.

  “I never said I had twin sons,” Sir Humbert chuckled as he rode away. “You can keep the tunic, Rhubarb. It looks good on you.”

  In the all the commotion of the crowd, a frightening large knight had snuck up behind us. With a single armored hand, he grabbed Arvin and me by our frilly lace collars. He spun us around and lifted his visor. The angry knight looked at Arvin’s face, to mine, and back to Arvin. The noisy crowd of silk-clad busybodies gathered around to witness the scene. The knight released me but pulled on Arvin’s tunic, lifting him off the ground. He held Arvin in the air, pulling him to meet face-to-face.

  “Welcome home, Prince Adwr,” he said in a thunderous voice. “It was foolish of you to sneak into the castle- and in a little girl’s tunic, no less.”

  “We didn’t mean to hide,” I said. “Please put him down.”

  The knight looked down. “Who are you, boy?” Arvin kicked and scratched at the knight’s heavy armor.

  “I’m Perry. He’s Arvin. We’re, we’re, we’re travelers coming to see the king,” I said, blurting out the first good lie I could think of.

  “You must be a fool to take me for one.” The irate knight growled as the nosey crowd circled around.

  “I’m not a fool, and neither is he. Please let him go,” I said, seeing the knight’s chin high above.

  Light from the morning sun reflected into my eyes from the knight’s large boots. With all my strength, I kicked it with my bare foot. It sent out a cymbal-like CLANG.

  “Oh, yes,” the knight said, picking me up like a feather to meet him and Arvin face-to-face-to-face, “a fool, indeed.”

  The towering knight held us high, dangling over the cheering crowd as they moved aside to let him pass into the castle. I swung to the left and Arvin to the right in the giant knight’s clutches. Once inside the castle, the knight strode past white marble staircases, under vaulted painted ceilings, through ten heavy pine doors, and into a white marble throne room the length of a football field and nearly as wide. He walked step-by-step towards a young boy sitting on an old oak throne three sizes too big for his young scrawny body. The knight in his heavy gold armor knelt on one knee, dropping us onto the hard marble floor. He pushed our heads down as he addressed the boy.

  “Your superb majesty, Great King Regem Elijah Endanleg the 974th. I humbly beg your gentle attention. I bring someone you may want to see.” His voice echoed in the great white hall.

  “Your majesty?” I mouthed to Arvin, our squished faces meeting each other on the cold marble floor.

  King 974th stopped eating his breakfast of white figs and speckled quail eggs and stepped down from his oak throne. I tried to get a better look as he came close to examine us, but from the height of a mouse, it was hard to see more than his delicate silk socks. King 974th look
ed my age and oddly familiar. He stood a little over four feet on flat-footed silk slippers. He had round emerald green eyes surrounded by puffy dark circles, and his cropped red hair was missing in whole patches. Dead yellow skin peeled and flaked off him to join the dust swirling in the light of narrow windows.

  I realized why King 974th seemed so familiar. He looked like Arvin - exactly like Arvin. Except for his sickness, he was Arvin. Arvin couldn’t see; his eyes were filling with tears focusing on a large roach heading towards his open mouth.

  “What ugly girls and even more hideous tunics,” King 974th said, returning to finish his breakfast. “Throw these ‘girls’ in the dungeon with the others.”

  “Your superb majesty, Great King Regem Elijah Endanleg the 974th. I humbly beg your forgiveness, but these are not girls.” The knight lifted our bruised heads to show the sick king, then slammed them back down with a double hard SMACK-SMACK. “I bring you your brother Prince Adwr and his fool, Perry.”

  King 974 glared at the knight, his eyes widening and teeth grinding together. “That insignificant wretch is not my treacherous brother.” He turned from his throne, coming back to the knight. “Sir Talos, do you think I am blind?” he asked, addressing the mountainous kneeling knight.

  “No, Majesty,” Sir Talos said. “You see better than all others.”

  “Do you think I do not know my own brother’s face?”

  “No, Majesty. You have no forgotten his face nor forgiven his treachery.”

  “Are you a fool, Sir Talos?”

  “In your majesty’s presence, we are all lowly fools.” Sir Talos bowed almost to our level while holding us well-pressed into place.

  “You should obey your righteous King and DO AS YOU’RE TOLD!” King 974th screamed and stomped his feet. “But first, remove those ugly tunics. They hurt your King’s eyes.”

  Sir Talos stood to his full height. “Yes, Majesty.”

  The gargantuan golden knight held me under his foot as he yanked Arvin up by his neck with one hand and, with the other, grabbed hold of Arvin’s soft purple silk tunic, ripping it away from his little body. Arvin dangled helplessly, choking in the knight’s crushing grasp. The knight released him. Arvin dropped to the floor and hit with a SMACK!