Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains

by Laurel Snyder

  “The same name?” Wynston looked puzzled. “That’s an odd coincidence.”

  “Not so odd, since Mayor Callow was the father of Mayor Callow, before the people of Torrent elected Mayor Callow to be the new mayor.”

  Wynston thought this sounded familiar, a lot like how a prince became a king. He smiled. “It all makes a lot of sense. But what if somebody not related to Mayor Callow wanted to be mayor?”

  “Oh, I suppose they could make some signs and have a party, but I don’t see why anyone would ever oppose a Callow. The Callows have experience in these matters.”

  “He does sound great,” said Wynston. “I’d love to meet him. Do you think we might get a chance?”

  “Well, I don’t see why not,” said the chief. “The mayor’s a most friendly fellow. Wait here, and I’ll go fetch him.” And so saying, he turned and wandered into the back room, whistling as he went.

  While he was gone, Lucy bit her fingernails, and Wynston pondered if perhaps there weren’t some laws in Torrent that really didn’t make sense. Then he thought of his father, and of the Queening process. Just as he was beginning to untangle a knot of tricky thinking, the chief returned with a tall man in a fancy hat.

  “Well, well!” said the man in the fancy hat as he strode into the room importantly. He leaned over Wynston and held out his right hand as he twisted his impressive mustache with the fingers of his left. “What have we here? Distinguished visitors from the lowlands, from other parts of the Bewilderness? I’m impeccably pleased to make your acquaintance!”

  “And we’re very glad to meet you too,” said Wynston. “I’m Wynston, the crown prince of Thistle, and this is my very good friend Lucy. She’s a milkmaid, and a talented one at that.”

  “I’m sure she is. I’m sure she is,” replied the mayor. “Nothing like a cold glass of milk, that’s what I always say. Now, what can I do for you good people?”

  Wynston eyed the chief, who stood in the doorway that led to the back room. He was beginning to think that maybe Lucy was right about Torrent’s system of justice, but he held out hope that the mayor, like his father, was a good man and a fair leader.

  “Well, sir,” said Wynston, clearing his throat and speaking in his best regal manner. “It seems that you’ve confiscated Lucy’s cat, and we’re hoping you might return him to our care. We promise to leave town immediately, and not to cause you any further problems.”

  “Lucy’s cat, is it?” The mayor peered over his very long nose at Wynston. “A cat you say? A cat?”

  “Yes, well, perhaps he isn’t quite a cat, but his name is Cat. Anyway he’s a pet all the same.”

  “A pet?” The mayor looked at the ceiling, adjusted his hat thoughtfully, and repeated himself. “A pet?”

  “He’s a pet, according to Lucy!” Wynston insisted.

  The mayor smiled a funny little smile. “Hmm. I suppose that the animal in question is a pet—only if the word pet, as established by the laws of the land, indicates the animal in question. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “I suppose,” supposed Wynston.

  “Let’s go over the facts, shall we?” Wynston and Lucy nodded hesitantly. “When in doubt, pay attention to the facts, that’s what I always say! Don’t you agree? Firstly of all, the creature was found in the wild, which makes him a wild beast. Isn’t that so?”

  “Only—” Lucy opened her mouth to argue, but the mayor continued.

  “Secondly of all, he doesn’t look like a cat, which is what you’d have us call him. Isn’t that also true? Thirdly of all, he makes a very disagreeable noise, an obvious indication of uncivilized ways. Yes, all the evidence points to the fact that Cat is not a cat at all, but rather a ferocious animal. And one must pay attention to the facts, that’s what I always say!”

  “We know. You already said that,” Wynston broke in. “You already told us that’s what you always say.”

  “Did I?” asked the mayor. “Well, it’s true, you know. The facts don’t lie!”

  Wynston looked back at Lucy, who was chewing on one of her curls and wrinkling her forehead. He wanted to help, but had no idea what to do. Nothing in his princely training had prepared him for a negotiation like this. But he hated to let Lucy down, so he tried again. “Sir—Mayor Callow—don’t you think that this one time you could make an exception?”

  “Exception?” snorted the mayor. He reacted much as the chief had reacted only a few minutes before. “Have you even seen this beast? Do you know what you’re asking me to do, young man? Bertram, bring that thing in here!” The mayor snapped his fingers, causing the chief to scurry into the back room. He returned immediately, carrying a grimy old metal cage. In the cage was a trembling ball of fur.

  “Cat!” Lucy cried. At the sound of Lucy’s voice, the ball of fur uncurled, and Cat’s head appeared. He tried to stand, but the cage allowed him only to sit up slightly. He stuck his nose through the bars of the cage and sniffed sadly. Then he clutched the bars with his little paws and attempted to chew through the lock.

  “Do you see what I’m dealing with?” The mayor gestured toward the cage and faced Wynston. “Look at those teeth! You can’t possibly expect me to turn this animal over to a sweet young lady like Miss Lucy here. Who knows what might happen?”

  Lucy was feeling anything but sweet. She’d been keeping quiet while Wynston tried his calmer method, but finally her temper burst. She sputtered out, “You are a horrid, horrid man, Mayor Callow! You must have no heart at all! What kind of town puts an innocent animal to death but allows mean old men in silly hats to prance around telling everyone what to do?”

  At this, the mayor turned a cold eye on Lucy. “We have an old folksong here in Torrent, a song we like to sing about beasts like yours.” He sang:

  Wolves will howl, and bees will buzz,

  But wild is as wild does.

  So keep your village free of beasts

  Except when roasted for a feast.

  He sang in an odd nasal voice, and it was not a pretty sound. It was not what Lucy thought of when she thought of music, but the mayor seemed pleased with himself.

  Wynston tried one last time. “Mayor Callow, you seem like a reasonable man. Won’t you please let Cat come home with us? Please?”

  “No, I’m sorry.” The mayor clapped his hands together in a most official manner and gestured to the chief, who removed the cage, hoisting it awkwardly as he scuffled to the back room. “It’s simply out of the question. Laws protect those who protect the law. That’s what I always say!”

  “That’s what you always say! That’s what you always say? ‘That’s what I always say’ is all—you—ever—say! You know, you can’t always be saying everything.”

  The mayor’s face turned red. For a minute he looked as though he might yell, but then he went back to twirling his amazing mustache calmly. His voice took on a frighteningly even tone that made Wynston look at his feet, though Lucy met the mayor’s icy gaze dead-on, with a fiery stare of her own. The mayor spoke in an almost scary whisper. “Temper, temper, that’s what I always say. If this is how you’re going to behave, young lady, I believe we’re more than done here. Unless you have any other laws you’d like me to break for you? Hmmmm?”

  But now Wynston remembered the sad tears of Persimmon Wimple, and he tried to speak again, for Willie’s sake. “In fact, sir, there is one more thing.”

  “Is there? You don’t say! You want something? I’m absolutely shocked and astounded. You don’t seem the type to make ridiculous demands.” The mayor snorted through his mustache. He seemed bored with the conversation. “And just what might this one more thing be?”

  “It’s about Persimmon Wimple.”

  “What about Mrs. Wimple?”

  “I believe she owes you some thickles. I’d like to help her, but I don’t have any money.”

  “Well then, you’ll be of little help.” The mayor turned to leave.

  “I was wondering if you might accept my horse in place of the money.” Wynston spoke in a ru
sh as Lucy whipped her head around to stare at him. He glanced at her puzzled face, but kept talking. “I’m a friend of her son, Willie, and I told him I’d look in on her. I’d never forgive myself if she was turned out of her home.”

  “Actually, my boy, that is within the parameters of the law. A horse is an acceptable exchange for the taxes on Mrs. Wimple’s house, assuming that the horse is healthy and well behaved.”

  “Oh, he’s the best horse you’ll ever meet!” Wynston cried.

  “Assuming that the horse is a horse, and not some rhinoceros that this young lady found in the woods.” The mayor stared hard at Lucy, who stared back twice as hard and chewed on her bottom lip some more. “You see, I’m not cruel or evil. I’m not an unreasonable man—and the laws of Torrent do work, and we are fair. You see?”

  Wynston couldn’t believe he was losing Sprout so quickly. “Um—his name’s Sprout,” Wynston said. “Right now he’s tied to Mrs. Wimple’s front porch.”

  “Fine. Fine,” said the mayor. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes, and may I say that it’s a delight to see you following the expected protocol. Perhaps you aren’t completely uncivilized, down there in Thistle.”

  Wynston bristled a little at this, but the anger wasn’t nearly enough to overcome his sadness at the loss of Sprout, or his relief at being able to help Mrs. Wimple. “Please be gentle with him,” Wynston begged, “and remember that he enjoys a carrot every now and then. Also, don’t forget to scratch his nose. He likes that too!”

  But the mayor was finished listening. “You’re both dismissed. I’ve wasted enough time, and now I have real work to do. Good day.” He turned his back and left the room.

  Wynston could barely look at Lucy, who could barely look at Wynston. They walked from the jail quietly, shutting the door behind them.

  THE END OF THE ROPE

  LUCY WALKED over to Rosebud. She put her face very close to the cow’s ear and said something Wynston couldn’t hear. Rosebud licked gently at Lucy’s hair. Wynston left them alone. Then Lucy untied the cow’s rope, and she began walking calmly away from the terrible jail.

  Wynston followed closely behind, watching Lucy curiously. They walked that way for a while, down the street to the edge of the forest. Then Lucy stopped, spun around in a circle, and waved her arms until she felt better, which took about six minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Then Lucy stood still until her dizziness passed. Finally she turned to Wynston, who was staring in amazement at the whirligig before him.

  “Gosh. I’m sorry about Sprout,” she said. “That’s awfully good of you. Who’s Mrs. Wimple? Who’s Willie?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Wynston, trying not to think about Sprout. “They’re just some people I met. I’ll tell you all about them some other time, but I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

  There was an unusual silence then, a quiet space between them that lasted a long moment.

  Wynston fidgeted, and the silence broke. “But hey, I’m really sorry about Cat. He looks really nice. I don’t think he seems a bit mean or bitey, though I also don’t think he looks much like a cat.”

  “Yeah, I know. But thanks.”

  “And you can’t say you didn’t try, right?”

  “I guess, but…”

  “So,” said Wynston, “where’s this boat of yours?”

  “What?” Lucy looked up, surprised.

  “The sooner we get to the boat, the sooner we can get away from this nasty place.”

  “But, Wynston, we can’t just leave!”

  “I know it’s sad, but I don’t guess we can do much else.”

  Lucy snapped. “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose—the weakish way!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” said Lucy, “that this place has stupid laws. I don’t intend to let Cat die in the forest just because of that horrible man.”

  “Lucy, you can’t possibly hope to…”

  Lucy didn’t wait for him to finish. “I can’t? I can’t, can’t I? I’ve learned a lot here on the mountain, no thanks to you. And maybe I didn’t find my mother, and maybe I won’t…but I’ll kiss a blue baboon before I’ll desert Cat.”

  “Lucy…”

  “Because I know what it’s like…” Lucy choked a little. “I know what it’s like…to be left behind.”

  And Wynston could not say anything to that.

  Finally Wynston shook his head. “You are absolutely, positively, without a doubt the most impossible milkmaid in the entire world! You can’t just show up in a strange town, break all the laws of the land, and then run away.”

  “Watch me, Wynston.”

  “I know it’s awful, Lucy, but there are reasons for those laws. What if everyone broke them whenever they wanted?”

  Lucy snorted. “Go back home, Wynston, to your princesses and your daddy and your tiny forks. Go home.” She turned to walk away.

  “Lucy!” Wynston called after her. He was so confused. He knew he was right, that laws were there for a reason. But he knew that what Lucy was feeling was also right. Maybe there were different kinds of right. Maybe right in Torrent was different from right in Thistle. And Lucy’s right was always a little different from everyone else’s right. It all seemed terribly complicated, but he knew—more than anything else—that he couldn’t let Lucy down.

  “Hey, Lucy, okay! Okay!” Lucy looked back at him. “But even if we want to save him, how can we possibly sneak Cat out of that jail without the mayor and the chief noticing?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “So is it really worth it to get caught if the chance of success is that slim?”

  Lucy opened her mouth to yell, but then she shut it again. She took a minute to gather her thoughts. When she finally spoke, she spoke carefully. “Wynston, I know it sounds silly and impossible and ridiculous and all, but I came here to look for my mother, and instead I found Cat. When we were hungry at the base of the mountain, I promised Cat and Rosebud I’d get them home, and I want to keep my promise.”

  “Lucy, I’m still not quite sure where you got this idea to look for your mother—or what makes you think she isn’t dead—but if saving Cat is that important…”

  That word. That big word, DEAD, sounded to Lucy like a clock stopping, like a heavy rock hitting the ground. Wynston didn’t say gone, he said DEAD. And he said it before Lucy could cut him off, or wiggle out of the conversation. Her face turned to stone when she heard it. Nobody, nobody, had ever said that word before, not about her mother.

  “Lucy?” Wynston looked softly at Lucy, but Lucy had had enough.

  “I’m fine!” she exclaimed. “But I have work to do here. And you…you…just you never mind my mother. This isn’t about her.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “It’s about you. You stood me up. I came here to get away from you, remember?”

  Wynston looked hurt, but he couldn’t fight back. He knew Lucy was muddled up inside, and that what she was saying wasn’t altogether untrue. Even though it wasn’t altogether true either.

  “Lucy?” He reached out a hand to her. But she flinched away.

  He tried again. “Lucy?”

  Then Lucy came to her senses. She reached back, touched his arm, and said in a most un-Lucy-like voice, “No. That’s not true. Not really…but look, I can’t think about all of this now. Not with Cat in danger. I’m sorry that I got you into this, and if you’d like to head back now, I’ll understand. But I can’t go home. Not without giving it a good hard try.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “And I might have to break the law. Because I’m not a princess, remember? It doesn’t so much matter what I do, because I’m not suitable anyway.”

  Wynston frowned. “What? What do you mean, not suitable?”

  “I’m not suitable. Your father said so…. I’m not…not a princess.” She stared at him as she said it. “But I understand, and it’s okay. You can’t help th
at, and you can’t spend so much time with me anymore. Because you need to find someone suitable.”

  He reached over to pull on one of Lucy’s curls. “Oh, applesauce! We’ll just see about that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing important,” said Wynston. “C’mon, let’s go get your beastie.”

  “Really and truly?”

  “Really and truly, you silly milkmaid. Let’s do something unsuitable.”

  Lucy didn’t know what to say. “Thank you, I think.”

  “Listen, Lucy. When Sally told me you’d run off, it gave me the worst feeling I’ve ever had.”

  “It did?”

  “It really did. And if something bad happened to you because I left, I’d feel like a monster.”

  Then Wynston and Lucy looked at each other, and it was strange and quiet and new and uncomfortable. Lucy looked at Wynston, and she thought he seemed older and wiser. Wynston looked at Lucy, and he thought she was the bravest person he’d ever met. The gaze lasted a few seconds. Lucy almost hugged Wynston, and then she almost slapped him. Finally she decided against both, and she just laughed. So Wynston laughed too, and things felt normal again. “Besides, with Sprout gone, I’d have a long, boring walk home. So I guess I’m in for the jailbreak. But let’s be careful, hey?”

  Lucy stuck her tongue out, but Wynston could tell she didn’t really mean it. “Suit yourself! I don’t care what you do!” she called out as she ran back toward the jail. Wynston followed close behind, holding Rosebud’s rope.

  Back at the jail, they patted the heavy stone wall and bickered in hushed tones about the best course of action. Wynston’s first idea was to dig a tunnel under one wall of the jail and up through the dirt floor inside the back room, where Cat was trapped, but Lucy argued (quietly) that the tunneling would take too long, and by now it was really starting to rain again.

  Lucy thought that maybe Wynston could distract the mayor and the chief while she darted stealthily inside, released Cat, and then quickly ran back out. But Wynston reminded Lucy that she wasn’t as quiet or sneaky as stealthy burglars are generally rumored to be.