by JT Lawrence
“The people are planning a coup against the king!” said the travelling man. “They’ve grown tired of his careless and evil ways. They’re starving. They’re digging up frozen potatoes to eat. They’re dressing their children in rags while the king flounces around in gold-trimmed velvet.”
The rest of it, he cut and cured, and made into smashed-coriander biltong (the kangaroo, not his dinner guest).
The pair tried to avoid Shamrocky, the golden grasses of the interior they had been warned about, but there seemed to be no access to the West without entering the fields of razors.
“Look at how it shimmers!” exclaimed The Baron. “How the breeze makes it come alive.”
“It’ll cut us to ribbons!” said Marcus Pointdexter.
“Then at least we’ll die in the most beautiful place in the world.”
The lemur may have whimpered.
“We either brave the golden glade, or we go home.”
And so the Baron lifted Marcus Pointdexter on to the top of his head, where the blades could not reach him. He wore his kangaroo skin as he waded through the sharp plants, and, after seven days, emerged with only seven hundred cuts, instead of the expected (and fatal) seven hundred thousand. He was weak, and his skin was on fire, but an unscathed Marcus Pointdexter bathed his wounds in oak sap and camomile tea, and by the next day, he was fit to walk again. The Baron harvested some of the brilliant grass, and at the full moon, he sent half the bundle with a raven to his mother. The rest, he kept in his knapsack. It was time to head to the westernmost point of Moldavia, and the warm-as-bathwater Lake Fuerté.
The Baron was fifteen years old by the time they reached Fuerté. Again his clothes had fallen off him, but this time he had not replaced them. The winds of Fuerté blew hot and carried the aroma of nutmeg reeds and healing mud, and he liked the feeling of the sun on his skin, which turned his body a beautiful burnished mahogany that would never fade for as long as he lived. He no longer needed shoes; his feet now had their own leather. When The Baron and Marcus Pointdexter saw the gentle lapping lake—the expanse of welcoming water—they forgot all mention of the pirañas and dangerous mermaids, and dove into the copper-coloured sea.
“I need to stay here where it’s shallow,” said the lemur. “I can’t swim! And you can stop tickling me now.”
“I’m not tickling you.”
Marcus Pointdexter let out a shrill laugh. “I mean it, Baron! Cut it out!”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“Stop!” giggled the animal. “Stop!”
The baron lifted his hands out of the water. “Look, here are my hands. They’re nowhere near you.”
The lemur frowned. “But … then …”
Before he could finish his sentence, he was pulled sharply under the water.
“Pointdexter?” called The Baron. “Pointdexter? Stop kidding around.” He couldn’t help feeling scared. He took a deep breath and dove down into the water, trying to find his friend. He went under again and again, but Pointdexter was nowhere to be found. Just as the Baron was about to pass out from lack of oxygen in his desperate rescue attempt, something magical happened.
The underwater world of Lake Fuerté came alive. There was music, harps played by beautiful mermaids, and singing. They smiled at The Baron and beckoned him closer. Their long hair flowed in the gentle currents of the water.
“Baron!” said the mermaid with red hair. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“We’re so glad you’re here,” said the one next to her, with shimmering pale blue scales.
“Where’s Pointdexter?”
The mermaids parted to show him the lemur, who was relaxing with his paws behind his head. He sighed happily. “Don’t mind me.”
The mermaids were feeding Pointdexter peeled sea-grapes and massaging his lemur toes.
“What is this?” asked The Baron. “Am I dead? Have I drowned?”
The mermaid with red hair laughed. “You humans are always so paranoid.”
“Just relax,” said the other. “You’ve come a long way. Sit down, let us pamper you. You deserve it.”
“I was told about you,” said The Baron. “That your beauty is enough to drown a man.”
The redhead laughed again. “Well, that may be true.”
The other one tittered. “He’s not just handsome—just look at that chin!—he’s charming, too!”
“I’ve heard that you have drowned legions of men," said The Baron. "That this river sand is made up of the crushed skeletons of generations of Moldavians."
“If you think that is true, then why are you not afraid of us?” asked the mermaid.
“How do you know that I’m not afraid?”
“Because it is the fear that drowns the men. Not us.”
“Not unless we choose to, anyway,” said the one feeding Pointdexter, and there is the tinkling sound of mermaid laughter, like seashells on a wind chime.
"And why do you choose not to drown me?" asked The Baron.
“You were kind to our father, who you passed a year ago, in Shamrocky. He was hungry, and you shared your meal with him.”
“Besides, you’re too handsome to drown,” said the mermaid with the blue scales.
“Your father? The only person I met there was a travelling shepherd.”
The women laughed again. “Sometimes he travels as a shepherd. Sometimes a cobbler. He finds his merman tail is not practical for long journeys on land and relies on the kindness of strangers. His job is an important one: to spread the word of the ruthless king, who eats gold while the children of Moldavia starve. You helped him do that.”
“We’d like to thank you,” said the mermaid massaging Pointdexter, who had all but passed out from the pleasure. “Let us take care of you.”
A new mermaid, this one with blonde hair, swam up with a tray of refreshments.
“Here, have some caviar, and some sea-berry wine.”
The redhead begins to rub his shoulders.
“Oh, that’s good,” said The Baron.
“Now, just let yourself go…”
As the Baron began to relax, a white fish darted towards him and whispered in his ear.
“Don’t fall asleep!”
“What?” asked The Baron, his eyelids heavy. “Why?”
The fish dashed away again. Luckily, in a moment of clarity, the Baron understood the fish’s message. If he fell asleep, his bones would join the skeleton-sand that was underneath him.
“Pointdexter!”
The lemur was practically comatose. “Uh-huh?”
"Don't fall asleep! If you fall asleep underwater, you'll never wake up."
“That’s true,” said the mermaid with the siren-red hair, cocking her head. “But don’t take it personally—”
And the Baron didn’t, because he knew that no one could deny their true nature, least of all mermaids.
When the pair of travellers had enjoyed their share of lake luxuries, and their bodies were sated and revived, they surfaced to the cornflower sky and dried off in the sun. The mermaids had been reluctant to let The Baron go, but when he insisted, they had kissed him with their briny pink lips and given him a parting gift: a tightly stitched nori leaf suit, with mermaid scales of armour.
“The other lemurs are never going to believe me when I tell them about that.”
“It did feel like a dream. I can see how some men don’t come out alive.”
“The mermaids were very … shall we say … persuasive.”
“But we have things to do! Places to be!”
“What? Where?”
“The North, of course! Where else? We have a kingdom to conquer.”
In the time it took the intrepid adventurers to get from Fuerté to the edge of the Purple Pines—the forest bordering King Zam’s castle—the Baron had sent his mother the following gifts: An adder stone; a whitewood bonsai sapling; a pouch of cumin incense; an abandoned starling's nest with a single speckled egg inside; and a hairbrush made of purple pine needl
es. The egg may not have made the journey intact; ravens can be mischievous like that.
They came across a glade—a clearing in the forest—where a dozen ramshackle houses stood. The Baron was about to call out his greeting when a rather large rifle appeared at his temple, and the safety catch was flicked off.
A man with a mask yelled at them. “And what have we here? An intruder! A pirate! A spy!”
The Baron remained calm. “We come in peace.”
"Ha! That's exactly what a spy would say! Put your hands up, or I'll blow them off!"
“That seems a little brash,” said Marcus Pointdexter. ‘Wait, who are you, behind that mask? You look familiar.”
Comrade Bandito looked shocked. “What sorcery is this? A talking ape as a pet?”
A beautiful woman approached. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a lemur. And I’m sure he prefers the term ‘companion’.”
Pointdexter sighed. “I think I’m in love.”
“Comrade Bandito,” said the woman. “Put down your rifle.”
The masked man reluctantly lowered his weapon.
“Hello,” said the woman, shaking their hands. “I’m Isadora. You must be starving. Come. I think the venison stew is finished, but I have some bread and dried apricots."
Comrade Bandito slammed the butt of his rifle on the hard ground. “You’re going to give our bread to an enemy?”
“This is no enemy.”
Isadora led the pair to her hut.
“Why does Comrade Bandito wear a mask?” asked the lemur.
“He thinks it makes him look more … fierce.”
“Why does he want to look fierce?” he asked.
Isadora served them some dark bread and poured some green wasp honey mead.
“Because he’s the leader of the revolution. He has to look intimidating.”
“The revolution?” asked The Baron. “Against the king?”
“Of course. What else? We’re on our way to storm the castle. It’ll be the biggest coup d’etat in the history of Moldavia.”
"Excellent!" said The Baron, gulping mead. "We'll join you if you will have us."
“It’s a long journey,” said Isadora. “It will take many moons to get there.”
“My lady, you are looking at the very best journeymen you will ever meet. We can walk thousands of miles and hunt and forage for food and cook with flair. We will carry your bags!”
Isadora shrugged. “I don’t have any bags.”
“Pointdexter here is also very talented at finding fresh water in a desert.”
The lemur nodded enthusiastically.
“Hmm,” she said, crossing her arms. “Can you fight?”
“Of course we can fight,” said Pointdexter. “We once killed a 40-ft croc—”
“We can fight,” said The Baron.
Isadora took their empty plates from them. “Then you’ll be a welcome addition.”
The evening was warm and golden, and the firebugs celebrated by putting on a show for the rebel army. But when the sun went down, the wind came up. It whistled through the holes in the walls, and the room grew blue with cold. Isadora invited the Baron to share her bed, and they lay together, close, like ivory and ebony spoons, while Marcus Pointdexter kept their feet warm.
Over the next few months, the revolutionaries travelled north towards the castle, picking up other volunteers along the way. This included an apple farmer who lost his crop due to King Zam’s shortsighted agricultural policies; a father who had seventeen hungry children at home; and a smelly vagrant who had nothing better to do. Some of the men had joined just to be part of something. Some of the men were marching because they wanted to see the legendary Royal Castle and watch it fall. But some of the advancers were true revolutionaries with motives as clear as ice. Their hearts were pumping the violet blood of rebels with a cause.
“Can you hear that? Can you hear that?” asked Comrade Bandito. “Stop! Stop, everyone.”
Isadora freezes. “It’s the royal guard. We’re here. We’ve reached the castle.”
The men cheered.
“Holy Moldavia, men, keep it down! We hardly want to announce our arrival.”
There was some muttering, and an apology.
“So,” said The Baron. “What is your strategy to penetrate the castle’s defences?”
Comrade Bandito put his hands on his hips. “We need to gather intelligence first.”
One of the rebel soldiers murmured, “Intelligence? Pah!” When Comrade Bandito looked at him sharply, he continued. “We’ve been travelling for seven seasons. We don’t want to mess about, now that we’re here. I say we advance. Right now! I say we storm the castle!”
The others mumbled in agreement.
“Listen, men,” said Bandito.
Isadora cleared her throat.
“And women,” he quickly added.
Marcus Pointdexter cleared his throat.
“And … primates. The royal castle of the Kingdom of Moldavia is a building unlike any other. One does not simply march up to it and lay siege.”
“Aye,” said one of the rebels. “It has a deadly maze, to begin with.”
“Exactly!” said Bandito.
“And the snapping jaws of the gharials are legendary.”
The rebels reluctantly agreed.
“Fine, fine,” said the impatient one. “What do you suggest?”
“What we require,” said their leader, “is a first arrow.”
“A what, now?”
“A courageous man who will go first. An infiltrator. A reconnoitre.”
“Someone who will assess the situation,” said Isadora. “Perhaps even find a way to allow us access with minimal bloodshed. Someone who will most likely die a violent and painful death.”
“Now,” said Comrade Bandito, “I’m assuming that due to the danger inherent to the task, there are no volunteers?
“To the contrary!” said The Baron, who stepped forward.
The lemur sighed. “Oh, brother.”
“I’d be honoured to be your first arrow,” said The Baron. “I will leave immediately!”
“I’ll go, too,” said Isadora.
“I feel as if I should be the one to go,” said Bandito.
“No, Comrade. You are needed here. You need to lead your army when the time is right. We’ll send you a signal when the coast is clear.”
Bandito thought it over. “All right,” he said. “Here, take a sandwich.”
The trio walked and crept and eventually crawled in the sweet, soft clover and double-edged thorns until they reached the castle grounds. There was, indeed, a gigantic maze, clipped expertly from hundreds upon hundreds of tall snickerbushes. Once they entered the labyrinth, they were able to stand up again, undetected.
“They say that it can take days to navigate this maze,” said The Baron. “That you end up driven mad by the puzzle—or, worse, starving—and forced to eat the poisonous snickerberries.”
“That won’t happen to us,” said Isadora.
“How do you know?” asked Pointdexter.
“I was taught the way.”
“What?” asked The Baron. “How?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’d love to hear it,” he said.
"I'll tell you one day."
While it felt like the trio was walking in circles for hour upon hour, they were indeed making good progress. They were a paltry mile from the exit when they got terribly lost.
“I don’t understand it,” said Isadora. “I’ve walked this maze a hundred times. The path is engraved on my heart. I know this is the right way, but it’s a dead-end.”
“It’s simple,” said The Baron.
Pointdexter looked up at him. “It is?”
“They’ve changed it. Not difficult to do. Plant a few new bushes et voila.”
“But what will we do? It’s getting dark.”
“Let’s sit down for a moment and rest.”
“We don’t have time!” she cried.
“We’ll have our sandwiches and figure a way out.”
The trio sat down and began to eat.
“These sandwiches are awful,” said The Baron.
“Oh, I should have warned you. Comrade Bandito makes terrible sandwiches.”
The Baron opened his knapsack and pulled out a bundle of golden grass.
“What are you doing?” asked Isadora. “What is that?”
“I’ve just had an idea.”
“Those are blades of golden grass, from Shamrocky,” said Marcus Pointdexter.
“They’re magnetic, see? So, in theory…”
Happy understanding dawned on Isadora’s face. “They should be able to point us north.”
So the Baron, Isadora, and Marcus Pointdexter used the magnetic grass as a golden compass to find their way out of the deadly maze. When they emerged on the other side, the sun was setting in the distance, burning the landscape around it like a fiery globe. The air was painted pink and orange, and the Baron was sure that Isadora had never looked more beautiful.
“Isadora—” said The Baron.
“Yes?” She looked at him intently. “Have you got a plan? To evade the ghastly gharials?”
They all looked down at the gharial-infested moat, the creatures savagely snapping their jaws.
“They look especially hungry,” said Marcus Pointdexter. “Vicious things. Legend has it that they are 100% lethal.”
“Our chances aren’t good,” said The Baron.
“But you do have a plan?” Isadora asked.
“I do. But … before we have the chance to capitulate to our watery graves, I … I need to tell you something."