Silversion

by Rick Johnson

  “It’s like the officer said back there—Frinnets are trouble, that’s all,” he said. “And you don’t seem to be like that.”

  “So you expected me to be trouble, as you call it, and I’m not,” Tē’d’Tē laughed, “is that what you mean?”

  “I guess so,” the Captain replied. “I don’t know much else about Frinnets.”

  Tē’d’Tē chuckled until the Captain’s face turned red. “What are you laughing at?” he scowled. “I can’t help it if I don’t know much about Frinnets.”

  Wiping her eyes, the Weasel got her laughter under control. “Get ready for a shock,” Tē’d’Tē said. “I’m the Weasel that Skull Buzzard was blaming for all the trouble-making that Frinnets are supposedly responsible for.”

  The Captain’s eyes opened wide. “You’re the one?” he said.

  “One and the same,” Tē’d’Tē grinned.

  “That’s just it,” the Captain said, “you don’t look like a trouble-maker. Davison trusts you completely. So how come you’ve got a bad name?”

  “Oh, come on,” the Weasel said, “give me my full credit. I’m not just accused of being a trouble-maker, but of single-handedly making every Frinnet a trouble-maker! Now that’s a record to be proud of—if only it were true!”

  “What do you mean, ‘if it were true?’” the Captain asked.

  “All I did was ask questions, and let young beasts decide what answers they thought made the most sense,” the Weasel replied. “If making trouble is asking questions and letting youngsters figure out their own answers, then I’m the queen of trouble-makers. But I never did more than that. So all the talk about Frinnets generally being no-good trouble-makers is all thanks to the other young beasts who are still asking questions. So, you see, I’m just a small part of all that trouble they talk about.”

  “Why?” the Captain asked. “What kind of questions?”

  “Oh, so now you begin to see how it is,” Tē’d’Tē replied. “You’re asking questions. And, just like with the young beasts I worked with in Frinnet, I’ll answer. Here’s a very good question, I think: ‘Why is it that a wee Frinnet can’t go to school?’ That’s a question for you! You see, that’s why I was teaching school in the fields and around kitchen tables.”

  “And what’s the answer?” the Captain responded.

  “Sweet Ella! That’s the issue!” Tē’d’Tē said. “I ask the question, so it’s your job to figure out the answer.”

  “But I don’t know the answer!” the Captain exclaimed.

  “Which is why it continues,” the Weasel said. “Potato season in Frinnet lasts eight months. If all the young beasts have to work the potato fields eight months of the year—to assure the sacred climbers are fed—when are they supposed to go to school? That sort of thing is all over the place! It makes me want to take an axe after things! But don’t worry, I won’t—I know that teaching beasts to ask questions is much more effective. That is, if one wanted to stir up trouble.”

  “So you just went off and started your own school, and managed to give Frinnets a bad name?” the Captain said.

  “No, you’re still missing the point,” Tē’d’Tē replied. “I’ve been gone from Frinnet for years and years. The fact that Frinnets are still keeping things stirred up, is because, for all those years, they’ve just kept educating themselves—whether or not the powers that be want them to or not.”

  “And Davison sent you back to do that again?” the Captain of the Guard asked.

  “You might say that,” Tē’d’Tē replied. “But I’ve got a much bigger question to ask this time.”

  “What kind of question?” the Captain asked.

  “Can’t tell you that just now,” the Weasel said. “There’s only one beast in all of Hedgelands that can answer this particular question. So wouldn’t do much good to ask you.” Seeing a dark look rising on the Captain’s face, Tē’d’Tē continued. “But, I do have a question that only you—out of all the beasts in the Hedgelands—that only you can answer.”

  “What’s that?” the Captain replied, brightening.

  “There is so much injustice and hypocrisy in the Hedgelands,” Tē’d’Tē said, “what will you do about that?”

  “Me?” the Captain asked. “What can I do?”

  “That’s the question,” Tē’d’Tē said, “and the only essential thing necessary to create trouble, as they call it. I don’t have anything else to trouble you with.”

  They fell into silence again, as the troop of guards moved along, escorting the silver shipment. Passing a large open field, Tē’d’Tē pointed to a line of wagons, filled with Skull Buzzards. “What’s with that?” she said.

  “That’s the High One’s test field for his experiments,” the Captain responded. “I’ve only seen it in use a couple of times. The wagons are his security detail—he’s not in any danger, but he hates to have his experiments interrupted. So the Buzzards heep curious beasts away.”

  “So the High One is out there on that field right now?” the Weasel asked.

  “That’s why all those Skull Buzzards are there,” the Captain replied. “They wouldn’t be there, if the High One wasn’t.”

  “Sweet Ella!” Tē’d’Tē said, “you’ve fulfilled your promise to Davison, and I thank you most sincerely. Now, I have one final request for you.”

  “What’s that?” the Captain asked warily.

  “I want you to take me over to those Skull Buzzards and turn me in as a Frinnet trouble-maker!” Tē’d’Tē said.

  “What?” the Captain replied. “Are you nuts? They won’t joke around with you about all this trouble-making stuff like I have.”

  “Sweet Ella!” the Weasel replied. “That’s exactly it! I want an audience with the High One. I’d never get one for any other reason. He ignores requests for audiences from common beasts, except for those declared to be ‘threats to the realm.’ I give the old tyrant credit for that.”

  “How’s that?” the Captain asked.

  “Last time when I got crosswise with the authorities,” Tē’d’Tē chuckled, “they hauled me before the High One because I was a threat to the realm. I learned a lot from that experience—although it landed me at Tilk Duraow for many years, breaking rock. I give him credit for that.”

  “Sounds like you don’t hate him—I think I would if he’d sent me to Tilk Duraow!” said the Captain.

  “Like I said,” the Weasel replied, “I give him some credit. They say he’s a bit cracked, what with his wild experiments and the blacksmith’s forge in the Throne Room, and all. When I was taken before him last time, even the guards were joking about ‘Upside-Down Fropperdaftdom—where all harebrained arts come from.’ But he’s an inventor and smart enough to know that most good ideas are threats to someone or something. He realizes even ideas that threaten his realm, are often good for something. So he personally investigates every possible threat to the realm. He may be crazy, but he’s not afraid to get his paws dirty. He harvests good ideas that might help his experiments, then ships the beast off to Tilk Duraow. Before all else, he fancies himself the greatest mind of the age. His inventions and experiments are more important to him than anything else—except completing Maev Astuté, that is. If you take me over there and declare me a possible threat to the realm, he’ll hear me. That’s one thing where he allows interruptions.”

  “How can I do that?” the Captain said. “How do I know if you’re a threat to the realm or not?”

  Tē’d’Tē smiled. “What I learned from the High One last time makes it possible for me to bring him down now. I only hope I won’t fail.” Looking at the Captain, she added. “There, I said it. By any definition, what I said makes me a threat to the realm. You heard me. You’re a Captain of the Guard. Now, do your duty.”

  Shaking his head in exasperation, the Captain held up his paw and said grimly, “Guard, halt!” When the silver wagons had stopped, he gave orders for the procession to wait while he went over to talk to the Skull Buzzards. Taking Tē’d’Tē by
the arm in authoritative fashion, he led the Weasel over to the where the Skull Buzzards were standing. As they approached, a swarm of Skull Buzzards hurried to surround them.

  “I have a possible threat to the realm here, officer,” the Captain said. “He should be presented to the High One immediately for questioning.”

  “On what grounds?” asked a Skull Buzzard who had gold braid all over his uniform.

  “I’ll speak for myself,” Tē’d’Tē spoke up. “I have come here today especially to overthrow the High One’s order. I don’t intend to leave until I have accomplished my goal. Is that sufficient grounds?”

  “Sufficient to get you life at hard labor,” the Skull Buzzard snarled. Motioning to a subordinate, he said, “Tell his Most Brilliant Highness that there is a threat to the realm for his pleasure.” The subordinate hurried off and soon returned with word that the High One would be most happy to interview a new threat.

  Tē’d’Tē was led toward an oblong tent set up on the far end of the large open field. Low thuds and ringing clangs reverberated through a cloud of smoke swirling out of the tent. The smoke flashed yellow and red as shooting tongues of flame and showers of glowing sparks erupted inside the tent. Beyond the tent, a tangle of pipes and hoses sprawled across the field, connected to two stupendous sausage-shaped tubes, with a smaller tube between them. The strange apparatus stood nearly vertical in the field, attached for support to a metal tower. A ladder ran from the ground up to an opening in the smaller, middle tube.

  “One of the High One’s inventions,” Tē’d’Tē chuckled. “Looks like he’s working on a doozy this time.”

  Having had an audience once before with the High One, Tē’d’Tē was not surprised to find him pounding on white-hot iron. Amidst the roaring bellows, flames, and shooting streams of red and white sparks, the heat was so intense that steam poured off the sovereign’s body. With shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows and bared chest, Tē’d’Tē could not help but notice the Wolf’s unusually brawny muscles. Sweat glistening on every reddish-brown hair gave him the look of a statue of polished bronze. Despite the hard labor, the Wolf was not breathing heavily.

  To a stranger, finding the ruler of all the Hedgelands straining every nerve and sweating in torrents before a roaring fire, would perhaps be unsettling. The Weasel smiled, however. No matter she had seen it before. Seeing the High One sending flakes of sizzling iron flying at every blow of his hammer, was always an unforgettable spectacle. She also knew that it placed him in the best possible mood for a visit.

  Folds of smoke rose from the tent, which was supported by poles that were quite tall at the front, and much shorter at the rear. The slope of the roof, with the entire front open, provided a clear view of the field, and allowed smoke from the portable blacksmith’s forge to flow out easily.

  When the Skull Buzzards announced their prisoner, the High One barely acknowledged the message. The Wolf continued pounding hot iron, completely immersed in a world of his own. CLANG! BAM! SLAM! Sparks flew in every direction. The tortured iron changed shape as the High One ignored his visitors for several minutes. Then the Wolf laid down his hammer and turned away from the forge.

  “Excellent! Excellent!” he roared, motioning for the guards to leave the Weasel and himself alone. “Excellent! Welcome! A threat to the realm, are you? It’s been so long! I was becoming stale without such excitement. Excellent! Excellent! What do you bring me?”

  Then, as if seeing something he had missed before, he stepped closer to Tē’d’Tē, peering intently. “I know you, don’t I?” he exclaimed, breaking into a grin. “You’re that Frinnet that was with me like this some years past.”

  “Yes, your Highness,” Tē’d’Tē replied with a smile. “I remember my meeting with you very well.”

  “As do I,” the Wolf answered. “What a great time that was! You were memorable—unlike most of the so-called threats to the realm that are brought to me. I immediately recognized you were the real deal. Yes, what a treat it was to talk to you that day.” Stopping for a moment, the Wolf walked over to the forge, motioning for Tē’d’Tē to follow.

  “I hope you’re still the real deal,” he said. “I’ll tell you something about being the High One. It’s a world of dull, mind-numbing meetings. Most of the meetings my advisors call me to attend, aren’t worth a cup of warm spit with all the foam kicked off. I have the most tiresome advisors on the face of the earth. Always wanting to talk, talk, talk about something—taking precious time away from my explorations and experiments! That’s why I always have my forge with me. But when I’m presented with a genuine threat to the realm, now that’s interesting! Worthy enough to put down my hammer and listen.”

  Pointing out into the field, the High One continued. “But before you excite my mind with your threat to my realm, I give you the honor of seeing my newest invention. There is my Airimon Aviar!”

  This was the strange machine that Tē’d’Tē had noticed earlier. Observing it more carefully now, she guessed that the two largest sausage-shaped tubes stood perhaps forty feet tall. The smaller tube, suspended between the larger ones, was perhaps a third that in length.

  “What is it?” Tē’d’Tē asked.

  “A self-propelled flying machine!” the High One laughed with glee. “I finally understand it! All the time I spent fretting about balloons was a distraction! But now I see the way. This will be far better than any of the balloons I’ve tried.”

  “How does it work?” the Weasel asked.

  “It’s contructed of hollow tubing and snakeskin, so it’s much lighter than anything I’ve built before,” the Wolf said, smiling. “The snakeskin is extremely strong and waterproof, which is very important,” he continued. “You see, the two largest tubes are filled three-quarters of the way full with water. Then air is pumped into the remaining space. Air is pumped in until the maximum possible pressure is reached. A pilot sits in the central cabin, which can also hold passengers or cargo. When all is ready, the pilot jerks a lever. The pressurized water is released from the propulsion tubes, and the airship shoots into the sky! It will rise to a tremendous height, then the pilot extends the wings and a tail. It can glide on the air currents in any direction, for as long as the pilot likes! When the journey is over, the pilots glides the ship back to the ground for a gentle landing.”

  “That’s amazing!” Tē’d’Tē replied. “How do you pressurize the propulsion tubes?”

  “That column over there is a Turn-Pump,” the Wolf replied. “See those arms attached to it? Beasts push on them as they run, turning the column. That provides power to pump water or air, as needed.”

  “So, are you planning to take a trip?” the Weasel asked.

  “Yes! Yes!” the Wolf roared with glee. “But only a test flight for now. The propulsion tanks are being filled and I’ll test fly it tomorrow! When it’s fully tested, I’ll build a fleet of them to transport stones for my building project.” The Wolf’s face suddenly fell, as if some painful thought had just occurred to him. Turning away from looking at the airship, he looked at the Weasel.

  “Ah, yes,” the High One said, “I’m glad you came today. I have been working at my forge for hours, and am getting tired. It will be nice to have a challenge for my mind, while I rest my body. Folks have no idea what I go through! If it weren’t for my forge and experiments, my advisors would drive me insane! Blather. Blather. Blather. Talk. Talk. Talk. They eat up hours just talking to no real point. And lately they have been going on and on—talking nonstop, do you hear me!—about bad news.”

  The Wolf sat down on a chair placed at his study table and opened a massive volume. Turning the pages, he again seemed to ignore Tē’d’Tē for a time. Then he laughed, stubbing his finger on a page. “There you are!” he roared. “Do you want to see my notes on our last meeting? I have them here in my journal.”

  Curious, Tē’d’Tē went over to the table. Bending over the book, she looked at the page where the Wolf was pointing.

  “You see,” th
e High One said, “My interviews with those sent to me as ‘threats to the realm’ are, for the most part, delightful! There’s hardly a one of them that doesn’t stimulate some new thought for me. I write a report for myself about each interview—part of my scientific process. There, read what I wrote about my last interview with you.”

  Probably no beast that has yet appeared before me as a threat to the realm, has a more striking claim to be here. No one can equal her for sheer power to put challenging questions to me. The cheeky upstart asked me if I had any means or program by which I called myself to account each day, in light of the well-being of the weakest in my realm. Then she followed with a question about how close did I think I was to the most humble beasts who do all the work that sustains my realm. Her next question was how the realm would ever advance like it ought, if so many young beasts could not go to school? And, finally, she asked me how I thought the realm could be good and just, if beasts like her were not allowed to ask questions? Roistering Jackanapes! This young scalawag presents a true threat to the realm. Unlike most of the plots and intrigues that come before me, this is not a few beasts who can be squashed. This beast is sowing seeds that would truly undermine the realm. She expresses her views readily and openly, asking me what reason, that is worthy of the wee beasts in my realm, causes me to rule like I do! An excellent visit! Really got my brain heated up. Excellent! I might have almost pardoned this remarkable scamp—perhaps she should be my chief advisor—Ha! Ha! That would make my Most Revered Council squirm! But, alas, in the end she is a true threat to the realm. I ordered her sent to Tilk Duraow.

  “You see,” the Wolf said, “my meeting with you was truly memorable. And, you arrive today, precisely when I need such good stimulation again! I have recently had the most unhappy meeting with my brother, who brings more distressing news. Tilk Duraow is no more—utterly destroyed. I suppose this is news you already know, since I sent you to Tilk Duraow, and here you are before me. So, you see, I am in poor spirits, and need some refreshment. It will be a great boon to have you to question me again. I need a good dose of wild thinking just now! So, come now, tell me what you have.”