The Fez

by L. T. Hewitt

  It was during this ritual of self-hatred that Dave, aged twenty-one, had decided, once and for all, to leave his parents’ house and go out to live in a cheap apartment of his own. It was a rather harrowing experience for Dave (though not so much for his parents) and resulted in him having to walk for almost ten minutes to ask his mum to cook him some baked beans.

  The thirty-year-old Dave was more mature still and his baked bean pilgrimages were each a whole twenty minutes’ drive.

  On the morning after Dave had been invited by the seemingly friendly Glix-native twins on a pilgrimage with an ultimate goal, Dave organised a bag and packed into it everything he thought he would need for the journey ahead. This turned out to be everything he had. He only owned a few items of clothing, which had been bought for him by one of the members of hospital staff and, as he packed his bag, he realised how kind everyone had been to him.

  As I have established, Dave thought, these people are very unlikely to be trying to kill me. Look at my possessions. Even this backpack was given to me by one of the staff. These clothes were bought by one of the doctors and so was the small statue of the Quack. They knew how intriguing I found their religion and they got this for me. What else have they gotten me? Oh yes, I remember this. They drew a picture of that wall painting for me. Dave looked at it in admiration. What funny folklore they have. I will treasure this for all the time I spend on Glix.

  “Right. This is it.” He walked to the nurses’ desk. “I’m going now. Is there something I have to do when leaving?”

  “You’re leaving?” asked Glinda. She sounded upset.

  “Yeah. I was going to follow the Fez.”

  “I told you not to follow hallucinations,” she said sternly.

  “But the Fez isn’t a hallucination,” Dave insisted, though he was less certain about it than anyone who had ever followed the Fez before him. “Is it?”

  “No,” she countered. “But I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”

  “I thought it would be a nice little journey to take my mind off things.”

  She looked at him and walked closer. “Oh, Dave. The Fez isn’t a ‘nice little journey’, it is a serious, life-changing decision.”

  “Well maybe I’m ready to change my life.”

  There was a moment of silence before Glinda went back behind her desk and picked up what appeared to be a many-times-preowned compass. “I want you to take this so you can be a true adventurer and remember us by it when you go.”

  “Thank you.”

  The nurses all gave Dave farewell exchanges which made him rather emotional at leaving these people he had only just met that week.

  “Goodbye,” he said as he headed out to journey with the twins and, hopefully, return home – away from all these kind-hearted people…

  As he walked away from the hospital, he wondered more and more why he was leaving and if he even wanted to return home at all.

  Chapter 8

  Arthur Cardigan. That had always seemed like a perfect name. It seemed – to Arthur Cardigan at least – that it was a great, fake name, because it was so ridiculously unbelievable no-one would ever suspect it of being false. Or of being anything else deceitful.

  Arthur Cardigan couldn’t use his real name, of course. Not after his good friend God had put a price over his head.

  That wasn’t strictly true. The Great Quack hadn’t started the chase yet. But he would soon. And when that day came, Arthur wanted his other aliases to be dead.

  The future Arthur Cardigan woke up in the past. He seemed to be lying on the pavement in a town. Upon getting up and wandering around the place, he found evidence to say it was indeed one year prior to when he was recently located.

  Arthur did what he had to, and sat down to contemplate his life. He did so like a quivering wreck.

  So, as Quack tells me, Cardigan thought to himself, after I’ve completed my training – I guess that’s what this is – I will go on to help everyone I can. And that’s what I will spend the rest of my life doing. But the most bewildering thing of all is just how long the rest of my life will last.

  He sat down alone and thought further on the flow of his situation. A few minutes beforehand, he had been at the climax of his life so far. Now the world seemed quiet, void and expectant. The moment he had only just experienced seemed impossibly far away, yet Arthur Cardigan knew it had to come around. But not before he had put in a lot of effort. Now, he had a year to pass before he met his fate. Now, he had an intense course of studying to achieve realisation. Now, the present was a very long way away.

  Chapter 9

  In his city of origin, Dave – having rarely left his house at all – had unbearably infrequently found himself down an alleyway. He was of the general opinion that nothing socially polite could be achieved in an alley. From an early age, most citizens of Dave’s home were taught that alleyways were unpleasant places where little could be done which wasn’t dirty or immoral. From a slightly older age, people were told how an alley was the perfect place they should go to carry out all their dirty actions and foul misdeeds.

  Throughout his life, Dave (along with far too many beings from across the universe) remained under the impression that nothing good could ever be found amongst the filth down a back alley. This was another common falsehood: when wading through the rubbish disposal, one may easily find a half-eaten pizza to take home and share with their friends. Somehow, Dave’s acquaintances at his home managed to maintain a good relationship with him, despite the fact he never brought them home any waste food. They seemed to put up with freshly bought food instead.

  Dave turned down the back alley nervously and found both Clint and Clein waiting there.

  “Hi,” said Clint, as he looked up and saw Dave there. “Have you got your stuff ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess we’d better go then,” Clint said emptily after a short pause; it felt as if there were something missing from their trio.

  “Before we leave, does anyone want any pizza?” Clein asked.

  “No thanks,” replied Dave, not yet being accustomed to the food of the planet, and assuming ‘pizza’ (or whatever it was) might be some sort of wild berry poisonous to non-natives, rather than the cheesy, dough-based, Italian meal it was on almost every planet. “I’ve just eaten, thanks,” he lied. “Wait, where did you get pid-zha from? Did you just get that from the bin?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s wrong with that?” Clein asked, seeing the distressing grimace that possessed Dave’s face.

  “Well, it’s dirty and disgusting and it will make you sick, that’s what!”

  “You’ll get a lot sicker if you don’t eat. Which would you rather?” Clein looked up and saw Dave still had an utterly repulsed expression on his face as he looked down upon the twin. “Suit yourself. Snob.”

  Averting his eyes from this sight and trying to keep down what little lunch he had in him, Dave looked around at the posters stuck to the walls of the alleyway. There was an intriguing, vivid one about a circus. ‘ELEVEN,’ it exclaimed in bright colours.

  “Why is it called ‘ELEVEN’?” asked Dave.

  “What?”

  “The circus show. Why is it called ‘ELEVEN’?” he repeated.

  “Oh, that’s the famous show, isn’t it? I’m assuming it’s called that because eleven is an unlucky number.”

  “Eleven’s an unlucky number? I didn’t know that.”

  “What? Everybody knows that. It’s a renowned British fact. It’s the entire history of folklore!”

  Dave remained silent after that. In fact, the whole group stayed silent and were just about to leave when they heard a rustling coming from the bins. A small, curly-haired boy of about fourteen lunged out, grasping in his hands a rotten bun with some sort of slimy filling. He stretched open his jaws and started to bite.

  “Ugh!” Dave said loudly. “Don’t eat that!”

  “Cheeseburger!” the boy hissed.

  “You’ll get an upset stomach!�
�

  “Cheese—,” he snapped, “—burger!” And he gobbled the rubbish whole.

  “I feel sick,” said Dave, his face turning lime.

  “Cheeseburger!” the boy screeched at the top of his lungs.

  There was complete and utter silence throughout Carpe Yolu for a few seconds, and then noise returned.

  “Okay, let’s calm down and forget about whatever that noise was,” said Oprah, from inside the FezFans building.

  “Wait, is the group still going on in there again?” asked Clein, peering through the window in the back door of FezFans. Clint and Dave joined him.

  “Well, I’m guessing it’s a daily thing and they have all returned here since yesterday. Even freaks need to get a small amount of sleep now and then,” Clint said.

  “Oh, you’re one to talk,” Clein sneered. “If anyone’s a freak, it’s you.”

  “How dare you?” Clint raised his voice. “I’m not the one who cried for a week when he lost his teddy bear at the circus. Well, I am, but only because you were crying first.”

  “Guys, could you cool it down a bit?” Dave suggested.

  They didn’t, and Clein continued, “Hey, this was almost five years ago. I thought we’d forgotten about this when we both got new teddies?”

  “Sergeant Pepperkins didn’t forget.”

  “Don’t you use his name!” Clint shouted, before sitting down on the dirty alley floor in a huff.

  “Guys. Seriously,” Dave said. “Why are you arguing about something that happened when you were young children?”

  “I wouldn’t have said we were children at the time. Some of us may have digressed since, though…”

  “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be calling each other freaks. You’re exactly identical, for goodness sake.”

  “Are you calling me a freak?” Clein asked angrily.

  “Can we just calm down and leave now? You don’t want to set off on your journey to the Fez with angry minds.”

  “I don’t want to set off yet, anyway,” Clein said, sitting down on the floor defiantly.

  “Then why did you organise this whole thing for right here and right now?” To have brought himself here, to have abandoned a safe home and taken himself to an alley where dirty actions and foul misdeeds take place was bad enough, but if they were to throw it all away in favour of sulking over teddy bears, Dave didn’t think he’d be able to cope. But, bearing that in mind, Dave was no longer sure he knew what coping was. If it was going to be this way with these two for the next few days until he found and opened the Fez, he surely wouldn’t be able to cope. Whatever coping might be.

  “I mean, I want to go. And we are going to go. But I want to listen in on what they’re talking about in FezFans first.”

  “Oh, fine,” Dave said, more calmly. “So long as it’s just a spot of gentle eavesdropping, it’s fine.” He started to sound more peaceful and serene, safe in the knowledge that he would find out all the secrets of the Fez and go on an adventure after all, but just after his friends had violated the privacy of eight acquaintances. Dave collapsed on the floor and leant against the door to the FezFans building. “Everyone loves a spot of eavesdropping.”

  Turning back and peering through the window in the door, Dave, Clint and Clein saw the whole group, excluding themselves, sitting in an arc of chairs as usual, apart from Oprah, who was pacing as she usually did.

  “…we must protect them from venturing off on this journey, as they don’t know what’s good for them,” Oprah said to her group. “It is our duty to follow them…” The Space Chicken caught their eyes and the Fez-pursuing group outside the window ducked down and put their backs against the door.

  “You know who he reminds me of?” Dave contributed, trying to sound at one with the aliens. “That Chicken that the Glorious Quack and the Noble Margery threw off the Cloud.”

  Clint and Clein looked at him.

  Through the door, the three heard the Space Chicken excuse himself and the odd footsteps of a human-sized chicken walking towards them. They all scuttled out of the way as the door opened.

  “All right, so I’ve packed my bag,” the Space Chicken started, and they saw the backpack he was wearing was very stuffed. “And I’ve got everything ready for our trip…”

  “Our trip?” asked Clint.

  “Yeah,” the Space Chicken said cheerfully. His face then started to turn white. “Why, wasn’t I invited?” he said, as if he had quite liked the idea of going on a journey to the Fez.

  “Well…” began Clein, but he couldn’t think of a reason for the Space Chicken not to go with them, “I guess you could…”

  “Great! So I’ve got everything ready and…” He rifled all the time through his backpack to find everything he had brought and described it to a rather unenthusiastic group. “And I’ve got lots of sandwiches and… a screwdriver and… I thought these sunglasses might come in handy in case it’s bright and hot in BongVe Bong.” Clint and Clein gave each other a look that said, ‘It’s not going to happen.’ This look was rather unnecessary because they were both thinking it anyway and each of them knew that the other was thinking this. Just to clarify this, they gave each other a look that said ‘Were you just thinking what I was thinking?’ which, incidentally, they did say telepathically.

  “Which way is it to BongVe Bong?” asked the Space Chicken.

  “Nekken.”

  “What’s ‘Nekken’?” asked Dave.

  “You know, the direction. ‘Up’.”

  “Oh,” said Dave. “Oh, oh, of course it is! My mind just went completely blank there. Now I know, of course, ‘Up’, ‘North’.”

  “North?” asked Clein.

  “What? What’s North?” Dave asked in a fictional state of intense xenophobic shock. “Isn’t that the direction they use on one of those traitorous planets or something? Not that I’d know, of course.”

  “There’s something different about you, isn’t there Dave?”

  “No,” he said abruptly. “Of course not.”

  How odd, thought the Space Chicken. He gave it more thought, but changed the topic. “How did you say we get to BongVe Bong?”

  “You go Nekken,” said Clint.

  “Well, obviously, but I thought there was some more advanced way of getting up there, like a special ritual.”

  Clein looked at him. “How many years have you been on this planet?”

  “Nearly 400, but I haven’t always been stuck here in Britain. There’s a big world out there, with lots of people for a prophet to talk to.”

  “You don’t usually tell them the right things though,” Clint muttered.

  “What was that?!” retorted the Space Chicken.

  Bring! Bring!

  Everyone went silent.

  Bring! Bring!

  The Space Chicken reached into his feather pocket and pulled out a mobile phone.

  “Hello?”

  “What did I tell you about the correct usage of uncommon punctuation?”

  “Hello, mum,” he sighed.

  “I said, ‘Always use an interrobang as opposed to a question mark followed by an exclamation mark, or vice versa.’”

  “Yes, mum, I’ll remember next time.”

  “Also, stop abbreviating your words: it really cuts down your sentence length and you are not much of a talker as it stands.”

  “But mum, I’m in Jackshire an’ that’s how everyone talks,” he justified.

  “That does not mean you have to talk as such also.”

  “Yes it does!”

  “Do not argue with me! Remember that I can hear your punctuation as you speak.”

  “I’m an adult now! There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  “You know perfectly well that I can ring up your brother the Super Salmon and get him to find you.”

  “Sammy likes me, mum.”

  “Just remember what I said about interrobangs!”

  “What did she say?”

  “Just to remember interroba
ngs.”

  “What are they?” asked Dave.

  “A question mark and an exclamation mark mixed together.”

  “How does that work?” asked Clein. “And how did your mum know what you were saying? And how can she tell what punctuation you used when you were talking?!”

  The Space Chicken ignored him. Then his phone rang again.

  “It’s Nekken,” he said. “Just Nekken.”

  Chapter 10

  By following Dave’s compass, they walked for fifty minutes in an awkward silence, as none of them knew any of the others – apart from Clint and Clein, who knew each other very well indeed.

  “So… how far have we travelled?” asked Dave, in an attempt to break the ice.

  Simultaneously, the Space Chicken suggested “Three and a half kilometres,” Clint said, “Two and a half a kilometres,” and Clein stated, “2500 metres,” whilst Crazy Dave enthused, “Cheeseburger.”

  “No,” said Clint, “if we had walked over three kilometres, my legs would be aching by now.”

  “Aren’t your legs aching?” asked the Space Chicken.

  “Well, yeah, but that’s not the point exactly.”

  “What is the point then?”

  “Cheeseburger,” repeated the insane fourteen-year-old, who was currantly wearing a mince pie as a hat.

  “You know what?” said Clint, straying off the subject as he realised his own flaws in arguing. “I’m hungry.”

  “Cheeseburger!” exclaimed Crazy Dave with glee, as he pointed to a fast food restaurant in front of them.

  Clint turned and saw a fast food restaurant about twenty metres away, assuming this to be the one which Crazy Dave had been referring to. It wasn’t; Crazy Dave had actually been pointing to a similar restaurant 20,124.82km away, in Ozlford, but they couldn’t see that, what with the other one in the way.

  “I agree.”

  Dave’s knowledge of cuisine had been limited on his home planet, but as they entered this restaurant, he was terrified. Not only did he worry about what he would have to eat and what went into what he would eat, but he also feared for his life. Stepping through the doors of the greasy hovel, he saw that it was filled with children and parents with a variety of sauces and lettuces covering them.