“Mayhap,” Jonathan agreed. He seemed to be in a good mood despite their predicament, perhaps because his writer’s block was clearly alleviating.
“Now all we need is a suitable contest, to which they will agree,” the captain said.
“Perhaps they will have such a contest in mind,” Faux said. “I will put it to them now.”
Floyd hoped the little people would agree, and that the three of them would prevail in that contest. And that the girls would be pleased.
Chapter 11: Contest
“The Emperor accepts your challenge; that is, unless you’re interested in his own plan.”
“What’s his plan?” asked Jonathan.
“He would have his finest surgeons blind each of you in just one eye. But by his good graces he would spare your second eye, thus giving you the gift of sight.”
“I fail to see how this is a plan at all!” shouted the Captain. “Why, I have the gift of sight—in both eyes!”
“Let me finish,” said Faux. “The emperor is of the opinion that by sparing you the one eye, each of you, to the man, will appreciate his profound generosity and mercy, and, thus filled with eternal gratitude, agree to smash his mortal enemies into smithereens.”
“Why, that’s the craziest—”
Jonathan jumped in: “Hold on, Captain, if I may? Dear Faux, explain to the emperor that we have heard and considered his generous offer and, although a close second, we would rather continue forward with the proposed contest.”
“Floyd,” said Faux. “Does Jonathan speak for you too?”
“Er, yes. I would rather proceed with the contest.”
“Very well, hang on.” This time, the pause was filled with the captain’s mumbled cursing. Shortly, Faux spoke again. “The emperor has consulted his philosophers and clerics and believes he has come upon a fair contest, one that knows no shape or size.”
“Go on,” said Jonathan.
“Archery,” said Faux.
“Never!” shouted the captain immediately, and once again fought his bonds. He was met with a flurry of arrows, many of which, as far as Floyd could see, had affixed themselves to the very tip of the man’s porous nose. “Ouch! You see, they are expert marksman! Why, I would damn near wager half my cargo that the lot of us never shot an arrow any straighter than a woman’s arse. Besides, their bows and arrows are much too small!”
“The emperor’s greatest weapons makers and armorers will be set to task to create bows and arrows of proper proportion and strength—”
Jonathan said, “Please explain to the esteemed emperor that we are not archers and feel this would not be a fair competition—”
Floyd, who had been listening quietly, had a burst of inspiration. “No, we are not archers. But we are storytellers!”
“Speak for yourself, lad! I am a captain of the high seas!”
“A captain who has seen much and has, no doubt, more stories than all of us combined.”
“Tis true. Why, just a fortnight ago, I watched a man tumble overboard—only to discover—”
“Save the story, Captain!” shouted Floyd. He angled his face toward Faux, although he could not see her. “Tell the emperor that we hereby challenge the Lilliputians to a contest of storytelling! Surely they have storytellers amongst themselves.”
“Hold on,” said Faux. “The emperor is intrigued. Yes, they have many popular tellers of tales. He wishes to know how a winner will be chosen.”
“The story that is commonly agreed upon to be the most moving, most humorous, and most adventurous will be deemed the winner.”
“One moment,” said Faux, paused, then spoke again: “The emperor accepts your terms and conditions and will now offer you some of his own. First, the stories must be original stories that include the themes of courage, adventure, and food preparation. Oh, and there must be one blue dragon.”
“Why one blue dragon?” asked Swift.
“The emperor loves blue dragons. You may all participate in the story, of which I will translate for the Lilliputians, as they speak an entirely different language. Likewise, I will translate their story. Additionally, because each of you have passed on his magnanimous and merciful offer to leave you sight in one eye, now, should you lose this wager, you each will be completely blinded. By his best surgeons, of course.”
“And how does the old chap propose we destroy his rivals if we are blind?” snapped the captain, who blew once again on his smarting nose.
“You will be directed via telepathy where to stomp. But fear not, his concubines are still interested in you. You won’t need sight for that either.”
“But sight is half the fun! Why, if this isn’t the cockamamiest—”
“Tell the emperor we accept his generous terms,” said Floyd, jumping in.
“And who gave you the right to speak for me?” demanded the captain.
“No one, but it’s our best chance to get out of here alive and with our sight.”
“Or be blinded and used for the rest of our days!”
“Then I suggest,” said Jonathan, and Floyd detected the humor in his voice, “we tell a rather ripping good story, eh?”
Chapter 12: Truly Fair
Faux relayed their agreement, and the Lilliputian soldiers came and used their swords to hack through their myriad bonds. They were free. But the archers remained arrayed, ready to loose a swarm of arrows if the trio tried to make a break for it.
“You will have one hour to prepare your tale,” Faux advised them. “In the interim you will be fed and can take care of natural functions in the nearby crevice, where there is some privacy.”
They went to the crevice, getting that out of the way. Then they drank at the local river.
“Who judges this contest?” Floyd asked Faux.
“Not you. Not the emperor’s men. It will be the royal women, who have time and discretion. They have done this before, as storytelling is a favorite pastime here, complete with competitions. The royal women are reasonably fair-minded.”
“Women, however, have different tastes than men,” Jonathan murmured. “We should keep that in mind.”
Floyd thought of Amelie and Trudy. What were their tastes? He really had no idea.
Then they returned to sit down on the ground. A small army of Lilliputian serving girls hauled carts of food to them. Portions were small, but the breadstuff and meatstuff was actually quite good, and the miniature pies were delicious.
The girl who served Floyd smiled as she unloaded her little wagon. He looked down at her, noticing that she was actually quite pretty, in a doll-like way. From his vantage, almost over her head, he peered down eighteen inches and he could see that her torso inside her loose blouse was authentically shapely. She had glorious fair hair and classic features. Had she been his size she would have been a devastating beauty. Even in miniature she was a pleasure to behold.
“Who is she?” he quietly asked Faux.
“Her name is Temperance, and she’s the emperor’s favorite daughter. She also has quite a temper, fittingly. In another year she’ll be eighteen and due to marry some prince to facilitate a beneficial political alliance. But she’s willful, questioning the need. She’s been assigned scullery duty to discipline her spirit, and this is part of that. She knows you’re peering down inside her halter, and that annoys her, but if she shows any ire she’ll be transferred to greasy pot washing. So she’s bearing with it, having little choice.”
Floyd wished he could express some sympathy, but the princess would not understand anything he said, and might interpret it as some crudity about her chest configuration. So he merely smiled and accepted her tasty offerings.
“Now the tale,” the captain said as he ate. “I am not certain that sea monsters and shipwrecks will appeal to those particular judges. Nor will descriptions of lovely Sirens and their business. I know nothing at all about blue dragons; I didn’t know they existed. Just ordinary-colored ones. You, Jonathan Swift, can surely spin a better yarn for this purpose.”<
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“Not necessarily so,” Jonathan demurred. “My specialty is satire. I could eloquently ridicule the emperor and his establishment, but that would not likely be well received. Floyd, here, may be better positioned for this.”
Floyd opened his mouth to protest that he was the least experienced of them. But then he thought of something. “Women judges. Maybe a woman’s story would be in order.”
“You have a point,” the Captain said. “What do you know about women?”
And there was the flaw. “Practically nothing,” Floyd said.
“Not so,” Jonathan said. “Women are much like men in many respects, merely with a different orientation. Devise a story about yourself, and convert it to the female perspective, and few will question it. Skimp on details, so that the listener can fill them in for herself, making it seem more authentic. This is the tale teller’s art: to provide a framework that enables the listeners to identify, to get personally into the scene, and they will love you for it.”
“But all I can think of is heroic adventure of the kind I have heard other villagers tell. I know nothing about sewing and baking and all those other things women do.”
“And they perchance long to get away from women’s work,” Jonathan said. “Give them the chance to be heroes, at least in their fancy, and they will not chide you for it.”
“Can that be true?” Floyd asked incredulously. “Women wanting adventure?”
“It can be true,” Faux agreed, surprisingly. “Even old women, but especially young ones.”
“But if a man tried to tell a tale about a girl, women would laugh him out of contention!” In any event, the only girls he could think of at the moment were Amelie and Trudy. And the doll-like princess serving girl. How could he identify with any of them? He wouldn’t dare use their names either, unless maybe a variant.
“Not so,” Johnathon repeated. “The voice of the narrator fades away into the background as the tale takes hold. He can seem to be repeating what he knew of a woman. He becomes her, in the magic of the story. The listeners willingly suspend their disbelief.”
Floyd was becoming intrigued. Could he actually get into a girl, in that manner? Into her feeling? Become her? Jonathan thought it was possible, and he had infinitely more experience as a writer than Floyd did.
They discussed the tale, and each contributed aspects. A story took form, with all the required elements. Floyd would be the narrator, with Faux translating, and the others would quietly correct him if he started going wrong. It seemed feasible, amazingly. And so, with the full attention of the royal women, and feeling more nervous than he thought he would, Floyd began his tale:
***
Truly looked up from her labors with the serving spoons, which she had polished to perfection. She was the daughter of the emperor, a princess with glorious fair hair and classic features, and shapely to boot; tall men had actually blushed when they glimpsed down into her décolletage. Especially when she breathed. Smart and beautiful, she had so much potential. So what was she doing here in the scullery?
But she knew the answer: she had tried to question her father’s judgment, so he had put here to chasten her spirit and make her more malleable to his will. She had a role to fill, and it certainly wasn’t the wild adventure she secretly craved. The fact that she hated her assigned role didn’t matter; she was a woman, a girl, and so had no right to decide her own course in life. Her destined fate was to become the docile partner of some prince she never met before the marriage, and serve him loyally for the rest of her life. Mainly serving his belly and his groin. Scullery and bed. Love had nothing to do with it.
Her father’s birthday was approaching, as it did at this time every year, and there would be a phenomenal feast in his honor, with rare and splendid dishes. About the only delicacy he hadn’t been served, over the years, was fried blue dragon’s egg. That was scarcely surprising, because Danube, the blue dragon, was exceedingly loath to give up her egg, and toasted and consumed any who were foolhardy enough to waltz in and try to steal it.
Then an idea struck her like lightning from a pale cloud: she could go to fetch that egg! No one could be denied that mission, because it was for the emperor’s benefit. So far none had returned from that quest, but she might be the first. After all, no woman had ever tried it. But she would make a deal: if she fetched the blue dragon egg, she would have the right to marry when and whom she chose, even if not a foreign prince. She would be free, her own woman, out of the scullery forever. That was surely worth the gamble.
Truly dropped the shiny spoon she held, flung off her dull apron, and marched off to see her father. She could twist him around her little finger when she tried; now she had reason to try.
Chapter 13: The Djinn
Her father hadn’t been pleased with the proposal.
In fact, he initially denied her request. But Truly truly did have her father wrapped around her finger, to a degree. Ultimately, he was a fair enough man, and it had pained him to see her upset. But there was one condition: he would allow her to search for the blue dragon’s egg if only she was accompanied by his greatest knight. She agreed, and soon they set off.
Sir Longmire feared no man. It was safe to say he had never feared anything. Of course, his skill with his sword had something to do with that. And his archery skills were second to none. More than anything, he seemed to be touched by the gods themselves. He always seemed a little stronger than his enemy, and often a little luckier too. When he fought, his feet rarely slipped, or his blade rarely broke, and always, always he seemed to guess correctly where his opponent would attack next. And Longmire was there, waiting, ready to parry, and ready to dispatch his adversary.
Truly, who had been born with the gift of second sight, saw immediately the source of Longmire’s great skill: a small djinn-like creature rested upon his right shoulder at most times, a djinn who aided the warrior in all manner of combat, from guiding his sword, to confusing his enemy with pixie dust.
She saw this firsthand when bandits appeared upon their trail on the second day of their quest. The attack lasted but a few minutes, if that. The knight sprang into action—and so did the little djinn. Truly saw the confused expressions on their attackers’ faces, saw their swords ricocheting harmlessly against an invisible barrier, saw the knight’s own blade guided perfectly every time, cutting through throats and lodging deep within hearts. Most importantly, she saw the little djinn zig and zag wildly in the air, altering blades and tripping foes, throwing magical dust in eyes, and deflecting arrows and swords. In short, doing the majority of the work. In a matter of minutes, the bandits had been dispatched, and the duo had barely broken their stride.
“That was quite impressive,” said Truly, for the knight had given no recognition to the little djinn who had done most of the work, the little djinn who once again sat upon his shoulder.
“It was nothing, Your Highness,” said the knight, not bothering to blush. “All in a day’s work, as they say.”
“You are... very good with your sword.”
“I am better than most, yes.”
“You have practiced long?”
“Hardly at all.”
“So it comes naturally for you, then?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Did you not notice the confused way your enemies stumbled around?”
But the knight only looked at her blankly, and Truly realized the man had only known enemies who stumbled, or had poor aim, or who perplexedly seem to step right into his sword. The knight, in short, had never faced an enemy on his own terms. More curious, the knight seemed unaware of the little djinn who, even now, was watching Truly carefully, his little scrunched face unreadable.
During their fourth night, while the knight slept contently upon his bedroll near a large fire that he’d brought to life far too quickly, especially considering the recent rainstorm, unaware that a certain little djinn had sprinkled more magic dust upon the wet logs, Truly addressed the little creature di
rectly.
“I see you,” she said.
The magical creature, which had been picking idly under its longish claws, assumed an on-guard position. It looked this way and that.
“I’m talking to you, little man,” said Truly.
Now the djinn, realizing there was no danger afoot, froze, although Truly could see his little eyes moving.
“Freezing doesn’t help,” said Truly. “I can still see you.”
The little creature held his pose for a heartbeat or two longer, than exhaled, his round little belly dropping down to his knees. Small wings that Truly had at first missed sprouted from his shoulders and he rose up from the knight’s shoulder, and flew over to her. Truly was reminded of a fat little bird.
***
Floyd was pleased to see the little fair maidens giggling once Faux had relayed his last line. He caught Jonathan’s and the captain’s gaze, both of whom encouraged him to continue. Floyd gathered his thoughts and continued his tale, well aware of the emperor, who sat upon a portable throne and was guarded by dozens of his finest knights, staring at him from under his crown.
Floyd swallowed, and continued his tale:
***
“You have the gift of second sight, I assume,” said the little djinn who, now that he was just a few feet from Truly’s face, she could see was quite cute. He had little pointy ears and a neatly trimmed goatee that also came to a point. His cheeks were round and ruddy, but nothing was rounder than his belly, which Truly suddenly wanted to tickle.
“Go ahead and tickle it,” said the djinn.
“You can read my mind?” asked Truly, who reached out and tickled the chubby rolls.
When the djinn was done giggling, he said, “Only with those who make contact with me.”
“The knight seems unaware of your presence,” said Truly.
“Your second sight is strong.”
The Journey Page 7
