by J. R. Rain
I am near, Floyd. But I’m afraid I have bad news for you. Look behind you.
Floyd spun, stumbling in the soft sand, and was dismayed to see their small lifeboat already adrift many hundreds of yards off shore. No, not adrift. Two or three of the Sirens were towing it with what appeared to be seaweed looped through a hole in the bow. The seaweed had been entwined to form a serviceable length of living rope.
“Well, that won’t do,” said Jonathan, coming up next to him, and shielding his eyes against the wind. From their vantage point, the boat was stark against the gray skies. The sea, Floyd noted, had calmed considerably.
Soon the captain joined them and the three watched until the boat was little more than a pinprick on the horizon.
“Look!” said Mr. Swift, pointing.
A giant tentacle, the likes of which Floyd had never seen before and could barely fathom existed, waved above the surface of the ocean, very near the small boat. Floyd had seen such tentacles in the marketplace. They belonged to a squid or an octopus, he was sure of it. But none as big as this. In fact, nothing was as big as this. Another great tentacle appeared—surely as wide as the biggest of tree trunks—and soon another, and another. Three in all. The first curled around the small boat and lifted it above the waves. Even from here, Floyd could see the water pouring from it. The Sirens, he noted, had formed a semi-circle a safe distance away, although Floyd wondered if anything could be safe from such a behemoth. Surely this was the Leviathan that Friar Tucker preached about.
There was a great crack that seemed to split the sky, and Floyd’s jaw dropped even further when the three tentacles had combined to render the wooden vessel into nothing more than kindling. Tentacles and Sirens slid beneath the surface, leaving only a hint of wreckage on the frothing, bubbling waves.
“You don’t see that every day, now do you?” said Jonathan Swift, chuckling lightly.
“I see this as no laughing matter, sir,” said the captain. “We are effectively shipwrecked.”
“One man’s shipwreck is another’s adventure.”
“We have no time for adventure. My crew is counting on us to deliver them water. We have two maybe three days, tops.”
“We may have less than that, old chap,” said Swift, coughing and pointing ahead.
A narrow tentacle was presently crawling along the great ship’s hull. Those aboard spied it and the trio heard a great shouting and screaming from on board. A musket blast sounded, followed by nearly a dozen more, and the tentacle retreated, shuddering and bleeding. Sirens had appeared nearby, circling the ship. Floyd hoped that Faux’s earplug magic was still in place.
Of course it is, silly. I know the nature of my sister Sirens. They don’t easily give up.
“Other than for its longest of tentacles, the ship is in too-shallow water for the beast to reach it,” said the captain.
“Until high tide,” said Swift, who seemed to Floyd to be the bearer of bad news. “Which, by my estimation, will be some time tonight.”
The captain knew that the writer’s words were true. “Then instead of three days, we have twelve hours to find water, build containers, build a raft, avoid the Kraken, and save my crew.”
Jonathon Swift clapped his hands. “Then I suggest we get started!”
***
Floyd didn’t exactly share the great writer’s enthusiasm, but neither did he dwell near the captain’s darker temperament. Floyd suspected he was somewhere in-between: eager for adventure—and thus more stories—and concerned for the welfare of those on board the ship, especially his loyal and brave horse.
They had no sooner found a narrow trail through a glade of short grass when Floyd, remarkably, began to feel sleepy. How was this so? There was water to find! Lives to save! And yet, each footfall felt heavier than the last, until he found himself slowing considerably and yawning, suddenly too tired to care for anything but sleep. His companions seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Sleep would be nice. Now sleep was all that mattered. Shortly, the three of them stretched out in the short grass and with the sounds of distant waves hitting the shore and a strange moan in the air, Floyd closed his eyes. His last thought before sleep overcame him was not a thought at all, but Faux’s urgent plea to stay awake.
The last words he heard before sleep took him over were what might have sounded like Faux herself shrieking.
And then Floyd was gone to the world.
***
It was some time later when Floyd awoke.
No, that wasn’t quite right. The sun was not much lower in the mist-filled sky than what it was when he first stretched out in the grass, on his back. Had it only been minutes that he was asleep? But how was that possible? Or worse yet? Had he slept a whole day? If so, then surely the great beast had struck the ship. He prayed only that the crew was able to fight it off.
Floyd blinked, feeling oddly groggy. Had he had alcohol to drink? He didn’t think so. He’d only once or twice drunk the dark beer his father sometimes made in the cellar, and the effects he was feeling now were similar to what he had felt then.
Next to him, he heard a deep moan. And then another such sound—perhaps closer to a groan—from his other side. Floyd soon realized that the captain and Jonathan Swift had been sleeping on either side of him. All, apparently, were awakening in unison, which seemed strange in and of itself. Hadn’t they been on a mission of the utmost importance to seek water? They had. And yet all three had decided it was time to nap?
You were exposed to a sleeping potion, you dolt, came Faux’s irritated words.
We were, but how?
It was on the mist, of course. You inhaled it readily enough.
But who would do such a thing? And where are you?
I am not very far from you. Bound as you are, although my bindings are magical and yours are not.
I’m bound? thought Floyd, and for the first time, he attempted to rise, only to discover that he could not. He yelped for not only was he pinned to the ground, his longish hair was tied to the ground too.
Floyd fought the binding only to discover that he was effectively pinned to the ground. He rolled his eyes to the left and right and saw the captain and Jonathon Swift similarly bound, by braided string. Hundreds of braided strings, all staked into the ground next to them. Their hair, too, was tied down and staked.
And to answer who, we were done in by another one of my cousins, came Faux’s thoughts. The little people. Or, as they pronounce it, Lilliputians.
Chapter 10: Decision
The Lollipops? Floyd thought.
She laughed. That’s anachronistic. Lollipops haven’t been invented yet, though they will be before the century is done.
We have them in my village. The grandmothers make them for the children. We just haven’t exported them. So the world doesn’t yet know how good they are.
He felt her verbal frown. No matter. The Lilliputians are not candy; they are little people about six inches tall.
They did this? Why?
“Let’s talk aloud,” she said. “So the others can hear. The little people won’t understand us anyway; they speak a different language. Captain, Jonathan: I am Faux, of the Fee folk, Floyd’s magical companion whom you have known only as his Dowager Queen aunt. I am presently invisible, to protect my privacy. I trust your future discretion. We have a problem here that we shall need to work together to handle. Do you understand?”
“Not at all,” the Captain said. “But please continue your explanation, madame. I am amenable to any avenue that might conceivably facilitate our escape.”
“That explains a lot,” Jonathan said. “I have heard of the Fee, but never met one before. I am extremely glad to make your acquaintance, Faux Fee; I was quite curious about your real nature.”
Floyd was glad to know that he remained protected, knowing that Faux would not let him suffer unduly. He managed to turn his head a little to the side, by dint of some painful hair-pulling, so that he could see the other two men.
“I am trying to prote
ct Floyd from the dangerous vicissitudes of life, and incidentally make a man of him. It’s a challenge,” Faux continued. “But that is neither here nor there. It seems we underestimated the mystery of this island. You are now captives of the local inhabitants, the Lilliputians, who are human in form and nature but only half a foot tall, and ignorant of the ways of the larger world.”
“You are not captive, madame?” the Captain asked. “Can you free us?”
“Yes and no. I am not physically bound, but these folk are my magical cousins and there are protocols that prevent us from interfering in each other’s business. We can interact, but here on the Isle of Lilliput, it must be on their terms. Floyd is under my protection by a prior protocol and they may not kill or seriously harm him without a violation that would free me to wreak vengeance. They will not do that; they know the Fee are not lightly trifled with. But the other two of you lack that protocol, and it is too late for me to invoke one. So it may be necessary for me to bargain with them, or to leave you to your own devices.”
“We are tied down!” the captain reminded her.
“Yes. That is a limitation.”
“We might fight our way clear.”
“I do not recommend that. There are a hundred Lilli archers surrounding you, and they will loose a fearsome volley if you try. True, their arrows are only two inches long, hardly more than darts or splinters to you, but they would sting, and it could be awkward if one struck your eye.”
Floyd strained to see the archers, but they were beyond his limited field of vision.
“Why didn’t they merely kill us when we were unconscious?” the captain asked.
“An attack could not have been immediately fatal. It would have roused you from your slumber, whereupon you would have jumped to your feet and stomped them flat. They were not eager for that. So they bound you more expediently, not disturbing you. One or two cords would not have sufficed, but a hundred are more effective. In addition, I suspect they want your service. That is why they made a deal with the Sirens and the Kraken to disable your ship and bring your small party here.”
“What service?” the Captain asked.
“If the three of you authorize me to negotiate for you, I will endeavor to find out.”
“Negotiate, yes,” the Captain said. “But we will make our own final decision.”
“Spoken like a true man,” Jonathan said. “I agree.”
There was a brief silence. “Floyd?” Faux finally asked.
“Am I really part of this?” he asked. “Since you said I am under your protection?”
“You are if you choose to be,” Faux said. “Do you wish to cast your lot with these two other men?”
Floyd wasn’t sure why she was giving him that choice. Was it part of how she was making a man of him? Would he be more of a man if he came out from under her skirts? He concluded he would. “Yes.” He hoped he wasn’t making a bad mistake.
“Welcome to the club,” Jonathan said dryly.
Floyd was pleased to have that dubious endorsement. He knew that Jonathan had very little respect for any person, so this was a signal of favor.
“Now I will talk with them,” Faux said. There was another pause. Then she spoke again. “The service is to stomp their rivals on the adjacent island, with whom they perpetually feud.”
“Like England and Ireland!” Jonathan exclaimed. “Fighting each other, when their real enemies are on the Continent!”
“Their littleness is not limited to their bodies,” Faux agreed.
“Help them?” the Captain grumped. “I’d far rather piss on their palace!”
“Can you spare the water?” she asked.
He laughed bitterly. “Point made, magic maid. Our need for fresh water lured us here.”
“I might be able to bargain with them,” Faux said. “Barrels of water in exchange for stomping their neighbors.”
“Plus the safety of my ship.”
“They might proffer more than that. They might provide food and entertainment too.”
“Entertainment?” Jonathan asked.
“Such as pretty dancing girls.”
“Six inches high?”
“But perfectly formed. They might dance in their flaring skirts on a transparent platform just above the level of your head, so that their legs show well, and more, if that is your interest. Or they might be entirely nude. Or, if you insist on females your own size to play with, they could get some amenable Sirens to cooperate, their mouths fastened closed so they can’t sing. Some can shift their tails into legs. They can be very understanding of a man’s desires, and remarkably fulfilling, if they choose. They don’t get many live men to keep.”
“That could be interesting,” the Captain said. “What’s the catch?”
“You would be essentially indentured servants, locked in for the duration.”
“Like galley slaves,” Jonathan said.
“Happier than they are,” she said. “But yes.”
“But my ship!” the Captain said. “What of her?” A ship was always female.
“The water would go to your ship, and she would sail on. But you would remain on Lilliput.”
“I couldn’t do that!”
“You can turn them down.”
“What would happen to me then?”
“They would keep you bound, and feed and water you by hand, and their little ladies might get to play with you. I understand some are quite intrigued by the prospect of interacting with a member that is as tall when standing as they are, yet can’t attack them. Their challenge would be to make it perform like a fountain. And of course they would have to collect your wastes as they emerge, you being unable to do it for yourself.”
The Captain wrenched one arm up, breaking several strings. Immediately a shower of miniature arrows plinked into it, like flying needles. “Ow!” he bellowed.
“Best not to do that,” Faux said. “They think you are trying to escape.”
“I am trying to escape, madame.”
“You would most resemble a pincushion by the time you got free, if you got free. Some of their arrows could be poisoned.”
The Captain let his spiked arm sink desolately back to the ground. “Point made.”
“I hate mankind, and probably Lilliputian kind too,” Jonathan said. “It would not bother me greatly to stomp their enemies. But I am not certain I would wish to stay for years on this island, like a captive beast of burden.”
“Then you may not want to make the deal.”
“What of Floyd and you, madame?” Jonathan asked.
“Floyd has cast his lot with you, for good or ill. I read his mind, and know he wasn’t thinking of this aspect, so it remains valid: I do have to save him, and that means I must save the three of you. I will do that if I have to, but it will break relations with a kindred species, causing serious repercussions among the little people and perhaps making me an outcast by my own kind. I much prefer to avoid that.”
“You haven’t answered the question,” Jonathan said.
“Yes I have. We will resume our excursion, all of us, with or without Lilliputian consent. But I would prefer to make a compatible deal, for the sake of general relations of our species and my personal status.”
“I think we need other alternatives,” Floyd said. “My late grandpa always said that life is not either or; there is always another way, if we can but find it.”
“I believe I would have liked your grandfather,” Jonathan said. “Our presented choices are to hold firm and maybe be tortured, or to capitulate and have a passingly decent life, albeit it with sacrifices. Or to break relations and cause general mischief. We mortals don’t want the first two, and your Fee protector does not want the third. If you have another alternative, this is the time for it.”
“Well spoken,” the captain said. “Does your grandpa have that other alternative in mind?”
Floyd knew the onus was on him to come up with something, as he was the one who had suggested it. But he was no
t his grandfather, who had had some more wit and far more experience than Floyd. What would he have come up with?
“Uh, Faux—” he said tentatively.
“I may not advise you in this,” Faux said. “The protocols forbid it. But it would please the girls if you turned out to be man enough to come up with it on your own.”
Floyd’s first reaction was disappointment. She would not provide the answer. But his second reaction was hope: her phrasing implied that there was a viable alternative. Otherwise, why would she say it was there for him to find? His third reaction was excitement: by ‘the girls’ she had to mean Amelie and Trudy, either or both of which she could emulate. There was the prospect of the pleased girls again. He had a momentary vision of lying on a bunk, naked, with one bare girl on one side and the other bare girl on the other, both eager to express their pleasure with him. He had to come through!
Then it came to him. “A contest!” he exclaimed. “Are the Lillis competitive?”
“They are,” Faux said.
“We can challenge them to a double-or-nothing competition with fair terms where physical size is not an issue. If we win, we get our freedom, plenty of fresh water, and transport back to the Mnemosyne without the Sirens molesting us, so we can repair the ship and depart these waters forever. If they win, they get the services of we three men in whatever capacity they choose, for as long as they choose.” He was pleased to include himself as a man, not a youth.
“Well spoken,” the captain repeated.
“Suppose it’s a draw?” Jonathan asked.
Floyd pondered, but he was on a roll and had an answer. “Then a compromise. We serve them for a week, while the ship is being repaired, and we get water and transport thereafter, and will be allowed to depart.”
“An answer worthy of a novel,” Jonathan said. “About how a dull man, maybe named descriptively Gullible, blunders into captivity by tiny folk, and gets to move on. Maybe I’ll write it one day. I will title it Gullible’s Travails, if I can get that delightful title past my staid publisher.”
“That smells like navigating a treacherous channel,” the captain remarked. “Mayhap with Sirens along the way.”
