‘I’m afraid they could,’ said Capablanca, ‘and they would.’
‘Couldn’t we try it anyway to see if it works?’ requested Beo.
‘No,’ said Capablanca firmly. ‘How many times must I tell you that unnecessary violence and killing attract unwanted attention. We must avoid it.’
Beo reluctantly accepted Capablanca’s authority.
‘How will we save ourselves from being killed?’ he asked.
‘Aha,’ said Capablanca. ‘I will answer you. First we will find Princess Lois and alert her to the terrible danger she faces. Then we will try to locate Zoltab’s eternal prison, thus demonstrating to the Duke that we are not Zoltab’s allies but his enemies, proving our innocence and saving all of our lives. The proclamation can be lifted and we can all live happily ever after.’
‘I don’t want to live happily ever after,’ said Blart. ‘It sounds boring.’
Chapter 15
As dawn was breaking Blart, Capablanca, Uther and Beo rode out of the little town of Screeb. Behind them they left a broken-hearted youth, who was never to see his modest lady in red again. He would waste his life writing mournful ballads about lost love and eventually die of despair. There’s not much of a story there, so we’ll leave him to it.
‘Beo,’ asked Capablanca as the town of Screeb disappeared behind them. ‘There is something very important which I must ask you. Can you remember where I said I was going to imprison Zoltab after our previous quest came to an end?’
‘I cannot,’ replied Beo. ‘You said I could never be told because I would blab Zoltab’s whereabouts to the first person who bought me three flagons of ale to drink. I was most offended. It normally takes me at least five flagons before I start to tell people my secrets.’
‘It is as I feared,’ said Capablanca. ‘I do not know where Zoltab is because of the Great Irreversible Spell of Fog and you do not know and Blart does not know. We must therefore head with all speed to the land of Illyria and seek out Princess Lois. She is the only questor we have not asked, and if she doesn’t know, we will probably all die horribly. Perhaps because my gifts include wisdom and foresight I gave her some clue as to Zoltab’s whereabouts that I could then decipher. Let us make haste. Onward!’
Capablanca, with Blart sitting behind him, spurred on his horse. Uther and Beo followed. Over hill they went, through valley, through dale, fording streams and rivers, across luscious green fields and through woods. All morning they rode with no pause. The sun blazed above them to signify that it was approaching noon.
‘Could we have a rest?’ said Blart. ‘Bits of me are hurting.’
‘No,’ said Capablanca, though the wizard’s weary body craved one. ‘Soon our pursuers will pick up our trail and come after us. We must head for Illyria with all speed.’
Over hills and through valleys they continued. They forded more streams. They left luscious green fields behind them and galloped over blasted heaths. Blart’s bottom winced in pain with each movement of the horse. All afternoon they rode without stopping. Then, as the sun sank into the west to signify the end of the day, Capablanca called a halt. Blart clambered off and collapsed face down in the grass. He was convinced he would never be able to sit comfortably again.
‘We can stop for the night and give the horses some rest,’ said Capablanca. ‘But we will camp outdoors, away from towns and villages. Word spreads faster than any horse can gallop and the story of the disappearing damsel and the smashing up of the hotel may well have drawn the attention of those who are aware that there is a price on our heads.’
For the next hour they worked in silence. Beo disappeared to kill something for their dinner, Uther fetched firewood and built a fire, Capablanca tried to construct a basic shelter and Blart followed a gurgling sound until he found a little stream into which he lowered his sore bottom.
Finally, later that evening, as they sat round the fire, gnawing the last meat from the bones of the two rabbits, the silence was broken.
‘We need aliases,’ said Uther.
‘Are they books with maps in?’ said Blart.
Uther shook his head.
‘They are false identities,’ he explained. ‘If they are convincing they can help a wanted man escape detection.’
‘Do you speak from experience, merchant?’ asked Beo.
‘I own there are some places where it has been convenient for me to be known by a name other than that with which I was born,’ said Uther evenly. ‘If only to avoid misunderstanding.’
‘Misunderstanding?’ grunted Beo disapprovingly. ‘A man should never hide his name. He should announce it proudly and any who have an argument with him should be prepared to feel the thrust of his sword in their guts.’
‘A noble sentiment,’ agreed Uther with a hint of sarcasm, ‘but what if you are a wanted man with a price on his head, who is vastly outnumbered?’
‘Then you die,’ said Beo simply. ‘But you die with your own name on your lips. You die with your pride and your honour intact. Tungsten the Dwarf taught me that.’
‘Would you rather not live with your pride and honour dented?’ queried Uther.
‘Nonsense.’ Beo gave Uther a look of disdain. ‘A life without pride and honour is no life at all.’
‘You could still keeps pigs,’ pointed out Blart. ‘They don’t care about things like pride and honour. They care more about apples and swill.’
‘Apples and swill,’ repeated Beo with contempt. He turned to Capablanca, who had so far remained silent during the conversation. ‘Wizard, will you not explain that it is better to die like a man than to live like a worm?’
Capablanca furrowed his brow. He thought Uther’s idea was a good one but hated to admit it.
‘Perhaps Uther is right,’ he conceded reluctantly. ‘Though deception is generally wrong, in this case we must make an exception. We must all pick an alias. What are they to be?’
Beo shook his head to show his disagreement with the wizard’s decision.
‘I’ve thought of mine,’ said Blart eagerly. ‘I shall be Blob the Pig Boy.’
‘Nobody will ever see through that, will they?’ said Uther sarcastically.
‘I know,’ Blart said proudly.
Realising that sarcasm was not going to work, Uther was forced to resort to a long and tortured explanation. Finally, he convinced Blart that merely altering the final three letters of his name was unlikely to prevent his being unmasked.
‘What shall I be, then?’ said Blart sulkily. ‘How about a pig and goat boy? That’s really different.’
Uther ignored him.
‘When you are concocting an alias for a number of people,’ he explained, ‘it is important to be consistent. If Blart says he’s a pig boy and Capablanca says he’s an astrologer and Beo claims to be a tax collector then people will think that’s a strange group of people to be travelling together and they will wonder. And the last thing that you want after you have created an alias is people wondering.’
‘What do you think we should be?’ asked Capablanca, who had been on the receiving end of Blart’s stupidity more often than most and felt a twang of sympathy.
‘A troupe of travelling players,’ said Uther.
‘You mean actors,’ said Beo in disgust.
‘The very same,’ answered Uther. ‘For travelling players are often made up of an unusual combination of men. If asked, Capablanca will be the leader of the company, who plays the narrator. Beo will be the hero’s best friend. I will be the hero. And Blart will be the heroine.’
‘Why can’t I be the hero?’ demanded Beo.
‘In all the plays ever written,’ said Uther, ‘the hero always has a fat, funny best friend. It’s one of the rules of drama. It was invented by the Greeks. You’re the only fat one, so you have to play it.’
‘It’s all muscle really,’ said Beo, but he did not protest further. Drama, he assumed, must be like chivalry, with strange rules that had to be obeyed.
‘What’s a heroine?’ said Blar
t.
‘The beautiful girl who wins the hero’s heart,’ answered Uther.
Blart grasped the implications of this.
‘No, no, no, no, no!’ he said, shaking his head vigorously. ‘I’m never wearing a dress again.’
‘You wouldn’t have to,’ Uther reassured him. ‘We will never give a performance. We will claim that we are on our way to our next engagement and have no time to stop and perform. It is customary for the youngest boy to play the female parts for he has yet to grow hair on his face. A bearded lady would fatally undermine the audience’s ability to suspend their disbelief. Do we all have our aliases and our story clear in our heads?’ asked Uther.
His three companions nodded grudgingly.
Chapter 16
They travelled for five days across the Prince of Murkstan’s lands, keeping away from well-travelled roads and bypassing towns for fear of encountering soldiers who might be searching for them. But despite their caution, occasionally they would meet people who would ask them questions as to their names and their business. Uther’s answer that they were a group of travelling players seemed to satisfy everyone. Sometimes people would ask if they were performing nearby so that they could come and watch them. Uther explained that sadly they did not have the time as they were rushing to Illyria to perform in front of King Philidor the Happy and his Queen and their daughter, Princess Lois. The people they met accepted this, for they understood that to perform in front of a king was a great honour for a troupe of players and they wished them luck.
And so, after five days of arduous travel, the companions finally came within sight of the friendliest kingdom in the entire world, Illyria. But before they could enter the kingdom they had to negotiate the Prince’s border crossing. As they approached, two fierce-looking guards emerged from a sentry post.
‘Stop in the name of the Prince.’
Obediently Blart, Capablanca, Uther and Beo stopped.
The two guards approached them. One pointed his halberd at them while the other aimed his lance. The effect was far from friendly.
‘State your business in the name of the Prince and be quick about it,’ ordered the guard with the halberd.
‘We are nought but a humble troupe of players,’ said Uther. ‘We are travelling to Elysium in Illyria to perform at the command of King Philidor.’
‘Have you got anything to declare?’ demanded the guard with the lance.
‘Nothing but our love of drama,’ answered Uther.
‘Why is the fat one carrying such a big sword?’
Beo bristled at this gratuitous insult but Capablanca placed a stern arm on his shoulder to calm him down.
‘Tis but a prop,’ said Uther. ‘A puny thing made from the flimsiest metal. It would shatter into a thousand pieces were it ever to be used in real combat.’
‘It looks very thick and powerful to me,’ observed the guard with the lance.
‘Theatre is all about illusion,’ explained Uther. ‘What seems to be thick and strong is often weak and flimsy.’
‘Hmm,’ said the guard with the halberd.
The guards pushed past Uther and approached Blart, Capablanca and Beo. They walked around them slowly.
‘What part do you play?’ said the guard with the lance to Blart.
‘He plays the heroine,’ said Uther.
‘He can answer for himself,’ said the guard.
‘I play the heroine,’ repeated Blart.
‘I pity the hero,’ observed the guard with the halberd.
The guard with the lance laughed at the cruel taunt.
‘We are on the lookout for a group of desperate men, boy,’ continued the guard. ‘They have defied an order to surrender and stolen the uniforms of soldiers. We have been ordered to take them dead or alive. Have you seen them?’
‘What do they look like?’ asked Blart.
‘They look desperate,’ snapped the guard. ‘They are probably armed to the teeth and have the strength of ten men.’
‘I don’t think I’ve seen them,’ said Blart.
The guard stared hard at Blart. Blart held his breath. The guard turned to his comrade and they moved a small distance away, where they could talk without being heard.
‘They know something,’ hissed Blart to Capablanca. ‘Let’s make a run for the border.’
‘Stay calm,’ whispered back Capablanca. ‘They don’t know anything. Any moment now they will let us through. If we do nothing we will attract no attention.’
‘Do as the wizard said, you little oaf,’ ordered Beo quietly, ‘or –’
‘I’ll cleave you in two?’ suggested Blart.
Beo’s brow darkened at Blart’s impudence.
The guards returned from their brief discussion.
‘You can pass through the border,’ the guard with the halberd informed them.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Uther.
‘Not so fast,’ said the guard with the lance. ‘You can go through the border after you have paid the tax.’
‘Tax?’ It was now the turn of Uther’s brow to darken, for he was a merchant and hated any form of tax. ‘I did not know that there was a border tax in these lands.’
‘It’s recently been introduced,’ said the guard with the lance.
‘With very little publicity,’ added the guard with the halberd.
‘It’s a stealth tax,’ explained the guard with the lance.
‘I see.’
Now Uther understood. What the guards really meant was they wanted a bribe. Uther much preferred bribes to taxes. You could haggle with bribes.
‘What is the price of this “tax”?’ he asked.
‘One sword,’ answered the guard with the lance.
‘From a fat man,’ added the guard with the halberd.
‘No one takes my sword,’ bristled Beo angrily.
‘How about a dagger?’ said Uther, beginning the process of haggling to distract the guards from Beo’s outrage.
‘A sword,’ said the guard.
‘Two daggers and a lump of lard.’
Idly, Blart wondered why Uther seemed to carry such a large amount of lard on his person.
‘A sword,’ repeated the guard. ‘Now hand it over, fat man.’
The guards approached Beo. Beo stared menacingly back at the guards.
‘Give it here,’ said the guard with the halberd.
Beo obeyed. First he offered his sword to the guard with the lance. Unfortunately, he did this point first with a rather over-enthusiastic thrust and it went straight through the guard’s heart. Having been unsuccessful in this attempt to hand over his weapon, Beo withdrew his sword and offered it to the guard with the halberd. Beo offered it with a slashing motion that, regrettably, severed the guard’s head from the rest of his body.
Both guards lay on the ground, bloody and dead.
‘Ow! My elbow!’ cried Beo, dropping his sword in pain. ‘I forgot my ailment in my anger.’
‘I thought the idea was not to attract attention,’ said Capablanca with a marked lack of sympathy.
‘They won’t tell anybody anything,’ claimed Beo, nursing his sore arm.
‘Dead bodies attract attention,’ pointed out Capablanca. And as he spoke, above them, high in the sky, two black dots began circling.
‘We could bury them,’ suggested Beo.
‘Guards vanishing attract attention.’
‘Look, wizard,’ said Beo. ‘I don’t think that you’re seeing this from my point of view. I’m a warrior.’
‘You’re a fool,’ hissed Capablanca. ‘All this time we had travelled undetected and now, just as we’re approaching the Illyrian border, you start killing people. Now, come on! We must seek sanctuary in Illyria before the bodies are discovered.’
And so leaving the bodies to the vultures they pushed on past the border of the Prince’s land. Two hundred paces later they found themselves at the Illyrian border.
‘Welcome,’ said the border guard, lifting the barrier.
‘He
llo,’ said Capablanca.
‘Now, are any of you smuggling in contraband?’ asked the guard.
‘Of course not,’ said Capablanca.
‘Of course you aren’t,’ said the border guard. ‘Live and let live is what I say. Would you like some fruit?’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Capablanca, taking a pear.
‘Thank you,’ said Beo, taking an apple.
‘I’d forgotten how much I hated this place,’ said Blart, spurning an orange.
For the next two days they travelled across Illyria. As on their previous visit all the people they encountered greeted them with warm smiles and gifts of fruit. Uther had never visited Illyria before and was affronted by the generosity of its people.
‘But if nobody sells anything,’ he questioned, ‘how does anybody make a profit? How does the economy remain lean and dynamic? How can a businessman like myself make an honest crown?’
‘Or a dishonest one,’ said Beo, who felt that trade was unchivalrous.
‘Where’s the margin in giving?’ demanded Uther. ‘Where’s the incentive to get up in the morning and get ahead of the others?’
‘They have different incentives to get them up in the morning,’ said Capablanca.
‘Like what?’ demanded Uther.
‘Like living in peace, friendship and harmony,’ explained Capablanca. ‘And working selflessly for the benefit of each other and the general good of society.’
Uther shook his head violently.
‘That can’t work,’ he insisted.
‘It’s been working for hundreds of years,’ said Capablanca. ‘King Philidor the Happy is the thirty-eighth monarch to sit on the Illyrian throne. They have all presided over a benevolent society. Truly Illyria is a beacon of hope to the world.’
‘It’s subversive. It should be made illegal,’ expostulated a furious Uther.
‘Especially the fruit,’ said Blart, agreeing with Uther. ‘The fruit really gets on my nerves.’
Chapter 17
‘May I present Capablanca the Wizard, Beo the Warrior, Uther the Merchant and Blart the …’
The servant turned round to Blart.
The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both Page 6
