‘What are you?’ he asked him.
‘I am a pig boy,’ said Blart.
It must be said in Blart’s defence that whereas many people would be ashamed of their humble origins in the presence of royalty, Blart positively revelled in his.
‘And Blart the Pig Boy.’
With a fanfare of trumpets they were ushered into the glorious golden throne room, at the end of which sat the King and Queen of Illyria. The four companions marched across the marbled floor, their footsteps echoing around them, until they stood right in front of the King and Queen. They bowed low.
‘Welcome friends of Illyria,’ said the King. ‘We are delighted to see you returning to our kingdom.’
‘Would you like some fruit?’ suggested the Queen, indicating a bowl of apples, pears, oranges and other fruits.
‘No fruit,’ said Blart.
‘He has a stomach ailment, Your Majesty,’ improvised Capablanca hastily. ‘But the rest of us would love some fruit.’
Capablanca, Beo and Uther each somewhat reluctantly selected a piece of fruit.
‘Now what brings you to Illyria?’ said the King.
‘Well –’ began Capablanca.
He was interrupted by a mighty crash as the throne room door was hurled open. Blart, Capablanca, Uther and Beo turned round to see five foot two of red-headed boiling fury stomp into the room.
They stood face to face with the only grumpy damsel in Illyria … Princess Lois.
‘I don’t want to get married to any of them,’ she announced to the assembled company. ‘Not now. Not ever.’
‘Hello, dear,’ said the Queen.
‘Never, never, never!’ shouted Princess Lois. ‘I don’t want to get married and that’s final.’
‘But you are our only child,’ protested the King. ‘You must ensure that the royal line of the Philidors continues and that the kingdom of Illyria continues to be ruled wisely.’
‘I’m not getting married and I’m not having children and I don’t care about the kingdom of Illyria,’ the Princess informed the King.
‘Hear, hear,’ muttered Uther, who as we know was fundamentally opposed to the kingdom of Illyria.
Princess Lois focused her piercing brown eyes upon him.
‘Who asked you?’ she demanded.
‘Er … nobody.’
‘Exactly,’ said Princess Lois. ‘So keep your miserable opinions to yourself.’
‘Look who’s come to visit us, my dear,’ said the King. ‘It is Capablanca, Beo and Blart, whom you travelled with on your quest.’
Princess Lois seemed to notice her former comrades for the first time.
‘Isn’t that nice?’ added the Queen.
‘I’m not marrying any of them either,’ announced Princess Lois.
‘That wasn’t quite …’ began the King.
But it was too late. Princess Lois turned round and marched out of the throne room, slamming the door behind her.
‘She’s a damsel in distress,’ Blart pointed out to Beo. ‘Why don’t you go and help her?’
Beo seemed to grow a little paler.
‘Dinner is served,’ said a servant in an appropriately sonorous voice, and much to Beo’s obvious relief.
Chapter 18
Dinner was served in the vast state dining room. As the King and Queen explained to Capablanca, it wasn’t so much that they liked eating in such palatial grandeur, but that it meant a lot to the servants. The dining room was adorned with carvings of every fruit known to man and was dominated by a great oak dining table.
‘That last quest just doesn’t appear to have done the trick for Princess Lois,’ said the King, putting a piece of succulent melon into his mouth.
‘Not that we’re blaming you, Capablanca,’ said the Queen, swallowing a juicy segment of grapefruit.
The King and Queen both looked at Capablanca with the air of people who really were blaming him, but who were much too nice to say so. Evidently, Princess Lois had not returned from their last quest noticeably wiser, more considerate or with a greater love for her country and her people.
‘Oh,’ said Capablanca, who, if truth were told, had never been too bothered about Princess Lois’s moral development, being rather more concerned with saving the world from an evil despot. Most people would have agreed with his priorities but most people were not Princess Lois’s parents and didn’t have to live with her door-slamming tantrums.
‘We really need her to get married,’ explained the King. ‘At the moment the Illyrian succession hangs by a thread.’
‘Perhaps she hasn’t fallen in love,’ said Capablanca awkwardly.
‘But we have provided her with suitors from every corner of Illyria,’ said the Queen, ‘and she has rejected all that she has met so far.’
‘Mmm,’ said Capablanca, who was very uneasy with this talk of emotions.
‘Could you marry her against her will?’ suggested Beo from the opposite end of the table. ‘Then she’d be a damsel in distress and I could rescue her.’
‘If you were prepared to marry her against her will,’ added Uther, ‘I would be able to find you many a baron who would pay a pretty price to marry into royalty.’
The King and Queen reeled back in horror.
‘Marry her against her will!’ expostulated the King.
‘They do it everywhere else with princesses,’ pointed out Beo.
‘Sell her?!’ The Queen was aghast.
‘My commission would be very reasonable,’ said Uther.
‘No!’ said the King firmly. ‘I could never do that.’
‘Our daughter will only marry the man she chooses,’ agreed the Queen.
‘If people marry only the people they want to marry then nobody would marry at all,’ protested Uther. ‘Marriage is naught but a business transaction with flowery dresses.’
‘Marriage is a meeting of souls,’ insisted the Queen.
Uther groaned.
Fortunately his rudeness was overlooked, because at that very moment the King’s steward entered the dining room with a large staff that he banged repeatedly on the marble floor until there was silence.
‘I do think he could just cough,’ said the Queen quietly to her husband.
‘Sssh,’ said the King. ‘We don’t want to upset him.’
‘Your Majesties, honoured guests and pig boys,’ announced the steward. ‘An emissary from the Prince of Murkstan has arrived. He wishes to see you.’
‘Could it possibly wait until after dinner?’ asked the King. ‘I am engaged at the moment in trying to secure the future of the Philidor line.’
The steward shook his head.
‘The emissary insisted he should be seen immediately.’
Normal kings do not get bossed about by mere emissaries. But King Philidor was far more accommodating than a normal king.
‘Well, if he says it’s important then I’m sure it is,’ said the King. ‘Bring him in.’
‘No, Your Majesty,’ said Capablanca urgently. ‘I am afraid that we left Murkstan after a little misunderstanding involving some border guards. Perhaps it would be better if you were to see the emissary alone.’
‘Nonsense,’ said the King, dismissing Capablanca’s suggestion with an airy wave. ‘If there was some little misunderstanding then we can clear it up as well as hear the emissary’s message. All are friends around the King of Illyria’s table. Bring him in. We will sort out these misunderstandings over a raspberry compote.’
The steward banged his staff extremely loudly three times on the great dining-room floor.
‘I’m coming round to your view about the coughing, my dear,’ winced the King.
‘Lord Bling, Emissary for the Prince of Murkstan,’ announced the steward.
In strode Lord Bling. He wore a gold coat and gold breeches and a gold chain around his neck.
‘Greetings, Lord Bling,’ said the King.
‘The Prince is well, I trust,’ said the Queen.
Lord Bling shook his head.
/>
‘The Prince is angry, ma’am,’ he replied firmly. ‘Angry and distressed. There has been foul play in the Principality.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the King.
‘Two of his finest border guards have been murdered.’
‘No,’ said the Queen in horror.
‘Murdered,’ repeated Lord Bling, raising his finger to emphasise the word. ‘And the Prince demands justice.’
‘Quite,’ said the King. ‘Well, you may tell the Prince that I will obviously support his call for justice, though I would always advise that justice is tempered with understanding and a plan for rehabilitation.’
Lord Bling shook his head again.
‘These murderers cannot be rehabilitated, for they face a sentence of death.’
‘Death is a bar to rehabilitation,’ conceded the King.
‘For these murders are not their only crimes,’ said the emissary. ‘For in the lands of the Duke of Northwestmoreland they did attack a cohort of soldiers and humiliate the captain, and they were also party to the sinister disappearance of a modest and shy girl in a red dress. Everywhere they go they leave innocent victims in their wake.’
‘They do seem to be ruffians,’ agreed the King.
‘But there is worse,’ said Lord Bling dramatically.
‘Worse!’ said the Queen. ‘Surely there can be no worse.’
‘There is, ma’am,’ insisted Lord Bling. ‘For they are also believed to be in league with Zoltab the Dark Lord. Such is the swathe of terror that they have carved through society that my master, the Prince, along with the Earl and the Duke, have put aside their previous disagreements and come together to form a Grand Alliance which is determined to rid the world of these evil scoundrels before they can release Zoltab’s evil on the world and shroud it in everlasting darkness.’
Lord Bling paused for effect.
‘Most admirable,’ said the King. ‘It is good when old adversaries such as the Prince, the Earl and the Duke are prepared to set aside past grudges and move on with a shared purpose. But tell me, why do you come to me with this news?’
‘Because they were last reported to have headed into the lands of Illyria,’ answered Lord Bling, ‘and the Prince, the Earl and the Duke urge you to join them in their Grand Alliance and find these evil-doers.’
‘An Illyrian is always ready to help his neighbours,’ said King Philidor. ‘It is one of our proudest traditions. Tell me the names of those you seek and I will see what we can do to help.’
‘Their names,’ proclaimed Lord Bling, unrolling a piece of parchment that he pulled out of his gold coat, ‘are Capablanca the Sorcerer, Beowulf the Warrior, Uther the Merchant and Blart the Goat Boy.’
There was a prolonged embarrassed silence. Blart broke it.
‘I’m a pig boy,’ he said, disgruntled.
Lord Bling started in amazement at these words. Then he looked round the dining table and slowly realised that all four of the scoundrels he sought were in that very room.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘How can it be that you, King Philidor, can welcome these criminals and offer them hospitality? I demand that you hand them over to me at once so they can be executed.’
The King looked at the Queen, who looked back helplessly. As good Illyrians they prided themselves on their friendship, hospitality and obliging nature towards their visitors, always going that extra furlong to ensure a guest’s wants were seen too. However, when one guest asked for one’s other guests to be handed over so they could be put to death it posed something of a social dilemma.
‘These cannot be the men you seek,’ protested the King. ‘I know they are enemies of Zoltab.’
‘Then why did they save him?’ demanded the emissary.
‘But they captured him,’ maintained the King.
‘Who told you that?’ demanded Lord Bling.
‘They did,’ said the King.
‘Aha!’ said Lord Bling, feeling sure that he had spotted a flaw in the King’s argument. ‘They could have been lying. The enemies of Zoltab are famous for it.’
‘That is true,’ conceded the King.
‘But our daughter, Princess Lois, travelled with them,’ maintained the Queen. ‘And she told us that they captured Zoltab too. So there must be some mistake.’
Lord Bling’s gold bracelets rattled in horror at this news.
‘Your daughter is involved with these scoundrels?’
‘They are not scoundrels,’ protested the King.
Lord Bling shook his head.
‘Your Majesty, I can hear no more of these protestations. I am empowered by the Prince, the Duke and the Earl, henceforth to be known as The Grand Alliance of the Prince, the Duke and the Earl – though the Grand Alliance is a permissible shortening when time is pressing – to demand that you hand over these miscreants along with your daughter, whom I now know to be involved.’
‘I could not betray my own daughter,’ said the King.
‘Or our dinner guests,’ added the Queen.
Lord Bling drew himself up to his full height.
‘Then I am empowered by the Grand Alliance to inform you that if you do not change your mind in a week there will be war. I bid you goodnight.’
And so saying Lord Bling turned on his heel and departed from the dining room.
‘It’s at times like this that you think maybe it was a mistake not to have an army,’ remarked the King.
Chapter 19
‘What do I do?’ said the King the next morning as he sat in the throne room. Also present were Capablanca, Beo, Uther and Blart.
‘You must call this Council of War to order,’ explained Capablanca.
‘Couldn’t we use a different term?’ begged the King. ‘War seems such a violent expression.’
‘War is violent,’ interjected Beo. ‘There will be corpses piled high, eyes gouged out, limbs lopped off and bleeding stumps everywhere.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the King.
‘The plains of Illyria will echo with cries of pain, shrieks of agony, wails of despair and the tormented keening of widows.’
Beo’s description of the horrors of war was tinged with a distasteful hint of relish.
‘Thank you, Beo,’ said Capablanca. ‘Your description is more than adequate.’
‘But I haven’t done the piteous whimpering of the orphans yet,’ said Beo.
‘Leave it to our imagination,’ said Capablanca firmly.
The King was ashen-faced.
‘I cannot allow this to happen to my people,’ he said. ‘I cannot be the first King of Illyria to allow war to despoil our beautiful land. Tell me what I can do.’
‘You must fight,’ said Beo.
‘You must pay them off,’ said Uther.
‘You must use cunning,’ said Capablanca.
‘You must run away with your pigs and leave everybody else to get killed,’ said Blart. ‘It’s what I’d do.’
‘The men of Illyria cannot fight,’ said the King. ‘They have never been trained. Were they to see the Grand Alliance’s army rampaging towards them they would simply obey Illyrian tradition and offer them fruit.’
‘Armed only with fruit,’ Uther agreed, ‘they would be ripe for the slaughter.’
‘But we cannot pay them off either,’ said the King. ‘The Illyrian economy does not use money, so we have nothing to pay them with.’
‘I knew you’d regret not having money sooner or later,’ said Uther with unnecessary glee, considering the circumstances.
The King put his head in his hands.
‘There must be something I can do.’
‘You could wait,’ said Capablanca.
The King looked up hopefully.
‘Wait?’ he said. ‘I can do that.’
‘This is what I advise,’ said Capablanca. ‘Send a messenger to the Grand Alliance, informing them that for an Illyrian to hand over his guests to a military force is a serious breach of etiquette. You will need to take the full week to reach a de
cision.’
‘Right,’ said the King. ‘And when the week is gone do I hand you over?’
‘No,’ said Beo, Uther and Blart together.
‘I only wished to know the plan,’ said the King, a little taken aback.
‘In a week,’ said Capablanca, ‘there will be no need to hand us over, for we will have proved our innocence.’
‘How?’ asked everybody.
‘We will have discovered where Zoltab is imprisoned and demonstrated that we were not his allies but his enemies, and therefore the Grand Alliance’s charges will be dropped and Illyria will be freed from the fear of invasion.’
‘What about the border guards I killed?’ said Beo.
‘And the uniforms we stole?’ said Uther.
‘Once we can show that Zoltab is imprisoned we will be heroes again,’ Capablanca reassured them. ‘And when you’re a hero everybody is prepared to overlook the odd detail.’
Capablanca sat back smugly. The Council of War ruminated for a moment on his proposal. The more they thought about it, the more it seemed possible it would work. Except …
‘We don’t know where Zoltab is,’ exclaimed Blart.
Capablanca’s smug expression disappeared.
‘Always focusing on the negative, aren’t you?’ he snapped angrily.
‘But the boy has a point,’ said Beo. ‘We have no clue where you imprisoned Zoltab and there is the whole world to search. What are the odds that we will find him?’
The Council of War each tried to do a mental calculation whereby they divided the entire world by seven days.
‘It is hopeless,’ said the King.
‘Do not say that,’ urged Capablanca. ‘There is always hope. Events have moved so fast that we have yet to ask Princess Lois whether she has any knowledge of the whereabouts of Zoltab’s prison. We must find her quickly. She may be able to send us in the right direction. What do you think, Your Majesty? Will you send the message to the Grand Alliance? Will you give us a week to save not only the kingdom of Illyria but also our own lives?’
The Council of War waited for the King’s decision.
‘This is a decision which may result in many deaths,’ answered the King gravely, ‘and I cannot take it lightly. I will consider it over a piece of fruit.’
The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both Page 7
