The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both

by Dominic Barker

  ‘Mutual assistance and generosity?’ suggested Capablanca.

  Uther winced.

  ‘As you’re my comrades I’ll accept an IOU, though obviously the price will have to rise to six crowns.’

  ‘Why?’ growled Beo.

  ‘Administration costs,’ explained Uther.

  ‘It’s not an IOU that you should be getting,’ grumbled Beo. ‘It’s an I kill U. That’s what you deserve.’

  Uther’s comrades looked at him with disgust. Then they heard the angry rumblings of their stomachs. A bit of lard was not the most tempting meal any of them had been offered but there were no other items on the menu. Reluctantly, each agreed to give Uther an IOU. Uther withdrew a lump of lard from his jacket and held it out for them to take one bite each. Capablanca swallowed his mouthful with an effort. Beo had to strain to keep his down. Princess Lois realised that there was something worse to eat than fruit in the world. Blart quite liked his portion and asked for seconds.

  ‘Now with our bellies full and our thirst slaked we will sally forth,’ said Capablanca once he had assured himself he was not going to be sick.

  ‘Do we leave Pig here?’ asked Blart.

  ‘Of course not,’ snapped Capablanca with a little of his old vigour. ‘He’s got to come with us, so the horse shouter can talk to him.’

  ‘I knew that,’ insisted Blart, who had forgotten.

  ‘Go to the stream,’ commanded Capablanca, ‘and pick up as many pebbles as you can. We will drop them behind us when we are inside the forest and they will set a path to lead us out.’

  ‘Why can’t someone else do it?’ said Blart sulkily.

  ‘We are all going to collect and carry them,’ answered Capablanca, ‘for we may have to go deep into the forest and we will need many pebbles to provide us with a long enough path.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Blart, deflated.

  Chapter 33

  The questors collected small pebbles from the stream.

  ‘Now we are ready,’ said Capablanca when their pockets were full.

  Princess Lois went and fetched Pig and they set off into the forest. So closely entwined were the trees that they were forced to move in single file. Beo led the way, his sword drawn in case of ambush. Behind him was Capablanca. Behind Capablanca was Princess Lois, leading Pig the Horse. Behind the horse was Blart, keeping himself a safe distance from Beo. And finally, bringing up the rear, there was Uther, who dropped a pebble every ten paces to create their path to safety.

  The forest was dark and eerie and the branches grew closely together. Often Beo had to hack a way through with his sword and it took all of Princess Lois’s coaxing, soothing and reassuring to convince Pig to come. Brittle twigs snapped under their feet and above them the trees creaked ominously. Strange creatures scuttled across the forest floor while above them there were the occasional sounds of birds. But their calls were not the cheerful chatter of early morning in the fields, rather they were caws and hoots of warning. The questors sensed that the forest was aware of their intrusion and resented it.

  Beo decided to sign a song to make them feel better. To lighten the mood he chose the rousing battle anthem, ‘Killing Is Lots of Fun’.

  ‘Well, I woke up a-feeling bad

  And down in the dumps was I

  My heart it was both low and sad

  I thought that I might cry.

  But I remembered these wise words

  To rouse you when you’re glum

  Raise your swords in the air, my boys

  Cause killing is lots of fun.

  To slash, to stab, to gash, to maim

  To hit with sword or mace

  All these things are guaranteed

  To put a smile on your face.

  So when you are in despair

  And prone to many a sigh

  Lift your spirits and find good cheer

  By killing a passer-by.’

  Nobody joined in and Beowulf’s singing tailed off. Even his deep strong voice sounded weak in the oppressive forest and once more the croak and shriek of strange birds were the only sounds that accompanied them.

  But gradually as they fought and hacked their way through the forest the going became easier. The trees were now bigger but they were more widely spaced and so their branches no longer entwined to create a bewildering lattice that Beo was forced to hack through. And though they had still not found a path they were at least able to often walk two or three abreast rather than in single file.

  And then as they passed a particularly large oak tree they came upon their first forest dweller.

  ‘Hello,’ said a voice.

  Each of the questors jumped. Apart from Pig the Horse.

  ‘Who goes there?’ said Beowulf, wheeling round.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ said the voice.

  ‘I, Beowulf the Warrior, want to know. And it will be the worse for you if you do not answer me.’

  ‘To see, you must look up.’

  Looking up, the questors saw thick branches and green leaves.

  ‘I’m looking up,’ shouted Beo. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Look harder.’

  Blart, who had the best eyesight, saw it first.

  ‘There!’

  ‘Where?’

  Blart pointed. The other questors followed his finger. Princess Lois saw it next. She made a little squeak of surprise.

  Sitting high in the tree was a tiny figure dressed in a mottled suit, with a pair of brown boots dangling over a branch. The tiny figure had a brown face, dry and wrinkled like a walnut.

  ‘Aha,’ said Capablanca, finally spotting what everyone else had been looking at for a while. Then he added with an air of great intelligence, ‘I thought they were extinct, but that appears to be a tree imp.’

  ‘Sorel the Tree Imp to be precise,’ said the tree imp.

  ‘I did not know that tree imps were still in existence,’ said Capablanca. ‘There has not been a reported sighting for many years. It was believed in the Cavernous Library of Ping that the forest goblins had hunted you into extinction.’

  The imp’s already wrinkled face creased further in annoyance.

  ‘I know nothing of your library,’ said Sorel angrily. ‘And although I have searched for years I still believe I may find a mate and the chatter of tree imps will once again echo through the canopy. All I need is a mate and our whole species can be revived.’

  ‘I wish you luck in your quest, Sorel,’ said Capablanca to calm the tree imp’s anger. ‘But now I would ask for your help.’

  ‘My help?’ repeated Sorel, who was obviously not so easily mollified. ‘You threaten to kill me, you tell me I am extinct and now you want my help?’

  Capablanca coughed.

  ‘I agree we didn’t get off to the best start,’ the wizard acknowledged, ‘but we are on an important quest, a quest that may save the world, and to help us we need to find someone who can talk to our great horse Pig. We have heard tell that in this forest there is a person, a gifted horse shouter who can communicate with our horse. You are a tree imp –’

  ‘I know,’ said Sorel.

  Capablanca was so used to explaining things to Blart that he sometimes made things just a little too simple for everybody else.

  ‘– you know this forest well,’ continued the wizard, deciding that it was diplomatic not to mention that the tree imp knew the forest particularly well because it had spent years forlornly scouring it for a mate. ‘If anyone could tell us if this horse shouter really exists and where she might be found, then it is you.’

  ‘She exists,’ said Sorel, ‘and she is called Agnes.’

  ‘This is going to be easier than I thought,’ muttered Capablanca.

  ‘And where could we find her?’ asked the wizard politely.

  ‘I’m not telling you,’ said Sorel. ‘Until …’

  And he stopped. Impishly.

  ‘Until …?’ repeated Capablanca.

  ‘Until you provide me with a mate,’ said Sorel.


  Capablanca’s polite smile stretched into a taut grimace.

  ‘How can we find you a mate?’ he said. ‘Tree imps are incredibly rare. You have searched the forest for many years without success. We have less than a week to complete our quest – to prevent Zoltab’s return, to save the kingdom of Illyria and to clear our names so that we are no longer wanted dead or alive.’

  ‘It’s going to be a busy week,’ agreed Sorel.

  ‘We simply don’t have the time,’ protested Capablanca. ‘I must implore you to direct us to Agnes the Horse Shouter.’

  ‘We’ll keep our eyes peeled on our quest,’ said Princess Lois. ‘If we come across a tree imp we’ll tell her all about you.’

  ‘What a pity,’ said Sorel. ‘This is the largest forest in the world. It could take you years to find Agnes whereas I could take you to her in a flash. Years and years and years.’

  Capablanca shook his head hopelessly. Yet again the questors appeared defeated. Without Pig the Horse’s knowledge, they couldn’t find Zoltab. Without Agnes the Horse Shouter they couldn’t get Pig the Horse to understand. Without a helpful tree imp they couldn’t find Agnes the Horse Shouter. Without another tree imp …

  ‘What’s that?’ Blart pointed excitedly into the nearby foliage. ‘Look!’

  Surprised by the unusual energy in Blart’s voice, all the questors looked.

  ‘It’s a tree imp,’ proclaimed Blart.

  The questors’ hearts leapt. How strange it was that just as the quest seemed doomed new hope was found again. It was as if it was destined to succeed.

  ‘It’s a leaf,’ said Princess Lois.

  All the questors looked closer at the area of foliage Blart was pointing to. His supposed tree imp was indeed a leaf.

  ‘It’s shaped like a tree imp,’ maintained Blart.

  The questors were so deflated that none could find the energy to disagree. It was completely hopeless. It was as if their quest was doomed to fail.

  ‘I think I might be able to help,’ said Uther quietly.

  ‘How can you help, merchant?’ demanded Beo suspiciously.

  ‘Speak softer, warrior,’ cautioned Uther, ‘for there are those who might not respond well to what I am about to say.’

  ‘You say you can help,’ prompted Capablanca softly.

  ‘I am only telling you this because it is our only hope,’ admitted Uther, ‘but a couple of years ago I did briefly have some limited dealings in exotic pets.’

  ‘Exotic pets!’ said Princess Lois indignantly.

  ‘Amongst the nobility,’ explained Uther, ‘there is a trade in rare and exotic pets.’

  ‘An illegal trade,’ hissed Princess Lois.

  ‘It is certainly on the borders of legality,’ acknowledged Uther, ‘but then that is where the most creative business is often done.’

  Princess Lois glowered.

  ‘I was in the fortunate position,’ continued Uther, ‘to be able to act as a bridge between the traders in these pets and the wealthy lords and barons who desire them. One day I met a trader, who informed me that he had for sale one of the rarest creatures in the world and asked if I would find him a suitable buyer. The owner of this creature would be the envy of all other collectors for it had never been owned before. The creature he showed me was, of course, a tree imp. Her name was Marjoram.’

  ‘Who did you sell her to?’ demanded Capablanca. The other questors, even Princess Lois, craned their necks towards the merchant to allow them to hear.

  ‘There was only one choice,’ answered Uther. ‘Only one man who would pay what it took to obtain such a creature.’

  ‘Who?’ said Blart.

  ‘Baron Kilbride,’ said Uther and gulped.

  There was a silence. It was not a happy silence.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Blart.

  ‘Baron Kilbride burns wizards,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘Baron Kilbride tortures warriors,’ said Beowulf.

  ‘Baron Kilbride slaughters merchants,’ said Uther.

  ‘Baron Kilbride wants to marry me,’ said Princess Lois.

  There was another unhappy silence.

  ‘Does he keep pigs?’ asked Blart.

  Chapter 34

  They had no other option. The week was ebbing fast and soon the armies massing on the Illyrian border would pour through it and lay waste to the many orchards.

  ‘We will find you a mate and deliver her to this very tree,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘I knew you’d see sense,’ said Sorel sourly.

  And with that, the questors turned their eyes to the path of pebbles which led back to the edge of the forest. From there Baron Kilbride’s fortress lay half a day’s flight to the south. Somehow sensing the urgency of the mission Pig’s wings beat harder and faster and they flew through the air at great speed.

  ‘If Baron Kilbride wants to marry you, Princess,’ asked Beo as they flew, ‘then will he not make you his wife by force.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what I look like,’ said Princess Lois. ‘He just heard that my parents were looking for suitors and dispatched a messenger with a proposal of marriage. He does that all the time.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Blart.

  ‘He’s been married four times already,’ explained Princess Lois, ‘and each of his wives has met a violent and untimely death, normally involving the removal of their head. He is finding it difficult attracting a fifth.’

  ‘What about you, merchant?’ asked Beo. ‘As you sold him the pet are you not worried that he will recognise you and wonder why you have returned?’

  ‘He does not know me either,’ answered Uther. ‘I knew of his reputation and I was sure that were I to walk into the granite fort with a tree imp and offer it for sale then Kilbride would have simply killed me and taken the imp.’

  ‘How did you sell it, then?’ asked Beo.

  ‘I used intermediaries,’ explained Uther. ‘I sent my cousins Igor and Ivor to negotiate terms. Of course, at first Kilbride thought they had the imp hidden somewhere and he threatened and blustered and tortured –’

  ‘Tortured?’ interrupted Blart. Torture was one of those activities that Blart felt you should be flying away from rather than flying towards.

  ‘It is sometimes necessary for one’s employees to endure a little mild torture in order to oil the wheels of business,’ explained Uther. ‘They have to earn their bonus.’

  The other questors looked at him in horror.

  ‘Eventually,’ continued Uther, ‘Kilbride was convinced that they didn’t know where the imp was, so he agreed to pay Ivor while keeping Igor hostage. Ivor rode out to a place where I met him. He handed over the money and I gave Igor a box containing the imp, which he took back to Kilbride.’

  ‘Didn’t you think of the imp?’ asked Princess Lois angrily.

  ‘Of course I thought of her,’ said Uther. ‘She was the key to me making money. I made sure she was well fed and supplied with water.’

  ‘I meant, didn’t you think of the suffering that a wild imp would suffer being stuck in captivity?’

  ‘There’s no room for sentiment in business,’ insisted Uther.

  ‘What happened?’ said Blart.

  ‘That was it,’ said Uther. ‘Except that, as I predicted, Kilbride was so enraged at having to pay for something that the next time Igor and Ivor were seen they were floating face down in his moat.’

  ‘He murdered your cousins? You must want vengeance,’ declared Beo.

  ‘That’s one way to look at it,’ agreed Uther. ‘But then again, what businessman doesn’t like to see his labour costs reduced?’

  ‘If Baron Kilbride attacks wizards and warriors and everybody,’ said Blart, deep in thought, ‘then how are we going to get into the fort to rescue the tree imp?’

  ‘Aha,’ said Capablanca. But this time he said nothing else. In his hurry to rush off and liberate the tree imp from Baron Kilbride he had not given any thought to how he might achieve it. And knowing the Iron Baron’s reputation they might al
l soon be floating face down in the moat.

  ‘I think I might be able to help with that one,’ said Uther smoothly.

  Uther was really beginning to get on Capablanca’s nerves.

  ‘There is one thing that is close to Baron Kilbride’s heart,’ Uther continued.

  ‘Would that a dagger were close to his heart,’ muttered the Princess.

  ‘He is a great lover of the theatre,’ revealed Uther. ‘But unfortunately he has great difficulty attracting players to appear in his fort. So we will simply knock at his gatehouse, announce we are a troupe of travelling players and we will be warmly welcomed into his fortress.’

  ‘Why does he have difficulty attracting players?’ asked Blart.

  ‘He can easily be disappointed,’ explained Uther. ‘And if the play is not to his liking or the actors are poor then he is robust in his criticism.’

  ‘I can take a bad review,’ said Beo.

  ‘His bad reviews tend to involve boiling the actors in oil,’ said Uther.

  Blart did not like the sound of that.

  ‘Stop this horse,’ he said. ‘I want to get off. I’d rather risk being wanted dead or alive by people who don’t know where I am than boiled in oil by someone who does.’

  ‘Blart, Blart, Blart,’ said Uther. ‘Do you think I would be going if I thought that I was to be boiled in oil?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’ said Blart sulkily. ‘You might like it.’

  ‘I won’t find out because it won’t happen,’ Uther assured him.

  ‘People are always telling me things won’t happen when I go on quests,’ said Blart. ‘And then they always do.’

  ‘Perhaps you haven’t been on very well organised quests before,’ said Uther.

  Capablanca bristled. ‘We’re getting off the point,’ he said irritably.

  ‘I want to get off the horse,’ said Blart. ‘And go home.’

  ‘Listen,’ insisted Uther. ‘What we will do is this. By the time we arrive at Kilbride’s granite fortress it will be late. Far too late for any theatrical performance. Therefore we will be allowed in with the promise that we will perform the next day. The Baron will be pleased to hear of a rare opportunity to see some players and we will be given food and probably invited to sleep by the great fire in the servants’ quarters. But though we will lay our heads down we will not sleep. Instead we will wait until very late and then we will find the tree imp and make our escape.’