The Boy Who Was Wanted Dead Or Alive - Or Both

by Dominic Barker

  ‘I did not know we would be so long delayed by the crevasses,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘What’s that orange?’ said Blart suddenly.

  ‘You see,’ said Uther. ‘Blart, who has the weakest mind of any of us, is already seeing hallucinations of fruit. Soon the cold will enter all our minds and we will become similarly confused.’

  Blart ignored the merchant and pointed.

  ‘Not that kind of orange,’ he said.

  Capablanca knew that more than once Blart’s sharp eyesight had saved the questors, and he followed Blart’s finger. For a brief moment he saw the merest flicker of orange. Beo and the Princess saw it too.

  A fire.

  Not caring for crevasses, not caring for cliffs, the questors scrambled towards it.

  Chapter 47

  With freezing hands and toes the questors shuffled, stumbled and staggered towards the fire. Blart imagined feeling the heat from its warming flames on his face. So eager was he to be by it that he didn’t even wonder who had lit it.

  Even when Blart saw that there was a bald-headed figure in a brown habit hunched over the fire he didn’t hesitate. He scrambled through the last drift of snow and plonked himself down, holding out his hands so that they were almost licked by the tongues of flame.

  ‘Hello,’ said the bald-headed figure, who seemed a little surprised to have a fireside companion. ‘Pleased to meet you. I am Votok the Hermit. You are welcome to share my fire, young man, but you’ll burn your hands by holding them so close.’

  Votok’s tone was kindly not critical. Blart looked at him more closely and saw a plump, friendly face which reminded him a little of a particular pig he had fed swill to when he was a small boy. He withdrew his hands to a safe distance.

  The Princess now pushed her way through the snow and sat down next to Blart. Beo arrived next with Uther, followed last of all by Capablanca, wheezing from the effort. They sat around the fire, breathing heavily and letting the life-saving heat warm the very marrow of their bones.

  Votok the Hermit broke the silence.

  ‘Did you just happen to be passing or is this a special visit?’

  More deep breathing and wheezing.

  ‘I was about to heat up a pan of stew for my supper,’ said Votok. ‘Would anybody like some?’

  ‘Has it got lard in it?’ said Blart.

  Votok was somewhat taken aback by this question but seemed to see it as an improvement on wheezing and deep breathing.

  ‘No,’ he told Blart apologetically. ‘I’m afraid it hasn’t.’

  ‘Good,’ said Blart. ‘I’ll have lots, please.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to follow me into my cave,’ said Votok.

  Blart shook his head.

  ‘I want to stay by the fire.’

  ‘I have another fire in my cave.’

  Blart looked confused.

  ‘What do you want two fires for?’ he asked.

  Votok smiled.

  ‘The one in my cave keeps me warm and fed,’ he explained. ‘The fire out here keeps me safe from the ferocious tusks of the wild beasts that roam the mountains.’

  The questors looked around nervously.

  ‘You are all welcome,’ continued Votok. ‘The stew will take a while to heat up but it means that we will have time to get to know one another.’

  With an amiable smile Votok turned and headed into his cave. They all willingly followed him.

  If a person is used to living in a barn then a house seems like a palace. Similarly, if a person has expected to spend the night on a blizzard-blasted icy mountain then a simple rock cave with a blazing fire in it feels like a mansion. The questors did not need any extra bidding to make themselves at home.

  Votok produced a huge pan filled with stew that he hung over the fire. The questors, whose recent diet had been made up of lard, more lard and extra lard, eyed it greedily.

  ‘I see you are hungry,’ said Votok. ‘It will not take long.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Capablanca. He was beginning to wonder about Votok. What was he doing here high on an isolated mountain so far from other people yet so near to Zoltab’s prison and with an unnecessarily large amount of stew?

  The wizard pondered how he could quiz Votok without alerting him to his suspicions.

  ‘I see you have much stew,’ he observed.

  Votok nodded. He picked up a rough wooden spoon and began to stir.

  Capablanca realised that he was going to have to be more direct.

  ‘What brings you and your stew to the mountain?’ he asked.

  ‘Didn’t you see him last time you came?’ said Blart.

  Capablanca flashed Blart an angry look. The last thing he wanted was Votok to know that he had been here before.

  ‘You have been here before?’ said Votok, looking interested.

  Capablanca nodded reluctantly.

  ‘What brought you here?’ asked the hermit.

  Capablanca couldn’t believe it. He was supposed to be asking the questions but now, thanks to Blart, the questions were being asked of him instead.

  ‘I’m a very keen hiker.’

  ‘You are?’ Votok sounded surprised.

  ‘I am,’ insisted the wizard.

  ‘Forgive me, friend,’ said Votok kindly. ‘But for a man keen on the mountains, you and your friends are not very well prepared. Your coats are not thick enough and your boots are not sturdy.’

  ‘We’re fond of hiking but we’re not very good at it,’ explained Capablanca. ‘I’ve always wondered why we never seem to get to the top of anything.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Votok wisely.

  For a while the hermit concentrated on preparing the stew. A hearty aroma filled the air.

  ‘It is nearly done. My young friend will find six bowls and six spoons at the back of the cave.’

  Blart didn’t respond. Nobody had ever called him ‘my young friend’ before.

  ‘Ignorant boy,’ said Beo. ‘Get the bowls before we all starve.’

  This time Blart understood.

  ‘Six bowls and six spoons?’ said Capablanca even more suspiciously. ‘And yet only one of you?’

  ‘It is fortunate, isn’t it?’ agreed Votok amiably. ‘If we had been forced to share one bowl then the meal would have been less enjoyable.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Capablanca. ‘You were about to tell me what you were doing up here.’

  ‘Was I?’ said Votok. ‘Perhaps when we have food in our bowls then I will explain.’

  Capablanca’s suspicions grew.

  ‘Tell us before supper,’ he said.

  However, his comrades overruled him.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ announced Blart.

  ‘I’ll starve if I don’t get some food inside me soon,’ agreed Beo.

  ‘Would you like me to add some lard?’ suggested Uther.

  ‘What is it with you and lard?’ demanded Beo.

  ‘I’m sick of lard,’ said Blart firmly.

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ said Uther. ‘When you are hungry and there is nothing but lard available, I will remember your words.’

  ‘I’ll write them down for you if you like,’ said Blart, who remembered the agonising stomach pangs he had suffered in the Forest of Arcadia. ‘Well, I would if I could write,’ he added.

  ‘Calm down, friends,’ said Votok. ‘An argument before one eats will be sure to bring on indigestion. Let us chew our victuals in harmony.’

  He passed a bowl of stew to each of the questors and their mutual hunger ensured that nobody spoke for a while.

  ‘Now,’ said Capablanca after the first few mouthfuls had reached his stomach. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to tell us how you came here.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, resting his spoon in his stew. ‘When I was a young man I wanted to do something that would help people and make them happy. I considered all the options and decided upon a religious life.’

  ‘Admirable,’ said Capablanca, though he did not sound admiring.

  ‘I
was most enthused by the prospect of uniting young couples in matrimony,’ continued Votok. ‘Here I thought that I could find true joy. By joining two people who loved each other together for ever. What could be more important than that?’

  ‘Pigs,’ said Blart.

  Votok appeared not to hear.

  ‘And so,’ said Votok, ‘I underwent a religious training. I studied and I fasted. For seven long years I scourged myself.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Blart.

  ‘You whip yourself as a punishment for being bad,’ explained Votok.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Blart, not understanding this at all.

  ‘We must be punished for doing bad things,’ said Votok. ‘So I whipped myself for seven years to show how sorry I was.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just tell yourself off?’ said Blart. ‘And then promise yourself not to do it again?’

  Votok shook his head. ‘It’s not like –’ he began, but he was cut off by Capablanca, who felt that there were more pressing matters at hand than trying to explain the intricacies of a religious training to Blart.

  ‘You must not worry about the boy’s questions,’ said the wizard. ‘Tell us what brought you to this lonely place.’

  ‘Disillusionment,’ answered Votok. ‘I believed that marriage was about love. And I discovered it was about business. A maiden would profess love for one man and then another man would come along who had more land and suddenly she would be professing love for him. And then along would come someone with more land and more cows and she would be professing love for him. It seemed to me that marriage was not about the selfless union of hearts and souls but instead about the benefit to be gained from the union of farmhouses.’

  ‘That’s how it should be,’ said Uther. ‘With ten per cent of the wealth of each farm given to the agent who introduced the couple and negotiated the dowry.’

  ‘In vain did I try to explain to the couples that having similarly-sized barns was no basis for a long-lasting commitment,’ said Votok. ‘I tried to speak of love and companionship.’

  ‘Sentimental nonsense,’ commented Uther.

  ‘I’m afraid those that I counselled agreed with you,’ said Votok. ‘I was exiled for refusing to celebrate marriages that I deemed to be improper. And so I resolved to become a hermit. To live a life away from men and women until they came to see that a couple should marry for love and only love.’

  ‘You’ll have a long wait,’ predicted Uther.

  ‘My parents wanted me to marry for love,’ said Princess Lois.

  ‘Did they?’ said Votok, looking encouraged

  ‘But they kept making me meet all these horrible suitors and so I have decided that I’m never going to get married.’

  ‘You can’t say that,’ said Votok, upset that a young girl could make an important decision like that at such a young age. ‘And this is the world that I fled from,’ he reflected. ‘And it is on that sober note we must retire for the night. You will want a good night’s rest if you are to try for the summit tomorrow.’

  ‘Why do you think we want to reach the summit?’ asked Capablanca.

  ‘Few hikers set off to climb a mountain merely to get halfway up and then turn round,’ said Votok simply. ‘I assumed that you wanted to get to the top.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Capablanca. Votok always seemed to have a plausible answer and the wizard wasn’t sure that he liked it.

  Suddenly, above their heads there was the sound of drumming. It passed over the cave and disappeared.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Blart.

  ‘The sound of wild beasts,’ answered Votok, ‘pursuing some defenceless creature to its death.’

  The questors looked nervously towards the entrance to the cave.

  ‘Do not worry,’ said Votok. ‘The fire will keep them away.’

  Nevertheless the sounds of wild beasts nearby rendered the questors silent. Beo determined to raise their spirits.

  ‘Wild beasts do not scare me,’ he announced cheerily. ‘I will sing a loud and lusty ballad to show I defy them.’

  And before they could stop him, he did.

  ‘A tiger chewed off my right arm

  And I was very upset

  He swallowed it whole and growled no thanks

  But I will fight on yet.

  A lion tore off my left leg

  It really made me sore

  He chomped it to pieces in his mouth

  But I will fight once more.

  A rhino gored me in the chest

  It gave no end of pain

  His horn was covered in my blood

  But I will fight again.

  An angry dragon burnt off my head

  The agony was dire

  He ate the rest of me in one gulp

  I think I might retire.’

  Beo finished singing. The other questors were not sure that when menaced by wild beasts a ballad that stressed the various ways they might be maimed and consumed was entirely appropriate. Votok, however, clapped enthusiastically.

  ‘This is the kind of mutual support which so inspired me when I was a novice.’

  The questors lay down by the fire. After a hard day’s climbing they were all soon asleep, but Blart was awakened several times by the sounds of wild beasts thundering overhead.

  Chapter 48

  The blizzard had passed. The storm had blown itself out.

  A brilliant blue sky and pure white snow greeted Blart as he stepped out of Votok’s cave. Dazzled by the early morning light he shaded his eyes. High above gleamed the summit of Mount Xag the Unclimbable. Blart felt a thrill at the thought of standing on top of it.

  The other questors shuffled out of Votok’s cave and, like Blart, they seemed to grow as they emerged into the sunlight, as though they were physically rising to the final challenge that lay ahead.

  ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ said Capablanca to Votok.

  The hermit shook each of the questors by the hand.

  ‘I wish you good luck in your quest,’ he said.

  ‘Who said we were on a quest?’ said Capablanca immediately. He still had his suspicions about the hermit.

  ‘I meant your quest for the summit,’ explained Votok mildly.

  ‘Of course you did,’ said the wizard.

  ‘May the weather keep fine for you, may the wild beasts not ravage you and may avalanches not sweep you away,’ said the hermit warmly. ‘Farewell.’

  The questors waved their farewells and set off up the mountain. The climb was much easier than on the previous day. The snow had compacted and was firm underneath their feet. True, the air was cold, but the questors made steady progress, their breath pluming white in front of them. They felt warm blood rushing in their veins and each step seemed to energise rather than tire. It was as though Mount Xag, having failed to repel them yesterday, was now accepting defeat gracefully. Each satisfying crunch that the questors’ boots made in the snow brought them nearer to the summit.

  ‘Do you think that climbing Mount Xag will be enough to get me a knighthood?’ asked Beo as they paused for a break after a couple of hours’ walking. ‘For it is surely an act of derring-do.’

  ‘You must not think of personal advancement at such a time,’ said Capablanca. ‘You will only become a knight when you cease to be obsessed by becoming one. A true knight does his chivalrous deeds simply because they are right.’

  ‘You mean I’ll only get to be a knight once I stop trying,’ said Beo, sounding puzzled.

  Capablanca nodded.

  ‘I could get you made a knight tomorrow for a price,’ said Uther.

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Beo. ‘The only way to become a knight is to suitably impress a king or a queen.’

  Uther shook his head in the face of such naivety. ‘It depends on the king or …’ he began, but was silenced by the wizard.

  ‘This is no time to debate your sordid bribes,’ Capablanca told the merchant forcibly. ‘The time for resting is at an end. Let us begin our final climb
to the top.’

  Inspired by his words the questors rose as one. Well, not quite as one. Blart as usual was a little behind the others. There was just something about him that meant that he didn’t ever get up quite as fast as everybody else. Even when he tried.

  Together they embarked on the last stretch of their climb. And though the slope of the mountain grew steeper, still they managed to make good progress. Whenever they reached up they found a handhold and whenever they stretched out they found a safe place to put their foot. After all the tribulations of the quest they were at last finding something easier than they had expected it to be. They climbed over cornices, hauled each other up crags and pulled themselves past overhangs. The only frustration as they approached the top of the mountain was that now the summit disappeared behind other snowy mounds. Each time they climbed a mound thinking it was the end of their ascent they found another higher one beyond it, but for once even Blart didn’t suggest that they give up. Instead they strode faster and climbed quicker. Up and up and up until there was no more up left.

  They were there.

  ‘Behold the summit of Mount Xag,’ said Capablanca. ‘We are on top of the world.’

  The questors looked down. Bathed in brilliant sunshine the landscape spread out below them. Their eyes saw further than any human eyes had seen before. Lakes and rivers sparkled in the distance. All was awe-inspiring and silent.

  ‘Are you sure that bit over there isn’t higher?’ said Blart, pointing to a mound nearby.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ snapped Capablanca.

  ‘It looks higher to me,’ insisted Blart.

  ‘Wizard,’ admitted Beo ruefully, ‘it looks higher to me too.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Princess Lois. ‘I think I’m going to have to agree with weasel-features. That bit over there is higher.’

  Capablanca looked in irritation at where they were pointing. Uther, who had taken a tiny mirror out of his coat and appeared to be admiring the twirl of his moustache, hastily returned it and agreed that it was indeed higher.

  Five minutes later they stood on the true summit.

  ‘Behold the summit of Mount Xag,’ said Capablanca. ‘Now we are truly at the top of the world.’