The Horrid Tragedy of the Counts Berok: A Comedy Fantasy

by Galen Wolf

  He guided the horses now as they slipped on their iron shoes over the rocks. The path was becoming by and by more level. "The path's more level here, fellows!" he shouted back to them. They seemed lost in their own thoughts.

  "Ar," said William.

  "Ar," said Jeremiah, "we're almost in the jungle." Jeremiah pronounced the word exactly.

  Zventibold looked in front of him. The first stunted trees were very near them now and behind those the waterfall of confused, green darkness and strange echoing, bubbling cries. It stood there so unfamiliar. He felt an urge to run away. Something flapped in the trees - blue and yellow - a bird. He relaxed. As they came nearer these first trees, he felt something strike his head. He reached up to touch it. It was wet.

  Jeremiah commented, "Very clean things them birds. They never do it in their nests so I'm told."

  Zventibold said, "This incident - the incident of guano, as I will call it, has perhaps cosmic significance."

  "Ar," said Jeremiah. "P'raps."

  They camped there that night by the wild world of the jungle and many times that night Zventibold wished for the teddy he had left in Palace Berok.

  They arose early the next morning and spoke little till they were on their way and the green world had enveloped them. The howling and warbling all around Zventibold gave him the willies and he felt himself shivering in his boots. He darted glances at his more confident mates. William seemed relatively nonchalant riding on his horse Simon. Jeremiah had climbed up the nearest three and was busily hacking off the broad green leaves which fell to the ground. After he had cut some dozen, he got down and took them to the wagon - to his meat. "It keeps 'em fresher," was all he said.

  "An' I suppose you can make out they be monkeys you catched in the forest," said William wisely.

  "Har har har," sniggered Jeremiah. "As if I beed a meat dealer as would trade in cheap cuts like that." The two old men guffawed.

  "But besides there Willy…"

  "Don't call me Willy, Jeremiah, I baint abidin' it," warned William.

  "No 'ffense, William. But as I was saying - there baint no monkeys round here. The Wamawamas eated them all, centuries since. That be why they pay through the nose for the Pirakteshi ones."

  "Ar, I see now," said William, picking a feeding insect from his nose and, through habit more than anything else, popping it into his mouth. Then he was quiet.

  The three rode in silence - only occasionally looking up when the screech of a jungle owl or the bellow of a rabbity-blurger ripped through the air. After they had gone about two miles on the track, Jeremiah informed them that it became more difficult ahead. They enquired politely about this.

  "How does it become more difficult ahead, Jeremiah?" asked Zventibold.

  William chuckled. Jeremiah knocked away the feeding corpse moths from his waistcoat, and brushed back his straggling yellow hair. "Well, boy, there be a deep ravine. And although I've never done it, the Wamawamas have often warned me from falling down it. I fear the water at the bottom is greatly infested with nibblin' fish what feeds on the rabbity-blurger droppings."

  "Then we must keep to the path," said Zventibold - his confident tone hiding his unease.

  About half a mile after that, the sun exploded into their vision as the path veered sharply. On their left now, instead of the dense jungle was a gaping chasm, and many feet below, the flashing of a sinuous river was occasionally visible.

  "That be it, lads," pointed Jeremiah. Ahead the path wended and soon they were squeezed between a sheer rock face and the abyss's edge that fell away to the left.

  "I must say, the rivers here have made deep incursions into the bedrock of Wamawama," said Zventibold.

  "It be the nibblin' fish as does it. 'Pon my oath, wherever there be Nibblers they eat away the rock and the rivers is very deep." This was the view of Jeremiah the Fish Expert, and who were the others to disagree with his improbably theory?

  William guided the horses and the wagon along the narrow path. Clearly on the other side of the ravine, they glimpsed a rabbity-blurger, swinging from tree to tree. Zventibold had never seen one before and he was shocked.

  "Ar, that be 'im," said Jeremiah. "'E that leaves them steaming turds neatly packaged in leaves all over the place. 'E be a wondrous creature the rabbity-blurger. 'E be named for two things - first is that 'e do bear a faint resemblance to a flyin' rabbit, do 'e not? An' the second name is after the sound a feller's foot makes upon standin' in one of his packaged turds - blurge! Baint natural science, fascinatin'?"

  "Ar," said William, obviously enthralled by Jeremiah's great knowledge.

  "And what is that thing that flops down from him like a second tail?" asked Zventibold.

  "That be 'is penis boy. Much prized by 'unters and used to make the fabled juju sticks of Wamawama. Though we'll say no more of those now."

  Soon they saw the bridge by which the path crossed the ravine. It was held up by only one rope.

  "We have to cross that do we?" enquired Zventibold.

  "Ar, I always 'ave a lot o' trouble on that thar bridge. I've lost so many cargoes there that I do declare that if it weren't for the river at the bottom washin' them away, we'd 'ave a bridge of monkey cutlets to walk over. The trouble is that if the Wamawamas catch you without monkeys, or any other meat they be liable to cut your gizzard and eat you," declared Jeremiah.

  "It be dang lucky we got 'em soldiers, neatly butchered," said William.

  "Har, har, Willy old boy. You be spot on thar," said Jeremiah. "Exceedingly spot on."

  As they approached the bridge, it looked even shakier. Over the lip of the chasm, they saw the jagged rocks and the furious spume of the wild river Jazal flowing around them.

  Jeremiah was businesslike. "Right lads, what we'll do is dismantle the wagon and by positionin' ourselfs cunningly along the bridge, we'll juggle the pieces to the other side."

  The other two saw the wisdom of this at once and went to their work. William was the first to ask the obvious question. "Jez, ol' feller, 'ow did you manage the jugglin' when you was all by yourself?"

  "Well, I can only tell you, Willy ol' fruit, that it beed incredibly difficulty work for a man in my physical condition. What I'd do was juggle something in the air an' then run and catch it and juggle it along the bridge to the other side so the weight would not snap the only rope."

  "That beed dang clever Jez - clever as a nut," said William.

  "Well thank 'ee Willy boy. I done took a shine to you the first time I seed yer."

  "And Jeremiah," it was Zventibold who spoke, "what would the Wamawamas do to us if we were without meat." He had obviously been pondering this theme while the others filled their head with juggling.

  Jeremiah smiled ruefully, all the while drawing one finger across his throat and making a peculiar gurgling noise.

  "Ah," said Zventibold, keen not to press it further.

  "Willy boy, could you lead the 'orses across? It be the most difficult job."

  Unsmiling William, rigid with terror and walking in a sort of slithering hoppy movement led the two wagon horses and his own horse Simon across the crazily swinging rope bridge. Halfway across one of the draught horses slipping and nearly pitched them all into the surging foam. This foam was the home of the dreaded Nibbling Fish. When William finally got the horses across he laughed wildly with joy. He was safe - though the rope had frayed considerably in the passage. When half the wagon was dismantled and all but the back wheels across the bridge, William got up from his seat on the pieces of meat and wiped his bottom clean of bluebottles. He had a brainwave, "Ar why don't we fix the bridge? We've got plenty of rope."

  Jeremiah was thrilled. "Willy boy, that's a brilliant idea! I don't know 'ow I've never thought of that before."

  "Well done, William." Zventibold congratulated him.

  It was just then that four blow darts embedded themselves in the wood of the bridge near where the heroes were standing.

  "Aaaaarrrrggghhh!, it's the Wamawamas," shrieked Jer
emiah. "Give them the meat quicko like."

  William turned and as he did so, he was just in time to see the hairy tail of a rabbity-blurger disappear into the undergrowth with the last of the meat bits.

  Jeremiah also saw this. "Oh, no!" he shouted. "We've 'ad it."

  Then they appeared; some from the surrounding jungle; some even from the rocky edges of the chasm where, with their primitive cunning they had lain in wait. They were tall men with bones through their noses. Their hair was short, blonde and tightly curled. Their skin was blue as a corpse. They wore grass skirts, though where they got the grass was hard to say. They all wielded blow pipes and with them made what seemed to be threatening gestures. They had sharp teeth as if they had been filed to a point artificially. Or they were the sons of cats. The teeth were in good condition too, thought Zventibold, due, no doubt to their excellent diet. When they had the party surrounded and the lads were sure their death would be soon, one of the Wamawama boys seemed to recognise Jeremiah.

  "Monkees?" he pronounced the word awkwardly. Jeremiah shook his head feverishly at this.

  "Peeplies?" said the blue man again. Jeremiah was even more fervent in his answer this time. Then the blue man with a snarl ordered his brawny warriors to bind them. William was ready for a fight but Zventibold signalled for him not to resist. When they were all tied up the leader of the tribesmen spoke. "No monkees - you peeplies in pot man."

  William and Zventibold looked extremely worried. After all this struggle, all this striving for justice, they were to end up as stew. Would there be celery with it? William couldn't abide celery though Zventibold didn't mind it with a pinch of sea salt. Jeremiah was with William on the celery. He shook his head in disgust.

  "They eat anything vaguely apelike, I take it?" said Zventibold.

  "Ar," said Jeremiah.

  Zventibold was disgruntled.

  William moaned. "The 'orror - the 'orror!"

  The tribesmen bundled them roughly along the jungle path. They guided the horses after them. It seemed that they were to be in the salad the following day. The Wamawamas were very fond of salads due to the oppressive heat of their jungle realm. As they went by, a lone rabbity-blurger watched them from the branches overhead and its eyes reflected a world of sorrow.

  Soon they reached the village. It lay in a clearing in the jungle. About twenty low wooden huts twined with vines and multi coloured orchids made up the settlement. The women were very beautiful. They too wore grass skirts and had flowers in their hair. They all seemed to be smiling and when they did their perfectly formed teeth were apparent. They were needle sharp too - daughters of cats. Zventibold wondered at their topaz eyes and oval pupils. He could not help but muse how much like paradise this place would be apart from the fact that the noble savages therein wanted to stew him. If not that, then how happy he could be here in Wamawama, living the simple life.

  They were led into the centre of the village. There sat the wizened head man. He spoke through an interpreter - a fat young boy who knew some Pirakteshi. He had probably been kept by some border noble for disgusting sex games. They were like that in the provinces. Zventibold was surprised, if that were the case, that the boy had learned more than a few key words such as 'bottom', 'willy' and some other ruder ones.

  The boy spoke, "Chief man, he heap mad. He say you no bring monkees. You be next pot meal. Add boiling water. Done in three minutes."

  Zventibold took all his presuppositions back. The boy had obviously learned the language from a travelling salesman. The boy spoke to the Chief in the strange clicking tongue of the Wamawamas. The hideous old man answered in the same language. "Sporrdik 'click' fwa 'click' dngamii 'click' 'click' masdzamgni 'click' inpotnow 'cluck-di-clickety-cluck-click' yrrp."

  It seemed to bode ill for the captured heroes as beautiful, nubile maidens came and led them into a side hut. There they undressed the boys and for one awful minute as he stood there in his socks alone, Zventibold thought that he was going to be the victim of a practical joke set up by William and Jeremiah, but a look at their sweat beaded faces told him otherwise. It seemed they were all three to be cooked whole.

  Soon a rather good smell penetrated the hut. Zventibold's mouth began to water. "That's really nice," he said. "Do you think it's for us?"

  "No, I don't think so - that be the starter. Oh lads, I should 'ave really butchered you, but there's better things in this world than making a profit and savin' one's own miserable skin. My career 'as come to an end - in a pot usually used for stewin' monkeys. An' you know what the real irony is? It's that they would 'ave preferred the monkeys."

  When Jeremiah finished, William spoke. "If it 'adn't been for me and my 'are brained schemes, the rabbity-blurgers wouldn't 'ave got the meat and we'd be safe. I betrayed the trust your noble mother put in me, mas'er. Jeremiah, I want to say now before the end that I've enjoyed meetin' 'ee."

  "Well, Willy, that's very touchin' of you to say that an' thou baint such a bad old stick thyself. Tis a pity we're not going to be driddlin' back together."

  "Ar," agreed William. "There'll be no more driddlin' 'ome for us no more."

  At this they began to sing an old Pirakteshi lament - 'Cryzdal willn't be driddling home no more'. It was sung for the Pirkateshi folk hero Cryzdal who fell in the wars against the tribes of Gluzdug.

  Zventibold who had never uttered a common word in his life was greatly moved and falteringly began to sing with them. All this time the natives had been engaged in bestial fertility dances to the wild rhythm of the jungle drums. Now the drums stopped.

  "I've seed many things in my life but sure as a nut," said William, "that means they've finished their starter of passion fruit and 'orse!"

  Zventibold and Jeremiah went pale and they remained deathly white as the burly natives carried them out to the big bronze pot. With a careless move of their big blue arms they threw the three into it. All around them were masses of onions, carrots and sliced radishes. Why the radishes should be sliced while the other vegetables were diced none of them dared hazard a guess. Then all three of them broke into tears. Whether it was the onions it is hard to say but the lads were very disturbed by their present run of bad luck and no mistake. They could not see over the edge of the pot as it was very deep. Soon the round shining face of the sex boy interpreter (if that be his story) appeared over the cauldron's rim. "Bye-bye, I hope you not heap stringy," he said waving.

  William swore violently at him and the small fellow went away.

  "It's a pity," said Jeremiah.

  "What is?" queried the warming Zventibold.

  "It's a pity we don't 'ave an army of rabbity-blurgers. The Wamawamas are frightened of them."

  "Frightened of rabbity-blurgers?"

  "Ar, they do believe that the kiss of a rabbity-blurger means death. That's why they don't 'unt 'em. They've eaten every other creature they could catch for miles around."

  "Do you know, Jeremiah," said Zventibold. "That puts me in mind of a spell I learned once from my own dear father Turvius Sullius." At this he wept and seemed unable to continue. Then he began again. "If you think of a particular animal you can attract it from the land around within a certain radius, depending on how strong your mojo is."

  "That be dippy good," said Jeremiah. "There must be about five thousand rabbity-blurgers around these parts."

  "Yes, the main problem I see is to attract them before we come to the boil."

  "Get to it then," said William and Jeremiah almost at once as the onions at the bottom of the pot began to slowly sizzle.

  The rabbit-blurger looked out of its huge, sad eyes at its deposited waste matter and carefully wrapped it with a leaf. It was a rabbity-blurger of Wamawama that had fed on the Wilibongo trees of the Jazal Valley. It was, as were all its kind, a loner. They only mixed with others of their kind when they felt that strange, dizzy urge to reproduce smaller rabbity-blurgers.

  It had just lifted its neatly wrapped parcel and was about to place it somewhere where it knew some passing c
reature would surely step on it. This satisfied its rudimentary sense of humour and inside its furry body it chuckled as it imagined its victim trying to wipe the present from the bottom of its foot. Then it felt a strange desire - a desire that sent it leaping from branch to branch of this leafy world. It swung rapidly through the boughs towards the north east. As it swung, hopped and leaped, this desire - for that is what it was - grew stronger. Soon it was aware of others of its kind all around it - all possessed with this same driving urge. They were all headed in the same direction and the jungle shook as if disturbed by a wild wind. It resounded with the merry chirpings of three thousand rabbity-blurgers. They were filled with love. They loved those blue people with their curly hair and sharpened teeth. They launched themselves in huge arcs towards the clearing of the Wamawama. The jungle around the village boiled as the living bundles of fur flew through the air, landing all over the ground and the huts. As soon as they saw a Wamawama they attached themselves, chittering sweet words of love and ran after their particular tribesman or woman, depending on their preference, for rabbity-blurgers were free in matters of love-sex.

  Zventibold peered over the edge of the pot when he heard the commotion. "It worked!" he gasped.