The Horrid Tragedy of the Counts Berok: A Comedy Fantasy

by Galen Wolf

  "Can we get out, mas'er?" asked William. "I be cookin' in here."

  "Yes, but pick Jeremiah up." He pointed to Jeremiah who had passed out."I fear that he has already become partly gravy."

  William helped the overcome Jeremiah out of the pot. He was shocked at the scene. All around were dead Wamawamas. Their fear of the rabbity-blurgers' love had overcome them.

  "Yes, William - it's horrible, but we had no other choice. Bring Jeremiah over to that hut. I don't think the Wamawamas will ever return to this place."

  That night when William had found the horses who escaped the salad, they had a large meal of vegetable stew. They sat in the hut and discussed strategy. Zventibold spoke first. "Well, as you know, I am to be god-emperor before long."

  William and the revived Jeremiah nodded at this. They could not speak as their mouths were full of radish.

  "To this end," said Zventibold, "I intend to travel from this place to Kharkesh, glittering city of the sorcerers. I will need someone to go back to Piraktesh and buy artillery. There is money in the Berok family crypt in the Zygote Cemetary on Groskiz Street. As you know Jeremiah - both William and I are wanted men in Piraktesh. This leaves you to go back and buy the cannon. Contact an old friend of my father's who has no love of the Autocrat because of an obscure incident involving pie."

  "What?" shouted Jeremiah and William, radish spitting from their mouths.

  "Don't ask," said Zventibold. "Tis truly an obscure grudge he holds, but it plays into the Duke's hands."

  "Which Duke is I supposed to approach?" asked Jeremiah.

  "Duke Desiderus Viktiz. He will supply you with the cannon when you mention my name and give him a lot of money. You can find him on Piggery Lane. His palace is enormous."

  "Ar," said Jeremiah.

  Zventibold looked querulous. "Will you do this for me Jeremiah?"

  "Ar," said Jeremiah again, lost once again in the delights of his onion, radish and carrot stew. "This be good gravy," he said.

  "It's partly you," said Zventibold

  Jeremiah studied his hands and feet. "Hmm," he said. "I think I had 11 fingers before. Now I've got only 10."

  "11 would be unusual," said Zventibold.

  "I was thinking the 11th might have melted into the gravy," said Jeremiah.

  Zventibold shrugged. His mind had moved onto revenge.

  "Is this your finger Jez?" said William picking a stumpy thing out of his dish.

  "No, that be a carrot," said Jeremiah.

  "Good," said Zventibold, becoming impatient with this culinary talk. "Then you shall set off for Piraktesh, Jeremiah. And William and I will head for Kharkesh, fabled and glittering city of the sorcerers."

  William nodded and then went to take first watch while the others settled down to sleep.

  Zventibold was restless. He noticed Jeremiah was musing. "What Jeremiah?" he said.

  "It baint glittering. It's more a musty iridescence than a shine."

  "What is?"

  "Fabled Kharkesh. I had a deal of donkeys there once. But that was long ago, and besides the wench is dead."

  In the morning they rose bright and early. Huge iridescent blue butterflies had eaten into the collar of William's militia jacket as they slept.

  "There," said Jeremiah pointing at the butterflies. "Kharkesh is a bit like them but mustier."

  When they parted, tears were shed and addresses were swapped. They all promised to be true to their cause and they arranged to meet in three months time at the very spot, or somewhere else if they could arrange it by pigeon post. They parted then. Jeremiah heading back the way they had come and William and Zventibold turning their faces towards glittering Kharkesh of the Fabled Sorcerers.

  21.

  22. Mango Lizard Cookery

  After Jeremiah was out of sight, Zventibold turned in the saddle of his horse and said to William, "A very fine fellow that Jeremiah- a philosopher among men."

  "Ar, mas'er - I warmed to 'im toward the end, although I wasn't taken with 'im at first - what with 'is plans to butcher us an' all."

  "First impressions, William - first impressions. One should never trust them."

  "Ar, mas'er - that be right and no doubt."

  The green world still buzzed and screeched and whirred around them. Even though the sun was bright outside the canopy of the forest, their world was still green and misty. Up on the branches, the snakes curled and hissed. Still the riders on their horses rode on. Zventibold had found out that his horse's name was Peter.

  As the day got hotter,they ate the mangoes that Jeremiah had given them without dismounting and still there was no end to the twisting path through the emerald underworld. At last the gloaming fell and seething day faded to restless night. They knew they would have to sleep still enclosed by the jungle's canopy. Zventibold sent William to fetch some firewood. When it was collected into a neat pile, Zventibold lit it with a spark from his finger. "William," he said. "Tonight we must beware the fabled tigers of the night whose jewelled eyes, so it is said, freeze the hearts of mortal men."

  "Ar we better 'ad, 'adn't we," agreed William.

  The hours of darkness were spent with men and horses huddled round the crackling fire and its rising smoke. They gazed outwards from their fireside, looking for the bejewelled glitter of the fabled beasts' eyes. William was on his guard as he went out to collect more wood for the dying fire. He stepped into the cool damp forest outside the circle of the firelight and suddenly was aware of the cacophony of animal and insect noises - their hoots and gibbers. His blood chilled, and you will remember that William was a brave man. He had collected a bundle of dead branches and creepers when he heard a soft rushing sound behind him. He turned quickly, dropping his sticks and there silhouetted in the glow of the fire was the deformed figure of his master Zventibold urinating on a log.

  "It's only me," he said.

  William sheepishly picked up the sticks again and returned to the camp.

  That night was so long and to break its monotony they would wake up and have secret midnight beanfeasts of baked mangoes. They hid them from the horses who greatly coveted baked mangoes and who slept with one eye open in the hope of getting some.

  William arose when the first green light percolated down through the collage of leaves. He had huge yellowish circles around his eyes and complained that his stomach was upset. Zventibold suspected mango poisoning but as he was no doctor decided not to operate there and then. It was unfortunate that they had no other food and so they had to much half heartedly on a juicy mango each for breakfast. Later on Zventibold discovered that William had returned to his desert ways and had been eating lizards to supplement his diet. He had at first ignored the squirming in the pockets of William's yellow Militia trousers, but then, unable to stomach any more, had asked what it was. William had a pocket for fresh lizards and a pocket for used ones - their bones and suchlike. Zventibold, ever tolerant, had said nothing, but watched his servant for further signs of a personality disintegration.

  By mid-morning, they were out of the jungle. It had come to an end suddenly, surprisingly - as abruptly as it had begun. They found themselves in a scrubland at first which slowly developed into rolling farmland and further away from them - high, jagged snow-topped mountains formed a background to the scene. The sun rode high on his fiery path but around him now were many fluffy white clouds.

  "Would you like a lizard, sir?" William asked politely. "I've been savin' them for an occasion such as this."

  Zventibold gagged. He detested lizards. He gave a muttered refusal and they rode through this countryside of pleasant fields and hedges. Often they met the inhabitants who would cheerily greet them in a language they couldn't understand. It seemed they had been riding for most of the day when the sun started to go down, thus proving it. The country was wilder here. Moorland often interrupted the tended fields and hedges. When they had met no one for a number of miles, they decided to camp in the shade of a hawthorn thicket by the edge of the moor. As they co
llected the few sticks that would go to make their fire, William said to Zventibold, "It seems we be gettin' a mite closer to them mountains, and, if I may say it, to your goal."

  "Tis true, William - glittering Kharkesh of the fabled sorcerers lies cradled in the arms of the very same Mountains of Doom that lie yonder."

  Zventibold could easily have said something cutting, but he was feeling quite well in himself and so he decided not to ridicule his manservant. Zventibold lit the fire and broke out the inevitable mangoes. William muttered something about chutney but Zventibold chose to ignore it. William seemed so happy to Zventibold. There he sat, scratching at the flies that had dared make their home on his squalid body, and he was content. Why then could Zventibold never feel that same contentment? Why was he always driven and restless? He smiled as he watched William lazily grill his last lizard over the fire and he felt the urge to tell William a tale. "Wouldst care to hear a story, William?"

  The old man bit the end of a stick and chewed it, but answered not. Zventibold persisted. "Go on," he said. "Please"

  "Ar ok then," replied the ex-doorman. Zventibold did not know any funny stories so he thought he'd tell him the legend of glittering Kharkesh.

  "Well, William," he began. "Twould be ill of me to pretend that I know much of its history."

  William was puzzled for he did not know what Zventibold was talking about.

  "That is to say, ought of it," continued Zventibold. William went back to his lizard. There was a tense atmosphere but Zventibold, being little gifted with people skills, could not read it. He went on. "But as much as I do know, was garnered from the magical and alchemical textbooks of my father, the late and lamented Turvius Sullius. It came to me from the whispers of wise men and of fools. And I have gleaned much from the secret documents of Khaleed-e-Kaffa, the ex-cook. Do you remember him?"

  "The bald one as who always spat in the soup?"

  Zventibold was alarmed. "I did not know that."

  "No, I do recall 'im saying that 'e 'ated all the Beroks. 'Ceptin' your mother, of course. Of her he was inordinately fond. He used to watch her as she did her exercises, I recall 'im tellin' me."

  "Hush, do not spoil his remembrance," said Zventibold. "To me, he was my friend who sang wonderful songs to me. Granted he made awful soup and my father had to fire him after it was discovered he was chopping bits off they donkey to flavour his curries. But slyly, so no one would notice - an ear here, a hoof there."

  "Was that Tony the Donkey's girlfriend Antonia the Donkey as he was chopping?"

  Zventibold nodded. "But Khaleed was also in the possession of many sorcerous documents he had stolen from a professional fire eater in Kriptash. It is these I am referring to."

  William watched as a great silver tear slid down Zventibold's cheek and feel with a hiss into the the crackling fire."

  William was baffled and bored by Zventibold giving him such a list of the sources of his story about Kharkesh. He said, "Could you hurry up with the story, mas'er? About Kharkesh and all. I be a plain main unschooled in historiography. Also do there be sexy bits in this story?"

  Zventibold's mouth tightened. "No. I do not hold with that kind of story. This is a story about history and magic, not about sexy times."

  William looked at the lizard. It was ready. He opened a mango and stuffed the lizard into it with a few crumbs of charcoal. He reached over and picked some hawthorn berries as a garnish. When done he turned to Zventibold and said, "Mas'er Zventibold, sir. Pray tell me of fabled Kharkesh."

  "I will tell thee all I know," said Zventibold and began. "It is said that centuries ago a man of great power was sorcerer in the courts of Piraktesh. The Autocrat at that time was Gripus III. Our man fell out of favour with Gripus and was forced to flee for his life after a spell went wrong and undressed the Autocratess in public. Finally this sorcerer reached the mountains we see before us."

  "It be dark, now mas'er," said William. But Zventibold went on. "He built there a house and as he had no other skills he set up a school for mages. Soon this had grown into a mighty city and he decided to call it Glittering Kharkesh, the Fabled. At least that it is what was put on the signs. The inhabitants, I believe, called it simply Kharkesh."

  William bit at his lizard and mango concoction and it burned his tongue. But he was a brave soul and did not cry."But why 'Kharkesh' at all, sir, forgetting the glittering and fabled bits, why exactly Kharkesh?"

  Zventibold smiled knowingly. "Ah William, the sorcerer's name was Bertram Kharkesh."

  "So he named it after hissel?"

  "No, no, William. He named it after his wife Mabel Kharkesh, for their love was as deep as it is long. And the city grew mighty and even the Autocrat feared to make war on it. Of course he tried. The hatred of the folk of Kharkesh for the Autocracy is fabled. The Autocrats overcame their timidity and tried many times to take the city, but failed each time. And so to this day the Head Sorcerers of Kharkesh still run their school and still hate the Autocrat."

  "So it's a my enemy's enemy is my enemy deal?" ventured William.

  "No, it's my enemy's friend who is my enemy."

  "Is that so," whistled William in wonder.

  "But the story goes on," said Zventibold.

  "Pray continue mas'er," said William, taking another bite of mango lizard, which had by now cooled sufficiently to be edible.

  "It is said that one of the later mages of Kharkesh was a certain Edam Retaleh and he hated the Autocrats that his nose began to bleed when he thought of them and would not stop until he died."

  "A man named after cheese! A cheese man condemned to death by his own nose! Say tis not so!" said William.

  "I wish I could, but tis." Zventibold was white and sweating. William had started to shiver with the horror of such a death for his own nose was named mighty among noses and he feared his own nosebleed might prove fatal too.

  Zventibold turned to him, still shaking. He said, "Perhaps we go to our death but this revenge drives me ever onwards."

  "And mas'er, I am bound by oath to follow!" said William. He had finished his lizard now and stood proud and savage in the blaze of the firelight. "I am bound by oath to follow!" he shouted again, more manfully this time. "I am bound by oath to follow!" he shrieked to the stars themselves.

  Zventibold told him to sit down and they prepared for bed. Zventibold washed his behind with a rag upon which he had written face on one side and arse on the other.

  The next morning they arose early for they were eager to reach Kharkesh by nightfall. Behind them as they mounted Simon and Peter , they saw the wide fields of this land they had recently crossed and beyond that, the luxuriant jungle of Wamawama and finally the edge of the plateau far beyond which lay dreaming Piraktesh. But ahead of them were the mountains, and towards these they headed.

  As they climbed, the land grew rougher and rougher. Open stretches of rock were more common. Here too flowed the fast mountain streams with their rocky beds and sometimes straight, but more often winding, ran the road.

  They travelled all day, hardly saying a word. As they got higher, William began to gasp on the thin air and Zventibold delighted in telling him jokes that would send him into asthmatic fits of laughter - often making him fall off his horse and leaving his suffocating on the floor. Then Zventibold would pick him up for he had come to love this emaciated doorman.

  The path became rougher still and the horses often slipped. When they felt they had been travelling for an eternity and despaired of ever reaching Kharkesh, they laboriously pulled themselves up over the edge of the ridge and there it stood - Glittering Kharkesh of the Fables - built on a shoulder of the mountain. It was dark, forbidding - shining with a dull iridescence against the sky, and certainly impressive. It was Kharkesh - the city of magic. Kharkesh - the city of death was its other name that Zventibold had not told William for fear of his gibbering. The city was girdled by high walls of frowning granite in which as only one gate. Over this gate was a skull and under it in red letters reading,
"Two Thirds of You will Never Come out Again." It was a chilling message and the man who had devised it must surely be dreadful company on weekends away. Zventibold watched William slowly reading the message, each letter slowly but surely building up its message in his addled old brain. Sure enough he began to gibber. His blood had run ice, but he was bound by oath to follow his master who had spurred Peter towards the gate. Still, he always felt better after a gibber, and he followed.

  As they approached the walls, bolts of lightning seared the sky. William restrained his knees from banging together as he knew this would annoy the horses. He hoped the lightning would prove to be nought more than a summer storm. As they came up to the gate, two figures with double headed war axes came out from the gatehouse and stood waiting. Lightnings flashed again and thunders boomed - echoing between the arms of the Mountains of Doom. The two figures that waited were dressed in funereal black and they wore cowls so their faces were not visible. As Zventibold and William drew level with them, they parted - not saying a word.

  Zventibold reined in Peter, his horse. "I come to seek revenge," he said. But if the figures answered, their words were lost in the manic laughter of the moaning wind.

  23. A Date in the City of Death

  Things inside the city walls were not what they had expected them to be. Instead of the empty echoing streets they had expected, the thoroughfares teemed with life. All manner of people in garish, bright clothes moved hither and thither. Often their hair was patterned into strange shapes and coloured with glittering dyes. Strange mystic music came from the open windows of rooms on both sides of the street. Soon they distinguished creatures that were not apparently human - small, stunted beings with three arms and blind featureless faces. William was surprised and, it may be said, offended by some of the inhabitants' dresses. Hesitantly he asked Zventibold what they should do next. Zventibold seemed in a trance and after some delay he turned round.