The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

  “Excuse me… excuse me,” the snaggle-toothed little naglet continued. “What was it?”

  “What was what?” the old man asked innocently, teasing the young lady.

  “You know what. What was his last name?” she fumed, exasperated.

  “Oh… well, to be honest, I forgot.”

  “What!” she cried. “You don’t remember his last name?”

  “No, I don’t,” the old man lied, crossing his fingers behind his back.

  “Well… well…” she puffed, hands on her little hips and head cocked to one side. “You have to… you have to give him one!” And with that she sat down, satisfied that the matter was as simple as that and had been cleared up.

  “No, I don’t,” the old man responded calmly.

  “Yes, you do,” she answered firmly. “He has to have a last name.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because he has to. Everyone has a last name. It’s part of their family.”

  “Well, in that case, since I don’t know what it was, you give him one.”

  “I can’t give him a last name! You’re the one making up the story! You have to do it!”

  “What makes you think I am making up this story?”

  “Well, aren’t you?” she asked, confused.

  “No, I am not. It is true. It really happened, and that is why I can’t just make up a last name for Harry.”

  “Humph,” she said. Her eyes frowned and her eyebrows crowned the top of her forehead. “I guess I will give him a last name.”

  “Really?” The old man bit his lip to keep from laughing but was unable to keep the twinkle from his eyes. “And what are you going to call him?”

  “I am going to call him… Harry the Brave.”

  “Okay. Now that we have that settled, may I continue?”

  “Yes, carry on.”

  The old man hid his amusement behind a cough, but not before the little nagahina had cocked a fierce eyebrow in his direction. He hurriedly continued, “Now, where was I? Oh yes, Harry, still burdened by the incident in the market, felt as though he had besmirched the honor of the princess by grabbing her and roughly handling her, even though he had not meant to be rude or crude. He had brought her into his humiliation and was thoroughly ashamed.”

  “Excuse me… excuse me,” the little snaggle-toothed girl started to say.

  The old man shushed her and tried to continue. “So,” he started, “Harry determined in his heart to find a way to honor the princess.”

  But the little girl was persistent with her interruption. “Excuse me… excuse me!” the nagahina continued impatiently.

  “He thought and thought and then decided…” the old man pushed on, attempting to ignore the disruption.

  “Hey! I have a question!” she shouted.

  “So?” the old man answered. Then looking around the class, he asked, “Is there anyone else with a question?” The whole class was getting disturbed with the little girl’s interruptions and was not happy with her. “Sorry,” he said, sending her the sternest look he could muster. When the other kids giggled, he knew he’d failed. “You have met your quota for questions, and since no one else is asking, I shall continue.” Her lips quivered, and a little tear began to trickle down her cheek. He sighed and said, “Okay… Okay… don’t cry. What is it you want to know?”

  As quick as lightning her countenance changed to a gap-toothed radiance, and the old man knew he had been played. “All I wanted to know was what besmirched means?”

  The old man drew in a long breath and let it out very slowly, trying not to surrender to her grin, and craftily answered, “It means sullied.” When he looked at her, she cocked another eyebrow and it made him laugh.

  “The young man did not want to dishonor the princess by exposing her to his embarrassing situation. It never occurred to him that she might feel honored and even wish to reward him for his bravery. And it certainly never entered his mind that she might have found him attractive. He only thought that she must have been as embarrassed as he was. So, Harry was thinking of ways to honor her, and she was thinking of ways to reward him, and that is when tragedy struck.

  “The land that the princess lived in was a beautiful land surrounded by mountains that acted as natural barriers to the kingdom’s enemies. There were narrow passes that led to other lands, and they were easily guarded, that is until the land became so prosperous and the people so wealthy that no one thought anything bad could happen. So eventually the narrow passes were left unguarded, and the land was left open to anyone or anything that wanted to attack it. And that is where the dragon entered. Where he came from, or how he came to be, no one knows. The dragon’s name was Romlott Hus. A vile creature choosing to weaken its prey before devouring them, it would drive the people it had chosen for destruction mad, using their own weaknesses against them. Then, finally having bound them into terrible habits, would swoop down and carry them off, feasting on them like fattened cows. The people of the kingdom believed the stories about the evil serpent were lies—it didn’t really destroy people and devour their souls. So, the dragon ate and ate and grew and grew until one day about the same time as Harry the Brave had fought the pig, it came for the princess.”

  The room had grown quiet as the dragon was described, and the look on the children’s faces was solemn. Then, as the old man finished the last sentence, the peevish youngster with the tight, mean smile said, “This is a silly story, and I’m not going to listen to it anymore.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid,” the little girl on the front row answered. “It’s just a story.”

  “Is it?” the old man asked under his breath.

  “Yes, of course it is,” answered the little girl. “It’s just a story.”

  “Then what about it troubles some of you?” the old man continued. “If I were to say oranges and sailboats, no one would be alarmed, but when I say dragons, and people lying to themselves, and being fattened for destruction, it bothers you.”

  The little girl sat down and even the peevish young boy looked thoughtful, got quiet, and continued to listen.

  “Hold on a minute,” the thoughtful snaggle-toothed little girl said. “Why did the dragon choose the princess?”

  “Oh, that is simple, my dear: the dragon wanted to destroy the country and knew the best way to destroy a people was to steal their heart. The princess was greatly loved by her people, and even though she didn’t realize her beauty, everyone else did. When she would laugh, people would think the sun was shining, even on a dreary, cold day. Wherever she went, she could say just the right word to just the right person and give them the strength to carry on. The heart of the country beat within her, and she didn’t even know it.”

  “Oh,” the little snaggle-tooth said quietly and scooted back into her chair.

  “Now, as I was saying, the dragon stole the princess, flew back to his mountain cave, and chained her to a pile of rocks. She cried her heart out because she feared no one would ever find her, and if they did, she would probably be dead before they could rescue her, and then something even worse happened.”

  Chapter Three

  The old man’s voice carried the imaginations of the children away with a scary tone that clouded their tender hearts.

  “I want to go home!” the peevish boy said. “I am tired of this, and I need to watch TV or play Nintendo.”

  His friends all tried to shush him, and some of them said, “You can’t leave. Your mom’s not here, and you’re just scared.”

  The old man, seeing the storm rising, said, “Hold on a minute… Hold on. The children are right, son. Your mother is not here.”

  The peevish little boy’s face shriveled like a prune, and just as he was about to wail and cause ignorant adults to come running, bringing their leech-like lawyers with them, the old man looked squarely at the boy and said, “Could you help me?”

  The shriveled little face swelled with curiosity, and he said as intelligently as possible, “Huh?”
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  “I need a page turner.”

  “What?” the child asked. “You aren’t reading, you’re telling us the story.”

  “Are you sure?” the old man asked. “Come see. Come up here, sit with me, and look at what I am looking at.”

  The little boy, a bit confused but calmed and looking a little like a trick was about to be played on him, came forward. Before he could get to the front, he looked squarely in the old man’s eye and saw him wink. Then he knew there was a game being played, and he was one of the principal players. He could trick the other kids into thinking he was special and not afraid if he turned the pages of the imaginary book.

  “So,” the old man began again, “I will tell you when to turn the page, okay?”

  The boy nodded his head. “Okay.”

  “Now, where was I?”

  The young page turner gently elbowed the old man, leaned down, and whispered in a barnyard whisper that every child in the room heard, “Something worse happened.”

  “Yes, it did indeed,” the old man straightened up and continued. “The king gathered his greatest knights and sent them bravely into battle against Romlott Hus, the dragon. They marched off courageously only to be attacked, devoured, or badly burnt by the dragon, who only laughed at their feeble attempts to slay him, roaring his defiance from the highest hill in the land. After a few days and scary nights, when the dragon’s shadow could be seen flying against the moon’s bright light, the whole land wept in despair. All the brave soldiers were gone, yet the princess was still captive… or dead. No one knew.

  “People began to load up their belongings in carts and wagons and flee down the country roads to get as far away as they could from Romlott Hus. Occasionally, the dragon would attack a convoy of refugees, but for the most part, he let them depart in peace.

  “In the middle of all this, Harry the Brave was greatly troubled. He paced the floor of his humble cottage. He read the newspapers, and he prayed. It hurt him greatly that the princess had been carried off. He thought about it day and night, but there was nothing he could do. Until one night, as he lay down to sleep, he began to dream a dark and fitful dream. In it, he was walking down a dark trail. Barely able to see, he often tripped or stumbled over uneven places. Yet in the dream he also saw, way off in the distance, the light of a campfire. Cautiously approaching the fire, he saw the princess shivering in its glow, trying to keep warm. Her clothes were tattered, and her complexion darkened like she had been exposed to smoke and grime for a long time. Harry could see her cheeks, where tears left trails of white through the smudge on her face. He felt terrible and began to weep.

  “The princess heard his crying and peered into the gloom that surrounded her. Finally, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him move. Then her eyes focused and she said, ‘I see you, and… you look so familiar. Wait! You’re the young man who pulled down the hog in the market! Can you see me? If you can, please come get me. I don’t know how much longer the dragon will spare me. I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself from changing.’

  “Harry was confused, especially by the last words of the princess: ‘keep myself from changing.’ So he asked her, ‘What do you mean keep yourself from changing?’

  “‘The dragon wants to change me into a dragon! He fights against my mind and invades my thoughts. It is so hard to remember who I am some days, and once I completely forget, I will change. So please, please help me!’

  “‘What can I do?’ Harry cried. ‘This is just a dream. I am not a warrior, and the king’s greatest knights have failed. I want to help you so much, but how can I?’

  “The princess said, ‘Talk to me. Remind me of who I am. Sing to me. Visit me often. Don’t forget me, and pray. Perhaps the Lord will send an angel to guide you.’

  “Harry said, ‘I can do that. I have been praying. You’re in my thoughts every moment I’m awake, and every time I sleep. I will remember you, and who knows, perhaps I can visit you again in our dreams.’

  “The princess smiled. Harry smiled back, and then she was gone. He awoke. It was morning, but he was not refreshed.”

  “Wow! What’s he going to do?” the whole ankle-biting chorus echoed.

  “Will he save her? Will an angel tell him what to do? What happens next?”

  The old man answered, “Well, my voice is getting hoarse.” He would never admit the story made him emotional. “Besides, it’s about time for your mothers to come and pick you up, so perhaps we should stop until next week.”

  “No, no!” they roared. The room shook with the nos, and library workers scurried, as well as parents, to see what the ruckus was about. The old man tried to quiet everyone down, but the children were persistent and announced that if the old man didn’t finish the story, they would ask for water all night long, not eat their vegetables, and whimper till their parents tore their hair out.

  The old man scolded them and said those were not nice things to do. If they misbehaved that badly, he would never finish the story, which caused them to begin to sob and blubber. By that time, the parents had come to pick their children up and were curious to hear the story themselves.

  Finally, the old man’s daughter, Lizzy Ferguson, the head librarian, came up with a solution. “Let my dad take a break, get some dinner, and then, how about we all come back here to the library and let him finish the story. Say about six thirty? Will that work for everyone?”

  Children looked at parents. Parents looked at children. The parents were so amazed that no child wanted to play video games or watch television, but actually begged to stay, that they agreed. All, that is, except for one parsimonious parent, who also made her child brush after every single meal, vacuum his room twice a day, wear starched shirts, and never allowed him to own a puppy.

  The snaggle-toothed girl solved that problem by walking over to the stingy mother, saying, “If you don’t let Thomas come back tonight, I am going to sneak into your house, track mud through it, drop your dental floss in the toilet, and put my kitty, who just had babies, in your attic!”

  The well-meaning but inflexible mother’s eyes grew wide and rolled back into her head, and she fainted. Once someone revived her with smelling salts, she agreed to the extortion and promised to bring Thomas, who was, by the way, the page turner to the after-dinner theater, which somehow the children’s story time had been renamed.

  Chapter Four

  Finally, six thirty broke free of its afternoon doldrums. Anxious children and curious parents, and by now, older brothers and sisters and some cousins, crowded in to hear the story. They met in the spacious reading room of the library that held a makeshift stage equipped with curtains that had hung through one world war and two international conflicts. The fire marshal complained about a serious violation of local code but was losing ground to his granddaughter, who smiled and begged and wheedled her snaggle-toothed way through his concerns. She graciously assured her brow-beaten grandfather there was no danger unless the dragon, Romlott Hus, flew down from the sky and devoured them all. He was finally convinced that the volunteer fire department, stationed right across the street, was more than enough protection. And now, with imperial sovereignty, she sat on his lap on the front row of the completely filled reading room and prepared to listen to the old man finish the story.

  Peeking through a slit in the stage curtains, the old man drew in a sharp breath and almost had a panic attack.

  “I don’t know if I can do this, Baby Girl,” he whispered. “My hands are shaking. I have to use the restroom, and what if I have to go during the story? The whole place is full, and I just don’t know if I can do this…”

  His daughter, excited about the attention for the library, and knowing her father, said, “Dad, just tell the story to the children. You don’t have to speak to the crowd; they will hear you fine. I’ll put a wireless microphone on you. You call up the kids, and when they are settled in, continue the story. Got it? Can you do that? You don’t have to look at the people, just the children. You don’t ha
ve to raise your voice, just pretend it’s all about the kids and be yourself.”

  “I don’t have to stand on the stage?”

  “Nope, just sit on the middle stairs and have the kids gather around you. If they squirm, scold them. If they ask questions, answer them, and take it from there. You are a master at this. You have told me stories all my life. Now you get to share that gift with others.”

  The old man took a deep breath, let it out, and sighed, “Okay, okay. I think I can do that.”

  “I know you can, Dad. Now let’s go.”

  His daughter hooked him up, tested the mic, and led him to the center of the stage. People applauded, and the kids laughed and shouted. His daughter called all the children to the front, had them sit down along the stairs, and the old man began.

  “Now, let’s see, where was I?”

  The idea of a rhetorical question used as an introduction was completely lost on the children. When they heard a question, they assumed it was intended to be answered. So a host of replies filled the air and caused the old man to say, “Now that is right… that is right. So, Harry woke up, and began pacing the floor back and forth worrying and wondering about his dream and the princess and how in the world he would ever rescue her.

  “Finally…” the old man started to say when suddenly little-imperial-snaggle-toothed-now-enthroned-on-her-grandfather’s-lap raised her hand and said, “Hey! Excuse me! Excuse me!” which caught the old man off guard and caused him to cock an eyebrow so high it touched his hairline. All of this was lost on the tooth-poor wonder, who continued with, “You didn’t tell us the name of the princess!”

  The old man looked at her and said, “You are right, I didn’t. Now as I was saying, Harry was pacing and pacing until suddenly he stopped.”

  Not to be put off or surpassed, the little urchin interrupted again. “But she has to have a name. She just has to. People can’t just go around calling her princess!”

  “Why not?” the old man asked, pretending to be irritated.